Here the Indian turned in the saddle and looked at Dick with a
malevolent smile.
"Turn white boy loose," he grunted.
Dick twisted around, and the Indian untied the cord that bound his
wrists.
"White boy try to run away, I kill um," said the Indian, showing his
teeth in a horrible look of ferocity that chilled Dick to the bone.
"All right," he said; "I'll not try to run away again."
"Kill um if do," growled the Indian, hissing, at the pony, which is the
Indian way of making a pony go forward, and means the same as a white
man's "Get up!"
Dick was dreadfully hungry, but he said nothing, clinging to the cantle
of the saddle with both hands, for the pony was now loping.
They had gone up the valley for several miles, when suddenly the Indian
turned aside down a dark and narrow defile, still at a lope.
Even Dick realized the danger of this, for the floor of the defile was
covered with large, loose stones, over which Spraddle was continually
stumbling, for he had come a long way and was tired, besides the added
weight of the Indian was more than he was accustomed to carry.
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