It had grown very dark, and Dick could not see the pony's ears when he
twisted around to look past the Indian.
He knew that it was to be a moonlight night, but the moon was not up
yet, and would not be for an hour or more. In fact, it was doubtful if
the light of the moon would penetrate to the bottom of the defile until
it was high in the heavens, so deep was the defile and so steep its
walls.
Dick had given up wondering and worrying, and had forced himself to be
content with his situation, as he knew that he could not better it any.
Suddenly he became aware that the Indian was asleep, for he was drooping
in the saddle, and was breathing deeply and steadily.
Now, thought Dick, was the time to escape, if any. He tried to slip from
the pony's back, but in an instant the Indian was awake, and, reaching
around, grasped Dick's wrist, twisting it until the boy gave a sharp cry
of pain.
The Indian slipped from the back of the pony, and again bound Dick's
wrists behind him, and with a grunt climbed into the saddle and urged
Spraddle on, slapping him across the face with the end of the rein.
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