Fortunately, the pony righted itself in time to save Dick from a hard
fall, and he stayed on Spraddle's back, talking to him gently.
At the sound of Dick's voice the pony became quiet, and Dick half
sprawled, half fell to the ground. The boy was in a pretty bad fix, for
the Indian had tied his hands securely. He thought of ways by which he
might cut the cord, but it seemed hopeless. He had heard somewhere of
bound men releasing themselves by wearing their bonds asunder against
the rough edge of a rock, and determined to try it for himself.
If he could only get his hands free, he might escape yet. Backing up to
the wall of the canon, he felt with his hands for a rock, and soon knew
that he was against one. As he sawed his hands back and forth, he was
listening for some sound from the Indian, but heard none.
Could it be that the fall had killed Pokopokowo?
To his joy, he felt the cord part, and his hands were free. At that
moment there came a flood of light into the defile, for the moon had
risen overhead.
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