don't care who you are. I want my rifle," cried Dick.

"Papoose heap fool. Get off pony." The Indian was scowling now, and
looked very ferocious, and once more Dick's courage oozed. The Indian
did not seem to be a bit frightened.

As Dick was slow in descending from the saddle, the Indian grasped him
by the arm and jerked him to the ground.

Dick was as angry as he ever got, but was sensible enough to know that
he could not fight the Indian, and that all he could do was to escape as
rapidly as possible.

He turned and ran up the coulee.

But he had not gone far when he was overtaken, and knocked flat with a
cuff on the side of the head. As he rose slowly with his head ringing,
Pokopokowo grasped him by the shoulder, and bound his hands behind him.

In a moment he was back at the pony's side, and was thrown upon its
back, but not in the saddle. This was occupied by the Indian, who
directed it down the coulee, and in the direction of the mountains.

Dick Fosdick was a prisoner.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

A MESSAGE FROM STELLA.

Dick had some difficulty in keeping his seat on the pony's back, for he
could not hold on to the cantle of the saddle, and Spraddle wabbled
dreadfully, as he stumbled among the bowlders in the coulee.

But before long they were out on the prairie again, and Dick observed
that they were headed toward the mountains.

They had several miles to go to reach the mountains, and it was just
getting dusk when they entered upon a broad and beautiful valley, which,
as it ran east and west, was flooded with the light from the setting
sun.

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