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.

Lying on the floor of the defile, lay the Indian, with a deep gash
across his forehead, where it had struck a sharp rock. His ugly face was
covered with blood, making it additionally hideous.

By the side of the Indian lay Dick's precious rifle, and he stooped to
pick it up. As he did so, something glistened beside it, and Dick picked
it up.

It was the little, round mirror that the Indian had worn around his
neck. Dick pocketed it for proof of his adventure when he should again
reach camp, and, picking up his rifle, climbed upon Spraddle's back,
turned him around, and drove down the defile.

When he reached the open valley it was as bright as day, and under his
coaxing and kind words the tired little pony, relieved of the Indian's
weight, picked up his feet and set forth at a brisk pace into the west,
in which direction Dick knew the cow camp lay.

It was almost daylight when Bill McCall, the cook, roused from his
blankets to begin the preparations for breakfast. He leaped to his feet
and listened.

Not far away he heard the sound of the pony's footsteps approaching.
Bill was an old cow-puncher, and he knew instantly that the pony was
tired, and that he was under saddle, and also that the saddle was
occupied.

The footsteps came nearer, and just as they were close to the camp
daylight came on with a rush, as it does on the plains, and Bill gave a
great shout of joy which brought every puncher in camp scrambling out of
his blankets, for there rode in a very tired little boy on a v