Lark was carefully surveying the bonds that bound him to the tree.
A moment or two his eyes glared upon the leathern fetters, and then, with a desperate effort, he essayed to break them.
The veins on his forehead knotted and swelled as he tugged with almost superhuman strength, but the effort was useless. He could not free himself.
“Jerusalem! ain’t that strength thar!” muttered Boone, as he watched the tension of the thongs.
“They’re going to hold him, though,” replied Kenton, eagerly watching the strange scene.
Again Lark glared around him, and again he tried to burst the bonds that bound him.
The thongs cut into the flesh of the wrists, but he seemed not to heed the pain. Every muscle in his huge frame was brought into play.
Another mighty effort and the leathern thong burst as if it had only been a band of straw!
“Talk about a giant—did you see that thong go?” exclaimed Boone, in a guarded tone to Kenton.
“He snapped it like a pipe-stem.”