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.