He felt in his pockets in the weak hope of finding a forgotten fish-hook that could be used, though he possessed nothing in the nature of bait; but, inasmuch as he had not brought a hook with him, it would not do to say he succeeded in his search, though he displaced the piece of writing-paper afterward found by his friend.
Forcing all thought of food from him for the time, he asked why, now that his gaoler was absent, he should not pick his way down the canyon and make a break for liberty.

At the same time he could not forget that one of the most improbable acts of the Sioux would be to give him any chance at all to escape.
It was more than likely that Motoza had laid the temptation in his way, that it might serve him as a pretext for shooting his prisoner.

Fred resolved, therefore, to be careful in all that he did.

The necessity of drinking and bathing his face was his excuse for walking out to the border of the ledge and letting himself down to the rock underneath.
There he dipped up what water he needed in the palms of his hands, and while doing so scanned every part of the canyon in his field of vision.
He noted the narrow strip of sky far aloft, the tumbling waters above and below where he stood, the black boulders protruding their heads above the torrent which flung itself fiercely against them, the craggy walls of the canyon, but nowhere did he catch sight of the Sioux who had brought him hither.

None the less, Fred felt so certain his black eyes were watching him from some hidden point that he did not yield to the temptation to leap to the nearest boulder and start on his flight for liberty.