Could he have been certain of the latter, all misgiving would have vanished.
Not a trace of his panic remained.

If Motoza had returned to the cavern, and, discovering the flight of his prisoner, set out to follow him, there was little prospect of his success, for the fugitive had varied from a direct line, and the Sioux might pass within arm's length without being aware of the fact.
There was one peril to which Fred was exposed, and it was fortunate it never entered his mind.

Supposing Motoza was standing on the ledge at the bottom of the canyon and gazing upward, weapon in hand, it was quite probable that he would be able to locate the youth.

This would be not because of any superiority of vision, but because of that patch of sky beyond, acting as a background for the climber.

With his inky figure thrown in relief against the stars, his enemy could have picked him off as readily as if the sun were shining.
This possibility, we say, did not present itself to Fred Greenwood, and, more providential than all, Motoza was not in the canyon.
The slipping of one foot tore most of the sole from the stocking, and his foot had henceforth no protection against the craggy surface.
"I don't mind the stocking," grimly reflected the youth, "for there is another pair in camp and plenty of them at the ranch, but how it hurts!" He would have been altogether lacking in the pluck he had displayed thus far had he been deterred by physical suffering from pushing his efforts to the utmost.