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to Lin Slone。 He gazed at them for a long time； and then he looked across the
dotted red valley up the vast ridgy steps； toward the black plateau and
beyond。 It was the look that an Indian gives to a strange country。 Then Slone
slipped off the saddle and knelt to scrutinize the horse tracks。 A little sand
had blown into the depressions； and some of it was wet and some of it was dry。
He took his time about examining it； and he even tried gently blowing other
sand into the tracks； to compare that with what was already there。 Finally he
stood up and addressed Nagger。
〃Reckon we won't have to argue with Abe an' Bill this mornin'；〃 he said； with
satisfaction。 〃Wildfire made that track yesterday； before sun…up。
Thereupon Slone remounted and put Nagger to a trot。 The pack…horse followed
with an alacrity that showed he had no desire for loneliness。
As straight as a bee…line Wildfire had left a trail down into the floor of the
valley。 He had not stopped to graze； and he had not looked for water。 Slone
had hoped to find a water…hole in one of the deep washes in the red earth； but
if there had been any water there Wildfire would have scented it。 He had not
had a drink for three days that Slone knew of。 And Nagger had not drunk for
forty hours。 Slone had a canvas water…bag hanging over the pommel； but it was
a habit of his to deny himself； as far as possible； till his horse could drink
also。 Like an Indian； Slone ate and drank but little。
It took four hours of steady trotting to reach the middle and bottom of that
wide； flat valley。 A network of washes cut up the whole center of it； and they
were all as dry as bleached bone。 To cross these Slone had only to keep
Wildfire's trail。 And it was proof of Nagger's quality that he did not have to
veer from the stallion's course。
It was hot down in the lowland。 The heat struck up； reflected from the sand。
But it was a March sun； and no more than pleasant to Slone。 The wind rose；
however； and blew dust and sand in the faces of horse and rider。 Except
lizards； Slone did not see any living things。
Miles of low greasewood and sparse yellow sage led to the first almost
imperceptible rise of the valley floor on that side。 The distant cedars
beckoned to Slone。 He was not patient； because he was on the trail of
Wildfire； but； nevertheless。 the hours seemed short。
Slone had no past to think about； and the future held nothing except a horse；
and so his thoughts revolved the possibilities connected with this chase of
Wildfire。 The chase was hopeless in such country as he was traversing； and if
Wildfire chose to roam around valleys like this one Slone would fail utterly。
But the stallion had long ago left his band of horses； and then； one by one
his favorite consorts； and now he was alone； headed with unerring instinct for
wild； untrammeled ranges。 He had been used to the pure； cold water and the
succulent grass of the cold desert uplands。 Assuredly he would not tarry in
such barren lands as these。
For Slone an ever…present and growing fascination lay in Wildfire's clear；
sharply defined tracks。 It was as if every hoof…mark told him something。 Once；
far up the interminable ascent； he found on a ridge…top tracks showing where
Wildfire had halted and turned。
〃Ha； Nagger！〃 cried Slone； exultingly。 〃Look there！ He's begun facin' about。
He's wonderin' if we're still after him。 He's worried。 。 。 。 But we'll keep
out of sighta day behind。〃
When Slone reached the cedars the sun was low down in the west。 He looked back
across the fifty miles of valley to the colored cliffs and walls。 He seemed to
be above them now； and the cool air； with tang of cedar and juniper；
strengthened the impression that he had climbed high。
A mile or more ahead of him rose a gray cliff with breaks in it and a line of
dark cedars or pinyons on the level rims。 He believed these breaks to be the
mouths of canyons； and so it turned out。 Wildfire's trail led into the mouth
of a narrow canyon with very steep and high walls。 Nagger snorted his
perception of water； and the mustang whistled。 Wildfire's tracks led to a
point under the wall where a spring gushed forth。 There were mountain…lion and
deer tracks also； as well as those of smaller game。
Slone made camp here。 The mustang was tired。 But Nagger； upon taking a long
drink； rolled in the grass as if he had just begun the trip。 After eating；
Slone took his rifle and went out to look for deer。 But there appeared to be
none at hand。 He came across many lion tracks and saw； with apprehension；
where one had taken Wildfire's trail。 Wildfire had grazed up the canyon；
keeping on and on； and he was likely to go miles in a night。 Slone reflected
that as small as were his own chances of getting Wildfire； they were still
better than those of a mountain…lion。 Wildfire was the most cunning of all
animalsa wild stallion； his speed and endurance were incomparable； his scent
as keen as those animals that relied wholly upon scent to warn them of danger；
and as for sight； it was Slone's belief that no hoofed creature； except the
mountain…sheep used to high altitudes； could see as far as a wild horse。
It bothered Slone a little that he was getting into a lion country。 Nagger
showed nervousness； something unusual for him。 Slone tied both horses with
long halters and stationed them on patches of thick grass。 Then he put a cedar
stump on the fire and went to sleep。 Upon awakening and going to the spring he
was somewhat chagrined to see that deer had come down to drink early。
Evidently they were numerous。 A lion country was always a deer country； for
the lions followed the deer。
Slone was packed and saddled and on his way before the sun reddened the canyon
wall。 He walked the horses。 From time to time he saw signs of Wildfire's
consistent progress。 The canyon narrowed and the walls grew lower and the
grass increased。 There was a decided ascent all the time。 Slone could find no
evidence that the canyon had ever been traveled by hunters or Indians。 The day
was pleasant and warm and still。 Every once in a while a little breath of wind
would bring a fragrance of cedar and pinyon； and a sweet hint of pine and
sage。 At every turn he looked ahead； expecting to see the green of pine and
the gray of sage。 Toward the middle of the afternoon； coming to a place where
Wildfire had taken to a trot； he put Nagger to that gait； and by sundown had
worked up to where the canyon was only a shallow ravine。 And finally it turned
once more； to lose itself in a level where straggling pines stood high above
the cedars； and great； dark…green silver spruces stood above the pines。 And
here were patches of sage； fresh and pungent； and long reaches of bleached
grass。 It was the edge of a forest。 Wildfire's trail went on。 Slone came at
length to a group of pines； and here he found the remains of a camp…fire； and
some flint arrow…heads。 Indians had been in there； probably having come from
the opposite direction to Slone's。 This encouraged him； for where Indians
could hunt so could he。 Soon he was entering a forest where cedars and pinyons
and pines began to grow thickly。 Presently he came upon a faintly defined
trail； just a dim； dark line even to an experienced eye。 But it was a trail；
and Wildfire had taken it。
Slone halted for the night。 The air was cold。 And the dampness of it gave him
an idea there were snow…banks somewhere not far distant。 The dew was already
heavy on the grass。 He hobbled the horses and put a bell on Nagger。 A bell
might frighten lions that had never heard one。 Then he built a fire and cooked
his meal。
It had been long since he had camped high up among the pines。 The sough of the
wind pleased him； like music。 There had begun to be prospects of pleasant
experience along with the toil of chasing Wildfire。 He was entering new and
strange and beautiful country。 How far might the chase take him？ He did not
care。 He was not sleepy； but even if he had been it developed that he must
wait till the coyotes ceased their barking round his camp…fire。 They came so
close that he saw their gray shadows in the gloom。 But presently they wearied
of yelping at him and went away。 After that the silence； broken only by the
wind as it roared and lulled； seemed beautiful to Slone。 He lost completely
that sense of vague regret which had remained with him； and he forgot the
Stewarts。 And suddenly he felt absolutely free； alone； with nothing behind to
remember； with wild； thrilling； nameless life before him。 Just then the long
mourn of a timber wolf wailed in with the wind。 Seldom had he heard the cry of
one of those night wanderers。 There was nothing like itno sound like it to
fix in the lone camper's heart the great solitude and the wild。
CHAPTER V
In the early morning when all was gray and the big； dark pines were shadowy
specters； Slone was awakened by the cold。 His hands were so numb that he had
difficulty starting a fire。 He stood over the blaze； warming them。 The air was
nipping； clear and thin； and sweet with frosty fragrance。
Daylight came while he was in the midst of his morning meal。 A white frost
covered the ground and crackled under his feet as he went out to bring in the
horses。 He