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soft red earth。 This eventually grew more solid and finally dry。 Slone worked
out of the cedars to what appeared a grassy plateau inclosed by the great
green…and…white slope with its yellow wall over hanging； and distant mesas and
cliffs。 Here his view was restricted。 He was down on the first bench of the
great canyon。 And there was the deer trail； a well…worn path keeping to the
edge of the slope。 Slone came to a deep cut in the earth； and the trail headed
it； where it began at the last descent of the slope。 It was the source of a
canyon。 He could look down to see the bare； worn rock； and a hundred yards
from where he stood the earth was washed from its rims and it began to show
depth and something of that ragged outline which told of violence of flood。
The trail headed many canyons like this； all running down across this bench；
disappearing； dropping invisibly。 The trail swung to the left under the great
slope； and then presently it climbed to a higher bench。 Here were brush and
grass and huge patches of sage； so pungent that it stung Slone's nostrils。
Then he went down again； this time to come to a clear brook lined by willows。
Here the horses drank long and Slone refreshed himself。 The sun had grown hot。
There was fragrance of flowers he could not see and a low murmur of a
waterfall that was likewise invisible。 For most of the time his view was shut
off； but occasionally he reached a point where through some break he saw
towers gleaming red in the sun。 A strange place； a place of silence； and smoky
veils in the distance。 Time passed swiftly。 Toward the waning of the afternoon
he began to climb to what appeared to be a saddle of land； connecting the
canyon wall on the left with a great plateau； gold…rimmed and pine…fringed；
rising more and more in his way as he advanced。 At sunset Slone was more shut
in than for several hours。 He could tell the time was sunset by the golden
light on the cliff wall again overhanging him。 The slope was gradual up to
this pass to the saddle； and upon coming to a spring； and the first
pine…trees； he decided to halt for a camp。 The mustang was almost exhausted。
Thereupon he hobbled the horses in the luxuriant grass round the spring； and
then unrolled his pack。 Once as dusk came stealing down； while he was eating
his meal； Nagger whistled in fright。 Slone saw a gray； pantherish form gliding
away into the shadows。 He took a quick shot at it； but missed。
〃It's a lion country； all right；〃 he said。 And then he set about building a
big fire on the other side of the grassy plot； so to have the horses between
fires。 He cut all the venison into thin strips； and spent an hour roasting
them。 Then he lay down to rest； and he said： 〃Wonder where Wildfire is
to…night？ Am I closer to him？ Where's he headin' for？〃
The night was warm and still。 It was black near the huge cliff； and overhead
velvety blue； with stars of white fire。 It seemed to him that he had become
more thoughtful and observing of the aspects of his wild environment； and he
felt a welcome consciousness of loneliness。 Then sleep came to him and the
night seemed short。 In the gray dawn he arose refreshed。
The horses were restive。 Nagger snorted a welcome。 Evidently they had passed
an uneasy night。 Slone found lion tracks at the spring and in sandy places。
Presently he was on his way up to the notch between the great wall and the
plateau。 A growth of thick scrub…oak made travel difficult。 It had not
appeared far up to that saddle； but it was far。 There were straggling
pine…trees and huge rocks that obstructed his gaze。 But once up he saw that
the saddle was only a narrow ridge； curved to slope up on both sides。
Straight before Slone and under him opened the canyon； blazing and glorious
along the peaks and ramparts； where the rising sun struck； misty and smoky and
shadowy down in those mysterious depths。
It took an effort not to keep on gazing。 But Slone turned to the grim business
of his pursuit。 The trail he saw leading down had been made by Indians。 It was
used probably once a year by them； and also by wild animals； and it was
exceedingly steep and rough。 Wildfire had paced to and fro along the narrow
ridge of that saddle； making many tracks； before he had headed down again。
Slone imagined that the great stallion had been daunted by the tremendous
chasm； but had finally faced it； meaning to put this obstacle between him and
his pursuers。 It never occurred to Slone to attribute less intelligence to
Wildfire than that。 So； dismounting； Slone took Nagger's bridle and started
down。 The mustang with the pack was reluctant。 He snorted and whistled and
pawed the earth。 But he would not be left alone； so he followed。
The trail led down under cedars that fringed a precipice。 Slone was aware of
this without looking。 He attended only to the trail and to his horse。 Only an
Indian could have picked out that course； and it was cruel to put a horse to
it。 But Nagger was powerful； sure…footed； and he would go anywhere that Slone
led him。 Gradually Slone worked down and away from the bulging rim…wall。 It
was hard； rough work； and risky because it could not be accomplished slowly。
Brush and rocks； loose shale and weathered slope； long； dusty inclines of
yellow earth； and jumbles of stonethese made bad going for miles of slow；
zigzag trail down out of the cedars。 Then the trail entered what appeared to
be a ravine。
That ravine became a canyon。 At its head it was a dry wash； full of gravel and
rocks。 It began to cut deep into the bowels of the earth。 It shut out sight of
the surrounding walls and peaks。 Water appeared from under a cliff and；
augmented by other springs； became a brook。 Hot； dry； and barren at its
beginning； this cleft became cool and shady and luxuriant with grass and
flowers and amber moss with silver blossoms。 The rocks had changed color from
yellow to deep red。 Four hours of turning and twisting； endlessly down and
down； over boulders and banks and every conceivable roughness of earth and
rock； finished the pack…mustang； and Slone mercifully left him in a long reach
of canyon where grass and water never failed。 In this place Slone halted for
the noon hour； letting Nagger have his fill of the rich grazing。 Nagger's
three days in grassy upland； despite the continuous travel by day； had
improved him。 He looked fat； and Slone had not yet caught the horse resting。
Nagger was iron to endure。 Here Slone left all the outfit except what was on
his saddle； and the sack containing the few pounds of meat and supplies； and
the two utensils。 This sack he tied on the back of his saddle； and resumed his
journey。
Presently he came to a place where Wildfire had doubled on his trail and had
turned up a side canyon。 The climb out was hard on Slone； if not on Nagger。
Once up； Slone found himself upon a wide； barren plateau of glaring red rock
and clumps of greasewood and cactus。 The plateau was miles wide； shut in by
great walls and mesas of colored rock。 The afternoon sun beat down fiercely。 A
blast of wind； as if from a furnace； swept across the plateau； and it was
laden with red dust。 Slone walked here； where he could have ridden。 And he
made several miles of up…and…down progress over this rough plateau。 The great
walls of the opposite side of the canyon loomed appreciably closer。 What；
Slone wondered； was at the bottom of this rent in the earth？ The great desert
river was down there； of course； but he knew nothing of it。 Would that turn
back Wildfire？ Slone thought grimly how he had always claimed Nagger to be
part fish and part bird。 Wildfire was not going to escape。
By and by only isolated mescal plants with long； yellow…plumed spears broke
the bare monotony of the plateau。 And Slone passed from red sand and gravel to
a red； soft shale； and from that to hard； red rock。 Here Wildfire's tracks
were lost； the first time in seven weeks。 But Slone had his direction down
that plateau with the cleavage lines of canyons to right and left。 At times
Slone found a vestige of the old Indian trail； and this made him doubly sure
of being right。 He did not need to have Wildfire's tracks。 He let Nagger pick
the way； and the horse made no mistake in finding the line of least
resistance。 But that grew harder and harder。 This bare rock； like a file；
would soon wear Wildfire's hoofs thin。 And Slone rejoiced。 Perhaps somewhere
down in this awful chasm he and Nagger would have it out with the stallion。
Slone began to look far ahead； beginning to believe that he might see
Wildfire。 Twice he had seen Wildfire； but only at a distance。 Then he had
resembled a running streak of fire； whence his name； which Slone had given
him。
This bare region of rock began to be cut up into gullies。 It was necessary to
head them or to climb in and out。 Miles of travel really meant little progress
straight ahead。 But Slone kept on。 He was hot and Nagger was hot； and that
made hard work easier。 Sometimes on the wind came a low thunder。 Was it a
storm or an avalanche slipping or falling water？ He could not tell。 The sound
was significant and haunting。
Of one thing he was surethat he could not have found his back…trail。 But he
divined he was never to retrace his steps on th