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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 this journey。 The stretch of
broken plateau before him grew wilder and bolder of outline； darker in color；
weirder in aspect； and progress across it grew slower； more dangerous。 There
were many places Nagger should not have been put towhere a slip meant a
broken leg。 But Slone could not turn back。 And something besides an
indomitable spirit kept him going。 Again the sound resembling thunder assailed
his ears； louder this time。 The plateau appeared to be ending in a series of
great capes or promontories。 Slone feared he would soon come out upon a
promontory from which he might see the impossibility of further travel。 He
felt relieved down in the gullies； where he could not see far。 He climbed out
of one； presently； from which there extended a narrow ledge with a slant too
perilous for any horse。 He stepped out upon that with far less confidence than
Nagger。 To the right was a bulge of low wall； and a few feet to the left a
dark precipice。 The trail here was faintly outlined； and it was six inches
wide and slanting as well。 It seemed endless to Slone； that ledge。 He looked
only down at his feet and listened to Nagger's steps。 The big horse trod
carefully； but naturally； and he did not slip。 That ledge extended in a long
curve； turning slowly away from the precipice； and ascending a little at the
further end。 Slone； drew a deep breath of relief when he led Nagger up on
level rock。
Suddenly a strange yet familiar sound halted Slone； as if he had been struck。
The wild； shrill； high…pitched； piercing whistle of a stallion！ Nagger neighed
a blast in reply and pounded the rock with his iron…shod hoofs。 With a thrill
Slone looked ahead。
There； some few hundred yards distant； on a promontory； stood a red horse。
〃My Lord！ 。 。 。 It's Wildfire！〃 breathed Slone； tensely。
He could not believe his sight。 He imagined he was dreaming。 But as Nagger
stamped and snorted defiance Slone looked with fixed and keen gaze； and knew
that beautiful picture was no lie。
Wildfire was as red as fire。 His long mane； wild in the wind； was like a
whipping； black…streaked flame。 Silhouetted there against that canyon
background he seemed gigantic； a demon horse； ready to plunge into fiery
depths。 He was looking back over his shoulder； his head very high； and every
line of him was instinct with wildness。 Again he sent out that shrill；
air…splitting whistle。 Slone understood it to be a clarion call to Nagger。 If
Nagger had been alone Wildfire would have killed him。 The red stallion was a
killer of horses。 All over the Utah ranges he had left the trail of a
murderer。 Nagger understood this； too； for he whistled back in rage and
terror。 It took an iron arm to hold him。 Then Wildfire plunged； apparently
down； and vanished from Slone's sight。
Slone hurried onward； to be blocked by a huge crack in the rocky plateau。 This
he had to head。 And then another and like obstacle checked his haste to reach
that promontory。 He was forced to go more slowly。 Wildfire had been close only
as to sight。 And this was the great canyon that dwarfed distance and magnified
proximity。 Climbing down and up； toiling on； he at last learned patience。 He
had seen Wildfire at close range。 That was enough。 So he plodded on； once more
returning to careful regard of Nagger。 It took an hour of work to reach the
point where Wildfire had disappeared。
A promontory indeed it was； overhanging a valley a thousand feet below。 A
white torrent of a stream wound through it。 There were lines of green
cottonwoods following the winding course。 Then Slone saw Wildfire slowly
crossing the flat toward the stream。 He had gone down that cliff； which to
Slone looked perpendicular。
Wildfire appeared to be walking lame。 Slone； making sure of this； suffered a
pang。 Then； when the significance of such lameness dawned upon him he whooped
his wild joy and waved his hat。 The red stallion must have heard； for he
looked up。 Then he went on again and waded into the stream； where he drank
long。 When he started to cross； the swift current drove him back in several
places。 The water wreathed white around him。 But evidently it was not deep；
and finally he crossed。 From the other side he looked up again at Nagger and
Slone； and； going on； he soon was out of sight in the cottonwoods。
〃How to get down！〃 muttered Slone。
There was a break in the cliff wall； a bare stone slant where horses had gone
down and come up。 That was enough for Slone to know。 He would have attempted
the descent if he were sure no other horse but Wildfire had ever gone down
there。 But Slone's hair began to rise stiff on his head。 A horse like
Wildfire； and mountain sheep and Indian ponies； were all very different from
Nagger。 The chances were against Nagger。
〃Come on； old boy。 If I can do it； you can；〃 he said。
Slone had never seen a trail as perilous as this。 He was afraid for his horse。
A slip there meant death。 The way Nagger trembled in every muscle showed his
feelings。 But he never flinched。 He would follow Slone anywhere； providing
Slone rode him or led him。 And here； as riding was impossible； Slone went
before。 If the horse slipped there would be a double tragedy； for Nagger would
knock his master off the cliff。 Slone set his teeth and stepped down。 He did
not let Nagger see his fear。 He was taking the greatest risk he had ever run。
The break in the wall led to a ledge； and the ledge dropped from step to step；
and these had bare； slippery slants between。 Nagger was splendid on a bad
trail。 He had methods peculiar to his huge build and great weight。 He crashed
down over the stone steps； both front hoofs at once。 The slants he slid down
on his haunches with his forelegs stiff and the iron shoes scraping。 He
snorted and heaved and grew wet with sweat。 He tossed his head at some of the
places。 But he never hesitated and it was impossible for him to go slowly。
Whenever Slone came to corrugated stretches in the trail he felt grateful。 But
these were few。 The rock was like smooth red iron。 Slone had never seen such
hard rock。 It took him long to realize that it was marble。 His heart seemed a
tense； painful knot in his breast； as if it could not beat； holding back in
the strained suspense。 But Nagger never jerked on the bridle。 He never
faltered。 Many times he slipped； often with both front feet； but never with
all four feet。 So he did not fall。 And the red wall began to loom above Slone。
Then suddenly he seemed brought to a point where it was impossible to descend。
It was a round bulge； slanting fearfully； with only a few little rough
surfaces to hold a foot。 Wildfire had left a broad； clear…swept mark at that
place； and red hairs on some of the sharp points。 He had slid down。 Below was
an offset that fortunately prevented further sliding； Slone started to walk
down this place； but when Nagger began to slide Slone had to let go the bridle
and jump。 Both he and the horse landed safely。 Luck was with them。 And they
went on； down and down； to reach the base of the great wall； scraped and
exhausted； wet with sweat； but unhurt。 As Slone gazed upward he felt the
impossibility of believing what he knew to be true。 He hugged and petted the
horse。 Then he led on to the roaring stream。
It was green water white with foam。 Slone waded in and found the water cool
and shallow and very swift。 He had to hold to Nagger to keep from being swept
downstream。 They crossed in safety。 There in the sand showed Wildfire's
tracks。 And here were signs of another Indian camp； half a year old。
The shade of the cottonwoods was pleasant。 Slone found this valley
oppressively hot。 There was no wind and the sand blistered his feet through
his boots。 Wildfire held to the Indian trail that had guided him down into
this wilderness of worn rock。 And that trail crossed the stream at every turn
of the twisting； narrow valley。 Slone enjoyed getting into the water。 He hung
his gun over the pommel and let the water roll him。 A dozen times he and
Nagger forded the rushing torrent。 Then they came to a box…like closing of the
valley to canyon walls； and here the trail evidently followed the stream bed。
There was no other way。 Slone waded in； and stumbled； rolled； and floated
ahead of the sturdy horse。 Nagger was wet to his breast； but he did not fall。
This gulch seemed full of a hollow rushing roar。 It opened out into a wide
valley。 And Wildfire's tracks took to the left side and began to climb the
slope。
Here the traveling was good； considering what had been passed。 Once up out of
the valley floor Slone saw Wildfire far ahead； high on the slope。 He did not
appear to be limping； but he was not going fast。 Slone watched as he climbed。
What and where would be the end of this chase？
Sometimes Wildfire was plain in his sight for a moment； but usually he was
hidden by rocks。 The slope was one great talus； a jumble of weathered rock；
fallen from what appeared a mountain of red and yellow wall。 Here the heat of
the sun fell upon him like fire。 The rocks were so hot Slone could not touch
them with bare hand。 The close of