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.
Pages:
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107