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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 sight--a 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.


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