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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.


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