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But it was a trail,
and Wildfire had taken it.
Slone halted for the night. The air was cold. And the dampness of it gave him
an idea there were snow-banks somewhere not far distant. The dew was already
heavy on the grass. He hobbled the horses and put a bell on Nagger. A bell
might frighten lions that had never heard one. Then he built a fire and cooked
his meal.
It had been long since he had camped high up among the pines. The sough of the
wind pleased him, like music. There had begun to be prospects of pleasant
experience along with the toil of chasing Wildfire. He was entering new and
strange and beautiful country. How far might the chase take him? He did not
care. He was not sleepy, but even if he had been it developed that he must
wait till the coyotes ceased their barking round his camp-fire. They came so
close that he saw their gray shadows in the gloom. But presently they wearied
of yelping at him and went away. After that the silence, broken only by the
wind as it roared and lulled, seemed beautiful to Slone.


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