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Slone grew curious about it, seeing how it
held, as he was holding, to Wildfire's tracks. After a mile or so he made sure
the lion had been trailing the stallion, and for a second he felt a cold
contraction of his heart. Already he loved Wildfire, and by virtue of all this
toil of travel considered the wild horse his property.
"No lion could ever get close to Wildfire," he soliloquized, with a short
laugh. Of that he was absolutely certain.
The sun rose, melting the frost, and a breath of warm air, laden with the
scent of pine, moved heavily under the huge, yellow trees. Slone passed a
point where the remains of an old camp-fire and a pile of deer antlers were
further proof that Indians visited this plateau to hunt. From this camp
broader, more deeply defined trails led away to the south and east. Slone kept
to the east trail, in which Wildfire's tracks and those of the lion showed
clearly. It was about the middle of the forenoon when the tracks of the
stallion and lion left the trail to lead up a little draw where grass grew
thick.


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