Slone followed, reading the signs of Wildfire's progress, and the
action of his pursuer, as well as if he had seen them. Here the stallion had
plowed into a snow-bank, eating a hole two feet deep; then he had grazed
around a little; then on and on; there his splendid tracks were deep in the
soft earth. Slone knew what to expect when the track of the lion veered from
those of the horse, and he followed the lion tracks. The ground was soft from
the late melting of snow, and Nagger sunk deep. The lion left a plain track.
Here he stole steadily along; there he left many tracks at a point where he
might have halted to make sure of his scent. He was circling on the trail of
the stallion, with cunning intent of ambush. The end of this slow, careful
stalk of the lion, as told in his tracks, came upon the edge of a knoll where
he had crouched to watch and wait.
From this perch he had made a magnificent spring--Slone estimating it to be
forty feet--but he had missed the stallion. There were Wildfire's tracks again,
slow and short, and then deep and sharp where in the impetus of fright he had
sprung out of reach.
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