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This, then, was the great canyon, which had seemed like a hunter's fable
rather than truth. Slone's sight dimmed, blurring the spectacle, and he found
that his eyes had filled with tears. He wiped them away and looked again and
again, until he was confounded by the vastness and the grandeur and the vague
sadness of the scene. Nothing he had ever looked at had affected him like this
canyon, although the Stewarts had tried to prepare him for it.
It was the horse-hunter's passion that reminded him of his pursuit. The deer
trail led down through a break in the wall. Only a few rods of it could be
seen. This trail was passable, even though choked with snow. But the depth
beyond this wall seemed to fascinate Slone and hold him back, used as he was
to desert trails. Then the clean mark of Wildfire's hoof brought back the old
thrill.
"This place fits you, Wildfire," muttered Slone, dismounting.
He started down, leading Nagger. The mustang followed. Slone kept to the wall
side of the trail, fearing the horses might slip.


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