The great
walls of the opposite side of the canyon loomed appreciably closer. What,
Slone wondered, was at the bottom of this rent in the earth? The great desert
river was down there, of course, but he knew nothing of it. Would that turn
back Wildfire? Slone thought grimly how he had always claimed Nagger to be
part fish and part bird. Wildfire was not going to escape.
By and by only isolated mescal plants with long, yellow-plumed spears broke
the bare monotony of the plateau. And Slone passed from red sand and gravel to
a red, soft shale, and from that to hard, red rock. Here Wildfire's tracks
were lost, the first time in seven weeks. But Slone had his direction down
that plateau with the cleavage lines of canyons to right and left. At times
Slone found a vestige of the old Indian trail, and this made him doubly sure
of being right. He did not need to have Wildfire's tracks. He let Nagger pick
the way, and the horse made no mistake in finding the line of least
resistance. But that grew harder and harder. This bare rock, like a file,
would soon wear Wildfire's hoofs thin.
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