Wildfire held to the Indian trail that had guided him down into
this wilderness of worn rock. And that trail crossed the stream at every turn
of the twisting, narrow valley. Slone enjoyed getting into the water. He hung
his gun over the pommel and let the water roll him. A dozen times he and
Nagger forded the rushing torrent. Then they came to a box-like closing of the
valley to canyon walls, and here the trail evidently followed the stream bed.
There was no other way. Slone waded in, and stumbled, rolled, and floated
ahead of the sturdy horse. Nagger was wet to his breast, but he did not fall.
This gulch seemed full of a hollow rushing roar. It opened out into a wide
valley. And Wildfire's tracks took to the left side and began to climb the
slope.
Here the traveling was good, considering what had been passed. Once up out of
the valley floor Slone saw Wildfire far ahead, high on the slope. He did not
appear to be limping, but he was not going fast. Slone watched as he climbed.
What and where would be the end of this chase?
Sometimes Wildfire was plain in his sight for a moment, but usually he was
hidden by rocks.
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