However, Wildfire had found an easy ascent. On this side of the canyon
the bare rock did not predominate. A clear trail led up a dusty, gravelly
slope, upon which scant greasewood and cactus appeared. Half an hour's
climbing brought Slone to where he could see that he was entering a vast
valley, sloping up and narrowing to a notch in the dark cliffs, above which
towered the great red wall and about that the slopes of cedar and the yellow
rim-rock.
And scarcely a mile distant, bright in the westering sunlight, shone the red
stallion, moving slowly.
Slone pressed on steadily. Just before dark he came to an ideal spot to camp.
The valley had closed up, so that the lofty walls cast shadows that met. A
clump of cottonwoods surrounding a spring, abundance of rich grass, willows
and flowers lining the banks, formed an oasis in the bare valley. Slone was
tired out from the day of ceaseless toil down and up, and he could scarcely
keep his eyes open. But he tried to stay awake. The dead silence of the
valley, the dry fragrance, the dreaming walls, the advent of night low down,
when up on the ramparts the last red rays of the sun lingered, the strange
loneliness--these were sweet and comforting to him.
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