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As he got farther
up the notch widened. What had been scarcely visible from the valley below was
now colossal in actual dimensions. The trail was like a twisted mile of thread
between two bulging mountain walls leaning their ledges and fronts over this
tilted pass.
Slone rested often. Nagger appreciated this and heaved gratefully at every
halt. In this monotonous toil Slone forgot the zest of his pursuit. And when
Nagger suddenly snorted in fright Slone was not prepared for what he saw.
Above him ran a low, red wall, around which evidently the trail led. At the
curve, which was a promontory, scarcely a hundred feet in an airline above
him, he saw something red moving, bobbing, coming out into view. It was a
horse.
Wildfire--no farther away than the length of three lassoes!
There he stood looking down. He fulfilled all of Slone's dreams. Only he was
bigger. But he was so magnificently proportioned that he did not seem heavy.
His coat was shaggy and red. It was not glossy. The color was what made him
shine.


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