His mane was like a crest, mounting, then failing low. Slone had never
seen so much muscle on a horse. Yet his outline was graceful, beautiful. The
head was indeed that of the wildest of all wild creatures--a stallion born
wild--and it was beautiful, savage, splendid, everything but noble. Whatever
Wildfire was, he was a devil, a murderer--he had no noble attributes. Slone
thought that if a horse could express hate, surely Wildfire did then. It was
certain that he did express curiosity and fury.
Slone shook a gantleted fist at the stallion, as if the horse were human. That
was a natural action for a rider of his kind. Wildfire turned away, showed
bright against the dark background, and then disappeared.
CHAPTER VI
That was the last Slone saw of Wildfire for three days.
It took all of this day to climb out of the canyon. The second was a slow
march of thirty miles into a scrub cedar and pinyon forest, through which the
great red and yellow walls of the canyon could be seen. That night Slone found
a water-hole in a rocky pocket and a little grass for Nagger.
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