And following that was a tortuous passage through a weird region
of clay dunes, blue and violet and heliotrope and lavender, all worn smooth by
rain and wind. Wildfire favored the soft ground now. He had deviated from his
straight course. And he was partial to washes and dips in the earth where
water might have lodged. And he was not now scornful of a green-scummed
water-hole with its white margin of alkali. That night Slone made camp with
Wildfire in plain sight. The stallion stopped when his pursuers stopped. And
he began to graze on the same stretch with Nagger. How strange this seemed to
Slone!
Here at this camp was evidence of Indians. Wildfire had swung round to the
north in his course. Like any pursued wild animal, he had began to circle. And
he had pointed his nose toward the Utah he had left.
Next morning Wildfire was not in sight, but he had left his tracks in the
sand. Slone trailed him with Nagger at a trot. Toward the head of this sandy
flat Slone came upon old corn-fields, and a broken dam where the water had
been stored, and well-defined trails leading away to the right.
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