In that wind there
would indeed be wildfire to race with the red stallion. It would perhaps mean
his death; at least it would chase him out of that hole, where to follow him
would be useless.
"I'd make you hump now to get away if I could get behind you," muttered Slone.
He saw that if he could fire the grass on the other side the wind of flame
would drive Wildfire straight toward him. The slopes and walls narrowed up to
the pass, but high grass grew to within a few rods of where Slone stood. But
it seemed impossible to get behind Wildfire.
"At night--then--I could get round him," said Slone, thinking hard and
narrowing his gaze to scan the circle of wall and slope. "Why not? . . . No
wind at night. That grass would burn slow till mornin'--till the wind came
up--an' it's been west for days."
Suddenly Slone began to pound the patient Nagger and to cry out to him in wild
exultance.
"Old horse, we've got him! . . . We've got him! . . . We'll put a rope on him
before this time to-morrow!"
Slone yielded to his strange, wild joy, but it did not last long, soon
succeeding to sober, keen thought.
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