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He rode down into the bowl a mile, making
absolutely certain that Wildfire could not climb out on that side. The far
end, beyond the monuments, was a sheer wall of rock. Then he crossed to the
left side. Here the sandy slope was almost too steep for even him to go up.
And there was grass that would burn. He returned to the pass assured that
Wildfire had at last fallen into a trap the like Slone had never dreamed of.
The great horse was doomed to run into living flame or the whirling noose of a
lasso.
Then Slone reflected. Nagger had that very morning had his fill of good
water--the first really satisfying drink for days. If he was rested that day,
on the morrow he would be fit for the grueling work possibly in store for him.
Slone unsaddled the horse and turned him loose, and with a snort he made down
the gentle slope for the grass. Then Slone carried his saddle to a shady spot
afforded by a slab of rock and a dwarf cedar, and here he composed himself to
rest and watch and think and wait.
Wildfire was plainly in sight no more than two miles away.


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