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He kindled a fire and burnt the ends of the sticks
into red embers. Making a bundle of these, he put them under his arm, the
dull, glowing ends backward, and then mounted his horse.
It was just about dark when he faced down into the valley. When he reached
level ground he kept to the edge of the left slope and put Nagger to a good
trot. The grass and brush were scant here, and the color of the sand was
light, so he had no difficulty in traveling.
From time to time his horse went through grass, and its dry, crackling rustle,
showing how it would burn, was music to Slone. Gradually the monuments began
to loom up, bold and black against the blue sky, with stars seemingly hanging
close over them. Slone had calculated that the basin was smaller than it
really was, in both length and breadth. This worried him. Wildfire might see
or hear or scent him, and make a break back to the pass and thus escape. Slone
was glad when the huge, dark monuments were indistinguishable from the black,
frowning wall. He had to go slower here, because of the darkness.


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