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But not a breath of wind stirred, and besides they
really might move swiftly, without looking so to Slone. When the two lines met
a sudden and larger blaze rose.
"Ah!" said the rider, and then he watched the other lines creeping together.
How slowly fire moved, he thought. The red stallion would have every chance to
run between those lines, if he dared. But a wild horse feared nothing like
fire. This one would not run the gantlet of flames. Nevertheless, Slone felt
more and more relieved as the lines closed. The hours of the night dragged
past until at length one long, continuous line of fire spread level across the
valley, its bright, red line broken only where the monuments of stone were
silhouetted against it.
The darkness of the valley changed. The light of the moon changed. The
radiance of the stars changed. Either the line of fire was finding denser fuel
to consume or it was growing appreciably closer, for the flames began to grow,
to leap, and to flare.
Slone strained his ears for the thud of hoofs on sand.


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