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Up the pass the horses plunged. With a rider's wild joy Slone saw the long
green-and-gray valley, and the isolated monuments in the distance. There, on
that wide stretch, he would break Wildfire. How marvelously luck had favored
him at the last!
"Run, you red devil!" Slone called. "Drag us around now till you're done!"
They left the pass and swept out upon the waste of sage. Slone realized, from
the stinging of the sweet wind in his face, that Nagger was being pulled along
at a tremendous pace. The faithful black could never have made the wind cut
so. Lower the wild stallion stretched and swifter he ran, till it seemed to
Slone that death must end that thunderbolt race.

CHAPTER VIII
Lucy Bostil had called twice to her father and he had not answered. He was out
at the hitching-rail, with Holley, the rider, and two other men. If he heard
Lucy he gave no sign of it. She had on her chaps and did not care to go any
farther than the door where she stood.
"Somers has gone to Durango an' Shugrue is out huntin' hosses," Lucy heard
Bostil say, gruffly.


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