First he took Nagger down to Brackton's
pasture and let him in. Then returning, he went at the fiery stallion as he
had not gone in many a day, roped him, saddled him, mounted him, and rode off
with a hard, grim certainty that in Wildfire was Lucy's salvation.
Four hours later Slone halted on the crest of a ridge, in the cover of sparse
cedars, and surveyed a vast, gray, barren basin yawning and reaching out to a
rugged, broken plateau.
He expected to find Joel Creech returning on the back-trail, and he had taken
the precaution to ride on one side of the tracks he was following. He did not
want Joel to cross his trail. Slone had long ago solved the meaning of the
Creeches' flight. They would use Lucy to ransom Bostil's horses, and more than
likely they would not let her go back. That they had her was enough for Slone.
He was grim and implacable.
The eyes of the wild-horse hunter had not searched that basin long before they
picked out a dot which was not a rock or a cedar, but a horse. Slone watched
it grow, and, hidden himself, he held his post until he knew the rider was
Joel Creech.
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