After that he paid no more
attention to choosing good ground for Wildfire than he did to the trail. The
stallion was more tractable than Slone had ever found him. He loved the open.
He smelled the sage and the wild. He settled down into his long, easy,
swinging lope which seemed to eat up the miles. Slone was obsessed with
thoughts centering round Lucy, and time and distance were scarcely
significant.
The sun had dipped full red in a golden west when Slone reached the wall of
rocks and the cleft where Creech's tracks and Lucy's, too, marked the camp.
Slone did not even dismount. Riding on into the cleft, he wound at length into
a canyon and out of that into a larger one, where he found that Lucy had
remembered to leave a trail, and down this to a break in a high wall, and
through it to another winding, canyon. The sun set, but Slone kept on as long
as he could see the trail, and after that, until an intersecting canyon made
it wise for him to halt.
There were rich grass and sweet water for his horse. He himself was not
hungry, but he ate; he was not sleepy, but he slept.
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