They were trailing Creech.
Suddenly Slone gave a wild start, which made Wildfire plunge.
"CORDTS!" whispered Slone and the cold sweat oozed out of every pore.
These canyons were the hiding-places of the horse-thief. He and two of his men
had chanced upon Creech's trail; and perhaps their guess at its meaning was
like Slone's. If they had not guessed they would soon learn. It magnified
Slone's task a thousandfold. He had a moment of bitter, almost hopeless
realization before a more desperate spirit awoke in him. He had only more men
to kill--that was all. These upland riders did not pack rifles, of that Slone
was sure. And the sooner he came up with Cordts the better. It was then he let
Wildfire choose his gait and the trail. Sunset, twilight, dusk, and darkness
came with Slone keeping on and on. As long as there were no intersecting
canyons or clefts or slopes by which Creech might have swerved from his
course, just so long Slone would travel. And it was late in the night when he
had to halt.
Early next day the trail led up out of the red and broken gulches to the
cedared uplands.
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