The trail led down again
into a narrow canyon with low walls. Slone put all his keenness on what lay
before him.
Wildfire's sudden break and upflinging of head and his snort preceded the
crack of a rifle. Slone knew he had been shot at, although he neither felt nor
heard the bullet. He had no chance to see where the shot came from, for
Wildfire bolted, and needed as much holding and guiding as Slone could give.
He ran a mile. Then Slone was able to look about him. Had he been shot at from
above or behind? He could not tell. It did not matter, so long as the danger
was not in front. He kept a sharp lookout, and presently along the right
canyon rim, five hundred feet above him, he saw a bay horse, and a rider with
a rifle. He had been wrong, then, about these riders and their weapons. Slone
did not see any wisdom in halting to shoot up at this pursuer, and he spurred
Wildfire just as a sharp crack sounded above. The bullet thudded into the
earth a few feet behind him. And then over bad ground, with the stallion
almost unmanageable, Slone ran a gantlet of shots.
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