Then, as he leaned against the stump, wet and shaking, familiar sound met his
ears. It was made by the teeth of a grazing horse--a slight, keen, tearing
cut. Wildfire was close at hand! With a sweep Slone circled the stump and he
found the knot of the lasso. He had missed it. He began to gather in the long
rope, and soon felt the horse. In the black gloom against the wall Slone could
not distinguish Wildfire.
"Whew!" he muttered, wiping the sweat off his face. "Good Lord! . . . All for
nothin'."
It did not take Slone long to decide to lead the horse and work up the canyon
past the campers. He must get ahead of them, and once there he had no fear of
them, either by night or day. He really had no hopes of getting by
undiscovered, and all he wished for was to get far enough so that he could not
be intercepted. The grazing horses would scent Wildfire or he would scent
them.
For a wonder Wildfire allowed himself to be led as well as if he had been old,
faithful Nagger. Slone could not keep close in to the wall for very long, on
account of the cedars, but he managed to stay in the outer edge of shadow cast
by the wall.
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