Wildfire winded the horses, halted, threw up his head. But for
some reason beyond Slone the horse did not snort or whistle. As he knew
Wildfire he could have believed him intelligent enough and hateful enough to
betray his master.
It was one of the other horses that whistled an alarm. This came at a point
almost even with the camp-fire. Slone, holding Wildfire down, had no time to
get into a stirrup, but leaped to the saddle and let the horse go. There were
hoarse yells and then streaks of fire and shots. Slone heard the whizz of
heavy bullets, and he feared for Wildfire. But the horse drew swiftly away
into the darkness. Slone could not see whether the ground was smooth or
broken, and he left that to Wildfire. Luck favored them, and presently Slone
pulled him in to a safe gait, and regretted only that he had not had a chance
to take a shot at that camp.
Slone walked the horse for an hour, and then decided that he could well risk a
halt for the night.
Before dawn he was up, warming his chilled body by violent movements, and
forcing himself to eat.
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