Then Creech moved,
also awaking from a stupefying surprise, and he snatched up a gun and fired.
Slone saw the spurts of red, the puffs of white. But he heard nothing. The
torrent of his changed blood, burning and terrible, filled his ears with hate
and death.
He guided the running stallion. In a few tremendous strides Wildfire struck
Creech, and Slone had one glimpse of an awful face. The impact was terrific.
Creech went hurtling through the air, limp and broken, to go down upon a rock,
his skull cracking like a melon.
The horse leaped over the body and the stone, and beyond he leaped the line of
burning grass.
Slone saw the King running into the forest. He saw poor Lucy's white body
swinging with the horse's motion. One glance showed the great gray to be
running wild. Then the hate and passion cleared away, leaving suspense and
terror.
Wildfire reached the pines. There down the open aisles between the black trees
ran the fleet gray racer. Wildfire saw him and snorted. The King was a hundred
yards to the fore.
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