wildfire-第14部分

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when　up　on　the　ramparts　the　last　red　rays　of　the　sun　lingered；　the　strange
lonelinessthese　were　sweet　and　comforting　to　him。

And　that　night's　sleep　was　as　a　moment。　He　opened　his　eyes　to　see　the　crags
and　towers　and　peaks　and　domes；　and　the　lofty　walls　of　that　vast；　broken　chaos
of　canyons　across　the　river。　They　were　now　emerging　from　the　misty　gray　of
dawn；　growing　pink　and　lilac　and　purple　under　the　rising　sun。

He　arose　and　set　about　his　few　tasks；　which；　being　soon　finished；　allowed　him
an　early　start。

Wildfire　had　grazed　along　no　more　than　a　mile　in　the　lead。　Slone　looked
eagerly　up　the　narrowing　canyon；　but　he　was　not　rewarded　by　a　sight　of　the
stallion。　As　he　progressed　up　a　gradually　ascending　trail　he　became　aware　of
the　fact　that　the　notch　he　had　long　looked　up　to　was　where　the　great　red　walls
closed　in　and　almost　met。　And　the　trail　zigzagged　up　this　narrow　vent；　so
steep　that　only　a　few　steps　could　be　taken　without　rest。　Slone　toiled　up　for
an　houran　agetill　he　was　wet；　burning；　choked；　with　a　great　weight　on　his
chest。　Yet　still　he　was　only　half…way　up　that　awful　break　between　the　walls。
Sometimes　he　could　have　tossed　a　stone　down　upon　a　part　of　the　trail；　only　a
few　rods　below；　yet　many；　many　weary　steps　of　actual　toil。　As　he　got　farther
up　the　notch　widened。　What　had　been　scarcely　visible　from　the　valley　below　was
now　colossal　in　actual　dimensions。　The　trail　was　like　a　twisted　mile　of　thread
between　two　bulging　mountain　walls　leaning　their　ledges　and　fronts　over　this
tilted　pass。

Slone　rested　often。　Nagger　appreciated　this　and　heaved　gratefully　at　every
halt。　In　this　monotonous　toil　Slone　forgot　the　zest　of　his　pursuit。　And　when
Nagger　suddenly　snorted　in　fright　Slone　was　not　prepared　for　what　he　saw。

Above　him　ran　a　low；　red　wall；　around　which　evidently　the　trail　led。　At　the
curve；　which　was　a　promontory；　scarcely　a　hundred　feet　in　an　airline　above
him；　he　saw　something　red　moving；　bobbing；　coming　out　into　view。　It　was　a
horse。

Wildfireno　farther　away　than　the　length　of　three　lassoes！

There　he　stood　looking　down。　He　fulfilled　all　of　Slone's　dreams。　Only　he　was
bigger。　But　he　was　so　magnificently　proportioned　that　he　did　not　seem　heavy。
His　coat　was　shaggy　and　red。　It　was　not　glossy。　The　color　was　what　made　him
shine。　His　mane　was　like　a　crest；　mounting；　then　failing　low。　Slone　had　never
seen　so　much　muscle　on　a　horse。　Yet　his　outline　was　graceful；　beautiful。　The
head　was　indeed　that　of　the　wildest　of　all　wild　creaturesa　stallion　born
wildand　it　was　beautiful；　savage；　splendid；　everything　but　noble。　Whatever
Wildfire　was；　he　was　a　devil；　a　murdererhe　had　no　noble　attributes。　Slone
thought　that　if　a　horse　could　express　hate；　surely　Wildfire　did　then。　It　was
certain　that　he　did　express　curiosity　and　fury。

Slone　shook　a　gantleted　fist　at　the　stallion；　as　if　the　horse　were　human。　That
was　a　natural　action　for　a　rider　of　his　kind。　Wildfire　turned　away；　showed
bright　against　the　dark　background；　and　then　disappeared。



CHAPTER　VI

That　was　the　last　Slone　saw　of　Wildfire　for　three　days。

It　took　all　of　this　day　to　climb　out　of　the　canyon。　The　second　was　a　slow
march　of　thirty　miles　into　a　scrub　cedar　and　pinyon　forest；　through　which　the
great　red　and　yellow　walls　of　the　canyon　could　be　seen。　That　night　Slone　found
a　water…hole　in　a　rocky　pocket　and　a　little　grass　for　Nagger。　The　third　day's
travel　consisted　of　forty　miles　or　more　through　level　pine　forest；　dry　and
odorous；　but　lacking　the　freshness　and　beauty　of　the　forest　on　the　north　side
of　the　canyon。　On　this　south　side　a　strange　feature　was　that　all　the　water；
when　there　was　any；　ran　away　from　the　rim。　Slone　camped　this　night　at　a　muddy
pond　in　the　woods；　where　Wildfire's　tracks　showed　plainly。

On　the　following　day　Slone　rode　out　of　the　forest　into　a　country　of　scanty
cedars；　bleached　and　stunted；　and　out　of　this　to　the　edge　of　a　plateau；　from
which　the　shimmering　desert　flung　its　vast　and　desolate　distances；　forbidding
and　menacing。　This　was　not　the　desert　upland　country　of　Utah；　but　a　naked　and
bony　world　of　colored　rock　and　sand　a　painted　desert　of　heat　and　wind　and
flying　sand　and　waterless　wastes　and　barren　ranges。　But　it　did　not　daunt
Slone。　For　far　down　on　the　bare；　billowing　ridges　moved　a　red　speck；　at　a
snail's　pace；　a　slowly　moving　dot　of　color　which　was　Wildfire。

On　open　ground　like　this；　Nagger；　carrying　two　hundred　and　fifty　pounds；
showed　his　wonderful　quality。　He　did　not　mind　the　heat　nor　the　sand　nor　the
glare　nor　the　distance　nor　his　burden。　He　did　not　tire。　He　was　an　engine　of
tremendous　power。

Slone　gained　upon　Wildfire；　and　toward　evening　of　that　day　he　reached　to
within　half　a　mile　of　the　stallion。　And　he　chose　to　keep　that　far　behind。　That
night　he　camped　where　there　was　dry　grass；　but　no　water。

Next　day　he　followed　Wildfire　down　and　down；　over　the　endless　swell　of　rolling
red　ridges；　bare　of　all　but　bleached　white　grass　and　meager　greasewood；　always
descending　in　the　face　of　that　painted　desert　of　bold　and　ragged　steps。　Slone
made　fifty　miles　that　day；　and　gained　the　valley　bed；　where　a　slender　stream
ran　thin　and　spread　over　a　wide　sandy　bottom。　It　was　salty　water；　but　it　was
welcome　to　both　man　and　beast。

The　following　day　he　crossed；　and　the　tracks　of　Wildfire　were　still　wet　on　the
sand…bars。　The　stallion　was　slowing　down。　Slone　saw　him；　limping　along；　not
far　in　advance。　There　was　a　ten…mile　stretch　of　level　ground；　blown　hard　as
rock；　from　which　the　sustenance　had　been　bleached；　for　not　a　spear　of　grass
grew　there。　And　following　that　was　a　tortuous　passage　through　a　weird　region
of　clay　dunes；　blue　and　violet　and　heliotrope　and　lavender；　all　worn　smooth　by
rain　and　wind。　Wildfire　favored　the　soft　ground　now。　He　had　deviated　from　his
straight　course。　And　he　was　partial　to　washes　and　dips　in　the　earth　where
water　might　have　lodged。　And　he　was　not　now　scornful　of　a　green…scummed
water…hole　with　its　white　margin　of　alkali。　That　night　Slone　made　camp　with
Wildfire　in　plain　sight。　The　stallion　stopped　when　his　pursuers　stopped。　And
he　began　to　graze　on　the　same　stretch　with　Nagger。　How　strange　this　seemed　to
Slone！

Here　at　this　camp　was　evidence　of　Indians。　Wildfire　had　swung　round　to　the
north　in　his　course。　Like　any　pursued　wild　animal；　he　had　began　to　circle。　And
he　had　pointed　his　nose　toward　the　Utah　he　had　left。

Next　morning　Wildfire　was　not　in　sight；　but　he　had　left　his　tracks　in　the
sand。　Slone　trailed　him　with　Nagger　at　a　trot。　Toward　the　head　of　this　sandy
flat　Slone　came　upon　old　corn…fields；　and　a　broken　dam　where　the　water　had
been　stored；　and　well…defined　trails　leading　away　to　the　right。　Somewhere　over
there　in　the　desert　lived　Indians。　At　this　point　Wildfire　abandoned　the　trail
he　had　followed　for　many　days　and　cut　out　more　to　the　north。　It　took　all　the
morning　hours　to　climb　three　great　steps　and　benches　that　led　up　to　the　summit
of　a　mesa；　vast　in　extent。　It　turned　out　to　be　a　sandy　waste。　The　wind　rose
and　everywhere　were　moving　sheets　of　sand；　and　in　the　distance　circular　yellow
dust…devils；　rising　high　like　waterspouts；　and　back　down　in　the　sun…scorched
valley　a　sandstorm　moved　along　majestically；　burying　the　desert　in　its　yellow
pall。

Then　two　more　days　of　sand　and　another　day　of　a　slowly　rising　ground　growing
from　bare　to　gray　and　gray　to　green；　and　then　to　the　purple　of　sage　and
cedarthese　three　grinding　days　were　toiled　out　with　only　one　water…hole。

And　Wildfire　was　lame　and　in　distress　and　Nagger　was　growing　gaunt　and　showing
strain；　and　Slone；　haggard　and　black　and　worn；　plodded　miles　and　miles　on　foot
to　save　his　horse。　

Slone　felt　that　it　would　be　futile　to　put　the　chase　to　a　test　of　speed。　Nagger
could　never　head　that　stallion。　Slone　meant　to　go　on　and　on；　always　pushing
Wildfire；　keeping　him　tired；　wearied；　and　worrying　him；　till　a　section　of　the
country　was　reached　where　he　could　drive　Wildfire　into　some　kind　of　a　natural
trap。　The　pursuit　seemed　endless。　Wildfire　kept　to　open　country　where　he　could
not　be　surprised。

There　came　a　morning　when　Slone　climbed　to　a　cedared　plateau　that　rose　for　a
whole　day's　travel；　and　then　split　into　a　labyrinthine　maze　of　canyons。　There
were　trees；　grass；　water。　It　was　a　high　country；　cool　and　wild；　like　the
uplands　he　had　left。　For　days　he　camped　on　Wildfire's　trail；　always
relentlessly　driving　him；　always　watching　for　the　trap　he　hoped　to　find。　And
the　red　stallion　spent　much　of　this　time　of　flight　in　looking　backward。
Whenever　Slone　came　in　sight　of　him　he　had　his　head　over　his　shoulder；
watching。　And　on　the　soft　ground　of　these　canyons　he　had　begun　to　recover　from
his　lameness。　But　this　did　not　worry　Slone。　Sooner　or　later　Wildfire　would　go
down　into　a　high…walled　wash；　from　which　there　would　be　no　outlet；　or　he　would
wander　into　a　box…canyon；　or　he　would　climb　out　on　a　mesa　with　no　place　to
descend；　unless　he　passed　Slone；　or　he　would　get　cornered　on　a　soft；　steep
slope　where　his　hoofs　would　sink　deep　and　make　him　slow。　The　nature　of　the
desert　had　changed。　Slone　had　entered　a　wonderful　region；　the　like　of　which　he
had　not　seena　high　plateau　crisscrossed　in　every　direction　by　narrow　canyons
with　red　walls　a　thousand　feet　high。

And　one　of　the　strange　turning　canyons　opened　into　a　vast　valley　of　monuments。

The　plateau　had　weathered　and　washed　away；　leaving　huge　sections　of　stone
walls；　all　standing　isolated；　different　in　size　and　shape；　but　all　clean…cut；
bold；　with　straight　lines。　They　stood　up　everywhere；　monumental；　towering；
many…colored；　lending　a　singular　and　beautiful　aspect　to　the　great
green…and…gray　valley；　billowing　away　to　the　north；　where　dim；　broken
battlements　mounted　to　the　clouds。

The　only　living　thing　in　Slone's　sight　was　Wildfire。　He　shone　red　down　on　the
green　slope。

Slone's　heart　swelled。　This　was　the　setting　for　that　grand　horse　a　perfect
wild　range。　But　also　it　seemed　the　last　place　where　there　might　be　any　chance
to　trap　the　stallion。　Still　that　did　not　alter　Slone's　purpose；　though　it　lost
to　him　the　joy　of　former　hopes。　He　rode　down　the　slope；　out　upon　the　billowing
floor　of　the　valley。　Wildfire　looked　back　to　see　his　pursuers；　and　then　the
solemn　stillness　broke　to　a　wild；