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hoss？〃
〃Not yet。〃
〃An' how fur did you ever run him without a break？ Why； when we ketched thet
sorrel last year I rode Nagger myselfthirty miles； most at a hard gallop。
An' he never turned a hair！〃
〃I've beat thet；〃 replied Lin。 〃He could run hard fifty miles mebbe more。
Honestly； I never seen him tired yet。 If only he was fast！〃
〃Wal； Nagger ain't so durned slow； come to think of thet；〃 replied Bill； with
a grunt。 〃He's good enough for you not to want another hoss。〃
〃Lin； you're goin' to wear out Wildfire； an' then trap him somehow is thet
the plan？〃 asked the other comrade。
〃I haven't any plan。 I'll just trail him； like a cougar trails a deer。〃
〃Lin； if Wildfire gives you the slip he'll have to fly。 You've got the best
eyes for tracks of any wrangler in Utah。〃
Slone accepted the compliment with a fleeting； doubtful smile on his dark
face。 He did not reply； and no more was said by his comrades。 They rolled with
backs to the fire。 Slone put on more wood； for the keen wind was cold and
cutting； and then he lay down； his head in his saddle； with a goatskin under
him and a saddle…blanket over him。
All three were soon asleep。 The wind whipped the sand and ashes and smoke over
the sleepers。 Coyotes barked from near in darkness； and from the valley ridge
came the faint mourn of a hunting wolf。 The desert night grew darker and
colder。
The Stewart brothers were wild…horse hunters for the sake of trades and
occasional sales。 But Lin Slone never traded nor sold a horse he had captured。
The excitement of the game； and the lure of the desert； and the love of a
horse were what kept him at the profitless work。 His type was rare in the
uplands。
These were the early days of the settlement of Utah； and only a few of the
hardiest and most adventurous pioneers had penetrated the desert in the
southern part of that vast upland。 And with them came some of that wild breed
of riders to which Slone and the Stewarts belonged。 Horses were really more
important and necessary than men； and this singular fact gave these lonely
riders a calling。
Before the Spaniards came there were no horses in the West。 Those explorers
left or lost horses all over the southwest。 Many of them were Arabian horses
of purest blood。 American explorers and travelers； at the outset of the
nineteenth century； encountered countless droves of wild horses all over the
plains。 Across the Grand Canyon； however； wild horses were comparatively few
in number in the early days； and these had probably come in by way of
California。
The Stewarts and Slone had no established mode of catching wild horses。 The
game had not developed fast enough for that。 Every chase of horse or drove was
different； and once in many attempts they met with success。
A favorite method originated by the Stewarts was to find a water…hole
frequented by the band of horses or the stallion wanted； and to build round
this hole a corral with an opening for the horses to get in。 Then the hunters
would watch the trap at night； and if the horses went in to drink； a gate was
closed across the opening。 Another method of the Stewarts was to trail a
coveted horse up on a mesa or highland； places which seldom had more than one
trail of ascent and descent； and there block the escape； and cut lines of
cedars； into which the quarry was ran till captured。 Still another method；
discovered by accident； was to shoot a horse lightly in the neck and sting
him。 This last； called creasing； was seldom successful； and for that matter in
any method ten times as many horses were killed as captured。
Lin Slone helped the Stewarts in their own way； but he had no especial liking
for their tricks。 Perhaps a few remarkable captures of remarkable horses had
spoiled Slone。 He was always trying what the brothers claimed to be
impossible。 He was a fearless rider； but he had the fault of saving his mount；
and to kill a wild horse was a tragedy for him。 He would much rather have
hunted alone； and he had been alone on the trail of the stallion Wildfire when
the Stewarts had joined him。
Lin Slone awoke next morning and rolled out of his blanket at his usual early
hour。 But he was not early enough to say good…by to the Stewarts。 They were
gone。
The fact surprised him and somehow relieved him。 They had left him more than
his share of the outfit； and perhaps that was why they had slipped off before
dawn。 They knew him well enough to know that he would not have accepted it。
Besides； perhaps they felt a little humiliation at abandoning a chase which he
chose to keep up。 Anyway； they were gone； apparently without breakfast。
The morning was clear； cool； with the air dark like that before a storm； and
in the east； over the steely wall of stone； shone a redness growing brighter。
Slone looked away to the west； down the trail taken by his comrades； but he
saw nothing moving against that cedar…dotted waste。
〃Good…by；〃 he said； and he spoke as if he was saying good…by to more than
comrades。
〃I reckon I won't see Sevier Village soon againan' maybe never；〃 he
soliloquized。
There was no one to regret him； unless it was old Mother Hall； who had been
kind to him on those rare occasions when he got out of the wilderness。 Still；
it was with regret that he gazed away across the red valley to the west。 Slone
had no home。 His father and mother had been lost in the massacre of a
wagon…train by Indians； and he had been one of the few saved and brought to
Salt Lake。 That had happened when he was ten years old。 His life thereafter
had been hard； and but for his sturdy Texas training he might not have
survived。 The last five years he had been a horse…hunter in the wild uplands
of Nevada and Utah。
Slone turned his attention to the pack of supplies。 The Stewarts had divided
the flour and the parched corn equally； and unless he was greatly mistaken
they had left him most of the coffee and all of the salt。
〃Now I hold that decent of Bill an' Abe；〃 said Slone； regretfully。 〃But I
could have got along without it better 'n they could。〃
Then he swiftly set about kindling a fire and getting a meal。 In the midst of
his task a sudden ruddy brightness fell around him。 Lin Slone paused in his
work to look up。
The sun had risen over the eastern wall。
〃Ah！〃 he said； and drew a deep breath。
The cold； steely； darkling sweep of desert had been transformed。 It was now a
world of red earth and gold rocks and purple sage； with everywhere the endless
straggling green cedars。 A breeze whipped in； making the fire roar softly。 The
sun felt warm on his cheek。 And at the moment he heard the whistle of his
horse。
〃Good old Nagger！〃 he said。 〃I shore won't have to track you this mornin'。〃
Presently he went off into the cedars to find Nagger and the mustang that he
used to carry a pack。 Nagger was grazing in a little open patch among the
trees； but the pack…horse was missing。 Slone seemed to know in what direction
to go to find the trail； for he came upon it very soon。 The pack…horse wore
hobbles； but he belonged to the class that could cover a great deal of ground
when hobbled。 Slone did not expect the horse to go far； considering that the
grass thereabouts was good。 But in a wild…horse country it was not safe to
give any horse a chance。 The call of his wild brethren was irresistible。
Slone； however； found the mustang standing quietly in a clump of cedars； and；
removing the hobbles； he mounted and rode back to camp。 Nagger caught sight of
him and came at his call。
This horse Nagger appeared as unique in his class as Slone was rare among
riders。 Nagger seemed of several colors； though black predominated。 His coat
was shaggy； almost woolly； like that of a sheep。 He was huge； raw…boned；
knotty； long of body and long of leg； with the head of a war charger。 His
build did not suggest speed。 There appeared to be something slow and ponderous
about him； similar to an elephant； with the same suggestion of power and
endurance。 Slone discarded the pack…saddle and bags。 The latter were almost
empty。 He roped the tarpaulin on the back of the mustang； and； making a small
bundle of his few supplies； he tied that to the tarpaulin。 His blanket he used
for a saddle…blanket on Nagger。 Of the utensils left by the Stewarts he chose
a couple of small iron pans； with long handles。 The rest he left。 In his
saddle…bags he had a few extra a horseshoes； some nails； bullets for his
rifle； and a knife with a heavy blade。
〃Not a rich outfit for a far country；〃 he mused。 Slone not talk very much； and
when he did he addressed Nagger and himself simultaneously。 Evidently he
expected a long chase； one from which he would not return； and light as his
outfit was it would grow too heavy。
Then he mounted and rode down the gradual slope； facing the valley and the
black； bold； flat mountain to the southeast。 Some few hundred yards from camp
he halted Nagger and bent over in the saddle to scrutinize the ground。
The clean…cut track of a horse showed in the bare； hard sand。 The hoof…marks
were large； almost oval； perfect in shape； and manifestly they were beautiful
to Lin Slone。 He gazed at them for a long time； and then he looked across the
dotted red valley up t