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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； piercing whistle。
Day after day； camping where night found him； Slone followed the stallion；
never losing sight of him till darkness had fallen。 The valley was immense and
the monuments miles apart。 But they always seemed close together and near him。
The air magnified everything。 Slone lost track of time。 The strange； solemn；
lonely days and the silent； lonely nights； and the endless pursuit； and the
wild； weird valleythese completed the work of years on Slone and he became
satisfied； unthinking； almost savage。
The toil and privation had worn him down and he was like iron。 His garments
hung in tatters； his boots were ripped and soleless。 Long since his flour had
been used up； and all his supplies except the salt。 He lived on the meat of
rabbits； but they were scarce； and the time came when there were none。 Some
days he did not eat。 Hunger did not make him suffer。 He killed a desert bird
now and then； and once a wildcat crossing the valley。 Eventually he felt his
strength diminishing； and then he took to digging out the pack…rats and
cooking them。 But these； too； were scarce。 At length starvation faced Slone。
But he knew he would not starve。 Many times he had been within rifle…shot of
Wildfire。 And the grim； forbidding thought grew upon him that he must kill the
stallion。 The thought seemed involuntary； but his mind rejected it。
Nevertheless； he knew that if he could not catch the stallion he would kill
him。 That had been the end of many a desperate rider's pursuit of a coveted
horse。
While Slone kept on his merciless pursuit； never letting Wildfire rest by day；
time went on just as relentlessly。 Spring gave way to early summer。 The hot
sun bleached the grass； water…holes failed out in the valley； and water could
be found only in the canyons； and the dry winds began to blow the sand。 It was
a sandy valley； green and gray only at a distance； and out toward the north
there were no monuments； and the slow heave of sand lifted toward the dim
walls。
Wildfire worked away from this open valley； back to the south end； where the
great monuments loomed； and still farther back； where they grew closer； till
at length some of them were joined by weathered ridges to the walls of the
surrounding plateau。 For all that Slone could see； Wildfire was in perfect
condition。 But Nagger was not the horse he had been。 Slone realized that in
one way or another the pursuit was narrowing down to the end。
He found a water…hole at the head of a wash in a split in the walls； and here
he let Nagger rest and graze one whole daythe first day for a long time that
he had not kept the red stallion in sight。 That day was marked by the good
fortune of killing a rabbit； and while eating it his gloomy； fixed mind
admitted that he was starving。 He dreaded the next sunrise。 But he could not
hold it back。 There； behind the dark monuments； standing sentinel…like； the
sky lightened and reddened and burst into gold and pink； till out of the
golden glare the sun rose glorious。 And Slone； facing the league…long shadows
of the monuments； rode out again into the silent； solemn day； on his hopeless
quest。
For a change Wildfire had climbed high up a slope of talus； through a narrow
pass； rounded over with drifting sand。 And Slone gazed down into a huge
amphitheater full of monuments； like all that strange country。 A basin three
miles across lay beneath him。 Walls and weathered slants of rock and steep
slopes of reddish…yellow sand inclosed this oval depression。 The floor was
white； and it seemed to move gently or radiate with heat…waves。 Studying it；
Slone made out that the motion was caused by wind in long bleached grass。 He
had crossed small areas of this grass in different parts of the region。
Wildfire's tracks led down into this basin； and presently Slone； by straining
his eyes； made out the red spot that was the stallion。
〃He's lookin' to quit the country；〃 soliloquized Slone； as he surveyed the
scene。
With keen； slow gaze Slone studied the lay of wall and slope； and when he had