Wildfire

ide a little stream in the Sevier Valley, five h

e in the saddle, bronzed like Indians, still-faced, and keen-eyed. Two of them appeared to be tired out, and lagged at the camp-

d cut, growing gray and purple and dark. Walls of stone, pink with the last rays of the s

untry. It was, perhaps, a loneliness of vast stretches of valley and stone, clear to the eye, even after suns

nches of dead cedars and replenished the fire. Quickly it flared up, with the white flame and crackle characteristic of dry cedar. The night wind had risen

uld help me make up

r, dryly, "your mind's made u

hy

hree pipefuls of thet

.... Lin, come an' smoke

firewood, stood in the bright light of the blaze.

l smoke,"

n beside the fire, he composed himself to the enjoyment which his co

rn back?" queried Lin, his sharp gaze glan

An', Lordy! the relie

it, Lin, an' thet was for y

out the smoke as if reluctant to part w

chasin' thet damn wild stall

the bag. No coffee! Only a little salt! All the hosses except your big Nagger are played out. We're already in strange country. An' you know what we've heerd of this

uld say a word against the common sense of h

rown hand in a forcible gestu

ntly, a more convincing a

est chase he ever had. He's left his old range. He's cut out his band, an' left them, one by one. We've tried every trick we know on him. A

lence, which presently Bil

ildfire. He's the grandest hoss I ever laid eyes on. I reckon no man, onless he was an Arab, ever

to Wildfire's tracks," said

the other hunter grew

gone plumb crazy o

ng of his throat as he swallowed cou

them the situation subtly changed. For weeks they had been three wild-horse wranglers on a hard chase after a valuable stallion. They had failed to get even close to him. They had gone to the limit of their endurance and of the outfit, and it was time to turn back. But Slone had conceived that strange and rare longing for a horse-a passion understood, if not shared, by all rid

ll, "your hoss Nagger's as

r. "Nagger needed to lose some weight. Lin,

y three left," re

d. An' MEBBE thet red stallion will get sore

velin' the valleys-the

bound to strike sandstone sooner or later. Th

fen the rocks?" exclaimed Bi

leavin' the country?" i

I've chased off the Sevier range. An' I know. It's a stal

was born wild, an' his dam was born wild, an' there you have it. The wildest of all wild creatures-a wild stallion, with the intelligence of a man! A grand hoss, Lin, but on

n' him thet's the job. I've got patience to break a h

is feet, or if you crowd him into a narrow canyon, or ran him into a bad place where he can't get

t y

we ketched thet sorrel last year I rode Nagger myself-thirt

hard fifty miles-mebbe more. Honestly, I ne

nk of thet," replied Bill, with a grunt. "He's

ire, an' then trap him somehow-is th

ll just trail him, like

'll have to fly. You've got the best ey

s said by his comrades. They rolled with backs to the fire. Slone put on more wood, for the keen wind was cold a

the sleepers. Coyotes barked from near in darkness, and from the valley ridge c

e never traded nor sold a horse he had captured. The excitement of the game, and the lure of the deser

e 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 Stew

of purest blood. American explorers and travelers, at the outset of the nineteenth century, encountered countless droves of wild horses all over the plai

The game had not developed fast enough for that. Every chase of horse

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 whic

d 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 h

anket at his usual early hour. But he was not early e

they had slipped off before dawn. They knew him well enough to know that he would not have accepted it. Besides, perhaps they f

that before a storm, and in the east, over the ste

ail taken by his comrades, but he saw noth

spoke as if he was saying g

r Village soon again-an' ma

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 h

divided the flour and the parched corn equally, and unless he was gre

said Slone, regretfully. "But I could have

meal. In the midst of his task a sudden ruddy brightness

isen over the

d, and drew

rocks and purple sage, with everywhere the endless straggling green cedars. A breeze whipped in, making

d. "I shore won't have to

me 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

ggest 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 suppli

e did he addressed Nagger and himself simultaneously. Evidently he expected a long chase,

black, bold, flat mountain to the southeast. Some few hundred yards from

ed valley up the vast ridgy steps, toward the black plateau and beyond. It was the look that an Indian gives to a strange country. Then Slone slipped off the saddle and knelt to scrutinize the horse tracks. A little sand had blown into the d

this mornin'," he said, with satisfaction. "Wil

trot. The pack-horse followed with an alacri

deep washes in the red earth, but if there had been any water there Wildfire would have scented it. He had not had a drink for three days that Slone knew of. And Nagger had not drunk for forty hours

es cut up the whole center of it, and they were all as dry as bleached bone. To cross these Slone had only to kee

March sun, and no more than pleasant to Slone. The wind rose, however, and blew dust and

e of the valley floor on that side. The distant cedars beckoned to Slone. He was not pat

raversing, and if Wildfire chose to roam around valleys like this one Slone would fail utterly. But the stallion had long ago left his band of horses, and then, one by one his favorite consorts, and now he was alon

ned tracks. It was as if every hoof-mark told him something. Once, far up the intermina

gun facin' about. He's wonderin' if we're still after him.

ty miles of valley to the colored cliffs and walls. He seemed to be above them now, and the c

yons, and so it turned out. Wildfire's trail led into the mouth of a narrow canyon with very steep and high walls. Nagger snorted his perception of water, and the musta

where one had taken Wildfire's trail. Wildfire had grazed up the canyon, keeping on and on, and he was likely to go miles in a night. Slone reflected that as small as were his own chances of getting Wildfire, they were still better than those of a mountain-lion. Wildfire was the most cunning of all an

rs and stationed them on patches of thick grass. Then he put a cedar stump on the fire and went to sleep. Upon awakening and going to the spring he was somewhat

every turn he looked ahead, expecting to see the green of pine and the gray of sage. Toward the middle of the afternoon, coming to a place where Wildfire had taken to a trot, he put Nagger to that gait, and by sundown had worked up to where the canyon was only a shallow ravine. And finally it turned once more, to lose itself in a level where straggling pines stood high above the cedars, and great, dark-green silver spruces stood above the pines. And here were patches of sage, fresh and pungent, and long reaches of bleached grass. It was th

s somewhere not far distant. The dew was already heavy on the grass. He hobbled the horses and put a bell

t wait till the coyotes ceased their barking round his camp-fire. They came so close that he saw their gray shadows in the gloom. But presently they wearied of yelping at him and went away. After that the silence, broken only by the wind as it roared and lulled, seemed beautiful to Slone. He lost completely that sense of vague regret which had remained with him, and he forgot