ock with his iron-shod
hoofs. With a thrill Slone looked ahead.

There, some few hundred yards distant, on a promontory, stood a red
horse.

"My Lord! ... It's Wildfire!" breathed Slone, tensely.

He could not believe his sight. He imagined he was dreaming. But as
Nagger stamped and snorted defiance Slone looked with fixed and keen
gaze, and knew that beautiful picture was no lie.

Wildfire was as red as fire. His long mane, wild in the wind, was like
a whipping, black-streaked flame. Silhouetted there against that canyon
background he seemed gigantic, a demon horse, ready to plunge into
fiery depths. He was looking back over his shoulder, his head very
high, and every line of him was instinct with wildness. Again he sent
out that shrill, air-splitting whistle. Slone understood it to be a
clarion call to Nagger. If Nagger had been alone Wildfire would have
killed him. The red stallion was a killer of horses. All over the Utah
ranges he had left the trail of a murderer. Nagger understood this,
too, for he whistled back in rage and terror. It took an iron arm to
hold him. Then Wildfire plunged, apparently down, and vanished from
Slone's sight.

Slone hurried onward, to be blocked by a huge crack in the rocky
plateau. This he had to head. And then another and like obstacle
checked his haste to reach that promontory. He was forced to go more
slowly. Wildfire had been close only as to sight. And this was the
great canyon that dwarfed distance and magnified proximity. Climbing
down and up, toiling on, he at last learned patience. He had seen
Wildfire at close range. That was enough. So he plodded on, once more
returning to careful regard of Nagger. It took an hour of work to reach
the point where Wildfire had disappeared.

A promontory indeed it was, overhanging a valley a thousand feet below.
A white torrent of a stream wound through it. There were lines of green
cottonwoods following the winding course. Then Slone saw Wildfire
slowly crossing the flat toward the stream. He had gone down that
cliff, which to Slone looked perpendicular.

Wildfire appeared to be walking lame. Slone, making sure of this,
suffered a pang. Then, when the significance of such lameness dawned
upon him he whooped his wild joy and waved his hat. The red stallion
must have heard, for he looked up. Then he went on again and waded into
the stream, where he drank long. When he started to cross, the swift
current drove him back in several places.