The water wreathed white
around him. But evidently it was not deep, and finally he crossed. From
the other side he looked up again at Nagger and Slone, and, going on,
he soon was out of sight in the cottonwoods.

"How to get down!" muttered Slone.

There was a break in the cliff wall, a bare stone slant where horses
had gone down and come up. That was enough for Slone to know. He would
have attempted the descent if he were sure no other horse but Wildfire
had ever gone down there. But Slone's hair began to rise stiff on his
head. A horse like Wildfire, and mountain sheep and Indian ponies, were
all very different from Nagger. The chances were against Nagger.

"Come on, old boy. If I can do it, you can," he said.

Slone had never seen a trail as perilous as this. He was afraid for his
horse. A slip there meant death. The way Nagger trembled in every
muscle showed his feelings. But he never flinched. He would follow
Slone anywhere, providing Slone rode him or led him. And here, as
riding was impossible, Slone went before. If the horse slipped there
would be a double tragedy, for Nagger would knock his master off the
cliff. Slone set his teeth and stepped down. He did not let Nagger see
his fear. He was taking the greatest risk he had ever run.

The break in the wall led to a ledge, and the ledge dropped from step
to step, and these had bare, slippery slants between. Nagger was
splendid on a bad trail. He had methods peculiar to his huge build and
great weight. He crashed down over the stone steps, both front hoofs at
once. The slants he slid down on his haunches with his forelegs stiff
and the iron shoes scraping. He snorted and heaved and grew wet with
sweat. He tossed his head at some of the places. But he never hesitated
and it was impossible for him to go slowly. Whenever Slone came to
corrugated stretches in the trail he felt grateful. But these were few.
The rock was like smooth red iron. Slone had never seen such hard rock.
It took him long to realize that it was marble. His heart seemed a
tense, painful knot in his breast, as if it could not beat, holding
back in the strained suspense. But Nagger never jerked on the bridle.
He never faltered. Many times he slipped, often with both front feet,
but never with all four feet. So he did not fall. And the red wall
began to loom above Slone. Then suddenly he seemed brought to a point
where it was impossible to descend. It was a round bulge, slanting
fearfully, with