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 seen--a 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
valley--these completed the work of years on Slone and he became
satisfied, unthin