de off with a
hard, grim certainty that in Wildfire was Lucy's salvation.

Four hours later Slone halted on the crest of a ridge, in the cover of
sparse cedars, and surveyed a vast, gray, barren basin yawning and
reaching out to a rugged, broken plateau.

He expected to find Joel Creech returning on the back-trail, and he had
taken the precaution to ride on one side of the tracks he was
following. He did not want Joel to cross his trail. Slone had long ago
solved the meaning of the Creeches' flight. They would use Lucy to
ransom Bostil's horses, and more than likely they would not let her go
back. That they had her was enough for Slone. He was grim and
implacable.

The eyes of the wild-horse hunter had not searched that basin long
before they picked out a dot which was not a rock or a cedar, but a
horse. Slone watched it grow, and, hidden himself, he held his post
until he knew the rider was Joel Creech. Slone drew his own horse back
and tied him to a sage-bush amidst some scant grass. Then he returned
to watch. It appeared Creech was climbing the ridge below Slone, and
some distance away. It was a desperate chance Joel ran then, for Slone
had set out to kill him. It was certain that if Joel had happened to
ride near instead of far, Slone could not have helped but kill him. As
it was, he desisted because he realized that Joel would acquaint Bostil
with the abducting of Lucy, and it might be that this would be well.

Slone was shaking when young Creech passed up and out of sight over the
ridge--shaking with the deadly grip of passion such as he had never
known. He waited, slowly gaining control, and at length went back for
Wildfire.

Then he rode boldly forth on the trail. He calculated that old Creech
would take Lucy to some wild retreat in the canyons and there wait for
Joel and the horses. Creech had almost certainly gone on and would be
unaware of a pursuer so closely on his trail. Slone took the direction
of the trail, and he saw a low, dark notch in the rocky wall in the
distance. After that he paid no more attention to choosing good ground
for Wildfire than he did to the trail. The stallion was more tractable
than Slone had ever found him. He loved the open. He smelled the sage
and the wild. He settled down into his long, easy, swinging lope which
seemed to eat up the miles. Slone was obsessed with thoughts centering
round Lucy, and time and distance were scarcely significant.

The sun had dipped full red i