theart, had met! Slone damned
Joel Creech's insane soul to everlasting torment. To think--to think
his idiotic and wild threat had come true--and come true with a gale in
the pine-tops! Slone grew old at the thought, and the fact seemed to be
a dream. But the dry, pine-scented air made breathing hard; the gray
racer, carrying that slender, half-naked form, white in the forest
shade, lengthened into his fleet and beautiful stride; the motion of
Wildfire, so easy, so smooth, so swift, and the fierce reach of his
head shooting forward--all these proved that it was no dream.

Tense questions pierced the dark chaos of Slone's mind--what could he
do? Run the King down! Make 'him kill Lucy! Save her from horrible
death by fire!

The red horse had not gained a yard on the gray. Slone, keen to judge
distance, saw this, and for the first time he doubted Wildfire's power
to ran down the King. Not with such a lead! It was hopeless--so
hopeless--

He turned to look back. He saw no fire, no smoke--only the dark trunks,
and the massed green foliage in violent agitation against the blue sky.
That revived a faint hope. If he could get a few miles ahead, before
the fire began to leap across the pine-crests, then it might be
possible to run out of the forest if it were not wide.

Then a stronger hope grew. It seemed that foot by foot Wildfire was
gaining on the King. Slone studied the level forest floor sliding
toward him. He lost his hope--then regained it again, and then he
spurred the horse. Wildfire hated that as he hated Slone. But
apparently he did not quicken his strides. And Slone could not tell if
he lengthened them. He was not running near his limit but, after the
nature of such a horse, left to choose his gait, running slowly, but
rising toward his swiftest and fiercest.

Slone's rider's blood never thrilled to that race, for his blood had
curdled. The sickness within rose to his mind. And that flashed up
whenever he dared to look forward at Lucy's white form. Slone could not
bear this sight; it almost made him reel, yet he was driven to look. He
saw that the King carried no saddle, so with Lucy on him he was light.
He ought to run all day with only that weight. Wildfire carried a heavy
saddle, a pack, a water bag, and a rifle. Slone untied the pack and let
it drop. He almost threw aside the water-bag, but something withheld
his hand, and also he kept his rifle. What were a few more pounds to
this desert stallion in his l