round Wildfire's head, blindfolding him.

"All so easy!" exclaimed Slone, under his breath. "Who would believe it!
Is it a dream?"

He rose and let the stallion have a free head.

"Wildfire, I got a rope on you--an' a hackamore--an' a blinder," said
Slone. "An' if I had a bridle I'd put that on you. Who'd ever believe
you'd catch yourself, draggin' in the sand?"

Slone, finding himself falling on the sand, grew alive to the augmented
movement of the avalanche. It had begun to slide, to heave and bulge and
crack. Dust rose in clouds from all around. The sand appeared to open
and let him sink to his knees. The rattle of gravel was drowned in a
soft roar. Then he shot down swiftly, holding the lassos, keeping
himself erect, and riding as if in a boat. He felt the successive
steppes of the slope, and then the long incline below, and then the
checking and rising and spreading of the avalanche as it slowed down on
the level. All movement then was checked violently. He appeared to be
half buried in sand. While he struggled to extricate himself the thick
dust blew away and, settled so that he could see. Wildfire lay before
him, at the edge of the slide, and now he was not so deeply embedded as
he had been up on the slope. He was struggling and probably soon would
have been able to get out. The line of fire was close now, but Slone did
not fear that.

At his shrill whistle Nagger bounded toward him, obedient, but snorting,
with ears laid back. He halted. A second whistle started him again.
Slone finally dug himself out of the sand, pulled the lassos out, and
ran the length of them toward Nagger. The black showed both fear and
fight. His eyes rolled and he half shied away.

"Come on!" called Slone, harshly.

He got a hand on the horse, pulled him round, and, mounting in a flash,
wound both lassos round the pommel of the saddle.

"Haul him out, Nagger, old boy!" cried Slone, and he dug spurs into the
black.

One plunge of Nagger's slid the stallion out of the sand. Snorting,
wild, blinded, Wildfire got up, shaking in every limb. He could not see
his enemies. The blowing smoke, right in his nose, made scent
impossible. But in the taut lassos he sensed the direction of his
captors. He plunged, rearing at the end of the plunge, and struck out
viciously with his hoofs. Slone, quick with spur and bridle, swerved
Nagger aside and Wildfire, off his balance, went down with a crash.
Slone dragged him, stretched him out, pulled