mong riders. Nagger seemed of several colors, though black
predominated. His coat was shaggy, almost woolly, like that of a sheep.
He was huge, raw-boned, knotty, long of body and long of leg, with the
head of a war charger. His build did not suggest speed. There appeared
to be something slow and ponderous about him, similar to an elephant,
with the same suggestion of power and endurance.

Slone discarded the pack saddle and bags. The latter were almost empty.
He roped the tarpaulin on the back of the mustang, and, making a small
bundle of his few supplies, he tied that to the tarpaulin. His blanket
he used for a saddle blanket on Nagger. Of the utensils left by the
Stewarts he chose a couple of small iron pans, with long handles. The
rest he left. In his saddle bags he had a few extra horseshoes, some
nails, bullets for his rifle, and a knife with a heavy blade.

"Not a rich outfit for a far country," he mused. Slone did not talk very
much, and when he did he addressed Nagger and himself simultaneously.
Evidently he expected a long chase, one from which he would not return,
and light as his outfit was it would grow too heavy.

Then he mounted and rode down the gradual slope, facing the valley and
the black, bold, flat mountain to the southeast. Some few hundred yards
from camp he halted Nagger and bent over in the saddle to scrutinize
the ground.

The clean-cut track of a horse showed in the bare, hard sand. The hoof
marks were large, almost oval, perfect in shape, and manifestly they
were beautiful to Lin Slone. He gazed at them for a long time, and then
he looked across the dotted red valley up to the vast ridgy steppes,
toward the black plateau and beyond. It was the look that an Indian
gives to a strange country. Then Slone slipped off the saddle and knelt
to scrutinize the horse tracks. A little sand had blown into the
depressions, and some of it was wet and some of it was dry. He took his
time about examining it, and he even tried gently blowing other sand
into the tracks, to compare that with what was already there. Finally he
stood up and addressed Nagger.

"Reckon we won't have to argue with Abe an' Bill this mornin'," he said,
with satisfaction. "Wildfire made that track yesterday, before sunup."

Thereupon Slone remounted and put Nagger to a trot. The pack horse
followed with an alacrity that showed he had no desire for loneliness.

As straight as a bee line Wildfire had left a trail down into the floo