a lion country, all right," he said. And then he set about
building a big fire on the other side of the grassy plot, so as to have
the horses between fires. He cut all the venison into thin strips, and
spent an hour roasting them. Then he lay down to rest, and he said:
"Wonder where Wildfire is to-night? Am I closer to him? Where's he
headin' for?"

The night was warm and still. It was black near the huge cliff, and
overhead velvety blue, with stars of white fire. It seemed to him that
he had become more thoughtful and observing of the aspects of his wild
environment, and he felt a welcome consciousness of loneliness. Then
sleep came to him and the night seemed short. In the gray dawn he arose
refreshed.

The horses were restive. Nagger snorted a welcome. Evidently they had
passed an uneasy night. Slone found lion tracks at the spring and in
sandy places. Presently he was on his way up to the notch between the
great wall and the plateau. A growth of thick scrub oak made travel
difficult. It had not appeared far up to that saddle, but it was far.
There were straggling pine trees and huge rocks that obstructed his
gaze. But once up he saw that the saddle was only a narrow ridge, curved
to slope up on both sides.

Straight before Slone and under him opened the canyon, blazing and
glorious along the peaks and ramparts, where the rising sun struck,
misty and smoky and shadowy down in those mysterious depths.

It took an effort not to keep on gazing. But Slone turned to the grim
business of his pursuit. The trail he saw leading down had been made by
Indians. It was used probably once a year by them; and also by wild
animals, and it was exceedingly steep and rough. Wildfire had paced to
and fro along the narrow ridge of that saddle, making many tracks,
before he had headed down again. Slone imagined that the great stallion
had been daunted by the tremendous chasm, but had finally faced it,
meaning to put this obstacle between him and his pursuers. It never
occurred to Slone to attribute less intelligence to Wildfire than that.
So, dismounting, Slone took Nagger's bridle and started down. The
mustang with the pack was reluctant. He snorted and whistled and pawed
the earth. But he would not be left alone, so he followed.

The trail led down under cedars that fringed a precipice. Slone was
aware of this without looking. He attended only to the trail and to his
horse. Only an Indian could have picked out that course, and it w