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Updated: May 6, 2025
A breeze whipped in, making the fire roar softly. The sun felt warm on his cheek. And at the moment he heard the whistle of his horse. "Good old Nagger!" he said. "I shore won't have to track you this mornin'." Presently he went off into the cedars to find Nagger and the mustang that he used to carry a pack. Nagger was grazing in a little open patch among the trees, but the pack horse was missing.
Toward the middle of the afternoon, coming to a place where Wildfire had taken to a trot, he put Nagger to that gait, and by sundown had worked up to where the cañon was only a shallow ravine. And finally it turned once more, to lose itself in a level where straggling pines stood high above the cedars, and great, dark-green silver spruces stood above the pines.
"Wal, Nagger ain't so durned slow, come to think of thet," replied Bill, with a grunt. "He's good enough for you not to want another hoss." "Lin, you're goin' to wear out Wildfire, an' then trap him somehow is thet the plan?" asked the other comrade. "I haven't any plan. I'll just trail him, like a cougar trails a deer." "Lin, if Wildfire gives you the slip he'll have to fly.
That afternoon, toward the close, Slone ate the last of the meat. At sunset the wind died away and the air cooled. There was a strip of red along the wall of rock and on the tips of the monuments, and it lingered there for long, a strange, bright crown. Nagger was not far away, but Wildfire had disappeared, probably behind one of the monuments.
"I tell you, Lin," said Bill, "your hoss Nagger's as good as when we started." "Aw, he's better," vouchsafed the other rider. "Nagger needed to lose some weight. Lin, have you got an extra set of shoes for him?" "No full set. Only three left," replied Lin, soberly. "Wal, thet's enough. You can keep Nagger shod. An' mebbe thet red stallion will get sore feet an' go lame. Then you'd stand a chance."
Nagger had that very morning had his fill of good water the first really satisfying drink for days. If he was rested that day, on the morrow he would be fit for the grueling work possibly in store for him. Slone unsaddled the horse and turned him loose, and with a snort he made down the gentle slope for the grass.
The call of his wild brethren was irresistible. Slone, however, found the mustang standing quietly in a clump of cedars, and, removing the hobbles, he mounted and rode back to camp. Nagger caught sight of him and came at his call. This horse Nagger appeared as unique in his class as Slone was rare among riders. Nagger seemed of several colors, though black predominated.
A mile or more ahead of him rose a gray cliff with breaks in it and a line of dark cedars or pinyons on the level rims. He believed these breaks to be the mouths of canyons, and so it turned out. Wildfire's trail led into the mouth of a narrow canyon with very steep and high walls. Nagger snorted his perception of water, and the mustang whistled.
The stretch of broken plateau before him grew wilder and bolder of outline, darker in color, weirder in aspect, and progress across it grew slower, more dangerous. There were many places Nagger should not have been put to where a slip meant a broken leg. But Slone could not turn back. And something besides an indomitable spirit kept him going.
The stretch of broken plateau before him grew wilder and bolder of outline, darker in color, weirder in aspect and progress across it grew slower, more dangerous. There were many places Nagger should not have been put to where a slip meant a broken leg. But Slone could not turn back. And something besides an indomitable spirit kept him going.
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