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Updated: July 28, 2025
"Come to think of that, I don't know," replied Slone, blankly. "I started back to fetch my things out of my room. That's as far as my muddled thoughts got." "Your things? ... Oh!" Suddenly she grew intensely white. The little freckles that had been so indistinct stood out markedly, and it was as if she had never had any tan. One brown hand went to her breast, the other fluttered to his arm again.
She seemed breathless, keen, new to him, not in the least afraid nor shy. Slone could only hold her. He could not have spoken, even if she had given him a chance. "I know everything what they accuse you of how the riders treated you how my dad struck you. Oh! ... He's a brute! I hate him for that. Why didn't you keep out of his way? ... Van saw it all. Oh, I hate him, too!
The price he asked was ridiculously low if the property was worth anything. An idea flashed across Slone's mind. He went up to Vorhees's place and was much pleased with everything, especially the corral, which had been built by a man who feared horse-thieves as much as Bostil. The view from the door of the little cabin was magnificent beyond compare. Slone remembered Lucy's last words.
Creech had almost certainly gone on and would be unaware of a pursuer so closely on his trail. Slone took the direction of the trail, and he saw a low, dark notch in the rocky wall in the distance. After that he paid no more attention to choosing good ground for Wildfire than he did to the trail. The stallion was more tractable than Slone had ever found him. He loved the open.
That's settled," declared Slone, stubbornly. At this Lucy utterly lost her temper. "Oh! you you fool!" she cried. Slone drew back suddenly as if struck, and a spot of dark blood leaped to his lean face. "No! It seems to me the right way." "Right or wrong there's no sense in it because because. Oh! can't you see?" "I see more than I used to," he replied. "I was a fool over a horse.
And Slone, facing the league-long shadows of the monuments, rode out again into the silent, solemn day, on his hopeless quest. For a change Wildfire had climbed high up a slope of talus, through a narrow pass, rounded over with drifting sand. And Slone gazed down into a huge amphitheater full of monuments, like all that strange country. A basin three miles across lay beneath him.
The stallion was a fiend in his fury, quicker than a panther, wonderful on his feet, and powerful as an ox. But he was at a disadvantage. He could not see. And Slone, in his spoken intention to kill Wildfire should the scarf slip, acknowledged that he never would have a chance to master the stallion.
So he held to the trail and went as rapidly as the nature of the ground would permit, expecting to be shot at from any clump of cedars. The trail led down again into a narrow canyon with low walls. Slone put all his keenness on what lay before him. Wildfire's sudden break and upflinging of head and his snort preceded the crack of a rifle.
The Stewarts had divided the flour and the parched corn equally, and unless he was greatly mistaken they had left him most of the coffee and all of the salt. "Now I hold that decent of Bill an' Abe," said Slone, regretfully. "But I could have got along without it better 'n they could." Then he swiftly set about kindling a fire and getting a meal.
He tried to resist the sweet and tantalizing anticipation of a message from Lucy, but in vain. The rider had immeasurably uplifted Slone's hope that Lucy, at least, cared for him. Not for a moment all day could Slone drive away the hope. At twilight he was too eager to eat too obsessed to see the magnificent sunset.
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