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Updated: June 9, 2025
No birds of any species crossed Slone's sight. He came, presently, upon a lion track in the trail, made probably a day before. Slone grew curious about it, seeing how it held, as he was holding, to Wildfire's tracks. After a mile or so he made sure the lion had been trailing the stallion, and for a second he felt a cold contraction of his heart.
"I will insure you five hundred pounds," said the unhappy man, grasping Wildfire's hand, "five hundred pounds for to save my life." The other answered in the same undertone, and returning his grasp with one equally convulsive, "Five hundredweight of coined gold should not save you. Remember Wilson!"
For Slone an ever-present and growing fascination lay in Wildfire's clear, sharply defined tracks. It was as if every hoof-mark told him something. Once, far up the interminable ascent, he found on a ridge-top tracks showing where Wildfire had halted and turned. "Ha, Nagger!" cried Slone, exultingly. "Look there! He's begun facin' about. He's wonderin' if we're still after him.
It was not this, she averred, but the monuments and the beautiful Wildfire that had woven a spell round her she could not break. She had ridden Wildfire all through that strange region of monuments and now they claimed something of her. Just as wonderful was Wildfire's love for her. The great stallion hated Slone and loved Lucy.
But the depth beyond this wall seemed to fascinate Slone and hold him back, used as he was to desert trails. Then the clean mark of Wildfire's hoof brought back the old thrill. "This place fits you, Wildfire," muttered Slone, dismounting. He started down, leading Nagger. The mustang followed. Slone kept to the wall side of the trail, fearing the horses might slip.
His hand shook as he laid it on Sage King's mane the first touch since the return of his favorite. "Slone what is it?" he said, brokenly, with voice strangely softened. His face became transfigured. "Sage King killed Wildfire on his feet.... A grand race, Bostil! ... But Wildfire's dead an' here's the King! Ask me no more. I want to forget." Bostil put his arm around the young man's shoulder.
Through the remainder of this day Godfrey, with only occasional fluctuations, kept his will bent in the direction of a complete avowal to his father, and he withheld the story of Wildfire's loss till the next morning, that it might serve him as an introduction to heavier matter.
The old Squire was accustomed to his son's frequent absence from home, and thought neither Dunstan's nor Wildfire's non-appearance a matter calling for remark.
He did not need to have Wildfire's tracks. He let Nagger pick the way, and the horse made no mistake in finding the line of least resistance. But that grew harder and harder. This bare rock, like a file, would soon wear Wildfire's hoofs thin. And Slone rejoiced. Perhaps somewhere down in this awful chasm he and Nagger would have it out with the stallion.
"I have brought it from Elmside, general; twenty miles on the other side of Bath. A trooper brought it in just at midday, with orders for me to carry it on at once." "That is good work," the general said. "You have ridden over fifty miles in five hours. You must be well mounted, sir." "I do not think there is a better horse in the State," Vincent said, patting Wildfire's neck.
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