There were rich grass and sweet water for his horse.He himself was not hungry, but he ate; he was not sleepy, but he slept.And daylight found him urging Wildfire in pursuit.On the rocky places Slone found the cedar berries Lucy had dropped.He welcomed sight of them, but he did not need them.This man Creech could never hide a trail from him, Slone thought grimly, and it suited him to follow that trail at a rapid trot.If he lost the tracks for a distance he went right on, and he knew where to look for them ahead.There was a vast difference between the cunning of Creech and the cunning of a wild horse.And there was an equal difference between the going and staying powers of Creech's mustangs and Wildfire.Yes, Slone divined that Lucy's salvation would be Wildfire, her horse.The trail grew rougher, steeper, harder, but the stallion kept his eagerness and his pace.On many an open length of canyon or height of wild upland Slone gazed ahead hoping to see Creech's mustangs.He hoped for that even when he knew he was still too far behind.And then, suddenly, in the open, sandy flat of an intersecting canyon he came abruptly on a fresh trail of three horses, one of them shod.
The surprise stunned him.For a moment he gazed stupidly at these strange tracks.Who had made them? Had Creech met allies? Was that likely when the man had no friends? Pondering the thing, Slone went slowly on, realizing that a new and disturbing feature confronted him.Then when these new tracks met the trail that Creech had left Slone found that these strangers were as interested in Creech's tracks as he was.Slone found their boot-marks in the sand--the hand-prints where some one had knelt to scrutinize Creech's trail.
Slone led his horse and walked on, more and more disturbed in mind.When he came to a larger, bare, flat canyon bottom, where the rock had been washed clear of sand, he found no more cedar berries.They had been picked up.At the other extreme edge of this stony ground he found crumpled bits of cedar and cedar berries scattered in one spot, as if thrown there by some one who read their meaning.
This discovery unnerved Slone.It meant so much.And if Slone had any hope or reason to doubt that these strangers had taken up the trail for good, the next few miles dispelled it.They were trailing Creech.
Suddenly Slone gave a wild start, which made Wildfire plunge.
"CORDTS!" whispered Slone and the cold sweat oozed out of every pore.
These canyons were the hiding-places of the horse-thief.He and two of his men had chanced upon Creech's trail; and perhaps their guess at its meaning was like Slone's.If they had not guessed they would soon learn.It magnified Slone's task a thousandfold.He had a moment of bitter, almost hopeless realization before a more desperate spirit awoke in him.He had only more men to kill--that was all.These upland riders did not pack rifles, of that Slone was sure.And the sooner he came up with Cordts the better.It was then he let Wildfire choose his gait and the trail.Sunset, twilight, dusk, and darkness came with Slone keeping on and on.As long as there were no intersecting canyons or clefts or slopes by which Creech might have swerved from his course, just so long Slone would travel.And it was late in the night when he had to halt.
Early next day the trail led up out of the red and broken gulches to the cedared uplands.Slone saw a black-rimmed, looming plateau in the distance.
All these winding canyons, and the necks of the high ridges between, must run up to that great table-land.
That day he lost two of the horse tracks.He did not mark the change for a long time after there had been a split in the party that had been trailing Creech.Then it was too late for him to go back to investigate, even if that had been wise.He kept on, pondering, trying to decide whether or not he had been discovered and was now in danger of ambush ahead and pursuit from behind.
He thought that possibly Cordts had split his party, one to trail along after Creech, the others to work around to head him off.Undoubtedly Cordts knew this broken canyon country and could tell where Creech was going, and knew how to intercept him.
The uncertainty wore heavily upon Slone.He grew desperate.He had no time to steal along cautiously.He must be the first to get to Creech.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.Slone knew he had been shot at, although he neither felt nor heard the bullet.He had no chance to see where the shot came from, for Wildfire bolted, and needed as much holding and guiding as Slone could give.
He ran a mile.Then Slone was able to look about him.Had he been shot at from above or behind? He could not tell.It did not matter, so long as the danger was not in front.He kept a sharp lookout, and presently along the right canyon rim, five hundred feet above him, he saw a bay horse, and a rider with a rifle.He had been wrong, then, about these riders and their weapons.Slone did not see any wisdom in halting to shoot up at this pursuer, and he spurred Wildfire just as a sharp crack sounded above.The bullet thudded into the earth a few feet behind him.And then over bad ground, with the stallion almost unmanageable, Slone ran a gantlet of shots.Evidently the man on the rim had smooth ground to ride over, for he easily kept abreast of Slone.But he could not get the range.Fortunately for Slone, broken ramparts above checked the tricks of that pursuer, and Slone saw no more of him.
