only a few little rough surfaces to hold a foot.
Wildfire had left a broad, clear-swept mark at that place, and red
hairs on some of the sharp points. He had slid down. Below was an
offset that fortunately prevented further sliding, Slone started to
walk down this place, but when Nagger began to slide Slone had to let
go the bridle and jump. Both he and the horse landed safely. Luck was
with them. And they went on, down and down, to reach the base of the
great wall, scraped and exhausted, wet with sweat, but unhurt. As Slone
gazed upward he felt the impossibility of believing what he knew to be
true. He hugged and petted the horse. Then he led on to the roaring
stream.

It was green water white with foam. Slone waded in and found the water
cool and shallow and very swift. He had to hold to Nagger to keep from
being swept downstream. They crossed in safety. There in the sand
showed Wildfire's tracks. And here were signs of another Indian camp,
half a year old.

The shade of the cottonwoods was pleasant. Slone found this valley
oppressively hot. There was no wind and the sand blistered his feet
through his boots. Wildfire held to the Indian trail that had guided
him down into this wilderness of worn rock. And that trail crossed the
stream at every turn of the twisting, narrow valley. Slone enjoyed
getting into the water. He hung his gun over the pommel and let the
water roll him. A dozen times he and Nagger forded the rushing torrent.
Then they came to a box-like closing of the valley to canyon walls, and
here the trail evidently followed the stream bed. There was no other
way. Slone waded in, and stumbled, rolled, and floated ahead of the
sturdy horse. Nagger was wet to his breast, but he did not fall. This
gulch seemed full of a hollow rushing roar. It opened out into a wide
valley. And Wildfire's tracks took to the left side and began to climb
the slope.

Here the traveling was good, considering what had been passed. Once up
out of the valley floor Slone saw Wildfire far ahead, high on the
slope. He did not appear to be limping, but he was not going fast.
Slone watched as he climbed. What and where would be the end of this
chase?

Sometimes Wildfire was plain in his sight for a moment, but usually he
was hidden by rocks. The slope was one great talus, a jumble of
weathered rock, fallen from what appeared a mountain of red and yellow
wall. Here the heat of the sun fell upon him like fire. The rocks were
so hot Sl