pass he had entered,
unless he could fly.

Slone lay in the shade, his head propped on his saddle, and while
gazing down into the shimmering hollow he began to plan. He calculated
that he must be able to carry fire swiftly across the far end of the
basin, so that he would not be absent long from the mouth of the pass.
Fire was always a difficult matter, since he must depend only on flint
and steel. He decided to wait till dark, build a fire with dead cedar
sticks, and carry a bundle of them with burning ends. He felt assured
that the wind caused by riding would keep them burning. After he had
lighted the grass all he had to do was to hurry back to his station and
there await developments.

The day passed slowly, and it was hot. The heat-waves rose in dark,
wavering lines and veils from the valley. The wind blew almost a gale.
Thin, curling sheets of sand blew up over the crests of the slopes, and
the sound it made was a soft, silken rustling, very low. The sky was a
steely blue above and copper close over the distant walls.

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.

When twilight fell Slone went down after Nagger and, returning with
him, put on bridle and saddle. Then he began to search for suitable
sticks of wood. Farther back in the pass he found stunted dead cedars,
and from these secured enough for his purpose. He kindled a fire and
burnt the ends of the sticks into red embers. Making a bundle of these,
he put them under his arm, the dull, glowing ends backward, and then
mounted his horse.

It was just about dark when he faced down into the valley. When he
reached level ground he kept to the edge of the left slope and put
Nagger to a good trot. The grass and brush were scant here, and the
color of the sand was light, so he had no difficulty in traveling.

From time to time his horse went through grass, and its dry, crackling
rustle, showing how it would burn, was music to Slone. Gradually the
monuments began to loom up, bold and black against the blue sky, with
stars seemingly hanging close over them. Slone had calculated that the
basin was smaller than it really was, in both length and breadth. This
worrie