tched unbroken across the valley from wall to slope. Wildfire could
never pierce that line of flames. And now Slone saw, in the paling sky
to the east, that dawn was at hand.

CHAPTER VII

Slone looked grimly glad when simultaneously with the first red flash
of sunrise a breeze fanned his cheek. All that was needed now was a
west wind. And here came the assurance of it.

The valley appeared hazy and smoky, with slow, rolling clouds low down
where the line of fire moved. The coming of daylight paled the blaze of
the grass, though here and there Slone caught flickering glimpses of
dull red flame. The wild stallion kept to the center of the valley,
restlessly facing this way and that, but never toward the smoke. Slone
made sure that Wildfire gradually gave ground as the line of smoke
slowly worked toward him.

Every moment the breeze freshened, grew steadier and stronger, until
Slone saw that it began to clear the valley of the low-hanging smoke.
There came a time when once more the blazing line extended across from
slope to slope.

Wildfire was cornered, trapped. Many times Slone nervously uncoiled and
recoiled his lasso. Presently the great chance of his life would
come--the hardest and most important throw he would ever have with a
rope. He did not miss often, but then he missed sometimes, and here he
must be swift and sure. It annoyed him that his hands perspired and
trembled and that something weighty seemed to obstruct his breathing.
He muttered that he was pretty much worn out, not in the best of
condition for a hard fight with a wild horse. Still he would capture
Wildfire; his mind was unalterably set there. He anticipated that the
stallion would make a final and desperate rush past him; and he had his
plan of action all outlined. What worried him was the possibility of
Wildfire doing some unforeseen feat at the very last. Slone was
prepared for hours of strained watching, and then a desperate effort,
and then a shock that might kill Wildfire and cripple Nagger, or a long
race and fight.

But he soon discovered that he was wrong about the long watch and wait.
The wind had grown strong and was driving the fire swiftly. The flames,
fanned by the breeze, leaped to a formidable barrier. In less than an
hour, though the time seemed only a few moments to the excited Slone,
Wildfire had been driven down toward the narrowing neck of the valley,
and he had begun to run, to and fro, back and forth. Any moment, the