position in the middle of the narrowest part of the pass,
and there, with Nagger ready for anything, he once more composed himself
to watch and wait.

Far across the darkness of the valley, low down, twelve lines of fire,
widely separated, crept toward one another. They appeared thin and slow,
with only an occasional leaping flame. And some of the black spaces must
have been monuments, blotting out the creeping snail lines of red. Slone
watched, strangely fascinated.

"What do you think of that?" he said, aloud, and he meant his query for
Wildfire.

As he watched the lines perceptibly lengthened and brightened and pale
shadows of smoke began to appear. Over at the left of the valley the two
brightest fires, the first he had started, crept closer and closer
together. They seemed long in covering distance. But not a breath of
wind stirred, and besides they really might move swiftly, without
looking so to Slone. When the two lines met a sudden and larger blaze
rose.

"Ah!" said the rider, and then he watched the other lines creeping
together. How slowly fire moved, he thought. The red stallion would have
every chance to run between those lines, if he dared. But a wild horse
fears nothing like fire. This one would not run the gantlet of flames.
Nevertheless Slone felt more and more relieved as the lines closed. The
hours of the night dragged past until at length one long, continuous
line of fire spread level across the valley, its bright, red line broken
only where the monuments of stone were silhouetted against it.

The darkness of the valley changed. The light of the moon changed. The
radiance of the stars changed. Either the line of fire was finding
denser fuel to consume or it was growing appreciably closer, for the
flames began to grow, to leap, and to flare.

Slone strained his ears for the thud of hoofs on sand.

The time seemed endless in its futility of results, but fleeting after
it had passed; and he could tell how the hours fled by the
ever-recurring need to replenish the little fire he kept burning in the
pass.

A broad belt of valley grew bright in the light, and behind it loomed
the monuments, weird and dark, with columns of yellow and white smoke
wreathing them.

Suddenly Slone's sensitive ear vibrated to a thrilling sound. He leaned
down to place his ear to the sand. Rapid, rhythmic beat of hoofs made
him leap to his feet, reaching for his lasso with right hand and a gun
with his left.

Nagge