, was the great canyon, which had seemed like a hunter's fable
rather than truth. Slone's sight dimmed, blurring the spectacle, and he
found that his eyes had filled with tears. He wiped them away and looked
again and again, until he was confounded by the vastness and grandeur
and the vague sadness of the scene. Nothing he had ever looked at had
affected him like this canyon, although the Stewarts had tried to prepare
him for it.

It was the horse hunter's passion that reminded him of his pursuit. The
deer trail led down through a break in the wall. Only a few rods of it
could be seen. This trail was passable, even though choked with snow.
But the depth beyond this wall seemed to fascinate Slone and hold him
back, used as he was to desert trails. Then the clean mark of Wildfire's
hoof brought back the old thrill.

"This place fits you, Wildfire," muttered Slone, dismounting.

He started down, leading Nagger. The mustang followed. Slone kept to the
wall side of the trail, fearing the horses might slip. The snow held
firmly at first and Slone had no trouble. The gap in the rim rock
widened to a slope thickly grown over with cedars and pinyons and
manzanita. This growth made the descent more laborious, yet afforded
means at least for Slone to go down with less danger. There was no
stopping. Once started, the horses had to keep on. Slone saw the
impossibility of ever climbing out while that snow was there. The trail
zigzagged down and down. Very soon the yellow wall hung tremendously
over him, straight up. The snow became thinner and softer. The horses
began to slip. They slid on their haunches. Fortunately the slope grew
less steep, and Slone could see below where it reached out to
comparatively level ground. Still, a mishap might yet occur. Slone kept
as close to Nagger as possible, helping him whenever he could do it. The
mustang slipped, rolled over, and then slipped past Slone, went down the
slope to bring up in a cedar. Slone worked down to him and extricated
him. Then the huge Nagger began to slide. Snow and loose rock slid with
him, and so did Slone. The little avalanche stopped of its own accord,
and then Slone dragged Nagger on down and down, presently to come to the
end of the steep descent. Slone looked up to see that he had made short
work of a thousand-foot slope. Here cedars and pinyons grew thickly
enough to make a forest. The snow thinned out to patches, and then
failed. But the going remained bad for a w