the dry fragrance, the dreaming walls,
the advent of night low down, when up on the ramparts the last red rays
of the sun lingered, the strange loneliness--these were sweet and
comforting to him.

And that night's sleep was as a moment. He opened his eyes to see the
crags and towers and peaks and domes, and the lofty walls of that vast,
broken chaos of canyons across the river. They were now emerging from the
misty gray of dawn, growing pink and lilac and purple under the rising
sun.

He arose and set about his few tasks, which, being soon finished,
allowed him an early start.

Wildfire had grazed along no more than a mile in the lead. Slone looked
eagerly up the narrowing canyon, but he was not rewarded by a sight of
the stallion. As he progressed up a gradually ascending trail he became
aware of the fact that the notch he had long looked up to was where the
great red walls closed in and almost met. And the trail zigzagged up
this narrow vent, so steep that only a few steps could be taken without
rest. Slone toiled up for an hour--an age--till he was wet, burning,
choked, with a great weight on his chest. Yet still he was only halfway
up that awful break between the walls. Sometimes he could have tossed a
stone down upon a part of the trail, only a few rods below, yet many,
many weary steps of actual toil. As he got farther up the notch widened.
What had been scarcely visible from the valley below was now colossal in
actual dimensions. The trail was like a twisted mile of thread between
two bulging mountain walls leaning their ledges and fronts over this
tilted pass.

Slone rested often. Nagger appreciated this and heaved gratefully at
every halt. In this monotonous toil Slone forgot the zest of his
pursuit. And when Nagger suddenly snorted in fright Slone was not
prepared for what he saw.

Above him ran a low, red wall, around which evidently the trail led. At
the curve, which was a promontory, scarcely a hundred feet in an air
line above him, he saw something red moving, bobbing, coming out into
view. It was a horse.

Wildfire--no farther away than the length of three lassos!

There he stood looking down. He fulfilled all of Slone's dreams. Only he
was bigger. But he was so magnificently proportioned that he did not
seem heavy. His coat was shaggy and red. It was not glossy. The color
was what made him shine. His mane was like a crest, mounting, then
falling low. Slone had never seen so much muscle on a hors