wildfire-第10节

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hoss？〃

〃Not　yet。〃

〃An'　how　fur　did　you　ever　run　him　without　a　break？　Why；　when　we　ketched　thet
sorrel　last　year　I　rode　Nagger　myselfthirty　miles；　most　at　a　hard　gallop。
An'　he　never　turned　a　hair！〃

〃I've　beat　thet；〃　replied　Lin。　〃He　could　run　hard　fifty　miles　mebbe　more。
Honestly；　I　never　seen　him　tired　yet。　If　only　he　was　fast！〃

〃Wal；　Nagger　ain't　so　durned　slow；　come　to　think　of　thet；〃　replied　Bill；　with
a　grunt。　〃He's　good　enough　for　you　not　to　want　another　hoss。〃

〃Lin；　you're　goin'　to　wear　out　Wildfire；　an'　then　trap　him　somehow　is　thet
the　plan？〃　asked　the　other　comrade。

〃I　haven't　any　plan。　I'll　just　trail　him；　like　a　cougar　trails　a　deer。〃

〃Lin；　if　Wildfire　gives　you　the　slip　he'll　have　to　fly。　You've　got　the　best
eyes　for　tracks　of　any　wrangler　in　Utah。〃

Slone　accepted　the　compliment　with　a　fleeting；　doubtful　smile　on　his　dark
face。　He　did　not　reply；　and　no　more　was　said　by　his　comrades。　They　rolled　with
backs　to　the　fire。　Slone　put　on　more　wood；　for　the　keen　wind　was　cold　and
cutting；　and　then　he　lay　down；　his　head　in　his　saddle；　with　a　goatskin　under
him　and　a　saddle…blanket　over　him。

All　three　were　soon　asleep。　The　wind　whipped　the　sand　and　ashes　and　smoke　over
the　sleepers。　Coyotes　barked　from　near　in　darkness；　and　from　the　valley　ridge
came　the　faint　mourn　of　a　hunting　wolf。　The　desert　night　grew　darker　and
colder。

The　Stewart　brothers　were　wild…horse　hunters　for　the　sake　of　trades　and
occasional　sales。　But　Lin　Slone　never　traded　nor　sold　a　horse　he　had　captured。
The　excitement　of　the　game；　and　the　lure　of　the　desert；　and　the　love　of　a
horse　were　what　kept　him　at　the　profitless　work。　His　type　was　rare　in　the
uplands。

These　were　the　early　days　of　the　settlement　of　Utah；　and　only　a　few　of　the
hardiest　and　most　adventurous　pioneers　had　penetrated　the　desert　in　the
southern　part　of　that　vast　upland。　And　with　them　came　some　of　that　wild　breed
of　riders　to　which　Slone　and　the　Stewarts　belonged。　Horses　were　really　more
important　and　necessary　than　men；　and　this　singular　fact　gave　these　lonely
riders　a　calling。

Before　the　Spaniards　came　there　were　no　horses　in　the　West。　Those　explorers
left　or　lost　horses　all　over　the　southwest。　Many　of　them　were　Arabian　horses
of　purest　blood。　American　explorers　and　travelers；　at　the　outset　of　the
nineteenth　century；　encountered　countless　droves　of　wild　horses　all　over　the
plains。　Across　the　Grand　Canyon；　however；　wild　horses　were　comparatively　few
in　number　in　the　early　days；　and　these　had　probably　come　in　by　way　of
California。

The　Stewarts　and　Slone　had　no　established　mode　of　catching　wild　horses。　The
game　had　not　developed　fast　enough　for　that。　Every　chase　of　horse　or　drove　was
different；　and　once　in　many　attempts　they　met　with　success。

A　favorite　method　originated　by　the　Stewarts　was　to　find　a　water…hole
frequented　by　the　band　of　horses　or　the　stallion　wanted；　and　to　build　round
this　hole　a　corral　with　an　opening　for　the　horses　to　get　in。　Then　the　hunters
would　watch　the　trap　at　night；　and　if　the　horses　went　in　to　drink；　a　gate　was
closed　across　the　opening。　Another　method　of　the　Stewarts　was　to　trail　a
coveted　horse　up　on　a　mesa　or　highland；　places　which　seldom　had　more　than　one
trail　of　ascent　and　descent；　and　there　block　the　escape；　and　cut　lines　of
cedars；　into　which　the　quarry　was　ran　till　captured。　Still　another　method；
discovered　by　accident；　was　to　shoot　a　horse　lightly　in　the　neck　and　sting
him。　This　last；　called　creasing；　was　seldom　successful；　and　for　that　matter　in
any　method　ten　times　as　many　horses　were　killed　as　captured。

Lin　Slone　helped　the　Stewarts　in　their　own　way；　but　he　had　no　especial　liking
for　their　tricks。　Perhaps　a　few　remarkable　captures　of　remarkable　horses　had
spoiled　Slone。　He　was　always　trying　what　the　brothers　claimed　to　be
impossible。　He　was　a　fearless　rider；　but　he　had　the　fault　of　saving　his　mount；
and　to　kill　a　wild　horse　was　a　tragedy　for　him。　He　would　much　rather　have
hunted　alone；　and　he　had　been　alone　on　the　trail　of　the　stallion　Wildfire　when
the　Stewarts　had　joined　him。

Lin　Slone　awoke　next　morning　and　rolled　out　of　his　blanket　at　his　usual　early
hour。　But　he　was　not　early　enough　to　say　good…by　to　the　Stewarts。　They　were
gone。

The　fact　surprised　him　and　somehow　relieved　him。　They　had　left　him　more　than
his　share　of　the　outfit；　and　perhaps　that　was　why　they　had　slipped　off　before
dawn。　They　knew　him　well　enough　to　know　that　he　would　not　have　accepted　it。
Besides；　perhaps　they　felt　a　little　humiliation　at　abandoning　a　chase　which　he
chose　to　keep　up。　Anyway；　they　were　gone；　apparently　without　breakfast。

The　morning　was　clear；　cool；　with　the　air　dark　like　that　before　a　storm；　and
in　the　east；　over　the　steely　wall　of　stone；　shone　a　redness　growing　brighter。

Slone　looked　away　to　the　west；　down　the　trail　taken　by　his　comrades；　but　he
saw　nothing　moving　against　that　cedar…dotted　waste。

〃Good…by；〃　he　said；　and　he　spoke　as　if　he　was　saying　good…by　to　more　than
comrades。

〃I　reckon　I　won't　see　Sevier　Village　soon　againan'　maybe　never；〃　he
soliloquized。

There　was　no　one　to　regret　him；　unless　it　was　old　Mother　Hall；　who　had　been
kind　to　him　on　those　rare　occasions　when　he　got　out　of　the　wilderness。　Still；
it　was　with　regret　that　he　gazed　away　across　the　red　valley　to　the　west。　Slone
had　no　home。　His　father　and　mother　had　been　lost　in　the　massacre　of　a
wagon…train　by　Indians；　and　he　had　been　one　of　the　few　saved　and　brought　to
Salt　Lake。　That　had　happened　when　he　was　ten　years　old。　His　life　thereafter
had　been　hard；　and　but　for　his　sturdy　Texas　training　he　might　not　have
survived。　The　last　five　years　he　had　been　a　horse…hunter　in　the　wild　uplands
of　Nevada　and　Utah。

Slone　turned　his　attention　to　the　pack　of　supplies。　The　Stewarts　had　divided
the　flour　and　the　parched　corn　equally；　and　unless　he　was　greatly　mistaken
they　had　left　him　most　of　the　coffee　and　all　of　the　salt。

〃Now　I　hold　that　decent　of　Bill　an'　Abe；〃　said　Slone；　regretfully。　〃But　I
could　have　got　along　without　it　better　'n　they　could。〃

Then　he　swiftly　set　about　kindling　a　fire　and　getting　a　meal。　In　the　midst　of
his　task　a　sudden　ruddy　brightness　fell　around　him。　Lin　Slone　paused　in　his
work　to　look　up。

The　sun　had　risen　over　the　eastern　wall。

〃Ah！〃　he　said；　and　drew　a　deep　breath。

The　cold；　steely；　darkling　sweep　of　desert　had　been　transformed。　It　was　now　a
world　of　red　earth　and　gold　rocks　and　purple　sage；　with　everywhere　the　endless
straggling　green　cedars。　A　breeze　whipped　in；　making　the　fire　roar　softly。　The
sun　felt　warm　on　his　cheek。　And　at　the　moment　he　heard　the　whistle　of　his
horse。

〃Good　old　Nagger！〃　he　said。　〃I　shore　won't　have　to　track　you　this　mornin'。〃　

Presently　he　went　off　into　the　cedars　to　find　Nagger　and　the　mustang　　that　he
used　to　carry　a　pack。　Nagger　was　grazing　in　a　little　open　patch　among　the
trees；　but　the　pack…horse　was　missing。　Slone　seemed　to　know　in　what　direction
to　go　to　find　the　trail；　for　he　came　upon　it　very　soon。　The　pack…horse　wore
hobbles；　but　he　belonged　to　the　class　that　could　cover　a　great　deal　of　ground
when　hobbled。　Slone　did　not　expect　the　horse　to　go　far；　considering　that　the
grass　thereabouts　was　good。　But　in　a　wild…horse　country　it　was　not　safe　to
give　any　horse　a　chance。　The　call　of　his　wild　brethren　was　irresistible。
Slone；　however；　found　the　mustang　standing　quietly　in　a　clump　of　cedars；　and；
removing　the　hobbles；　he　mounted　and　rode　back　to　camp。　Nagger　caught　sight　of
him　and　came　at　his　call。

This　horse　Nagger　appeared　as　unique　in　his　class　as　Slone　was　rare　among
riders。　Nagger　seemed　of　several　colors；　though　black　predominated。　His　coat
was　shaggy；　almost　woolly；　like　that　of　a　sheep。　He　was　huge；　raw…boned；
knotty；　long　of　body　and　long　of　leg；　with　the　head　of　a　war　charger。　His
build　did　not　suggest　speed。　There　appeared　to　be　something　slow　and　ponderous
about　him；　similar　to　an　elephant；　with　the　same　suggestion　of　power　and
endurance。　　　Slone　discarded　the　pack…saddle　and　bags。　The　latter　were　almost
empty。　He　roped　the　tarpaulin　on　the　back　of　the　mustang；　and；　making　a　small
bundle　of　his　few　supplies；　he　tied　that　to　the　tarpaulin。　His　blanket　he　used
for　a　saddle…blanket　on　Nagger。　Of　the　utensils　left　by　the　Stewarts　he　chose
a　couple　of　small　iron　pans；　with　long　handles。　The　rest　he　left。　In　his
saddle…bags　he　had　a　few　extra　a　horseshoes；　some　nails；　bullets　for　his
rifle；　and　a　knife　with　a　heavy　blade。　

〃Not　a　rich　outfit　for　a　far　country；〃　he　mused。　Slone　not　talk　very　much；　and
when　he　did　he　addressed　Nagger　and　himself　simultaneously。　Evidently　he
expected　a　long　chase；　one　from　which　he　would　not　return；　and　light　as　his
outfit　was　it　would　grow　too　heavy。

Then　he　mounted　and　rode　down　the　gradual　slope；　facing　the　valley　and　the
black；　bold；　flat　mountain　to　the　southeast。　Some　few　hundred　yards　from　camp
he　halted　Nagger　and　bent　over　in　the　saddle　to　scrutinize　the　ground。

The　clean…cut　track　of　a　horse　showed　in　the　bare；　hard　sand。　The　hoof…marks
were　large；　almost　oval；　perfect　in　shape；　and　manifestly　they　were　beautiful
to　Lin　Slone。　He　gazed　at　them　for　a　long　time；　and　then　he　looked　across　the
dotted　red　valley　up　t