Wildfire and the Heritage of the Desert by Zane Grey Page B

expostulating look upon the one called Lin. “We’re two hundred miles out,” he said. “There’s only a little flour left in the bag. No coffee! Only a little salt! All the hosses except your big Nagger are played out. We’re already in strange country. An’ you know what we’ve heerd of this an’ all to the south. It’s all cañons, an’ somewheres down there is thet awful cañon none of our people ever seen. But we’ve heerd of it. An awful cut-up country.”
    He finished with a conviction that no one could say a word against the common sense of his argument. Lin was silent, as if impressed.
    Bill raised a strong, lean, brown hand in a forcible gesture. “We can’t ketch Wildfire!”
    That seemed to him, evidently, a more convincing argument than his comrade’s.
    â€œBill is sure right, if I’m wrong, which I ain’t,” went on the other. “Lin, we’ve trailed thet wild stallion for six weeks. Thet’s the longest chase he ever had. He’s left his old range. He’s cut out his band, an’ left them, one by one. We’ve tried every trick we know on him. An’ he’s too smart for us. There’s a hoss! Why, Lin, we’re all but gone to the dogs chasin’ Wildfire. An’ now I’m done, an’ I’m glad of it.”
    There was another short silence, which presently Bill opened his lips to break.
    â€œLin, it makes me sick to quit. I ain’t denyin’ thet for a long time I’ve had hopes of ketchin’ Wildfire. He’s the grandest hoss I ever laid eyes on. I reckon no man, onless he was an Arab, ever seen as good a one. But now, thet’s neither here nor there.… We’ve got to hit the back trail.”
    â€œBoys, I reckon I’ll stick to Wildfire’s tracks,” said Lin, in the same quiet tone.
    Bill swore at him, and the other hunter grew excited and concerned.
    â€œLin Slone, are you gone plumb crazy over thet red hoss?”
    â€œI—reckon,” replied Slone. The working of his throat as he swallowed could be plainly seen by his companions.
    Bill looked at his ally as if to confirm some sudden understanding between them. They took Slone’s attitude gravely and they wagged their heads doubtfully, as they might have done had Slone just acquainted them with a hopeless and deathless passion for a woman. It was significant of the nature of riders that they accepted his attitude and had consideration for his feelings. For them the situation subtly changed. For weeks they had been three wild-horse wranglers on a hard chase after a valuable stallion. They had failed to get even close to him. They had gone to the limit of their endurance and of the outfit, and it was time to turn back. But Slone had conceived that strange and rare longing for a horse—a passion understood, if not shared, by all riders. And they knew that he would catch Wildfire or die in the attempt. From that moment their attitude toward Slone changed as subtly as had come the knowledge of his feeling. The gravity and gloom left their faces. It seemed they might have regretted what they had said about the futility of catching Wildfire. They did not want Slone to see or feel the hopelessness of his task.
    â€œI tell you, Lin,” said Bill, “your hoss Nagger’s as good as when we started.”
    â€œAw, he’s better,” vouchsafed the other rider. “Nagger needed to lose some weight. Lin, have you got an extra set of shoes for him?”
    â€œNo full set. Only three left,” replied Lin, soberly.
    â€œWal, thet’s enough. You can keep Nagger shod. An’ mebbe thet red stallion will get sore feet an’ go lame. Then you’d stand a chance.”
    â€œBut Wildfire keeps travelin’ the valleys—the soft ground,” said Slone.
    â€œNo matter. He’s leavin’ the country, an’ he’s bound to strike sandstone