"Wal, 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.""But Wildfire keeps travelin' the valleys--the soft ground," said Slone.
"No matter.He's leavin' the country, an' he's bound to strike sandstone sooner or later.Then, by gosh! mebbe he'll wear off them hoofs.""Say, can't he ring bells offen the rocks?" exclaimed Bill."Oh, Lordy! what a hoss!""Boys, do you think he's leavin' the country?" inquired Slone, anxiously.
"Sure he is," replied Bill."He ain't the first stallion I've chased off the Sevier range.An' I know.It's a stallion thet makes for new country, when you push him hard.""Yep, Lin, he's sure leavin'," added the other comrade."Why, he's traveled a bee-line for days! I'll bet he's seen us many a time.Wildfire's about as smart as any man.He was born wild, an' his dam was born wild, an' there you have it.The wildest of all wild creatures--a wild stallion, with the intelligence of a man! A grand hoss, Lin, but one thet'll be hell, if you ever ketch him.He has killed stallions all over the Sevier range.A wild stallion thet's a killer! I never liked him for thet.Could he be broke?""I'll break him," said Lin Slone, grimly."It's gettin' him thet's the job.
I've got patience to break a hoss.But patience can't catch a streak of lightnin'.""Nope; you're right," replied Bill."If you have some luck you'll get him--mebbe.If he wears out his feet, or if you crowd him into a narrow canyon, or ran him into a bad place where he can't get by you.Thet might happen.An' then, with Nagger, you stand a chance.Did you ever tire thet 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 myself--thirty 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.
