Slone had a canvas water-bag hanging over the pommel, but it was a habit of his to deny himself, as far as possible, till his horse could drink also.

Like an Indian, Slone ate and drank but little.
It took four hours of steady trotting to reach the middle and bottom of that wide, flat valley.

A network of washes cut up the whole center of it, and they were all as dry as bleached bone.

To cross these Slone had only to keep Wildfire's trail.

And it was proof of Nagger's quality that he did not have to veer from the stallion's course.
It was hot down in the lowland.