He came, presently, upon a lion track in the trail, made probably a day before.

Slone grew curious about it, seeing how it held, as he was holding, to Wildfire's tracks.
After a mile or so he made sure the lion had been trailing the stallion, and for a second he felt a cold contraction of his heart.
Already he loved Wildfire, and by virtue of all this toil of travel considered the wild horse his property.
"No lion could ever get close to Wildfire," he soliloquized, with a short laugh.

Of that he was absolutely certain.
The sun rose, melting the frost, and a breath of warm air, laden with the scent of pine, moved heavily under the huge, yellow trees.

Slone passed a point where the remains of an old camp-fire and a pile of deer antlers were further proof that Indians visited this plateau to hunt.
From this camp broader, more deeply defined trails led away to the south and east.

Slone kept to the east trail, in which Wildfire's tracks and those of the lion showed clearly.