Sooner or later Wildfire would go down into a high-walled wash, from which there would be no outlet; or he would wander into a box-canyon; or he would climb out on a mesa with no place to descend, unless he passed Slone; or he would get cornered on a soft, steep slope where his hoofs would sink deep and make him slow.

The nature of the desert had changed.

Slone had entered a wonderful region, the like of which he had not seen--a high plateau crisscrossed in every direction by narrow canyons with red walls a thousand feet high.
And one of the strange turning canyons opened into a vast valley of monuments.
The plateau had weathered and washed away, leaving huge sections of stone walls, all standing isolated, different in size and shape, but all clean-cut, bold, with straight lines.

They stood up everywhere, monumental, towering, many-colored, lending a singular and beautiful aspect to the great green-and-gray valley, billowing away to the north, where dim, broken battlements mounted to the clouds.
The only living thing in Slone's sight was Wildfire.

He shone red down on the green slope.
Slone's heart swelled.