He was an engine of tremendous power.
Slone gained upon Wildfire, and toward evening of that day he reached to within half a mile of the stallion.

And he chose to keep that far behind.

That night he camped where there was dry grass, but no water.
Next day he followed Wildfire down and down, over the endless swell of rolling red ridges, bare of all but bleached white grass and meager greasewood, always descending in the face of that painted desert of bold and ragged steps.

Slone made fifty miles that day, and gained the valley bed, where a slender stream ran thin and spread over a wide sandy bottom.

It was salty water, but it was welcome to both man and beast.
The following day he crossed, and the tracks of Wildfire were still wet on the sand-bars.