Slone looked grimly glad when simultaneously with the first red flash of sunrise a breeze fanned his cheek.

All that was needed now was a west wind.

And here came the assurance of it.
The valley appeared hazy and smoky, with slow, rolling clouds low down where the line of fire moved.

The coming of daylight paled the blaze of the grass, though here and there Slone caught flickering glimpses of dull red flame.

The wild stallion kept to the center of the valley, restlessly facing this way and that, but never toward the smoke.