Slone made sure that Wildfire gradually gave ground as the line of smoke slowly worked toward him.
Every moment the breeze freshened, grew steadier and stronger, until Slone saw that it began to clear the valley of the low-hanging smoke.
There came a time when once more the blazing line extended across from slope to slope.
Wildfire was cornered, trapped.

Many times Slone nervously uncoiled and recoiled his lasso.

Presently the great chance of his life would come--the hardest and most important throw he would ever have with a rope.

He did not miss often, but then he missed sometimes, and here he must be swift and sure.

It annoyed him that his hands perspired and trembled and that something weighty seemed to obstruct his breathing.
He muttered that he was pretty much worn out, not in the best of condition for a hard fight with a wild horse.