"No. I've had all I want of chasin' thet damn wild stallion," returned Bill,
shortly.

The other spread wide his hands and bent an expostulating look upon the one
called Lin. "We're two hundred miles out," he said. "There's only a little
flour left in the bag. No coffee! Only a little salt! All the hosses except
your big Nagger are played out. We're already in strange country. An' you know
what we've heerd of this an' all to the south. It's all canyons, an'
somewheres down there is thet awful canyon none of our people ever seen. But
we've heerd of it. An awful cut-up country."

He finished with a conviction that no one could say a word against the common
sense of his argument. Lin was silent, as if impressed.

Bill raised a strong, lean, brown hand in a forcible gesture. "We can't ketch
Wildfire!"

That seemed to him, evidently, a more convincing argument than his comrade's.

"Bill is sure right, if I'm wrong, which I ain't," went on the other. "Lin,
we've trailed thet wild stallion for six weeks. Thet's the longest chase he
ever had. He's left his old range. He's cut out his band, an' left them, one
by one. We've tried every trick we know on him. An' he's too smart for us.
There's a hoss! Why, Lin, we're all but gone to the dogs chasin' Wildfire. An'
now I'm done, an' I'm glad of it."

There was another short silence, which presently Bill opened his lips to
break.