"Lin, it makes me sick to quit. I ain't denyin' thet for a long time I've had
hopes of ketchin' Wildfire. He's the grandest hoss I ever laid eyes on. I
reckon no man, onless he was an Arab, ever seen as good a one. But now, thet's
neither here nor there. . . . We've got to hit the back trail."

"Boys, I reckon I'll stick to Wildfire's tracks," said Lin, in the same quiet
tone.

Bill swore at him, and the other hunter grew excited and concerned.

"Lin Slone, are you gone plumb crazy over thet red hoss?"

"I--reckon," replied Slone. The working of his throat as he swallowed could be
plainly seen by his companions.

Bill looked at his ally as if to confirm some sudden understanding between
them. They took Slone's attitude gravely and they wagged their heads
doubtfully, as they might have done had Slone just acquainted them with a
hopeless and deathless passion for a woman. It was significant of the nature
of riders that they accepted his attitude and had consideration for his
feelings. For them the situation subtly changed. For weeks they had been three
wild-horse wranglers on a hard chase after a valuable stallion. They had
failed to get even close to him. They had gone to the limit of their endurance
and of the outfit, and it was time to turn back. But Slone had conceived that
strange and rare longing for a horse--a passion understood, if not shared, by
all riders. And they knew that he would catch Wildfire or die in the attempt.
From that moment their attitude toward Slone changed as subtly as had come the
knowledge of his feeling. The gravity and gloom left their faces. It seemed
they might have regretted what they had said about the futility of catching
Wildfire. They did not want Slone to see or feel the hopelessness of his task.