ketch him. He has killed stallions all over the Sevier range. A wild stallion
thet's a killer! I never liked him for thet. Could he be broke?"

"I'll break him," said Lin Slone, grimly. "It's gettin' him thet's the job.
I've got patience to break a hoss. But patience can't catch a streak of
lightnin'."

"Nope; you're right," replied Bill. "If you have some luck you'll get
him--mebbe. If he wears out his feet, or if you crowd him into a narrow
canyon, or ran him into a bad place where he can't get by you. Thet might
happen. An' then, with Nagger, you stand a chance. Did you ever tire thet
hoss?"

"Not yet."

"An' how fur did you ever run him without a break? Why, when we ketched thet
sorrel last year I rode Nagger myself--thirty miles, most at a hard gallop.
An' he never turned a hair!"

"I've beat thet," replied Lin. "He could run hard fifty miles--mebbe more.
Honestly, I never seen him tired yet. If only he was fast!"

"Wal, Nagger ain't so durned slow, come to think of thet," replied Bill, with
a grunt. "He's good enough for you not to want another hoss."

"Lin, you're goin' to wear out Wildfire, an' then trap him somehow--is thet
the plan?" asked the other comrade.

"I haven't any plan. I'll just trail him, like a cougar trails a deer."