Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 31, 2025
Bostil sadly realized that his little girl had reached womanhood and love, and with them the sweet, bitter pangs of life. He realized also that here was a crisis when a word an unjust or lying word from him would forever ruin any hope that might still exist for Slone. Bostil realized this acutely, but the realization was not even a temptation. "Wal, listen.
"Blue Roan an' Peg, by Creech; Whitefoot, by Macomber; Rocks, by Holley; Hoss-shoes, by Blinn; Bay Charley, by Burthwait. Then thar's the two mustangs entered by Old Hoss an' Silver an' last Wildfire, by Lucy Bostil." "What's thet last?" queried Bostil. "Wildfire, by Lucy Bostil," repeated Brackton. "Has the girl gone an' entered a hoss?" "She sure has.
"This has been a day. Guess I'd better cool off right now an' stay here.... That poor devil! Maybe he's not so crazy. But he's wilder than an Indian. I must warn Lucy.... Lord! I wonder if Bostil could have held back repairin' that boat, an' then cut it loose? I wonder? Yesterday I'd have sworn never. To-day "
I guess the track's wide enough for twelve." "Wal, Brack, there'll likely be one hoss out in front an' some stretched out behind," replied Bostil, dryly. "The track's sure wide enough." "Won't thet be a grand race!" exclaimed an enthusiastic rider. "Wisht I had about a million to bet!"
But the opposition to his will made him furious. Van left the group of riders and came close to Bostil. "It ain't an hour back thet I seen Slone ride off alone on his red hoss." "What of thet?" demanded Bostil. "Sure she was waitin' somewheres. They'd have too much sense to go together.... Saddle up, you boys, an' we'll "
A dry storm moved in dry majesty across the horizon, and the sheets and ropes of lightning, blazing white behind the black monuments, gave weird and beautiful grandeur to the desert. Lucy Bostil had to evade her aunt to get out of the house, and the window, that had not been the means of exit since Bostil left, once more came into use.
But he must go among these visitors and welcome them as of old; he who had always been the life of these racing-days must be outwardly the same. And the task was all the harder because of the pleasure shown by old friends among the Indians and the riders at meeting him. Bostil knew he had been a cunning horse-trader, but he had likewise been a good friend.
Bostil hurried across the flat to get to the rocky trail before he was cut off, and the last few rods he waded in water up to his knees. "I'll leave no trail there," he muttered, with a hard laugh. It sounded ghastly to him, like the laugh of the river. And there at the foot of the rocky trail he halted to watch and listen. The old memorable boom came to his ears. The flood was coming.
Bostil conquered his paroxysm, and, wiping his moist red face, he eyed Lucy in mock solemnity. "Joel!" whispered Lucy, who had a guilty conscience. "Lucy, I never heard the beat of it.... Joel's smarter in some ways than we thought, an' crazier in others. He had the sun figgered, but what'd he want to run through town for? Why, never in my life have I seen such tickled riders."
Suddenly he touched Bostil and pointed down the slope. "There's Lucy," he said. "She's ridin' out to join the bunch." "Lucy! Where? I'd forgotten my girl! ... Where?" "There," repeated Holly, and he pointed. Others of the group spoke up, having seen Lucy riding down. "She's on a red hoss," said one. "'Pears all-fired big to me her hoss," said another. "Who's got a glass?"
Word Of The Day
Others Looking