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Updated: May 31, 2025
He peered through the dark opaqueness of gloom. It moved there, the river he knew, shadowy, mysterious, murmuring. Bostil went down to the edge of the water, and, sitting there, he listened. Yes the voices of the stream were the same. But after a long time he imagined there was among them an infinitely low voice, as if from a great distance.
"Where's Lucy?" presently asked Bostil. As he divided his love, so he divided his anxiety. Some rider had seen Lucy riding off, with her golden hair flying in the wind. This was an old story. "She's up on Buckles?" Bostil queried, turning sharply to the speaker. "Reckon so," was the calm reply. Bostil swore. He did not have a rider who could equal him in profanity. "Farlane, you'd orders.
"An' whoever he was grabbed Lucy up made off with her?" asked Bostil. "Plain as if we seen it done!" exclaimed Holley. There was fire in the clear, hawk eyes. "Cordts!" cried Bostil, hoarsely. "Mebbe mebbe. But thet ain't my idee.... Come on." Holley went so fast he almost ran, and he got ahead of Bostil. Finally several hundred yards out in the sage he halted, and again dropped to his knees.
He went to thet bench up by the biggest cottonwood. An' he waited a long time. But Lucy didn't come. He must have waited till midnight. Then he left. I watched him go back seen him go up to his cabin." "Wal, if she didn't meet him, where was she? She wasn't in her room." Bostil gazed at Holley and the other riders, then back to Holley. What was the matter with this old rider?
"It ain't safe for her out there.... Where's my glass? I want to take a look at the slope. Where's my glass?" The glass could not be found. "What's makin' them dust-clouds on the sage? Antelope? ... Holley, you used to have eyes better 'n me. Use them, will you?" A gray-haired, hawk-eyed rider, lean and worn, approached with clinking spurs. "Down in there," said Bostil, pointing.
She meant business, all right, and Bostil thrilled with pride in her. "Dad, I'll bet you two hundred, even, that I beat the King!" she flashed. "Wal, of all the nerve!" ejaculated Bostil. "No, I won't take you up. Reckon I never before turned down an even bet. Understand, Lucy, ridin' in the race is enough for you." "All right, Dad," replied Lucy, obediently.
They're bosses, not mustangs.... So you look out, Bostil!" No rider or rancher or sheepman, in fact, no one, ever lost a chance to warn Bostil. Some of it was in fun, but most of it was earnest. The nature of events was that sooner or later a horse would beat the King. Bostil knew that as well as anybody, though he would not admit it. Holley's hint made Bostil look worried.
The big hand that forced Slone back was far from gentle, and again he felt the quick rush of blood. "Mebbe I can tell you somethin' thet'll make you sell Wildfire," said Bostil. "Not if you talked yourself dumb!" flashed Slone. There was no use to try to keep cool with this Bostil, if he talked horses. "I'll race Wildfire against the King. But no more." "Race!
I'll give you five hundred in gold an' Sarchedon to boot." Creech looked as if he had not heard aright. Bostil repeated the offer. "No," replied Creech. "I'll make it a thousand an' throw Plume in with Sarch," flashed Bostil. "No!" Creech turned pale and swallowed hard. "Two thousand an' Dusty Ben along with the others?" This was an unheard-of price to pay for any horse.
You're young an' you'd have a big start in life if you would. But Lucy's your girl an' you give her the hoss.... Thet settles thet!" "If I go away from here an' leave Wildfire for Lucy do you think she could keep him? Wouldn't Bostil take him from her?" "Wal, son, if he tried thet on Lucy she'd jump Wildfire an' hit your trail an' hang on to it till she found you."
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