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Updated: May 31, 2025
"What'll you tell Bostil?" asked Slone, half beside himself. "I'm consarned if I know," replied Holley. "Mebbe I'll think of some idee. I'll go back now. An' say, son, I reckon you'd better hang close to home. If you meet Bostil down in the village you two'd clash sure. I'll come up soon, but it'll be after dark." "Holley, all this is is good of you," said Slone. "I I'll "
Holley pulled out a stubby black pipe and, filling and lighting it, he appeared to grow more thoughtful. "It wasn't only Lucy thet sent me up here to see you. Bostil had been pesterin' me fer days. But I kept fightin' shy of it till Lucy got hold of me." "Bostil sent you? Why?" "Reckon you can guess. He can't sleep, thinkin' about your red hoss. None of us ever seen Bostil have sich a bad case.
Bostil was positive she had meant to tell him something and suddenly changed her mind. Subtly the child vanished a woman remained. Lucy sat up self-possessed once more. Some powerfully impelling thought had transformed her. Bostil's keen sense gathered that what she would not tell was not hers to reveal. For herself, she was the soul of simplicity and frankness.
He strode away from his men down to the river shore, and, finding a seat on a stone, he studied the slow eddying red current of the river and he listened. If any man knew the strange and remorseless Colorado, that man was Bostil. He never made any mistakes in anticipating what the river was going to do.
Like a swarm of bees the riders swooped down upon the racers, caught them, and led them up to Bostil. On Sarchedon's neck showed a dry, dust-caked stain of reddish tinge. Holley, the old hawk-eyed rider, had precedence in the examination. "Wal, thet's a bullet-mark, plain as day," said Holley. "Who shot him?" demanded Bostil. Holley shook his gray head.
The riders did not believe this, and said some boy, shooting at a rabbit or coyote, had been afraid to confess he had nearly hit Bostil. The riders all said Bostil was not wholly himself of late. The river was still low. The boat had not been repaired. And Creech's horses were still on the other side. These things concerned Lucy, yet they only came and went swiftly through her mind.
And the occasion of his arrival, for all the gaiety, was one of dignity and importance. If Bostil reveled in anything it was in an hour like this. His liberality made this event a great race-day. The thoroughbreds were all there, blanketed, in charge of watchful riders. In the center of the brow of this long bench lay a huge, flat rock which had been Bostil's seat in the watching of many a race.
"Then Cordts said water an' grass was peterin' out back on the trail, same as Red Wilson said last week. Finally he asked, 'How's my friend Bostil? I told him you was well.
He crawled through the sage all around the trampled space. Suddenly his heart seemed to receive a stab. He had found prints of Lucy's boots in the soft earth! And he leaped up, wild and fierce, needing to know no more. He ran back to his cabin. He never thought of Bostil, of Holley, of anything except the story revealed in those little boot-tracks.
"Wal now, I reckon I could handle the boat an' fetch Creech's hosses over," said Holley. Bostil raised an impatient hand, as if to wave aside Holley's assumption. Then one of the other two men spoke up. Lucy had seen him before, but did not know his name. "Sure there ain't any need to rustle the job. The river hain't showed any signs of risin' yet.
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