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Updated: May 9, 2025
One dream in particular always fascinated him, and it was one in which he saw the girl riding Wildfire, winning a great race for her life. Another, just as fascinating, but so haunting that he always dispelled it, was a dream where Lucy, alone and in peril, fought with Cordts or Joel Creech for more than her life. These vague dreams were Slone's acceptance of the blood and spirit in Lucy.
"Wal, I should smile! Fer two days an' it sure beats me. They've never had a sight of us. But they keep comin'." "They! Who?" she asked, swiftly. "I hate to tell you, but I reckon I ought. Thet's Cordts an' two of his gang." "Oh don't tell me so!" cried Lucy, suddenly terrified.
"Holley, shake hands with Slone, hoss-wrangler out of Utah.... You, too, Cal Blinn.... An' Macomber an' Wetherby, meet my friend here young Slone.... An', Cordts, shake hands with a feller thet owns a grand hoss!" Bostil laughed as he introduced the horse-thief to Slone. The others laughed, too, even Cordts joining in.
"Bostil, if Cordts loves the King thet well, he's in fer heartbreak," said Creech, with a ring in his voice. Down crashed Bostil's heavy boots and fire flamed in his gaze. The other men laughed, and Brackton interposed: "Hold on, you boy riders!" he yelled. "We ain't a-goin' to have any arguments like thet.... Now, Bostil, it's settled, then? You'll let Cordts come?"
These upland riders did not pack rifles, of that Slone was sure. And the sooner he came up with Cordts the better. It was then he let Wildfire choose his gait and the trail. Sunset, twilight, dusk, and darkness came with Slone keeping on and on. As long as there were no intersecting canyons or clefts or slopes by which Creech might have swerved from his course, just so long Slone would travel.
Then Lucy told him about the great passion of her father about the long, time-honored custom of free-for-all races, and the great races that had been run in the past; about the Creeches and their swift horses; about the rivalry and speculation and betting; and lastly about the races to be run in a few weeks races so wonderful in prospect that even the horse-thief, Cordts, had begged to be allowed to attend.
This camp-fire must belong to Cordts or the one man who had gone on ahead. And Slone advanced boldly. He did not have to make up his mind what to do. But he was amazed to see several dark forms moving to and fro before the bright camp-fire, and he checked himself abruptly. Considering a moment, Slone thought he had better have a look at these fellows.
"Bostil," he began, huskily, "you're to send the King an' Sarch an' Ben an' Two Face an' Plume to ransom Lucy! ... If you won't then Creech'll sell her to Cordts!" What a strange look came into the faces of the riders! Did, they think he cared more for horseflesh than for his own flesh and blood?
You ought to 've seen his eyes!...'I want to see thet race.... I'm goin' to. 'Wal, I said, 'you'll have to stop bein' You'll need to change your bizness. Then, Bostil, what do you think? Cordts was sort of eager an' wild. He said thet was a race he jest couldn't miss. He swore he wouldn't turn a trick or let a man of his gang stir a hand till after thet race, if you'd let him come."
Would you believe you could ride offer this rim, straight down thar fer fifty miles, an' never git off your hoss?" "No, I wouldn't believe it possible." "Wal, it's so. I've done it. An' I didn't want to come up thet way because I'd had to leave tracks." "Do you think we're safe from Cordts now?" she asked. "I reckon so. He's no tracker." "But suppose he does trail us?"
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