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Updated: May 15, 2025
An' the whole place down there where the willows was an' the sand-bar it was deep under water." "What will become of Creech's horses?" asked Lucy, breathlessly. "My God! ain't it a shame!" went on Bostil, and he could have laughed aloud at his hypocrisy. He felt Lucy's blue eyes riveted upon his face. "Thet's what we all was sayin'," went on Van.
"I'm going to see the King beat Creech's roan," shouted the rider, with red in his cheeks and a flash in his eye. His enthusiasm warmed Lucy's interest, yet it made her thoughtful. Ideas flashed into her mind. If the rider attended the races he would have that fleet stallion with him. He could not be separated from the horse that had cost him so dearly.
Indeed, there was certainly an unnecessary delay on Creech's part in making a settlement. The first instalment of profits was not sufficient for leasing and stocking a farm; and during the months that elapsed before the whole profits were in his hands, Burns made several tours through the Borders and Highlands of Scotland.
She remembered the conversation between him and Creech's rider. She remembered the keen glance old Holley had bent upon him. And mostly she remembered the somber look upon his face. She did not like that. Once, when a little girl, she had seen it and never forgotten it, nor the thing that it was associated with something tragical which had happened in the big room.
For Bostil would never let that deed go unreckoned with. Like Bostil, old Creech was half horse and half human. The human side had warmed to remorse. He had regretted Lucy's plight; he wanted her to be safe at home again and to find happiness; he remembered what she had been to him when she was a little girl. Creech's other side was more complex.
Bostil put his arm around her and felt immeasurably relieved to have the golden head press close to his shoulder. "Child, we can't fly acrost the river. Now don't you cry about Creech's hosses. They ain't starved yet. It's hard luck. But mebbe it'll turn out so Creech'll lose only the race. An', Lucy, it was a dead sure bet he'd have lost thet anyway."
His face was lividly white except where the bloody welts crossed it. His jaw seemed to hang loosely, making speech difficult. "Jest fer thet " he panted, hoarsely, "I'll lay fer you an' I'll strip you -an' I'll tie you on a hoss an' I'll drive you naked through Bostil's Ford!" Lucy saw the utter futility of all her good intentions. Something had snapped in Joel Creech's mind.
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.
"What on earth does this mean?" she gasped, very low. She had no sense of fear of Creech. Once, when he and her father had been friends, she had been a favorite of Creech's. When a little girl she had ridden his knee many times. Between Creech and Cordts there was immeasurable distance. Yet she had been violently seized and carried out into the sage and menaced. Creech leaned down.
He trailed his vague feelings back to a subtle shock he had sustained in a last look at Creech's dark, somber face. It had been the face of a Nemesis. All about Creech breathed silent, revengeful force. Slone worked out in his plodding thought why that fact should oppress him; and it was because in striking Bostil old Creech must strike through Bostil's horses and his daughter.
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