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Updated: May 11, 2025
Cleomenes, the Spartan Hero, a Tragedy, acted at the theatre-royal, and printed in 4to. 1692, dedicated to the earl of Rochester. There is prefixed to it the Life of Cleomenes, translated from Plutarch by Mr. Creech.
Something tight within Bostil's breast seemed to ease and lessen. "Why didn't I? ... Wal, Lucy, I reckon I wasn't in no hurry to oblige Creech. I'm sorry now." "It won't be so terrible if he doesn't lose the horses," murmured Lucy. "Where's young Joel Creech?" asked Bostil. "He stayed on this side last night," replied Van. "Fact is, Joel's the one who first knew the flood was on.
But when it came to getting the horses there appeared danger of delay. Sarchedon had led Dusty Ben and Two Face off in the grass. When Joel went for them they galloped away toward the woods. Joel ran back. "Son, you're a smart hossman!" exclaimed Creech, in disgust. "Shall I git on the King an' ketch them?" "No. Hold the King."
"Send the King an' all he wants.... An' send word fer Creech to come back to the Ford.... Tell him I said my sin found me out!" Bostil watched Joel Creech ride the King out upon the slope, driving the others ahead. Sage King wanted to run. Sarchedon was wild and unruly. They passed out of sight. Then Bostil turned to his silent riders.
Yet he believed just this had happened. How strange he had never considered such an event as the return of Creech. "I'd better look him up before he looks me," said Slone. It took but an instant to strap on his belt and gun. Then Slone strode down his path, out into the lane toward Brackton's. Whatever before boded ill to Slone had been nothing to what menaced him now.
Slone became convinced that, whether young Creech was half crazy or not, he knew his father's horses were doomed, and that the boat at the ferry had been cut adrift. Slone could not understand why he was convinced, but he was.
Slone stepped back, forgotten, it seemed to him. Both joy and sorrow swayed him. He had been exonerated. But this hard and gloomy Creech he knew things. And Slone thought of Lucy. "Who did cut thet thar boat loose?" demanded Brackton, incredulously. Creech gave him a strange glance. "As I was sayin', we come on the boat fast at the head of the long stretch. I seen the cables had been cut.
Creech seemed to gain strength with his speech and passion with the strength. His eyes glinted at the hard, paling face of his rival. He raised a clenching fist. "An' by G d, I'm goin' to win thet race!" During that week Lucy had heard many things about Joel Creech, and some of them were disquieting.
"Lucy, in thet case I'd make as poor a blackguard as anythin' else I've been," he said, forlornly. "But I'm figgerin' Bostil will give up his hosses fer you." "Creech, I'm afraid he won't. You'd better give me up. Let me go back. I'll never tell. I don't blame you. I think you're square. My dad is.... But, oh, don't make ME suffer! You used to to care for me, when I was little."
It's the dryest spell Creech ever had," replied the other. "An' if there was grass it wouldn't do him no good. A landslide blocked the only trail up." "Bostil, them hosses, the racers special, ought to be brought acrost the river," said Holley, earnestly. He loved horses and was thinking of them. "The boat's got to be patched up," replied Bostil, shortly.
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