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Updated: June 6, 2025
He'll kill Creech, an' he'll lay fer Joel goin' back an' he'll kill him.... An' I'll bet my all he'll ride in here with Lucy an' the King!" "Holley, you ain't figurin' on thet red hoss of Slone's ridin' down the King?" Holley laughed as if Bostil's query was the strangest thing of all that poignant day. "Naw. Slone'll lay fer Joel an' rope him like he roped Dick Sears."
At last word arrived from the Utes and Navajos that they accepted Bostil's invitation and would come in force, which meant, according to Holley and other old riders, that the Indians would attend about eight hundred strong. "Thet old chief, Hawk, is comin'," Holley informed Bostil. "He hasn't been here fer several years. Recollect thet bunch of colts he had?
"What Creech swears he seen you do to Miss Lucy, out there among the rocks, where you was hid with Wildfire is there any truth in thet?" asked Holley, earnestly. "Tell me, Slone. Folks believe it. An' it's hurt you at the Ford. Bostil hasn't heard it yet, an' Lucy she doesn't know. But I'm figgerin' thet you punched Joel because he throwed it in your face."
What would Bostil and Holley and Farlane say at sight of Wildfire? Suppose Wildfire was to enter the races! It was probable that he could run away from the whole field even beat the King. Lucy thrilled and thrilled. What a surprise it would be! She had the rider's true love of seeing the unheralded horse win over the favorite.
"Holley, I reckon you see clearer 'n me," said Bostil, plaintively. "'Pears as if I never had a hard knock before. Fer my nerve's broke. I can't hope.... Lucy's gone! ... Ain't there anythin' to do but wait?" "Thet's all. Jest wait. If we went out on Joel's trail we'd queer the chance of Creech's bein' honest. An' we'd queer Slone's game. I'd hate to have him trailin' me."
"An' any mornin' along now we might wake up to hear the Colorado boomin'," went on Holley, significantly. Bostil did not reply to that. "Creech hain't lived over there so many years. What's he know about the river? An' fer that matter, who knows anythin' sure about thet hell-bent river?" "It ain't my business thet Creech lives over there riskin' his stock every spring," replied Bostil, darkly.
Mushet's American patent had been bought by an American group interested in the Kelly process at about this time, and Bessemer's American rights had also been sold to an American group that included Alexander Lyman Holley, who had long been associated with Zerah Colburn, another American engineer.
In reflecting upon the character of this truly remarkable person, I am reminded of a Newfoundland dog that I once had the honor of knowing near the spot on the shore of Lake Ontario where Myron Holley hoed his cabbages and picked his strawberries.
Then quick as a cat Sears vaulted into the saddle. Wildfire snorted and lifted his forefeet in a lunge that meant he would bolt. Sears in vaulting up had swung the gun aloft. He swept it down, but waveringly, for Wildfire had begun to rear. Bostil saw how fatal that single instant would have been for Sears if he or Holley had a gun. Something whistled.
Holley thrust a quivering, brown hand into Bostil's face. "What did I tell you?" he shouted. "Didn't I say wait?" Bostil threw away all that deep fury of passion, and there seemed only a resistless and speechless admiration left. Then ensued a moment of silence. The riders watched Slone's weary face as it drooped, and Bostil, as he loomed over him. "Where's the red stallion?" queried Bostil.
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