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Most of the crowd surged down to surround the racers, and the yells gave way to the buzz of many voices. Some of the ranchers and riders remained near Bostil, all apparently talking at once. Bostil gathered that Holley's Whitefoot had ran second, and the Navajo's mustang third. It was Holley himself who verified what Bostil had heard. The old rider's hawk eyes were warm with delight.
"Oh, don't!" said Slone, involuntarily. "Wal, it'll be better comin' from you an' me. Take my word fer thet. I'll prepare Lucy. An' she's as good a scrapper as Bostil, any day." "It all scares me," replied Slone. He did feel panicky, and that was from thoughts of what shame might befall Lucy. The cold sweat oozed out of every pore. What might not Bostil do? "Holley, I love the girl.
I do not know the fruit or flower of either. the 1st resembles the plant common to many parts of the U States called the mountain holley.
There's wild talk back there of a railroad goin' to be built some day, joinin' east an' west. It's interestin', but no sense to it. How could they build a railroad through thet country?" "North it ain't so cut up an' lumpy as here," put in Holley. "Grandest idea ever thought of for the West," avowed Bostil. "If thet railroad ever starts we'll all get rich.... Go on, Brack."
Reader, so have I! My fate was sealed! A word with Mr. Holley, one of the inspectors, settled the whole thing. It proved that this Dennis Shea was a harmless, amiable fellow, of the class known as shiftless, who had scaled his fate by marrying a dumb wife, who was at that moment ironing in the laundry. Before I left Stafford, I had hired both for five years.
"It ain't safe for her out there.... Where's my glass? I want to take a look at the slope. Where's my glass?" The glass could not be found. "What's makin' them dust-clouds on the sage? Antelope? ... Holley, you used to have eyes better 'n me. Use them, will you?" A gray-haired, hawk-eyed rider, lean and worn, approached with clinking spurs. "Down in there," said Bostil, pointing.
"Who do you suppose I jest sold whisky to?" "I've no idea," replied Bostil. Yet he looked as if he was perfectly sure. "Cordts! ... Cordts, an' four of his outfit. Two of them I didn't know. Bad men, judgin' from appearances, let alone company. The others was Hutchinson an' Dick Sears." "DICK SEARS!" exclaimed Bostil. Muncie and Williams echoed Bostil. Holley appeared suddenly interested.
"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.
"So help me Gawd I'm sorry!" was his broken exclamation. Slone had forgotten himself and possible revelation concerning him. But when Holley appeared close to him with a significant warning look, Slone grew keen once more on his own account. He felt a hot flame inside him a deep and burning anger at the man who might have saved Creech's horses.
"Is thet a gray hoss or am I blind?" he called, unsteadily. The riders dared not answer. They must be sure. They gazed through narrow slits of eyelids; and the silence grew intense. Holley shaded the hawk eyes with his hand. "Yes, it's the King!" cried the riders, excitedly. "Sure! I reckon! No mistake about thet! It's the King!"
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