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Updated: May 18, 2025
"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.
Besides, in this narrow road, on a spirited horse, she was not inclined to watch the scenery. She hurried Sarchedon down and down, under the overhanging brows of rock, to where the rim sloped out and failed. Here was a half-acre of sand, with a few scant willows, set down seemingly in a dent at the base of the giant, beetling cliffs.
And after Van's return to work he made her ride Sarchedon. Things had happened at the Ford which would have concerned Lucy greatly had she not been over-excited about her own affairs. Some one had ambushed Bostil in the cottonwoods near his house and had shot at him, narrowly missing him. Bostil had sworn he recognized the shot as having come from a rifle, and that he knew to whom it belonged.
And the scarlet fired her neck and cheek and temple. That leap of blood seemed to release a riot of emotions. What had been a torment became a torture. She turned Sarchedon homeward, but scarcely had faced that way when she wheeled him again. She rode slowly and she rode swiftly.
But I'm going to beat the King, anyway.... Bring on your Wildfire!" Lucy unsaddled Sarchedon and turned him loose to graze while Slone went out after Wildfire. And presently it appeared that Lucy might have some little time to wait. Wildfire had lately been trusted to hobbles, which fact made it likely that he had strayed.
Something in his eyes made Lucy think of the dawn. "About the Because Why, I'm I'll accept your horse." "Yes," he replied, swiftly. Lucy settled herself in the saddle and, shortening the bridle, she got ready to spur Sarchedon into a bolt. "Lin, I'll accept Wildfire because I love you." Sarchedon leaped forward. Lucy did not see Slone's face nor hear him speak.
I'm eighteen!" "You get that old chest of your mother's. But what from me?" "Dad, will you give me anything I ask for?" "Yes, my girl." "Anything any HORSE?" Lucy knew his weakness, for she had inherited it. "Sure; any horse but the King." "How about Sarchedon?" "Why, Lucy, what'd you do with that big black devil? He's too high. Seventeen hands high! You couldn't mount him." "Pooh!
And she had two very strong desires one to tell Slone something, and the other to run. She decided she would do both together. Slone brought Sarchedon. Lucy put on her gauntlets, and, mounting the horse, she took a moment to arrange her skirts before she looked down at Slone. He was now pale, rather than white, and instead of fire in his eyes there was sadness.
The Sage King whistled again, and shot off with graceful sweep to meet them; Sarchedon plunged after him; Two Face and Plume jealously trooped down, too, but Dusty Ben, after a toss of his head, went on grazing. The gray and the black met Buckles and could not turn in time to stay with him. A girl's gay scream pealed up the slope, and Buckles went lower and faster. Sarchedon was left behind.
He was planning a novel, Sarchedon, a story of the ancient East, and was anxious to learn from the Dean what historical authorities would best guide the Homer of Melton and Market Harborough in reconstructing the world of Bel and Baylon.
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