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"Dad and I never agree about a horse. He thinks he got the best of you. But you know, Macomber, what a horse-thief you are. Worse than Cordts!" "Wal, if I got the best of Bostil I'm willin' to be thought bad. I'm the first feller to take him in.... An' now, Miss Lucy, look over my sorrel." Lucy Bostil did indeed have an eye for a horse.
And though she had been told to put no value on her life, in that event, she could not run. All in an instant when life had been so sweet she could not face pain or death. The man moved back a step. He was tall, gaunt, ragged. But not like Cordts! Never would she forget Cordts. She peered up at him. In the dim light of the few stars she recognized Joel Creech's father.
Slone saw her white, rounded shoulders bent, with cold, white face pressed against the rifle, with slim arms quivering and growing tense, with the tangled golden hair blowing out. Then she shot. Slone's glance shifted. He did not see the bullet strike up dust. The figures of the men remained the same Hutchinson straining, Cordts.... No, Cordts was not the same!
Lucy knew she was headed for the north, toward the wild canyons, unknown to the riders. Cordts and his gang hid in there. What might not happen if the Creeches fell in with Cordts? Lucy's confidence sustained a check. Still, she remembered the Creeches were like Indians. And what would Slone do? He would ride out on her trail.
Bostil observed that Cordts had hurried ahead of the group and now appeared to be saying something emphatic to Dick Sears and Hutchinson. Bostil heard Cordts curse. Probably he was arraigning the sullen Sears. Cordts had acted first rate had lived up to his word, as Bostil thought he would do. Cordts and Hutchinson mounted their horses and rode off, somewhat to the left of the scattered crowd.
Why, Cordts couldn't chop into thet log-an'-wire corral if he an' his gang chopped all night! They hate work. Besides, Farlane is there, an' the boys." This reassured Bostil, and he resumed his chair. But his hand shook a little. "Did Cordts have anythin' to say?" he asked. "Sure. He was friendly an' talkative," replied Brackton. "He came in just after dark.
Don't ever let him near you. He's crazy an' he means evil." "Oh, I know, Lin! I'll watch. But I'm not afraid of him." "He's strong, Lucy. I saw him lift bags that were hefty for me.... Lucy, do you ride these days?" "Every day. If I couldn't ride I couldn't live." "I'm afraid," said Slone, nervously. "There's Creech an' Cordts both have threatened you."
Bostil heard Holley calling and Cordts calling and other voices, but he did not distinguish what was said. The line of horses began to bob, to bunch. The race looked close, despite what Holley had said. The Indians were beginning to lean forward, here and there uttering a short, sharp yell. Everything within Bostil grew together in one great, throbbing, tingling mass.
Lucy told him everything she knew and could think of, and, lastly, after waxing eloquent on the horses of the uplands, particularly Bostil's, she gave him a graphic account of Cordts and Dick Sears. "Horse-thieves!" exclaimed the rider, darkly. There was a grimness as well as fear in his tone. "I've heard of Sears, but not Cordts. Where does this band hang out?" "No one knows.
You couldn't fight either of them." "Couldn't I? Well, I just could. I'd I'd shoot Cordts. And I'd whip Joel Creech with my quirt. And if he kept after me I'd let Sarch run him down. Sarch hates him." "You're a brave sweetheart," mused Slone. "Suppose you were caught an' couldn't get away. Would you leave a trail somehow?" "I sure would."
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