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"Reckon this feller ridin' up will take down the prize money," remarked Holley, and he pointed to a man who rode a huge, shaggy, black horse and was leading Lucy's pony. "A-huh!" exclaimed Bostil. "A strange rider." "An' here comes Lucy coaxin' the stallion back," added Holley. "A wild stallion never clear broke!" ejaculated Cordts.
Hard hit! He would not he could not let go of Hutchinson. His was a death clutch. The burly Hutchinson slipped from his knee-hold, and as he moved Cordts swayed, his feet left the ledge, he hung, upheld only by the tottering comrade. What a harsh and terrible cry from Hutchinson! He made one last convulsive effort and it doomed him. Slowly he lost his balance.
Anyway, he's after us. What beats me is how he sticks to thet trail. Cordts never was no tracker. An' since Dick Sears is dead there ain't a tracker in Cordts's outfit. An' I always could hide my tracks.... Beats me!" "Creech, I've been leaving a trail," confessed Lucy. "What!"
"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.
Bostil had killed more than one man. The memory, no doubt, was haunting and ghastly. "Cordts seemed to think his word was guarantee of his good faith. He said he'd send an Indian in here to find out if he can come to the races. I reckon, Bostil, thet it wouldn't hurt none to let him come. An' hold your gun hand fer the time he swears he'll be honest. Queer deal, ain't it, men?
"Ole Creech an' the girl he kidnapped." Slone felt the leap of his blood and the jerk it gave the rifle as his tense finger trembled on the trigger. "Girl.... What girl?" he called, hoarsely. "Bostil's girl." "Why did Cordts split on the trail?" "He an' Hutch went round fer some more of the gang, an' to head off Joel Creech when he comes in with Bostil's hosses."
Then he met the other's proffered hand. "I've bet heavy on the King," said Cordts. For the moment there could have been no other way to Bostil's good graces, and this remark made the gruff old rider's hard face relax. "Wal, I was hopin' you'd back some other hoss, so I could take your money," replied Bostil. Cordts held out the belt and guns to Bostil.
Perhaps, though, that threat to sell her to Cordts would frighten the hard old man. The horses trotted and swung up over the slope, turning gradually, evidently to make a wide detour round the Ford, until Lucy's back was toward the monuments. Before her stretched the bleak, barren, dark desert, and through the opaque gloom she could see nothing.
Lucy was rapidly overhauling the troop of racers on her way to the post. Nothing ever hurried or excited Holley. "Wal, can't you see any better 'n me?" queried Bostil, eagerly. "Come on, Holl, give us a tip before she gits to the post," spoke up a rider. Cordts showed intense eagerness, and all the group were excited.
"But he must have seen it comin' an' left Sears to his fate. It sure was a fittin' last ride for a hoss-thief." Bostil sent Holley and Farlane on ahead to find Cordts and Hutchinson, with their comrades, to tell them the fate of Sears, and to warn them to leave before the news got to the riders. The sun was setting golden and red over the broken battlements of the canyons to the west.
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