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Wildfire
by Zane Grey
CHAPTER I
For some reason the desert scene before Lucy Bostil awoke varying emotionsa
sweet gratitude for the fullness of her life there at the Ford； yet a haunting
remorse that she could not be wholly contenta vague loneliness of soula
thrill and a fear for the strangely calling future； glorious； unknown。
She longed for something to happen。 It might be terrible； so long as it was
wonderful。 This day； when Lucy had stolen away on a forbidden horse； she was
eighteen years old。 The thought of her mother； who had died long ago on their
way into this wilderness； was the one drop of sadness in her joy。 Lucy loved
everybody at Bostil's Ford and everybody loved her。 She loved all the horses
except her father's favorite racer； that perverse devil of a horse； the great
Sage King。
Lucy was glowing and rapt with love for all she beheld from her lofty perch：
the green…and…pink blossoming hamlet beneath her； set between the beauty of
the gray sage expanse and the ghastliness of the barren heights； the swift
Colorado sullenly thundering below in the abyss； the Indians in their bright
colors； riding up the river trail； the eagle poised like a feather on the air；
and a beneath him the grazing cattle making black dots on the sage； the deep
velvet azure of the sky； the golden lights on the bare peaks and the lilac
veils in the far ravines； the silky rustle of a canyon swallow as he shot
downward in the sweep of the wind； the fragrance of cedar； the flowers of the
spear…pointed mescal； the brooding silence； the beckoning range； the purple
distance。
Whatever it was Lucy longed for； whatever was whispered by the wind and
written in the mystery of the waste of sage and stone； she wanted it to happen
there at Bostil's Ford。 She had no desire for civilization； she flouted the
idea of marrying the rich rancher of Durango。 Bostil's sister； that stern but
lovable woman who had brought her up and taught her； would never persuade her
to marry against her will。 Lucy imagined herself like a wild horsefree；
proud； untamed； meant for the desert； and here she would live her life。 The
desert and her life seemed as one； yet in what did they resemble each
otherin what of this scene could she read the nature of her future？
Shudderingly she rejected the red； sullen； thundering river； with its swift；
changeful； endless； contending strifefor that was tragic。 And she rejected
the frowning mass of red rock； upreared； riven and split and canyoned； so grim
and alooffor that was barren。 But she accepted the vast sloping valley of
sage； rolling gray and soft and beautiful； down to the dim mountains and
purple ramparts of the horizon。 Lucy did not know what she yearned for； she
did not know why the desert called to her； she did not know in what it
resembled her spirit； but she did know that these three feelings were as one；
deep in her heart。 For ten years； every day of her life； she had watched this
desert scene； and never had there been an hour that it was not different； yet
the same。 Ten yearsand she grew up watching； feelingtill from the desert's
thousand moods she assimilated its nature； loved her bonds； and could never
have been happy away from the open； the color； the freedom； the wildness。 On
this birthday； when those who loved her said she had become her own mistress；
she acknowledged the claim of the desert forever。 And she experienced a deep；
rich； strange happiness。
Hers always then the mutable and immutable desert； the leagues and leagues of
slope and sage and rolling ridge； the great canyons and the giant cliffs； the
dark river with its mystic thunder of waters； the pine…fringed plateaus； the
endless stretch of horizon； with its lofty； isolated； noble monuments； and the
bold ramparts with their beckoning beyond！ Hers always the desert seasons： the
shrill； icy blast； the intense cold； the steely skies； the fading snows； the
gray old sage and the bleached grass under the pall of the spring sand…storms；
the hot furnace breath of summer； with its magnificent cloud pageants in the
sky； with the black tempests hanging here and there over the peaks； dark veils
floating down and rainbows everywhere； and the lacy waterfalls upon the
glistening cliffs and the thunder of the red floods； and the glorious golden
autumn when it was always afternoon and time stood still！ Hers always the
rides in the open； with the sun at her back and the wind in her face！ And hers
surely； sooner or later； the nameless adventure which had its inception in the
strange yearning of her heart and presaged its fulfilment somewhere down that
trailless sage…slope she loved so well！
Bostil's house was a crude but picturesque structure of red stone and white
clay and bleached cottonwoods； and it stood at the outskirts of the cluster of
green…inclosed cabins which composed the hamlet。 Bostil was wont to say that
in all the world there could hardly be a grander view than the outlook down
that gray sea of rolling sage； down to the black…fringed plateaus and the
wild； blue…rimmed and gold…spired horizon。
One morning in early spring； as was Bostil's custom； he ordered the racers to
be brought from the corrals and turned loose on the slope。 He loved to sit
there and watch his horses graze； but ever he saw that the riders were close
at hand； and that the horses did not get out on the slope of sage。 He sat back
and gloried in the sight。 He owned bands of mustangs； near by was a field of
them； fine and mettlesome and racy； yet Bostil had eyes only for the blooded
favorites。 Strange it was that not one of these was a mustang or a broken wild
horse； for many of the riders' best mounts had been captured by them or the
Indians。 And it was Bostil's supreme ambition to own a great wild stallion。
There was Plume； a superb mare that got her name from the way her mane swept
in the wind when she was on the ran； and there was Two Face； like a coquette；
sleek and glossy and running and the huge； rangy bay； Dusty Ben； and the black
stallion Sarchedon； and lastly Sage King； the color of the upland sage； a
racer in build； a horse splendid and proud and beautiful。
〃Where's Lucy？〃 presently asked Bostil。
As he divided his love； so he divided his anxiety。
Some rider had seen Lucy riding off； with her golden hair flying in the wind。
This was an old story。
〃She's up on Buckles？〃 Bostil queried； turning sharply the speaker。
〃Reckon so；〃 was the calm reply。
Bostil swore。 He did not have a rider who could equal him in profanity。
〃Farlane； you'd orders。 Lucy's not to ride them hosses； least of all Buckles。
He ain't safe even for a man。〃
〃Wal； he's safe fer Lucy。〃
〃But didn't I say no？〃
〃Boss； it's likely you did； fer you talk a lot；〃 replied Farlane。 〃Lucy pulled
my hat down over my eyestold me to go to thunder an' then； zip！ she an'
Buckles were dustin' it fer the sage。〃
〃She's got to keep out of the sage；〃 growled Bostil。 〃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。
〃Thet's a bunch of hosses；〃 replied Holley。
〃Wild hosses？〃
〃I take 'em so； seein' how they throw thet dust。〃
〃Huh！ I don't like it。 Lucy oughtn't be ridin' round alone。〃
〃Wal； boss； who could catch her up on Buckles？ Lucy can ride。 An' there's the
King an' Sarch right under your nosethe only hosses on the sage thet could
outrun Buckles。〃
Farlane knew how to mollify his master and long habit had made him proficient。
Bostil's eyes flashed。 He was proud of Lucy's power over a horse。 The story
Bostil first told to any stranger happening by the Ford was how Lucy had been
born during a wild ridealmost； as it were； on the back of a horse。 That； at
least； was her fame； and the riders swore she was a worthy daughter of such a
mother。 Then； as Farlane well knew； a quick road to Bostil's good will was to
praise one of his favorites。
〃Reckon you spoke sense for once； Farlane；〃 replied Bostil； with relief。 〃I
wasn't thinkin' so much of danger for Lucy。 。 。 。 But she lets thet
half…witted Creech go with her。〃
〃No； boss； you're wrong；〃 put in Holley； earnestly。 〃I know the girl。 She has
no use fer Joel。 But he jest runs after her。〃
〃An' he's harmless；〃 added Farlane。
〃We ain't agreed；〃 rejoined Bostil； quickly。 〃What do you say； Holley？〃
The old rider looked thoughtful and did not speak for long。
〃Wal； Yes an' no；〃 he answered； finally。 〃I reckon Lucy could make a man out
of Joel。 But she doesn't care fer him； an' thet settles thet。 。 。 。 An' maybe
Joel's leanin' toward the bad。〃
〃If she meets him again I'll rope her in the house；〃 declared Bostil。
Another clear…eyed rider drew Bostil's attention from the gray waste of
rolling sage。
〃Bostil； look！ Look at the King！ He's watchin' fer somethin'。 。 。 。 An' so's
Sarch。〃
The two horses named were facing a ridge some few hundred yards distant； and
their he