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and he put a hand on the other's shoulder。
〃Bostil； I've a grand hoss；〃 replied Burthwait。 〃He's four years old； I guess；
fer he was born wild； an' you never seen him。〃
〃Wild hoss？ 。 。 。 Huh！〃 growled Bostil。 〃You must think he can run。〃
〃Why； Bostil； a streak of lightnin' ain't anywheres with him。〃
〃Wal； I'm glad to hear it；〃 said Bostil； gruffly。 〃Brack； how many hosses
entered now for the big race？〃
The lean； gray Brackton bent earnestly over his soiled ledger； while the
riders and horsemen round him grew silent to listen。
〃Thar's the Sage King by Bostil；〃 replied Brackton。 〃Blue Roan an' Peg； by
Creech； Whitefoot； by Macomber； Rocks； by Holley； Hoss…shoes； by Blinn； Bay
Charley； by Burthwait。 Then thar's the two mustangs entered by Old Hoss an'
Silveran' lastWildfire； by Lucy Bostil。〃
〃What's thet last？〃 queried Bostil。
〃Wildfire； by Lucy Bostil；〃 repeated Brackton。
〃Has the girl gone an' entered a hoss？〃
〃She sure has。 She came in to…day； regular an' business…like； writ her name
an' her hoss'shere 'tisan' put up the entrance money。〃
〃Wal； I'll be dd！〃 exclaimed Bostil。 He was astonished and pleased。 〃She
said she'd do it。 But I didn't take no stock in her talk。 。 。 。 An' the hoss's
name？〃
〃Wildfire。〃
〃Huh！ 。 。 。 Wildfire。 Mebbe thet girl can't think of names for hosses！ What's
this hoss she calls Wildfire？〃
〃She sure didn't say；〃 replied Brackton。 〃Holley an' Van an' some more of the
boys was here。 They joked her a little。 You oughter seen the look Lucy give
them。 But fer once she seemed mum。 She jest walked away mysterious like。〃
〃Lucy's got a pony off some Indian； I reckon；〃 returned Bostil； and he
laughed。 〃Then thet makes ten hosses entered so far？〃
〃Right。 An' there's sure to be one more。 I guess the； track's wide enough for
twelve。〃
〃Wal； Brack； there'll likely be one hoss out in front an' some stretched out
behind；〃 replied Bostil； dryly。 〃The track's sure wide enough。〃
〃Won't thet be a grand race！〃 exclaimed an enthusiastic rider。 〃Wisht I had
about a million to bet！〃
〃Bostil； I 'most forgot；〃 went on Brackton； 〃Cordts sent word by the Piutes
who come to…day thet he'd be here sure。〃
Bostil's face subtly changed。 The light seemed to leave it。 He did not reply
to Bracktondid not show that he heard the comment on all sides。 Public
opinion was against Bostil's permission to allow Cordts and his horse…thieves
to attend the races。 Bostil appeared grave； regretful。 Yet it was known by all
that in the strangeness and perversity of his rider's nature he wanted Cordts
to see the King win that race。 It was his rider's vanity and defiance in the
teeth of a great horse…thief。 But no good would come of Cordts's presence
that much was manifest。
There was a moment of silence。 All these men； if they did not fear Bostil；
were sometimes uneasy when near him。 Some who were more reckless than discreet
liked to irritate him。 That； too； was a rider's weakness。
〃When's Creech's hosses comin' over？〃 asked Colson； with sudden interest。
〃Wal； I reckonsoon；〃 replied Bostil； constrainedly； and he turned away。
By the time he got home all the excitement of the past hour had left him and
gloom again abided in his mind。 He avoided his daughter and forgot the fact of
her entering a horse in the race。 He ate supper alone； without speaking to his
sister。 Then in the dusk he went out to the corrals and called the King to the
fence。 There was love between master and horse。 Bostil talked low； like a
woman； to Sage King。 And the hard old rider's heart was full and a lump
swelled in his throat； for contact with the King reminded him that other men
loved other horses。
Bostil returned to the house and went to his room； where he sat thinking in
the dark。 By and by all was quiet。 Then seemingly with a wrench he bestirred
himself and did what for him was a strange action。 Removing his boots； he put
on a pair of moccasins。 He slipped out of the house； he kept to the flagstone
of the walk； he took to the sage till out of the village； and then he sheered
round to the river trail。 With the step and sureness and the eyes of an Indian
he went down through that pitch…black canyon to the river and the ford。
The river seemed absolutely the same as during the day。 He peered through the
dark opaqueness of gloom。 It moved there； the river he knew； shadowy；
mysterious； murmuring。 Bostil went down to the edge of the water； and； sitting
there； he listened。 Yesthe voices of the stream were the same。 But after a
long time he imagined there was among them an infinitely low voice； as if from
a great distance。 He imagined this； he doubted； he made sure； and then all
seemed fancy again。 His mind held only one idea and was riveted round it。 He
strained his hearing； so long； so intently； that at last he knew he had heard
what he was longing for。 Then in the gloom he took to the trail； and returned
home as he had left； stealthily； like an Indian。
But Bostil did not sleep nor rest。
Next morning early he rode down to the river。 Somers and Shugrue had finished
the boat and were waiting。 Other men were there； curious and eager。 Joel
Creech； barefooted and ragged； with hollow eyes and strange actions； paced the
sands。
The boat was lying bottom up。 Bostil examined the new planking and the seams。
Then he straightened his form。
〃Turn her over；〃 he ordered。 〃Shove her in。 An' let her soak up to…day。〃
The men seemed glad and relieved。 Joel Creech heard and he came near to
Bostil。
〃You'llyou'll fetch Dad's hosses over？〃 he queried。
〃Sure。 To…morrow；〃 replied Bostil； cheerily。
Joel smiled； and that smile showed what might have been possible for him under
kinder conditions of life。 〃Now； Bostil； I'm sorry fer what I said；〃 blurted
Joel。
〃Shut up。 Go tell your old man。〃
Joel ran down to his skiff and； leaping in； began to row vigorously across。
Bostil watched while the workmen turned the boat over and slid it off the
sand…bar and tied it securely to the mooring。 Bostil observed that not a man
there saw anything unusual about the river。 But； for that matter； there was
nothing to see。 The river was the same。
That night when all was quiet in and around the village Bostil emerged from
his house and took to his stealthy stalk down toward the river。
The moment he got out into the night oppression left him。 How interminable the
hours had been！ Suspense； doubt； anxiety； fear no longer burdened him。 The
night was dark； with only a few stars； and the air was cool。 A soft wind blew
across his heated face。 A neighbor's dog； baying dismally； startled Bostil。 He
halted to listen； then stole on under the cottonwoods； through the sage； down
the trail； into the jet…black canyon。 Yet he found his way as if it had been
light。 In the darkness of his room he had been a slave to his indecision； now
in the darkness of the looming cliffs he was free； resolved； immutable。
The distance seemed short。 He passed out of the narrow canyon； skirted the
gorge over the river； and hurried down into the shadowy amphitheater under the
looming walls。
The boat lay at the mooring； one end resting lightly the sand…bar。 With
strong； nervous clutch Bostil felt the knots of the cables。 Then he peered
into the opaque gloom of that strange and huge V…shaped split between the
great canyon walls。 Bostil's mind had begun to relax from the single idea。 Was
he alone？ Except for the low murmur of the river there was dead silencea
silence like no othera silence which seemed held under imprisoning walls。
Yet Bostil peered long into the shadows。 Then he looked up。 The ragged
ramparts far above frowned bold and black at a few cold stars； and the blue of
its sky was without the usual velvety brightness。 How far it was up to that
corrugated rim！ All of a sudden Bostil hated this vast ebony pit。
He strode down to the water and； sitting upon the stone he had occupied so
often； he listened。 He turned his ear up…stream； then down…stream； and to the
side； and again up…stream and listened。
The river seemed the same。
It was slow； heavy； listless； eddying； lingering； movingthe same apparently
as for days past。 It splashed very softly and murmured low and gurgled
faintly。 It gave forth fitful little swishes and musical tinkles and lapping
sounds。 It was flowing water； yet the proof was there of tardiness。 Now it was
almost still； and then again it moved on。 It was a river of mystery telling a
lie with its low music。 As Bostil listened all those soft； watery sounds
merged into what seemed a moaning； and that moaning held a roar so low as to
be only distinguishable to the ear trained by years。
Nothe river was not the same。 For the voice of its soft moaning showed to
Bostil its meaning。 It called from the far norththe north of great ice…clad
peaks beginning to glisten under the nearing sun； of vast snow…filled canyons
dripping and melting； of the crystal brooks suddenly colored and roiled and
filled bank…full along the mountain meadows； of many brooks plunging down and
down； rolling the rocks； to pour their volume into the growing turbid streams
on the slopes。 It was the voice of all that widely separated water spilled
suddenly with magical power into the