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〃Oh； Dad； why； why didn't you hurry Creech's horses over？〃 said Lucy； with her
tears falling。
Something tight within Bostil's breast seemed to ease and lessen。 〃Why didn't
I？ 。 。 。 Wal； Lucy； I reckon I wasn't in no hurry to oblige Creech。 I'm sorry
now。〃
〃It won't be so terrible if he doesn't lose the horses；〃 murmured Lucy。
〃Where's young Joel Creech？〃 asked Bostil。
〃He stayed on this side last night；〃 replied Van。 〃Fact is； Joel's the one who
first knew the flood was on。 Some one said he said he slept in the canyon last
night。 Anyway； he's ravin' crazy now。 An' if he doesn't do harm to some one or
hisself I'll miss my guess。〃
〃A…huh！〃 grunted Bostil。 〃Right you are。〃
〃Dad； can't anything be done to help Creech now？〃 appealed Lucy； going close
to her father。
Bostil put his arm around her and felt immeasurably relieved to have the
golden head press close to his shoulder。 〃Child； we can't fly acrost the
river。 Now don't you cry about Creech's hosses。 They ain't starved yet。 It's
hard luck。 But mebbe it'll turn out so Creech'll lose only the race。 An'；
Lucy； it was a dead sure bet he'd have lost thet anyway。〃
Bostil fondled his daughter a moment； the first time in many a day； and then
he turned to his rider at the door。 〃Van； how's the King？〃
〃Wild to run； Bostil； jest plumb wild。 There won't be any hoss with the ghost
of a show to…morrow。〃
Lucy raised her drooping head。 〃Is THAT so； Van Sickle？ 。 。 。 Listen here。 If
you and Sage King don't get more wild running to…morrow than you ever had I'll
never ride again！〃 With this retort Lucy left the room。
Van stared at the door and then at Bostil。 〃What'd I say； Bostil？〃 he asked；
plaintively。 〃I'm always r'ilin' her。〃
〃Cheer up； Van。 You didn't say much。 Lucy is fiery these days。 She's got a
hoss somewhere an' she's goin' to ride him in the race。 She offered to bet on
himagainst the King！ It certainly beat me all hollow。 But see here； Van。
I've a hunch there's a dark hoss goin' to show up in this race。 So don't
underrate Lucy an' her mount； whatever he is。 She calls him Wildfire。 Ever see
him？〃
〃I sure haven't。 Fact is； I haven't seen Lucy for days an' days。 As for the
hunch you gave； I'll say I was figurin' Lucy for some real race。 Bostil； she
doesn't MAKE a hoss run。 He'll run jest to please her。 An' Lucy's lighter 'n a
feather。 Why； Bostil； if she happened to ride out there on Blue Roan or some
other hoss as fast I'dI'd jest wilt。〃
Bostil uttered a laugh full of pride in his daughter。 〃Wal； she won't show up
on Blue Roan；〃 he replied； with grim gruffness。 〃Thet's sure as death。 。 。 。
Come on out now。 I want a look at the King。〃
Bostil went into the village。 All day long he was so busy with a thousand and
one things referred to him； put on him； undertaken by him； that he had no time
to think。 Back in his mind； however； there was a burden of which he was
vaguely conscious all the time。 He worked late into the night and slept late
the next morning。
Never in his life had Bostil been gloomy or retrospective on the day of a
race。 In the press of matters he had only a word for Lucy； but that earned a
saucy； dauntless look。 He was glad when he was able to join the procession of
villagers； visitors； and Indians moving out toward the sage。
The racecourse lay at the foot of the slope； and now the gray and purple sage
was dotted with more horses and Indians； more moving things and colors； than
Bostil had ever seen there before。 It was a spectacle that stirred him。 Many
fires sent up blue columns of smoke from before the hastily built brush huts
where the Indians cooked and ate。 Blankets shone bright in the sun； burros
grazed and brayed； horses whistled piercingly across the slope； Indians lolled
before the huts or talked in groups； sitting and lounging on their ponies；
down in the valley； here and there； were Indians racing； and others were
chasing the wiry mustangs。 Beyond this gay and colorful spectacle stretched
the valley； merging into the desert marked so strikingly and beautifully by
the monuments。
Bostil was among the last to ride down to the high bench that overlooked the
home end of the racecourse。 He calculated that there were a thousand Indians
and whites congregated at that point； which was the best vantage…ground to see
the finish of a race。 And the occasion of his arrival； for all the gaiety； was
one of dignity and importance。 If Bostil reveled in anything it was in an hour
like this。 His liberality made this event a great race…day。 The thoroughbreds
were all there； blanketed； in charge of watchful riders。 In the center of the
brow of this long bench lay a huge； flat rock which had been Bostil's seat in
the watching of many a race。 Here were assembled his neighbors and visitors
actively interested in the races； and also the important Indians of both
tribes； all waiting for him。
As Bostil dismounted； throwing the bridle to a rider； he saw a face that
suddenly froze the thrilling delight of the moment。 A tall； gaunt man with
cavernous black eyes and huge； drooping black mustache fronted him and seemed
waiting。 Cordts！ Bostil had forgotten。 Instinctively Bostil stood on guard。
For years he had prepared himself for the moment when he would come face to
face with this noted horse…thief。
〃Bostil； how are you？〃 said Cordts。 He appeared pleasant； and certainly
grateful for being permitted to come there。 From his left hand hung a belt
containing two heavy guns。
〃Hello； Cordts；〃 replied Bostil； slowly unbending。 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。 〃I want to enjoy this race；〃 he
said； with a smile that somehow hinted of the years he had packed those guns
day and night。
〃Cordts； I don't want to take your guns；〃 replied Bostil； bluntly。 〃I've taken
your word an' that's enough。〃
〃Thanks； Bostil。 All the same； as I'm your guest I won't pack them；〃 returned
Cordts； and he hung the belt on the horn of Bostil's saddle。 〃Some of my men
are with me。 They were all right till they got outside of Brackton's whisky。
But now I won't answer for them。〃
〃Wal； you're square to say thet；〃 replied Bostil。 〃An' I'll run this race an'
answer for everybody。〃
Bostil recognized Hutchinson and Dick Sears； but the others of Cordts's gang
he did not know。 They were a hard…looking lot。 Hutchinson was a spare；
stoop…shouldered； red…faced； squinty…eyed rider； branded all over with the
marks of a bad man。 And Dick Sears looked his notoriety。 He was a little knot
of muscle； short and bow…legged； rough in appearance as cactus。 He wore a
ragged slouch…hat pulled low down。 His face and stubby beard were
dust…colored； and his eyes seemed sullen； watchful。 He made Bostil think of a
dusty； scaly； hard； desert rattlesnake。 Bostil eyed this right…hand man of
Cordts's and certainly felt no fear of him； though Sears had the fame of swift
and deadly skill with a gun。 Bostil felt that he was neither afraid nor loath
to face Sears in gun…play； and he gazed at the little horse…thief in a manner
that no one could mistake。 Sears was not drunk； neither was he wholly free
from the unsteadiness caused by the bottle。 Assuredly he had no fear of Bostil
and eyed him insolently。 Bostil turned away to the group of his riders and
friends； and he asked for his daughter。
〃Lucy's over there；〃 said Farlane； pointing to a merry crowd。
Bostil waved a hand to her； and Lucy； evidently mistaking his action； came
forward； leading one of her ponies。 She wore a gray blouse with a red scarf；
and a skirt over overalls and boots。 She looked pale； but she was smiling； and
there was a dark gleam of excitement in her blue eyes。 She did not have on her
sombrero。 She wore her hair in a braid； and had a red band tight above her
forehead。 Bostil took her in all at a glance。 She meant business and she
looked dangerous。 Bostil knew once she slipped out of that skirt she could
ride with any rider there。 He saw that she had become the center toward which
all eyes shifted。 It pleased him。 She was his； like her mother； and as
beautiful and thoroughbred as any rider could wish his daughter。
〃Lucy； where's your hoss？〃 he asked； curiously。
〃Never you mind； Dad。 I'll be there at the finish；〃 she replied。
〃Red's your color for to…day； then？〃 he questioned； as he put a big hand on
the bright…banded head。
She nodded archly。
〃Lucy； I never thought you'd flaunt red in your old Dad's face。 Red； when the
color of the King is like the sage out yonder。 You've gone back on the King。〃
〃No； Dad； I never was for Sage King； else I wouldn't wear red to…day。〃
〃Child； you sure mean to run in this racethe big one？〃
〃Sure and certain。〃
〃Wal； the only bitter drop in my cup to…day will be seein' you get beat。 But
if you ran second I'll give you a present thet'll make the purse look sick。〃
Even the Indian chiefs were smiling。 Old Horse； the Navajo； beamed benignly
upon this dau