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Even the Indian chiefs were smiling。 Old Horse； the Navajo； beamed benignly
upon this daughter of the friend of the Indians。 Silver； his brother
chieftain； nodded as if he understood Bostil's pride and regret。 Some of the
young riders showed their hearts in their eyes。 Farlane tried to look
mysterious； to pretend he was in Lucy's confidence。
〃Lucy； if you are really goin' to race I'll withdraw my hoss so you can win；〃
said Wetherby； gallantly。
Bostil's sonorous laugh rolled down the slope。
〃Miss Lucy； I sure hate to run a hoss against yours；〃 said old Cal Blinn。 Then
Colson； Sticks； Burthwait； the other principals； paid laughing compliments to
the bright…haired girl。
Bostil enjoyed this hugely until he caught the strange intensity of regard in
the cavernous eyes of Cordts。 That gave him a shock。 Cordts had long wanted
this girl as much probably as he wanted Sage King。 There were dark and
terrible stories that stained the name of Cordts。 Bostil regretted his impulse
in granting the horse…thief permission to attend the races。 Sight of Lucy's
fair； sweet face might inflame this Cordtsthis Kentuckian who had boasted of
his love of horses and women。 Behind Cordts hung the little dust…colored
Sears； like a coiled snake； ready to strike。 Bostil felt stir in him a
long…dormant firea stealing along his veins； a passion he hated。
〃Lucy； go back to the women till you're ready to come out on your hoss；〃 he
said。 〃An' mind you； be careful to…day！〃
He gave her a meaning glance； which she understood perfectly； he saw； and then
he turned to start the day's sport。
The Indian races run in twos and threes； and on up to a number that crowded
the racecourse； the betting and yelling and running； the wild and plunging
mustangs； the heat and dust and pounding of hoofs； the excited betting； the
surprises and defeats and victories； the trial tests of the principals；
jealously keeping off to themselves in the sage； the endless moving； colorful
procession； gaudy and swift and thrillingall these Bostil loved
tremendously。
But they were as nothing to what they gradually worked up tothe climaxthe
great race。
It was afternoon when all was ready for this race； and the sage was bright
gray in the westering sun。 Everybody was resting； waiting。 The tense quiet of
the riders seemed to settle upon the whole assemblage。 Only the thoroughbreds
were restless。 They quivered and stamped and tossed their small； fine heads。
They knew what was going to happen。 They wanted to run。 Blacks； bays； and
whites were the predominating colors； and the horses and mustangs were alike
in those points of race and speed and spirit that proclaimed them
thoroughbreds。
Bostil himself took the covering off his favorite。 Sage King was on edge。 He
stood out strikingly in contrast with the other horses。 His sage…gray body was
as sleek and shiny as satin。 He had been trained to the hour。 He tossed his
head as he champed the bit； and every moment his muscles rippled under his
fine skin。 Proud； mettlesome； beautiful！
Sage King was the favorite in the betting； the Indians； who were ardent
gamblers； plunging heavily on him。
Bostil saddled the horse and was long at the task。
Van stood watching。 He was pale and nervous。 Bostil saw this。
〃Van；〃 he said； 〃it's your race。〃
The rider reached a quick hand for bridle and horn； and when his foot touched
the stirrup Sage King was in the air。 He came down； springy…quick； graceful；
and then he pranced into line with the other horses。
Bostil waved his hand。 Then the troop of riders and racers headed for the
starting…point； two miles up the valley。 Macomber and Blinn； with a rider and
a Navajo； were up there as the official starters of the day。
Bostil's eyes glistened。 He put a； friendly hand on Cordts's shoulder； an
action which showed the stress of the moment。 Most of the men crowded around
Bostil。 Sears and Hutchinson hung close to Cordts。 And Holley； keeping near
his employer； had keen eyes for other things than horses。
Suddenly he touched Bostil and pointed down the slope。 〃There's Lucy；〃 he
said。 〃She's ridin' out to join the bunch。〃
〃Lucy！ Where？ I'd forgotten my girl！ 。 。 。 Where？〃
〃There；〃 repeated Holly； and he pointed。 Others of the group spoke up； having
seen Lucy riding down。
〃She's on a red hoss； 〃 said one。
〃'Pears all…fired big to meher hoss；〃 said another。 〃Who's got a glass？〃
Bostil had the only field…glass there and he was using it。 Across the round；
magnified field of vision moved a giant red horse； his mane waving like a
flame。 Lucy rode him。 They were moving from a jumble of broken rocks a mile
down the slope。 She had kept her horse hidden there。 Bostil felt an added stir
in his pulse…beat。 Certainly he had never seen a horse like this one。 But the
distance was long； the glass not perfect； he could not trust his sight。
Suddenly that sight dimmed。
〃Holley； I can't make out nothin'；〃 he complained。 〃Take the glass。 Give me a
line on Lucy's mount。〃
〃Boss； I don't need the glass to see that she's up on a HOSS；〃 replied Holley；
as he took the glass。 He leveled it； adjusted it to his eyes； and then looked
long。 Bostil grew impatient。 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。 Lucy's
advent； on an unknown horse that even her father could not disparage； was the
last and unexpected addition to the suspense。 They all knew that if the horse
was fast Lucy would be dangerous。
Holley at last spoke： 〃She's up on a wild stallion。 He's red； like fire。 He's
mighty bigstrong。 Looks as if he didn't want to go near the bunch。 Lord！
what action！ 。 。 。 Bostil； I'd saya great hoss！〃
There was a moment's intense silence in the group round Bostil。 Holley was
never known to mistake a horse or to be extravagant in judgment or praise。
〃A wild stallion！〃 echoed Bostil。 〃A…huh！ An' she calls him Wildfire。 Where'd
she get him？ 。 。 。 Gimme thet glass。〃
But all Bostil could make out was a blur。 His eyes were wet。 He realized now
that his first sight of Lucy on the strange horse had been clear and strong；
and it was that which had dimmed his eyes。
〃Holley； you use the glassan' tell me what comes off；〃 said Bostil； as he
wiped his eyes with his scarf。 He was relieved to find that his sight was
clearing。 〃My God！ if I couldn't see this finish！〃
Then everybody watched the close； dark mass of horses and riders down the
valley。 And all waited for Holley to speak。 〃They're linin' up；〃 began the
rider。 〃Havin' some muss； too； it 'pears。 。 。 。 Bostil； thet red hoss is
raisin' hell！ He wants to fight。 There！ he's up in the air。 。 。 。 Boys； he's a
devila hoss…killer like all them wild stallions。 。 。 。 He's plungin' at the
Kingstrikin'！ There！ Lucy's got him down。 She's handlin' him。 。 。 。 Now
they've got the King on the other side。 Thet's better。 But Lucy's hoss won't
stand。 Anyway； it's a runnin' start。 。 。 。 Van's got the best position。 Foxy
Van！ 。 。 。 He'll be leadin' before the rest know the race's on。。 。 。 Them
Indian mustangs are behavin' scandalous。 Guess the red stallion scared 'em。
Now they're all lined up back of the post。 。 。 。 Ah！ gun…smoke！ They move。 。 。
。 It looks like a go。〃
Then Holley was silent； strained。 in watching。 So were all the watchers
silent。 Bostil saw far down the valley a moving； dark line of horses。
〃THEY'RE OFF！ THEY'RE OFF！〃 called Holley； thrillingly。
Bostil uttered a deep and booming yell； which rose above the shouts of the men
round him and was heard even in the din of Indian cries。 Then as quickly as
the yells had risen they ceased。
Holley stood up on the rock with leveled glass。
〃Mac's dropped the flag。 It's a sure go。 Now！ 。 。 。 Van's out there
frontinside。 The King's got his stride。 Boss； the King's stretchin' out！ 。 。
。 Look！ Look！ see thet red hoss leap！ 。 。 。 Bostil； he's runnin' down the
King！ I knowed it。 He's like lightnin'。 He's pushin' the King overoff the
course！ See him plunge！ Lord！ Lucy can't pull him！ She goes
updowntossedbut she sticks like a burr。 Good； Lucy！ Hang on！ 。 。 。 My
Gawd； Bostil； the King's thrown！ He's down！ 。 。 。 He comes up； off the course。
The others flash by。 。 。 。 Van's out of the race！ 。 。 。 An'； Bostilan'；
gentlemen； there ain't anythin' more to this race but a red hoss！〃
Bostil's heart gave a great leap and then seemed to stand still。 He was half
cold； half hot。
What a horrible； sickening disappointment。 Bostil rolled out a cursing query。
Holley's answer was short and sharp。 The King was out！ Bostil raved。 He could
not see。 He could not believe。 After all the weeks of preparation； of
excitement； of suspense only this！ There was no race。 The King was out！ The
thing did not seem possible。 A thousand thoughts flitted through Bostil's
mind。 Rage； impotent rage； possessed him。 He cursed Van； he swore he would
kill that red stallion。 And some one shook him hard。 Some one's incisive words
cut into his thick； throbbing ears： 〃Luck of the gam