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Old associations . . . a rider's loyalty . . .
now, Lucy, you know--"
"Dad, you're afraid I'd train and love Ben into beating the King. Some day
I'll ride some horse out in front of the gray. Remember, Dad! . . . Then give
me Two Face."
"Sure not her, Lucy. Thet mare can't be trusted. Look why we named her Two
Face."
"Buckles, then, dear generous Daddy who longs to give his grown-up girl
ANYTHING!"
"Lucy, can't you be satisfied an' happy with your mustangs? You've got a
dozen. You can have any others on the range. Buckles ain't safe for you to
ride."
Bostil was notably the most generous of men, the kindest of fathers. It was an
indication of his strange obsession, in regard to horses, that he never would
see that Lucy was teasing him. As far as horses were concerned he lacked a
sense of humor. Anything connected with his horses was of intense interest.
"I'd dearly love to own Plume," said Lucy, demurely.
Bostil had grown red in the face and now he was on the rack. The monstrous
selfishness of a rider who had been supreme in his day could not be changed.


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