Finally they peeled it off, with his skin I guess. He was raw, an' they say,
the maddest feller ever seen in Bostil's Ford!"
Lucy was struggling between fear and mirth. She did not look sorry. "Oh! Oh!
Oh, Dad!"
"Wasn't it great, Lucy?"
"But what--will he--do?" choked Lucy.
"Lord only knows. Thet worries me some. Because he never said a word about how
he come to lose his clothes or why he had the 'dobe on him. An' sure I never
told. Nobody knows but us."
"Dad, he'll do something terrible to me!" cried Lucy, aghast at her premonition
CHAPTER III
The days did not pass swiftly at Bostil's Ford. And except in winter, and
during the spring sand-storms, the lagging time passed pleasantly. Lucy rode
every day, sometimes with Van, and sometimes alone. She was not over-keen
about riding with Van--first, because he was in love with her; and secondly,
in spite of that, she could not beat him when he rode the King. They were
training Bostil's horses for the much-anticipated races.
At last word arrived from the Utes and Navajos that they accepted Bostil's
invitation and would come in force, which meant, according to Holley and other
old riders, that the Indians would attend about eight hundred strong.
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