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An' I had to
lose my sheep. Now I'm a poor man--gettin' poorer all the time. But I won't
sell or trade Blue Roan, not for all you've got!"
Creech seemed to gain strength with his speech and passion with the strength.
His eyes glinted at the hard, paling face of his rival. He raised a clenching
fist.
"An' by G--d, I'm goin' to win thet race!"
During that week Lucy had heard many things about Joel Creech, and some of
them were disquieting.
Some rider had not only found Joel's clothes on the trail, but he had
recognized the track of the horse Lucy rode, and at once connected her with
the singular discovery. Coupling that with Joel's appearance in the village
incased in a heaving armor of adobe, the riders guessed pretty close to the
truth. For them the joke was tremendous. And Joel Creech was exceedingly
sensitive to ridicule. The riders made life unbearable for him. They had fun
out of it as long as Joel showed signs of taking the joke manfully, which was
not long, and then his resentment won their contempt.


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