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For one was gray and the other was hazel. There
was no scar on his face, but the irregularity of his features reminded one who
knew that he had once been kicked in the face by a horse.
Creech came up hurriedly, in an eager, wild way that made Lucy suddenly pity
him. He did not seem to remember that the stallion had an antipathy for him.
But Lucy, if she had forgotten, would have been reminded by Sarchedon's
action.
"Look out, Joel!" she called, and she gave the black's head a jerk. Sarchedon
went up with a snort and came down pounding the sand. Quick as an Indian Lucy
was out of the saddle.
"Lemme your quirt," said Joel, showing his teeth like a wolf.
"No. I wouldn't let you hit Sarch. You beat him once, and he's never
forgotten," replied Lucy.
The eye of the horse and the man met and clashed, and there was a hostile
tension in their attitudes. Then Lucy dropped the bridle and drew Joel over to
a huge drift-log, half buried in the sand. Here she sat down, but Joel
remained standing. His gaze was now all the stranger for its wistfulness.


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