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Joel was
running toward her. Blood on his face! Blood on his hands! He was not the Joel
Creech she knew.
"Stop!" cried Lucy, fiercely. "I'll run you down!"
The big black plunged at a touch of spur and came down quivering, ready to
bolt.
Creech swerved to one side. His face was lividly white except where the bloody
welts crossed it. His jaw seemed to hang loosely, making speech difficult.
"Jest fer--thet--" he panted, hoarsely, "I'll lay fer you--an' I'll strip
you---an' I'll tie you on a hoss--an' I'll drive you naked through Bostil's
Ford!"
Lucy saw the utter futility of all her good intentions. Something had snapped
in Joel Creech's mind. And in hers kindness had given precedence to a fury she
did not know was in her. For the second time she touched a spur to Sarchedon.
He leaped out, flashed past Creech, and thundered up the road. It was all Lucy
could do to break his gait at the first steep rise.

CHAPTER IV
Three wild-horse hunters made camp one night beside a little stream in the
Sevier Valley, five hundred miles, as a crow flies, from Bostil's Ford.


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