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"The boat's got to be patched up," replied Bostil, shortly.
It occurred to Lucy that her father was also thinking of Creech's
thoroughbreds, but not like Holley. She grew grave and listened intently.
There was an awkward pause. Creech's rider, whoever he was, evidently tried to
conceal his anxiety. He flicked his boots with a quirt. The boots were covered
with wet mud. Probably he had crossed the river very recently.
"Wal, when will you have the hosses fetched over?" he asked, deliberately.
"Creech'll want to know."
"Just as soon as the boat's mended," replied Bostil. "I'll put Shugrue on the
job to-morrow."
"Thanks, Bostil. Sure, thet'll be all right. Creech'll be satisfied," said the
rider, as if relieved. Then he mounted, and with his companion trotted down
the lane.
The lean, gray Holley bent a keen gaze upon Bostil. But Bostil did not notice
that; he appeared preoccupied in thought.
"Bostil, the dry winter an' spring here ain't any guarantee thet there wasn't
a lot of snow up in the mountains.


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