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Lucy had some faint inkling of what a terrible fight that had been between man
and horse. "Yes; when I found him he was broken. Look at him now."
But the rider did not appear to want to see the stallion. He gazed up at Lucy,
and she saw something in his eyes that made her think of a child. She left
him, had no trouble in watering the horses, and haltered Wildfire among the
willows on a patch of grass. Then she returned.
"I'll go now," she said to the rider.
"Where?"
"Home. I'll come back to-morrow, early, and bring some one to help you--"
"Girl, if YOU want to help me more--bring me some bread an' meat. Don't tell
any one. Look what a ragamuffin I am. . . . An' there's Wildfire. I don't want
him seen till I'm--on my feet again. I know riders. . . . That's all. If you
want to be so good--come."
"I'll come," replied Lucy, simply.
"Thank you. I owe you--a lot. . . . What did you say your name was?"
"Lucy--Lucy Bostil."
"Oh, I forgot. . . . Are you sure you tied Wildfire good an' tight?"
"Yes, I'm sure.


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