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"Hope a coyote doesn't come along," she said. That possibility, however, did
not worry her as much as getting those packs up on the King. How in the world
would she ever do it?
She hurried back to the house, stealthily keeping to the shadow of the
cottonwoods, for she would have faced an embarrassing situation if she had met
her father, even had he been in a good humor. And she reached the sitting-room
unobserved. The lamps had been lighted and a log blazed on the hearth. She was
reading when Bostil entered.
"Hello, Lucy!" he said.
He looked tired, and Lucy knew he had been drinking, because when he had been
he never offered to kiss her. The strange, somber shade was still on his face,
but it brightened somewhat at sight of her. Lucy greeted him as always.
"Farlane tells me you handled the King great--better 'n Van has worked him
lately," said Bostil. "But don't tell him I told you."
That was sweet praise from Farlane. "Oh, Dad, it could hardly be true,"
expostulated Lucy. "Both you and Farlane are a little sore at Van now.


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