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Lucy thrilled and
thrilled. What a surprise it would be! She had the rider's true love of seeing
the unheralded horse win over the favorite. She had for years wanted to see a
horse--and ride a horse--out in front of Sage King. Then suddenly all these
flashing ideas coruscated seemingly into a gleam--a leaping, radiant,
wonderful thought. Irresistibly it burst from her.
"Let ME ride your Wildfire in the great race?" she cried, breathlessly.
His response was instantaneous--a smile that was keen and sweet and strong,
and a proffered hand. Impulsively Lucy clasped that hand with both hers.
"You don't mean it," she said. "Oh, it's what Auntie would call one of my wild
dreams! . . . And I'm growing up--they say. . . . But-- Oh, if I could ride
Wildfire against the field in that race. . . . If I ONLY COULD!"
She was on fire with the hope, flushing, tingling. She was unconscious of her
effect upon the rider, who gazed at her with a new-born light in his eyes.
"You can ride him. I reckon I'd like to see that race just as much as Bostil
or Cordts or any man.


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