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I could ride out to you just before the big race, and we'd come
back, with me on Wildfire. The crowd always stays down at the end of the
racecourse. Only the starters stay out there. . . . Oh, I can see Bostil when
that red stallion runs into sight!"
"Well, is it settled?" queried the rider, strangely.
Lucy was startled into self-consciousness by his tone.
How strangely he must have felt. And his eyes were piercing.
"You mean--that I ride Wildfire?" she replied, shyly. "Yes, if you'll let me."
"I'll be proud."
"You're very good. . . . And do you think Wildfire can beat the King?"
"I know it."
"How do you?"
"I've seen both horses."
"But it will be a grand race."
"I reckon so. It's likely to be the grandest ever seen. But Wildfire will win
because he's run wild all his life--an' run to kill other horses. . . . The
only question is--CAN you ride him?"
"Yes. I never saw the horse I couldn't ride. Bostil says there are some I
can't ride. Farlane says not. Only two horses have thrown me, the King and
Sarchedon.


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