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"Sometimes I doubt, too," said Slone. "But I only have to look at Wildfire to
get back my nerve. . . . Lucy, that will be the grandest race ever run!"
"Yes," sighed Lucy.
"What's wrong? Don't you want Wildfire to win?"
"Yes and no. But I'm going to beat the King, anyway. . . . Bring on your
Wildfire!"
Lucy unsaddled Sarchedon and turned him loose to graze while Slone went out
after Wildfire. And presently it appeared that Lucy might have some little
time to wait. Wildfire had lately been trusted to hobbles, which fact made it
likely that he had strayed.
Lucy gazed about her at the great looming red walls and out through the
avenues to the gray desert beyond. This adventure of hers would soon have an
end, for the day of the races was not far distant, and after that it was
obvious she would not have occasion to meet Slone. To think of never coming to
the pass again gave Lucy a pang. Unconsciously she meant that she would never
ride up here again, because Slone would not be here. A wind always blew
through the pass, and that was why the sand was so clean and hard.


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