Some who were more reckless than discreet
liked to irritate him. That, too, was a rider's weakness.
"When's Creech's hosses comin' over?" asked Colson, with sudden interest.
"Wal, I reckon--soon," replied Bostil, constrainedly, and he turned away.
By the time he got home all the excitement of the past hour had left him and
gloom again abided in his mind. He avoided his daughter and forgot the fact of
her entering a horse in the race. He ate supper alone, without speaking to his
sister. Then in the dusk he went out to the corrals and called the King to the
fence. There was love between master and horse. Bostil talked low, like a
woman, to Sage King. And the hard old rider's heart was full and a lump
swelled in his throat, for contact with the King reminded him that other men
loved other horses.
Bostil returned to the house and went to his room, where he sat thinking in
the dark. By and by all was quiet. Then seemingly with a wrench he bestirred
himself and did what for him was a strange action. Removing his boots, he put
on a pair of moccasins.
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