"Brackton tells me you've entered a hoss against the field."
"It's an open race, isn't it?"
"Open as the desert, Lucy," he replied. "What's this hoss Wildfire you've
entered?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" taunted Lucy.
"If he's as good as his name you might be in at the finish. . . . But, Lucy,
my dear, talkin' good sense now--you ain't a-goin' to go up on some unbroken
mustang in this big race?"
"Dad, I'm going to ride a horse."
"But, Lucy, ain't it a risk you'll be takin'--all for fun?"
"Fun! ... I'm in dead earnest."
Bostil liked the look of her then. She had paled a little; her eyes blazed;
she was intense. His question had brought out her earnestness, and straightway
Bostil became thoughtful. If Lucy had been a boy she would have been the
greatest rider on the uplands; and even girl as she was, superbly mounted, she
would have been dangerous in any race.
"Wal, I ain't afraid of your handlin' of a hoss," he said, soberly. "An' as
long as you're in earnest I won't stop you. But, Lucy, no bettin'.
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