There won't be any hoss with the ghost
of a show to-morrow."
Lucy raised her drooping head. "Is THAT so, Van Sickle? . . . Listen here. If
you and Sage King don't get more wild running to-morrow than you ever had I'll
never ride again!" With this retort Lucy left the room.
Van stared at the door and then at Bostil. "What'd I say, Bostil?" he asked,
plaintively. "I'm always r'ilin' her."
"Cheer up, Van. You didn't say much. Lucy is fiery these days. She's got a
hoss somewhere an' she's goin' to ride him in the race. She offered to bet on
him--against the King! It certainly beat me all hollow. But see here, Van.
I've a hunch there's a dark hoss goin' to show up in this race. So don't
underrate Lucy an' her mount, whatever he is. She calls him Wildfire. Ever see
him?"
"I sure haven't. Fact is, I haven't seen Lucy for days an' days. As for the
hunch you gave, I'll say I was figurin' Lucy for some real race. Bostil, she
doesn't MAKE a hoss run. He'll run jest to please her. An' Lucy's lighter 'n a
feather. Why, Bostil, if she happened to ride out there on Blue Roan or some
other hoss as fast I'd--I'd jest wilt.
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