. Where?"
"There," repeated Holly, and he pointed. Others of the group spoke up, having
seen Lucy riding down.
"She's on a red hoss," said one.
"'Pears all-fired big to me--her hoss," said another. "Who's got a glass?"
Bostil had the only field-glass there and he was using it. Across the round,
magnified field of vision moved a giant red horse, his mane waving like a
flame. Lucy rode him. They were moving from a jumble of broken rocks a mile
down the slope. She had kept her horse hidden there. Bostil felt an added stir
in his pulse-beat. Certainly he had never seen a horse like this one. But the
distance was long, the glass not perfect; he could not trust his sight.
Suddenly that sight dimmed.
"Holley, I can't make out nothin'," he complained. "Take the glass. Give me a
line on Lucy's mount."
"Boss, I don't need the glass to see that she's up on a HOSS," replied Holley,
as he took the glass. He leveled it, adjusted it to his eyes, and then looked
long. Bostil grew impatient. Lucy was rapidly overhauling the troop of racers
on her way to the post.
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