A straining, stamping,
arm-flinging horde surrounded Bostil.
Bostil saw Lucy's golden hair whipping out from the flame-streaked mane. And
then he could only see that red brute of a horse. Wildfire before the wind!
Bostil thought of the leaping prairie flame, storm-driven.
On came the red stallion--on--on! What a tremendous stride! What a marvelous
recovery! What ease! What savage action!
He flashed past, low, pointed, long, going faster every magnificent
stride--winner by a dozen lengths.
CHAPTER XIII
Wildfire ran on down the valley far beyond the yelling crowd lined along the
slope. Bostil was deaf to the throng; he watched the stallion till Lucy forced
him to stop and turn.
Then Bostil whirled to see where Van was with the King. Most of the crowd
surged down to surround the racers, and the yells gave way to the buzz of many
voices. Some of the ranchers and riders remained near Bostil, all apparently
talking at once. Bostil gathered that Holley's Whitefoot had ran second, and
the Navajo's mustang third.
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