A stallion with a wonderful physical perfection that
matched the savage, ruthless spirit of the desert killer of horses!
Lucy waved her hand, and the strange rider to whom Holley had called attention
strode out of the crowd toward Wildfire.
Bostil's gaze took in the splendid build of this lithe rider, the clean-cut
face, the dark eye. This fellow had a shiny, coiled lasso in hand. He advanced
toward Wildfire. The stallion snorted and plunged. If ever Bostil saw hate
expressed by a horse he saw it then. But he seemed to be tractable to the
control of the girl. Bostil swiftly grasped the strange situation. Lucy had
won the love of the savage stallion. That always had been the secret of her
power. And she had hated Sage King because he alone had somehow taken a
dislike to her. Horses were as queer as people, thought Bostil.
The rider walked straight up to the trembling Wildfire. When Wildfire plunged
and reared up and up the rider leaped for the bridle and with an iron arm
pulled the horse down. Wildfire tried again, almost lifting the rider, but a
stinging cut from the lasso made him come to a stand.
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