"Wal, you rode him longer 'n any of us figgered," said Bostil, heartily
shaking the man's hand. "I'm Bostil. Glad to meet you."
"My name's Slone--Lin Slone," replied the rider, frankly. "I'm a wild-horse
hunter an' hail from Utah."
"Utah? How'd you ever get over? Wal, you've got a grand hoss--an' you put a
grand rider up on him in the race. . . . My girl Lucy--"
Bostil hesitated. His mind was running swiftly. Back of his thoughts gathered
the desire and the determination to get possession of this horse Wildfire. He
had forgotten what he might have said to this stranger under different
circumstances. He looked keenly into Slone's face and saw no fear, no
subterfuge. The young man was honest.
"Bostil, I chased this wild horse days an' weeks an' months, hundreds of
miles--across the canyon an' the river--"
"No!" interrupted Bostil, blankly.
"Yes. I'll tell you how later. . . . Out here somewhere I caught Wildfire,
broke him as much as he'll ever be broken. He played me out an' got away. Your
girl rode along--saved my horse--an' saved my life, too.
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