No one would ever know the depth of
his bitter disappointment at the outcome of the race. With Creech's Blue Roan
out of the way, another horse, swifter and more dangerous, had come along to
spoil the King's chance. Bostil felt a subtly increasing covetousness in
regard to Wildfire, and this colored all his talk and action. The upland
country, vast and rangy, was for Bostil too small to hold Sage King and
Wildfire unless they both belonged to him. And when old Cal Blinn gave a
ringing toast to Lucy, hoping to live to see her up on Wildfire in the grand
race that must be run with the King, Bostil felt stir in him the birth of a
subtle, bitter fear. At first he mocked it. He--Bostil--afraid to race! It was
a lie of the excited mind. He repudiated it. Insidiously it returned. He
drowned it down--smothered it with passion. Then the ghost of it remained,
hauntingly.
After dinner Bostil with the men went down to Brackton's, where Slone and the
winners of the day received their prizes.
"Why, it's more money than I ever had in my whole life!" exclaimed Slone,
gazing incredulously at the gold.
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