"Dad, Wildfire can beat the King!"
"Never, girl! Knockin' a good-tempered hoss off his pins ain't beatin' him in
a runnin'-race."
Then father and daughter fought over the old score, the one doggedly,
imperturbably, the other spiritedly, with flashing eyes. It was different this
time, however, for it ended in Lucy saying Bostil would never risk another
race. That stung Bostil, and it cost him an effort to control his temper.
"Let thet go now. Tell me all about how you saved Wildfire, an' Slone, too."
Lucy readily began the narrative, and she had scarcely started before Bostil
found himself intensely interested. Soon he became absorbed. That was the most
thrilling and moving kind of romance to him, like his rider's dreams.
"Lucy, you're sure a game kid," he said, fervidly, when she had ended. "I
reckon I don't blame Slone for fallin' in love with you."
"Who said THAT!" inquired Lucy.
"Nobody. But it's true--ain't it?"
She looked up with eyes as true as ever they were, yet a little sad, he
thought, a little wistful and wondering, as if a strange and grave thing
confronted her.
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