Would he
ever forget her eyes--her voice? "Bless you for saving my dad!" she had said.
"It was brave. . . . But don't let dad fool you. Don't believe in his
kindness. Above all, don't ride for him! He only wants Wildfire, and if he
doesn't get him he'll hate you!"
That speech of Lucy's had made the succeeding days hard for Slone. Bostil
loaded him with gifts and kindnesses, and never ceased importuning him to
accept his offers. But for Lucy, Slone would have accepted. It was she who
cast the first doubt of Bostil into his mind. Lucy averred that her father was
splendid and good in every way except in what pertained to fast horses; there
he was impossible.
The great stallion that Slone had nearly sacrificed his life to catch was like
a thorn in the rider's flesh. Slone lay there in the darkness, restless, hot,
rolling from side to side, or staring out at the star-studded sky--miserably
unhappy all on account of that horse. Almost he hated him. What pride he had
felt in Wildfire! How he had gloried in the gift of the stallion to Lucy!
Then, on the morning of the race had come that unexpected, incomprehensible
and wild act of which he had been guilty.
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