Thus Slone had spent waking
hours by day and night, mad with love and remorse, tormented one hour by
imagined grounds for hope and resigned to despair the next.
Upon the sixth morning of his stay at Bostil's Slone rose with something of
his former will reasserting itself. He could not remain in Bostil's home any
longer unless he accepted Bostil's offer, and this was not to be thought of.
With a wrench Slone threw off the softening indecision and hurried out to find
Bostil while the determination was hot.
Bostil was in the corral with Wildfire. This was the second time Slone had
found him there. Wildfire appeared to regard Bostil with a much better favor
than he did his master. As Slone noted this a little heat stole along his
veins. That was gall to a rider.
"I like your hoss," said Bostil, with gruff frankness. But a tinge of red
showed under his beard.
"Bostil, I'm sorry I can't take you up on the job," rejoined Slone, swiftly.
"It's been hard for me to decide. You've been good to me. I'm grateful. But
it's time I was tellin' you.
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