"Grand wild hoss! He did what Blue was a-goin' to do--beat thet there d--d
Bostil's King!"
Creech wagged his head. He was gloomy and strange. His eyes were unpleasant to
look into. His face changed. And he mumbled. Slone pitied him the more, but
wished to see the last of him. Creech stayed on, however, and grew stranger
and more talkative during the meal. He repeated things often--talked
disconnectedly, and gave other indications that he was not wholly right in his
mind. Yet Slone suspected that Creech's want of balance consisted only in what
concerned horses and the Bostils. And Slone, wanting to learn all he could,
encouraged Creech to talk about his father and the racers and the river and
boat, and finally Bostil.
Slone became convinced that, whether young Creech was half crazy or not, he
knew his father's horses were doomed, and that the boat at the ferry had been
cut adrift. Slone could not understand why he was convinced, but he was.
Finally Creech told how he had gone down to the river only a day before; how
he had found the flood still raging, but much lower; how he had worked round
the cliffs and had pulled up the rope cables to find they had been cut.
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