I must warn Lucy. . . . Lord! I
wonder if Bostil could have held back repairin' that boat, an' then cut it
loose? I wonder? Yesterday I'd have sworn never. To-day--"
Slone drove the conclusion of that thought out of his consciousness before he
wholly admitted it. Then he set to work cutting the long grass from the wet
and shady nooks under the bluff where the spring made the ground rich. He
carried an armful down to the corral. Nagger was roaming around outside,
picking grass for himself. Wildfire snorted as always when he saw Slone, and
Slone as always, when time permitted, tried to coax the stallion to him. He
had never succeeded, nor did he this time. When he left the bundle of grass on
the ground and went outside Wildfire readily came for it.
"You're that tame, anyhow, you hungry red devil," said Slone, jealously.
Wildfire would take a bunch of grass from Lucy Bostil's hand. Slone's feelings
had undergone some reaction, though he still loved the horse. But it was love
mixed with bitterness. More than ever he made up his mind that Lucy should
have Wildfire.
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