There'll never be peace in
Bostil's Ford again till that race is run."
"But, Lucy, could Bostil's wantin' Wildfire an' hatin' me because I won't
sell--could that ruin me here at the Ford?"
"It could. But, Lin, there's more. Oh, I hate to tell you!" she whispered,
passionately. "I thought you'd know. . . . Joel Creech swore you cut the ropes
on the ferry-boat and sent it adrift."
"The loon!" ejaculated Slone, and he laughed low in both anger and ridicule.
"Lucy, that's only a fool's talk."
"He's crazy. Oh, if I ever get him in front of me again when I'm on
Sarch--I'll--I'll. . . ." She ended with a little gasp and leaned a moment
against Slone. He felt her heart beat--felt the strong clasp of her hands. She
was indeed Bostil's flesh and blood, and there was that in her dangerous to
arouse.
"Lin, the folks here are queer," she resumed, more calmly. "For long years Dad
has ruled them. They see with his eyes and talk with his voice. Joel Creech
swore you cut those cables. Swore he trailed you. Brackton believed him.
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