Retribution had overtaken him. How
terribly hard he would take the loss of his horses! Lucy wondered if he really
ever would part with the King, even to save her from privation and peril.
Bostil was more likely to trail her with his riders and to kill the Creeches
than to concede their demands. Perhaps, though, that threat to sell her to
Cordts would frighten the hard old man.
The horses trotted and swung up over the slope, turning gradually, evidently
to make a wide detour round the Ford, until Lucy's back was toward the
monuments. Before her stretched the bleak, barren, dark desert, and through
the opaque gloom she could see nothing. Lucy knew she was headed for the
north, toward the wild canyons, unknown to the riders. Cordts and his gang hid
in there. What might not happen if the Creeches fell in with Cordts? Lucy's
confidence sustained a check. Still, she remembered the Creeches were like
Indians. And what would Slone do? He would ride out on her trail. Lucy
shivered for the Creeches if Slone ever caught up with them, and remembering
his wild-horse-hunter's skill at tracking, and the fleet and tireless
Wildfire, she grew convinced that Creech could not long hold her captive.
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