Once he said, thoughtfully:
"I'm tryin' to remember somethin' I heerd at the Ford. I meant to ask you--"
Suddenly he turned to her with animation. He who had been so gloomy and
lusterless and dead showed a bright eagerness. "I heerd you beat the King on a
red hoss--a wild hoss! . . . Thet must have been a joke--like one of Joel's."
"No. It's true. An' Dad nearly had a fit!"
"Wal!" Creech simply blazed with excitement. "I ain't wonderin' if he did. His
own girl! Lucy, come to remember, you always said you'd beat thet gray racer.
. . . Fer the Lord's sake tell me all about it."
Lucy warmed to him because, broken as he was, he could be genuinely glad some
horse but his own had won a race. Bostil could never have been like that. So
Lucy told him about the race--and then she had to tell about Wildfire, and
then about Slone. But at first all of Creech's interest centered round
Wildfire and the race that had not really been run. He asked a hundred
questions. He was as pleased as a boy listening to a good story. He praised
Lucy again and again.
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