Lucy Bostil had called twice to her father and he had not answered.He was out at the hitching-rail, with Holley, the rider, and two other men.If he heard Lucy he gave no sign of it.She had on her chaps and did not care to go any farther than the door where she stood.
"Somers has gone to Durango an' Shugrue is out huntin' hosses," Lucy heard Bostil say, gruffly.
"Wal now, I reckon I could handle the boat an' fetch Creech's hosses over,"said Holley.
Bostil raised an impatient hand, as if to wave aside Holley's assumption.
Then one of the other two men spoke up.Lucy had seen him before, but did not know his name.
"Sure there ain't any need to rustle the job.The river hain't showed any signs of risin' yet.But Creech is worryin'.He allus is worryin' over them hosses.No wonder! Thet Blue Roan is sure a hoss.Yesterday at two miles he showed Creech he was a sight faster than last year.The grass is gone over there.Creech is grainin' his stock these last few days.An' thet's expensive.""How about the flat up the canyon?" queried Bostil."Ain't there any grass there?""Reckon not.It's the dryest spell Creech ever had," replied the other."An'
if there was grass it wouldn't do him no good.A landslide blocked the only trail up.""Bostil, them hosses, the racers special, ought to be brought acrost the river," said Holley, earnestly.He loved horses and was thinking of them.
"The boat's got to be patched up," replied Bostil, shortly.
It occurred to Lucy that her father was also thinking of Creech's thoroughbreds, but not like Holley.She grew grave and listened intently.
There was an awkward pause.Creech's rider, whoever he was, evidently tried to conceal his anxiety.He flicked his boots with a quirt.The boots were covered with wet mud.Probably he had crossed the river very recently.
"Wal, when will you have the hosses fetched over?" he asked, deliberately.
"Creech'll want to know."
"Just as soon as the boat's mended," replied Bostil."I'll put Shugrue on the job to-morrow.""Thanks, Bostil.Sure, thet'll be all right.Creech'll be satisfied," said the rider, as if relieved.Then he mounted, and with his companion trotted down the lane.
The lean, gray Holley bent a keen gaze upon Bostil.But Bostil did not notice that; he appeared preoccupied in thought.
"Bostil, the dry winter an' spring here ain't any guarantee thet there wasn't a lot of snow up in the mountains." Holley's remark startled Bostil.
"No--it ain't--sure, " he replied.
"An' any mornin' along now we might wake up to hear the Colorado boomin',"went on Holley, significantly.
Bostil did not reply to that.
"Creech hain't lived over there so many years.What's he know about the river?
An' fer that matter, who knows anythin' sure about thet hell-bent river?""It ain't my business thet Creech lives over there riskin' his stock every spring," replied Bostil, darkly.
Holley opened his lips to speak, hesitated, looked away from Bostil, and finally said, "No, it sure ain't." Then he turned and walked away, head bent in sober thought.Bostil came toward the open door where Lucy stood.He looked somber.At her greeting he seemed startled.
"What?" he said.
"I just said, 'Hello, Dad,'" she replied, demurely.Yet she thoughtfully studied her father's dark face.
"Hello yourself....Did you know Van got throwed an' hurt?""Yes."
Bostil swore under his breath."There ain't any riders on the range thet can be trusted," he said, disgustedly."They're all the same.They like to get in a bunch an' jeer each other an' bet.They want MEAN hosses.They make good hosses buck.They haven't any use for a hoss thet won't buck.They all want to give a hoss a rakin' over....Think of thet fool Van gettin' throwed by a two-dollar Ute mustang.An' hurt so he can't ride for days! With them races comin' soon! It makes me sick.""Dad, weren't you a rider once?" asked Lucy.
"I never was thet kind."
"Van will be all right in a few days."
"No matter.It's bad business.If I had any other rider who could handle the King I'd let Van go.""I can get just as much out of the King as Van can," said Lucy, spiritedly.
"You!" exclaimed Bostil.But there was pride in his glance.
"I know I can."
"You never had any use for Sage King," said Bostil, as if he had been wronged.
"I love the King a little, and hate him a lot," laughed Lucy.
"Wal, I might let you ride at thet, if Van ain't in shape," rejoined her father.
"I wouldn't ride him in the race.But I'll keep him in fine fettle.""I'll bet you'd like to see Sarch beat him," said Bostil, jealously.
"Sure I would," replied Lucy, teasingly."But, Dad, I'm afraid Sarch never will beat him."Bostil grunted."See here.I don't want any weight up on the King.You take him out for a few days.An' ride him! Savvy thet?""Yes, Dad."
"Give him miles an' miles--an' then comin' home, on good trails, ride him for all your worth....Now, Lucy, keep your eye open.Don't let any one get near you on the sage.""I won't....Dad, do you still worry about poor Joel Creech?""Not Joel.But I'd rather lose all my stock then have Cordts or Dick Sears get within a mile of you.""A mile!" exclaimed Lucy, lightly, though a fleeting shade crossed her face.
"Why, I'd run away from him, if I was on the King, even if he got within ten yards of me.""A mile is close enough, my daughter," replied Bostil."Don't ever forget to keep your eye open.Cordts has sworn thet if he can't steal the King he'll get you.
"Oh! he prefers the horse to me."
"Wal, Lucy, I've a sneakin' idea thet Cordts will never leave the uplands unless he gets you an' the King both.""And, Dad--you consented to let that horse-thief come to our races?" exclaimed Lucy, with heat.
"Why not? He can't do any harm.If he or his men get uppish, the worse for them.Cordts gave his word not to turn a trick till after the races.""Do you trust him?"
