"Wal, of all the nerve!" ejaculated Bostil."No, I won't take you up.Reckon Inever before turned down an even bet.Understand, Lucy, ridin' in the race is enough for you.""All right, Dad," replied Lucy, obediently.
At that juncture Bostil suddenly shoved back his plate and turned his face to the open door."Don't I hear a runnin' hoss?"Aunt Jane stopped the noise she was making, and Lucy darted to the door.Then Bostil heard the sharp, rhythmic hoof-beats he recognized.They shortened to clatter and pound--then ceased somewhere out in front of the house.
"It's the King with Van up," said Lucy, from the door."Dad, Van's jumped off--he's coming in...he's running.Something has happened....There are other horses coming--riders--Indians."Bostil knew what was coming and prepared himself.Rapid footsteps sounded without.
"Hello, Miss Lucy! Where's Bostil?"
A lean, supple rider appeared before the door.It was Van, greatly excited.
"Come in, boy," said Bostil."What're you flustered about?"Van strode in, spurs jangling, cap in hand."Boss, there's--a sixty-foot raise--in the river!" Van panted.
"Oh!" cried Lucy, wheeling toward her father.
"Wal, Van, I reckon I knowed thet," replied Bostil."Mebbe I'm gettin' old, but I can still hear....Listen."Lucy tiptoed to the door and turned her head sidewise and slowly bowed it till she stiffened.Outside were, sounds of birds and horses and men, but when a lull came it quickly filled with a sullen, low boom.
"Highest flood we--ever seen," said Van.
"You've been down?" queried Bostil, sharply.
"Not to the river," replied Van."I went as far as--where the gulch opens--on the bluff.There was a string of Navajos goin' down.An' some comin' up.Istayed there watchin' the flood, an' pretty soon Somers come up the trail with Blakesley an' Brack an' some riders....An' Somers hollered out, 'The boat's gone!'""Gone!" exclaimed Bostil, his loud cry showing consternation.
"Oh, Dad! Oh, Van!" cried Lucy, with eyes wide and lips parted.
"Sure she's gone.An' the whole place down there--where the willows was an'
the sand-bar--it was deep under water."
"What will become of Creech's horses?" asked Lucy, breathlessly.
"My God! ain't it a shame!" went on Bostil, and he could have laughed aloud at his hypocrisy.He felt Lucy's blue eyes riveted upon his face.
"Thet's what we all was sayin'," went on Van."While we was watchin' the awful flood an' listenin' to the deep bum--bum--bum of rollin' rocks some one seen Creech an' two Piutes leadin' the hosses up thet trail where the slide was.We counted the hosses--nine.An' we saw the roan shine blue in the sunlight.""Piutes with Creech!" exclaimed Bostil, the deep gloom in his eyes lighting.
"By all thet's lucky! Mebbe them Indians can climb the hosses out of thet hole an' find water an' grass enough.""Mebbe," replied Van, doubtfully."Sure them Piutes could if there's a chance.
But there ain't any grass."
"It won't take much grass travelin' by night.""So lots of the boys say.But the Navajos they shook their heads.An' Farlane an' Holley, why, they jest held up their hands.""With them Indians Creech has a chance to get his hosses out," declared Bostil.He was sure of his sincerity, but he was not certain that his sincerity was not the birth of a strange, sudden hope.And then he was able to meet the eyes of his daughter.That was his supreme test.
"Oh, Dad, why, why didn't you hurry Creech's horses over?" said Lucy, with her tears falling.
Something tight within Bostil's breast seemed to ease and lessen."Why didn't I?...Wal, Lucy, I reckon I wasn't in no hurry to oblige Creech.I'm sorry now.""It won't be so terrible if he doesn't lose the horses," murmured Lucy.
"Where's young Joel Creech?" asked Bostil.
"He stayed on this side last night," replied Van."Fact is, Joel's the one who first knew the flood was on.Some one said he said he slept in the canyon last night.Anyway, he's ravin' crazy now.An' if he doesn't do harm to some one or hisself I'll miss my guess.""A-huh!" grunted Bostil."Right you are.""Dad, can't anything be done to help Creech now?" appealed Lucy, going close to her father.
Bostil put his arm around her and felt immeasurably relieved to have the golden head press close to his shoulder."Child, we can't fly acrost the river.Now don't you cry about Creech's hosses.They ain't starved yet.It's hard luck.But mebbe it'll turn out so Creech'll lose only the race.An', Lucy, it was a dead sure bet he'd have lost thet anyway."Bostil fondled his daughter a moment, the first time in many a day, and then he turned to his rider at the door."Van, how's the King?""Wild to run, Bostil, jest plumb wild.There won't be any hoss with the ghost of a show to-morrow."Lucy raised her drooping head."Is THAT so, Van Sickle?...Listen here.If you and Sage King don't get more wild running to-morrow than you ever had I'll never ride again!" With this retort Lucy left the room.
Van stared at the door and then at Bostil."What'd I say, Bostil?" he asked, plaintively."I'm always r'ilin' her.""Cheer up, Van.You didn't say much.Lucy is fiery these days.She's got a hoss somewhere an' she's goin' to ride him in the race.She offered to bet on him--against the King! It certainly beat me all hollow.But see here, Van.
I've a hunch there's a dark hoss goin' to show up in this race.So don't underrate Lucy an' her mount, whatever he is.She calls him Wildfire.Ever see him?""I sure haven't.Fact is, I haven't seen Lucy for days an' days.As for the hunch you gave, I'll say I was figurin' Lucy for some real race.Bostil, she doesn't MAKE a hoss run.He'll run jest to please her.An' Lucy's lighter 'n a feather.Why, Bostil, if she happened to ride out there on Blue Roan or some other hoss as fast I'd--I'd jest wilt."Bostil uttered a laugh full of pride in his daughter."Wal, she won't show up on Blue Roan," he replied, with grim gruffness."Thet's sure as death....
