"Wal, you was sweet on her an' she wouldn't have you," replied Bostil.
Slone felt the blood swell and boil in his veins.This Bostil could say as harsh and hard things as repute gave him credit for.
"Yes, I AM sweet on Lucy, an' she won't have me," said Slone, steadily."Iasked her to let me come to you an' tell you I wanted to marry her.But she wouldn't.""Wal, it's just as good you didn't come, because I might...." Bostil broke off his speech and began again."You don't lack nerve, Slone.What'd you have to offer Lucy?""Nothin' except--But that doesn't matter," replied Slone, cut to the quick by Bostil's scorn."I'm glad you know, an' so much for that."Bostil turned to look at Wildfire once more, and he looked long.When he faced around again he was another man.Slone felt the powerful driving passion of this old horse-trader.
"Slone, I'll give you pick of a hundred mustangs an' a thousand dollars for Wildfire!"So he unmasked his power in the face of a beggarly rider! Though it struck Slone like a thunderbolt, he felt amused.But he did not show that.Bostil had only one possession, among all his uncounted wealth, that could win Wildfire from his owner.
"No," said Slone, briefly.
"I'll double it," returned Bostil, just as briefly.
"No!"
"I'll--"
"Save your breath, Bostil," flashed Slone."You don't know me.But let me tell you--you CAN'T BUY my horse!"The great veins swelled and churned in Bostil's bull neck; a thick and ugly contortion worked in his face; his eyes reflected a sick rage.
Slone saw that two passions shook Bostil--one, a bitter, terrible disappointment, and the other, the passion of a man who could not brook being crossed.It appeared to Slone that the best thing he could do was to get away quickly, and to this end he led Wildfire out of the corral to the stable courtyard, and there quickly saddled him.Then he went into another corral for his other horse, Nagger, and, bringing him out, returned to find Bostil had followed as far as the court.The old man's rage apparently had passed or had been smothered.
"See here," he began, in thick voice, "don't be a d--- fool an' ruin your chance in life.I'll--""Bostil, my one chance was ruined--an' you know who did it," replied Slone, as he gathered Nagger's rope and Wildfire's bridle together."I've no hard feelin's....But I can't sell you my horse.An' I can't ride for you--because--well, because it would breed trouble.""An' what kind?" queried Bostil.
Holley and Farlane and Van, with several other riders, had come up and were standing open-mouthed.Slone gathered from their manner and expression that anything might happen with Bostil in such a mood.
"We'd be racin' the King an' Wildfire, wouldn't we?" replied Slone.
"An' supposin' we would?" returned Bostil, ominously.His huge frame vibrated with a slight start.
"Wildfire would run off with your favorite--an' you wouldn't like that,"answered Slone.It was his rider's hot blood that prompted him to launch this taunt.He could not help it.
"You wild-hoss chaser," roared Bostil, "your Wildfire may be a bloody killer, but he can't beat the King in a race!""Excuse ME, Bostil, but Wildfire did beat the King!"This was only adding fuel to the fire.Slone saw Holley making signs that must have meant silence would be best.But Slone's blood was up.Bostil had rubbed him the wrong way.
"You're a lair!" declared Bostil, with a tremendous stride forward.Slone saw then how dangerous the man really was."It was no race.Your wild hoss knocked the King off the track.""Sage King had the lead, didn't he? Why didn't he keep it?"Bostil was like a furious, intractable child whose favorite precious treasure had been broken; and he burst out into a torrent of incoherent speech, apparently reasons why this and that were so.Slone did not make out what Bostil meant and he did not care.When Bostil got out of breath Slone said:
"We're both wastin' talk.An' I'm not wantin' you to call me a liar twice...
.Put your rider up on the King an' come on, right now.I'll--""Slone, shut up an' chase yourself," interrupted Holley "You go to h--l!" returned Slone, coolly.
There was a moment's silence, in which Slone took Holley's measure.The hawk-eyed old rider may have been square, but he was then thinking only of Bostil.
"What am I up, against here?" demanded Slone."Am I goin' to be shot because I'm takin' my own part? Holley, you an' the rest of your pards are all afraid of this old devil.But I'm not--an' you stay out of this.""Wal, son, you needn't git riled," replied Holley, placatingly."I was only tryin' to stave off talk you might be sorry for.""Sorry for nothin'! I'm goin' to make this great horse-trader, this rich an'
mighty rancher, this judge of grand horses, this BOSTIL!...I'm goin' to make him race the King or take water!" Then Slone turned to Bostil.That worthy evidently had been stunned by the rider who dared call him to his face.
"Come on! Fetch the King! Let your own riders judge the race!"Bostil struggled both to control himself and to speak."Naw! I ain't goin' to see thet red hoss-killer jump the King again!""Bah! you're afraid.You know there'd be no girl on his back.You know he can outrun the King an' that's why you want to buy him."Slone caught his breath then.He realized suddenly, at Bostil's paling face, that perhaps he had dared too much.Yet, maybe the truth flung into this hard old rider's teeth was what he needed more than anything else.Slone divined, rather than saw, that he had done an unprecedented thing.
"I'll go now, Bostil."
Slone nodded a good-by to the riders, and, turning away, he led the two horses down the lane toward the house.It scarcely needed sight of Lucy under the cottonwoods to still his anger and rouse his regret.Lucy saw him coming, and, as usual, started to avoid meeting him, when sight of the horses, or something else, caused her to come toward him instead.
