“Oh, Lucy! you didn’t?” implored Slone.

“I sure did.  And what do you think?  He said he once did the same to my mother! . . .  No, Lin, Dad’d never kill you for anything except a fury about horses.  All the fights he ever had were over horse deals.  The two men—­he—­he—­” Lucy faltered and her shudder was illuminating to Slone.  “Both of them—­fights over horse trades!”

“Lucy, if I’m ever unlucky enough to meet Bostil again I’ll be deaf an’ dumb.  An’ now you promise me you won’t tell him you were with me that night.”

“Lin, if the occasion comes, I will—­I couldn’t help it,” replied Lucy.

“Then fight shy of the occasion,” he rejoined, earnestly.  “For that would be the end of Lin Slone!”

“Then—­what on earth can—­we do?” Lucy said, with sudden break of spirit.

“I think we must wait.  You wrote in your letter you’d stick to me—­you’d—­” He could not get the words out, the thought so overcame him.

“If it comes to a finish, I’ll go with you,” Lucy returned, with passion rising again.

“Oh! to ride off with you, Lucy—­to have you all to myself—­I daren’t think of it.  But that’s only selfish.”

“Maybe it’s not so selfish as you believe.  If you left the Ford—­now—­it’d break my heart.  I’d never get over it.”

“Lucy!  You love me—­that well?”

Then their lips met again and their hands locked, and they stood silent, straining toward each other.  He held the slight form, so pliant, so responsive, so alive, close to him, and her face lay hidden on his breast; and he looked out over her head into the quivering moonlit shadows.  The night was as still as one away on the desert far from the abode of men.  It was more beautiful than any dream of a night in which he had wandered far into strange lands where wild horses were and forests lay black under moon-silvered peaks.

“We’ll run—­then—­if it comes to a finish,” said Slone, huskily.  “But I’ll wait.  I’ll stick it out here.  I’ll take what comes.  So—­maybe I’ll not disgrace you more.”

“I told Van I—­I gloried in being hugged by you that day,” she replied, and her little defiant laugh told what she thought of the alleged disgrace.

“You torment him,” remonstrated Slone.  “You set him against us.  It would be better to keep still.”

“But my blood is up!” she said, and she pounded his shoulder with her fist.  “I’ll fight—­I’ll fight! . . .  I couldn’t avoid Van.  It was Holley who told me Van was threatening you.  And when I met Van he told me how everybody said you insulted me—­had been worse than a drunken rider—­and that he’d beat you half to death.  So I told Van Joel Creech might have seen us—­I didn’t doubt that—­but he didn’t see that I liked being hugged.”

“What did Van say then?” asked Slone, all aglow with his wonderful joy.

“He wilted.  He slunk away. . . .  And so I’ll tell them all.”

“But, Lucy, you’ve always been so—­so truthful.”