When the men were departing Bostil called Creech back into the sitting-room.  Creech appeared surprised, yet it was evident that he would have been glad to make friends with Bostil.

“What’ll you take for the roan?” Bostil asked, tersely,’ as if he had never asked that before.

“Bostil, didn’t we thresh thet out before—­an’ fell out over it?” queried Creech, with a deprecating spread of his hands.

“Wal, we can fall in again, if you’ll sell or trade the hoss.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“You need money an’ hosses, don’t you?” demanded Bostil, brutally.  He had no conscience in a matter of horse-dealing.

“Lord knows, I do,” replied Creech.

“Wal, then, here’s your chance.  I’ll give you five hundred in gold an’ Sarchedon to boot.”

Creech looked as if he had not heard aright.  Bostil repeated the offer.

“No,” replied Creech.

“I’ll make it a thousand an’ throw Plume in with Sarch,” flashed Bostil.

“No!” Creech turned pale and swallowed hard.

“Two thousand an’ Dusty Ben along with the others?” This was an unheard-of price to pay for any horse.  Creech saw that Bostil was desperate.  It was an almost overpowering temptation.  Evidently Creech resisted it only by applying all his mind to the thought of his clean-limbed, soft-eyed, noble horse.

Bostil did not give Creech time to speak.  “Twenty-five hundred an’ Two Face along with the rest!”

“My God, Bostil—­stop it!  I can’t part with Blue Roan.  You’re rich an’ you’ve no heart.  Thet I always knew.  At least to me you never had, since I owned them two racers.  Didn’t I beg you, a little time back, to lend me a few hundred?  To meet thet debt?  An’ you wouldn’t, unless I’d sell the hosses.  An’ I had to lose my sheep.  Now I’m a poor man—­gettin’ poorer all the time.  But I won’t sell or trade Blue Roan, not for all you’ve got!”

Creech seemed to gain strength with his speech and passion with the strength.  His eyes glinted at the hard, paling face of his rival.  He raised a clenching fist.

“An’ by G—­d, I’m goin’ to win thet race!”

During that week Lucy had heard many things about Joel Creech, and some of them were disquieting.

Some rider had not only found Joel’s clothes on the trail, but he had recognized the track of the horse Lucy rode, and at once connected her with the singular discovery.  Coupling that with Joel’s appearance in the village incased in a heaving armor of adobe, the riders guessed pretty close to the truth.  For them the joke was tremendous.  And Joel Creech was exceedingly sensitive to ridicule.  The riders made life unbearable for him.  They had fun out of it as long as Joel showed signs of taking the joke manfully, which was not long, and then his resentment won their contempt.  That led to sarcasm on their part and bitter anger on his.  It came to Lucy’s