refused to use spurs on him.  This day she ran away from Slone, and, turning at the end of the two-mile course they had marked out, she loped Wildfire back.  Slone turned with her, and they were soon in camp.  Lucy did not jump off.  She was in a transport.  Every race kindled a mounting fire in her.  She was scarlet of face, out of breath, her hair flying.  And she lay on Wildfire’s neck and hugged him and caressed him and talked to him in low tones of love.

Slone dismounted and got Sarchedon out of the way, then crossed to where Lucy still fondled Wildfire.  He paused a moment to look at her, but when she saw him he started again, and came close up to her as she sat the saddle.

“You went past me like a bullet,” he said.

“Oh, can’t he run!” murmured Lucy.

“Could he beat the King to-day?”

Slone had asked that question every day, more than once.

“Yes, he could—­to-day.  I know it,” replied Lucy.  “Oh—­I get so—­so excited.  I—­I make a fool of myself—­over him.  But to ride him—­going like that—­Lin! it’s just glorious!”

“You sure can ride him,” replied Slone.  “I can’t see a fault anywhere—­in him—­or in your handling him.  He never breaks.  He goes hard, but he saves something.  He gets mad—­fierce—­all the time, yet he wants to go your way.  Lucy, I never saw the like of it.  Somehow you an’ Wildfire make a combination.  You can’t be beat.”

“Do I ride him—­well?” she asked, softly.

“I could never ride him so well.”

“Oh, Lin—­you just want to please me.  Why, Van couldn’t ride with you.”

“I don’t care, Lucy,” replied Slone, stoutly.  “You rode this horse perfect.  I’ve found fault with you on the King, on your mustangs, an’ on this black horse Sarch.  But on Wildfire!  You grow there.”

“What will Dad say, and Farlane, and Holley, and Van?  Oh, I’ll crow over Van,” said Lucy.  “I’m crazy to ride Wildfire out before all the Indians and ranchers and riders, before the races, just to show him off, to make them stare.”

“No, Lucy.  The best plan is to surprise them all.  Enter your horse for the race, but don’t show up till all the riders are at the start.”

“Yes, that’ll be best. . . .  And, Lin, only five days more—­five days!”

Her words made Slone thoughtful, and Lucy, seeing that, straightway grew thoughtful, too.

“Sure—­only five days more,” repeated Slone, slowly.

His tone convinced Lucy that he meant to speak again as he had spoken once before, precipitating the only quarrel they had ever had.

“Does any one at Bostil’s Ford know you meet me out here?” he asked, suddenly.

“Only Auntie.  I told her the other day.  She had been watching me.  She thought things.  So I told her.”

“What did she say?” went on Slone, curiously.

“She was mad,” replied Lucy.  “She scolded me.  She said. . . .  But, anyway, I coaxed her not to tell on me.”