s being pulled along at a tremendous pace. The faithful black could
never have made the wind cut so. Lower the wild stallion stretched and
swifter he ran, till it seemed to Slone that death must end that
thunderbolt race.

CHAPTER VIII

Lucy Bostil had called twice to her father and he had not answered. He
was out at the hitching-rail, with Holley, the rider, and two other
men. If he heard Lucy he gave no sign of it. She had on her chaps and
did not care to go any farther than the door where she stood.

"Somers has gone to Durango an' Shugrue is out huntin' hosses," Lucy
heard Bostil say, gruffly.

"Wal now, I reckon I could handle the boat an' fetch Creech's hosses
over," said Holley.

Bostil raised an impatient hand, as if to wave aside Holley's
assumption.

Then one of the other two men spoke up. Lucy had seen him before, but
did not know his name.

"Sure there ain't any need to rustle the job. The river hain't showed
any signs of risin' yet. But Creech is worryin'. He allus is worryin'
over them hosses. No wonder! Thet Blue Roan is sure a hoss. Yesterday
at two miles he showed Creech he was a sight faster than last year. The
grass is gone over there. Creech is grainin' his stock these last few
days. An' thet's expensive."

"How about the flat up the canyon?" queried Bostil. "Ain't there any
grass there?"

"Reckon not. It's the dryest spell Creech ever had," replied the other.
"An' if there was grass it wouldn't do him no good. A landslide blocked
the only trail up."

"Bostil, them hosses, the racers special, ought to be brought acrost
the river," said Holley, earnestly. He loved horses and was thinking of
them.

"The boat's got to be patched up," replied Bostil, shortly.

It occurred to Lucy that her father was also thinking of Creech's
thoroughbreds, but not like Holley. She grew grave and listened
intently.

There was an awkward pause. Creech's rider, whoever he was, evidently
tried to conceal his anxiety. He flicked his boots with a quirt. The
boots were covered with wet mud. Probably he had crossed the river very
recently.

"Wal, when will you have the hosses fetched over?" he asked,
deliberately. "Creech'll want to know."

"Just as soon as the boat's mended," replied Bostil. "I'll put Shugrue
on the job to-morrow."

"Thanks, Bostil. Sure, thet'll be all right. Creech'll be satisfied,"
said the rider, as if relieved. Then he mounted, and with his companion
trotted down the lane.

Th