mber he's grown to look to you.
It wouldn't be right by the horse."

"But he's all you have in the world," she protested. Yet she knew any
protestations would be in vain.

"No. I have good old faithful Nagger."

"Would you go try to hunt another wild stallion--like Wildfire?" asked
Lucy, curiously. She was playing with the wonderful sweet consciousness
of her power to render happiness when she chose.

"No more horse-huntin' for me," declared Slone. "An' as for findin' one
like Wildfire--that'd never be."

"Suppose I won't accept him?"

"How could you refuse? Not for me but for Wildfire's sake! ... But if
you could be mean an' refuse, why, Wildfire can go back to the desert."

"No!" exclaimed Lucy.

"I reckon so."

Lucy paused a moment. How dry her tongue seemed! And her breathing was
labored! An unreal shimmering gleam shone on all about her. Even the
red stallion appeared enveloped in a glow. And the looming monuments
looked down upon her, paternal, old, and wise, bright with the color of
happiness.

"Wildfire ought to have several more days' training--then a day of
rest--and then the race," said Lucy, turning again to look at Slone.

A smile was beginning to change the hardness of his face. "Yes, Lucy,"
he said.

"And I'll HAVE to ride him?"

"You sure will--if he's ever to beat the King."

Lucy's eyes flashed blue. She saw the crowd--the curious, friendly
Indians--the eager riders--the spirited horses--the face of her
father--and last the race itself, such a race as had never been ran, so
swift, so fierce, so wonderful.

"Then Lin," began Lucy, with a slowly heaving breast, "if I accept
Wildfire will you keep him for me--until ... and if I accept him, and
tell you why, will you promise to say--"

"Don't ask me again!" interrupted Slone, hastily. "I WILL speak to
Bostil."

"Wait, will you ... promise not to say a word--a single word to
ME--till after the race?"

"A word--to you! What about?" he queried, wonderingly. Something in his
eyes made Lucy think of the dawn.

"About--the--Because--Why, I'm--I'll accept your horse."

"Yes," he replied, swiftly.

Lucy settled herself in the saddle and, shortening the bridle, she got
ready to spur Sarchedon into a bolt.

"Lin, I'll accept Wildfire because I love you."

Sarchedon leaped forward. Lucy did not see Slone's face nor hear him
speak. Then she was tearing through the sage, out past the whistling
Wildfire, with the wind sweet in her face. S