wild a scream uttered by a horse. Likewise he had never seen so
incomparable a horseman as this stranger. Indians and riders alike
thrilled at a sight which was after their own hearts. The rider had
hooked his long spurs under the horse and now appeared a part of him.
He could not be dislodged. This was not a bucking mustang, but a
fierce, powerful, fighting stallion. No doubt, thought Bostil, this
fight took place every time the rider mounted his horse. It was the
sort of thing riders loved. Most of them would not own a horse that
would not pitch. Bostil presently decided, however, that in the case of
this red stallion no rider in his right senses would care for such a
fight, simply because of the extraordinary strengths, activity, and
ferocity of the stallion.

The riders were all betting the horse would throw the stranger. And
Bostil, seeing the gathering might of Wildfire's momentum, agreed with
them. No horseman could stick on that horse. Suddenly Wildfire tripped
in the sage, and went sprawling in the dust, throwing his rider ahead.
Both man and beast were quick to rise, but the rider had a foot in the
stirrup before Wildfire was under way. Then the horse plunged, ran
free, came circling back, and slowly gave way to the rider's control.
Those few moments of frenzied activity had brought out the foam and the
sweat--Wildfire was wet. The man pulled him in before Bostil and
dismounted.

"Sometimes I ride him, then sometimes I don't," he said, with a smile.

Bostil held out his hand. He liked this rider. He would have liked the
frank face, less hard than that of most riders, and the fine, dark
eyes, straight and steady, even if their possessor had not come with
the open sesame to Bostil's regard--a grand, wild horse, and the nerve
to ride him.

"Wal, you rode him longer 'n any of us figgered," said Bostil, heartily
shaking the man's hand. "I'm Bostil. Glad to meet you."

"My name's Slone--Lin Slone," replied the rider, frankly. "I'm a
wild-horse hunter an' hail from Utah."

"Utah? How'd you ever get over? Wal, you've got a grand hoss--an' you
put a grand rider up on him in the race.... My girl Lucy--"

Bostil hesitated. His mind was running swiftly. Back of his thoughts
gathered the desire and the determination to get possession of this
horse Wildfire. He had forgotten what he might have said to this
stranger under different circumstances. He looked keenly into Slone's
face and saw no fear, no subterfuge. Th