came off
thet'd make you feel bad. Young Slone had a scare about his hoss.
Wildfire's safe out there in the corral, an' he'll be guarded like the
King an' Sarch. Slone needs a drink an' somethin' to eat, same as all
of us."

Lucy's color returned and her smile, but Bostil noted that, while she
was serving them and brightly responsive to compliments, she gave more
than one steady glance at Slone. She was deep, thought Bostil, and it
angered him a little that she showed interest in what concerned this
strange rider.

Then they had dinner, with twelve at table. The wives of Bostil's three
friends had been helping Aunt Jane prepare the feast, and they added to
the merriment. Bostil was not much given to social intercourse--he
would have preferred to be with his horses and riders--but this night
he outdid himself as host, amazed his sister Jane, who evidently
thought he drank too much, and delighted Lucy. Bostil's outward
appearance and his speech and action never reflected all the workings
of his mind. No one would ever know the depth of his bitter
disappointment at the outcome of the race. With Creech's Blue Roan out
of the way, another horse, swifter and more dangerous, had come along
to spoil the King's chance. Bostil felt a subtly increasing
covetousness in regard to Wildfire, and this colored all his talk and
action. The upland country, vast and rangy, was for Bostil too small to
hold Sage King and Wildfire unless they both belonged to him. And when
old Cal Blinn gave a ringing toast to Lucy, hoping to live to see her
up on Wildfire in the grand race that must be run with the King, Bostil
felt stir in him the birth of a subtle, bitter fear. At first he mocked
it. He--Bostil--afraid to race! It was a lie of the excited mind. He
repudiated it. Insidiously it returned. He drowned it down--smothered
it with passion. Then the ghost of it remained, hauntingly.

After dinner Bostil with the men went down to Brackton's, where Slone
and the winners of the day received their prizes.

"Why, it's more money than I ever had in my whole life!" exclaimed
Slone, gazing incredulously at the gold.

Bostil was amused and pleased, and back of both amusement and pleasure
was the old inventive, driving passion to gain his own ends.

Bostil was abnormally generous in many ways; monstrously selfish in one
way.

"Slone, I seen you didn't drink none," he said, curiously.

"No; I don't like liquor."

"Do you gamble?"

"I like a li