t Lucy's your girl an' you give her the hoss.... Thet settles
thet!"

"If I go away from here an' leave Wildfire for Lucy--do you think she
could keep him? Wouldn't Bostil take him from her?"

"Wal, son, if he tried thet on Lucy she'd jump Wildfire an' hit your
trail an' hang on to it till she found you."

"What'll you tell Bostil?" asked Slone, half beside himself.

"I'm consarned if I know," replied Holley. "Mebbe I'll think of some
idee. I'll go back now. An' say, son, I reckon you'd better hang close
to home. If you meet Bostil down in the village you two'd clash sure.
I'll come up soon, but it'll be after dark."

"Holley, all this is--is good of you," said Slone. "I--I'll--"

"Shut up, son," interrupted the rider, dryly. "Thet's your only
weakness, so far as I can see. You say too much."

Holley started down then, his long, clinking spurs digging into the
steep path. He left Slone a prey to deep thoughts at once anxious and
dreamy.

Next day Slone worked hard all day, looking forward to nightfall,
expecting that Holley would come up. He tried to resist the sweet and
tantalizing anticipation of a message from Lucy, but in vain. The rider
had immeasurably uplifted Slone's hope that Lucy, at least, cared for
him. Not for a moment all day could Slone drive away the hope. At
twilight he was too eager to eat--too obsessed to see the magnificent
sunset. But Holley did not come, and Slone went to bed late, half sick
with disappointment.

The next day was worse. Slone found work irksome, yet he held to it. On
the third day he rested and dreamed, and grew doubtful again, and then
moody. On the fourth day Slone found he needed supplies that he must
obtain from the store. He did not forget Holley's warning, but he
disregarded it, thinking there would scarcely be a chance of meeting
Bostil at midday.

There were horses standing, bridles down, before Brackton's place, and
riders lounging at the rail and step. Some of these men had been
pleasant to Slone on earlier occasions. This day they seemed not to see
him. Slone was tingling all over when he went into the store. Some
deviltry was afoot! He had an angry thought that these riders could not
have minds of their own. Just inside the door Slone encountered
Wetherby, the young rancher from Durango. Slone spoke, but Wetherby
only replied with an insolent stare. Slone did not glance at the man to
whom Wetherby was talking. Only a few people were inside the store, and
Br