m. Mebbe they didn't try hard to clean him off. But
the fact is not for hours did they get thet 'dobe off him. They washed
an' scrubbed an' curried him, while he yelled an' cussed. Finally they
peeled it off, with his skin I guess. He was raw, an' they say, the
maddest feller ever seen in Bostil's Ford!"

Lucy was struggling between fear and mirth. She did not look sorry.
"Oh! Oh! Oh, Dad!"

"Wasn't it great, Lucy?"

"But what--will he--do?" choked Lucy.

"Lord only knows. Thet worries me some. Because he never said a word
about how he come to lose his clothes or why he had the 'dobe on him.
An' sure I never told. Nobody knows but us."

"Dad, he'll do something terrible to me!" cried Lucy, aghast at her
premonition.

CHAPTER III

The days did not pass swiftly at Bostil's Ford. And except in winter,
and during the spring sand-storms, the lagging time passed pleasantly.
Lucy rode every day, sometimes with Van, and sometimes alone. She was
not over-keen about riding with Van--first, because he was in love with
her; and secondly, in spite of that, she could not beat him when he
rode the King. They were training Bostil's horses for the
much-anticipated races.

At last word arrived from the Utes and Navajos that they accepted
Bostil's invitation and would come in force, which meant, according to
Holley and other old riders, that the Indians would attend about eight
hundred strong.

"Thet old chief, Hawk, is comin'," Holley informed Bostil. "He hasn't
been here fer several years. Recollect thet bunch of colts he had?
They're bosses, not mustangs.... So you look out, Bostil!"

No rider or rancher or sheepman, in fact, no one, ever lost a chance to
warn Bostil. Some of it was in fun, but most of it was earnest. The
nature of events was that sooner or later a horse would beat the King.
Bostil knew that as well as anybody, though he would not admit it.
Holley's hint made Bostil look worried. Most of Bostil's gray hairs
might have been traced to his years of worry about horses.

The day he received word from the Indians he sent for Brackton,
Williams, Muncie, and Creech to come to his house that night. These
men, with Bostil, had for years formed in a way a club, which gave the
Ford distinction. Creech was no longer a friend of Bostil's, but Bostil
had always been fair-minded, and now he did not allow his animosities
to influence him. Holley, the veteran rider, made the sixth member of
the club.

Bostil had a c