"I reckon I'd drove you out before this if I hadn't felt we could make a deal.""We can't agree on any deal, Bostil," replied Slone, steadily.It was not what Bostil said, but the way he said it, the subtle meaning and power behind it, that gave Slone a sense of menace and peril.These he had been used to for years; he could meet them.But he was handicapped here because it seemed that, though he could meet Bostil face to face, he could not fight him.For he was Lucy's father.Slone's position, the impotence of it, rendered him less able to control his temper.
"Why can't we?" demanded Bostil."If you wasn't so touchy we could.An' let me say, young feller, thet there's more reason now thet you DO make a deal with me.""Deal? What about?"
"About your red hoss."
"Wildfire!...No deals, Bostil," returned Slone, and made as if to pass him.
The big hand that forced Slone back was far from gentle, and again he felt the quick rush of blood.
"Mebbe I can tell you somethin' thet'll make you sell Wildfire," said Bostil.
"Not if you talked yourself dumb!" flashed Slone.There was no use to try to keep cool with this Bostil, if he talked horses."I'll race Wildfire against the King.But no more.""Race! Wal, we don't run races around here without stakes," replied Bostil, with deep scorn."An' what can you bet? Thet little dab of prize money is gone, an' wouldn't be enough to meet me.You're a strange one in these parts.
I've pride an' reputation to uphold.You brag of racin' with me--an' you a beggarly rider!...You wouldn't have them clothes an' boots if my girl hadn't fetched them to you."The riders behind Bostil laughed.Wetherby's face was there in the door, not amused, but hard with scorn and something else.Slone felt a sickening, terrible gust of passion.It fairly shook him.And as the wave subsided the quick cooling of skin and body pained him like a burn made with ice.
"Yes, Bostil, I'm what you say," responded Slone, and his voice seemed to fill his ears."But you're dead wrong when you say I've nothin' to bet on a race.""An' what'll you bet?"
"My life an' my horse!"
The riders suddenly grew silent and intense.Bostil vibrated to that.He turned white.He more than any rider on the uplands must have felt the nature of that offer.
"Ag'in what?" he demanded, hoarsely.
"YOUR DAUGHTER LUCY!"
One instant the surprise held Bostil mute and motionless.Then he seemed to expand.His huge bulk jerked into motion and he bellowed like a mad bull.
Slone saw the blow coming, made no move to avoid it.The big fist took him square on the mouth and chin and laid him flat on the ground.Sight failed Slone for a little, and likewise ability to move.But he did not lose consciousness.His head seemed to have been burst into rays and red mist that blurred his eyes.Then these cleared away, leaving intense pain.He started to get up, his brain in a whirl.Where was his gun? He had left it at home.But for that he would have killed Bostil.He had already killed one man.The thing was a burning flash--then all over! He could do it again.But Bostil was Lucy's father!
Slone gathered up the packages of supplies, and without looking at the men he hurried away.He seemed possessed of a fury to turn and run back.Some force, like an invisible hand, withheld him.When he reached the cabin he shut himself in, and lay on his bunk, forgetting that the place did not belong to him, alive only to the mystery of his trouble, smarting with the shame of the assault upon him.It was dark before he composed himself and went out, and then he had not the desire to eat.He made no move to open the supplies of food, did not even make a light.But he went out to take grass and water to the horses.When he returned to the cabin a man was standing at the porch.
Slone recognized Holley's shape and then his voice.
"Son, you raised the devil to-day."
"Holley, don't you go back on me!" cried Slone."I was driven!""Don't talk so loud," whispered the rider in return."I've only a minnit...
.Here--a letter from Lucy....An', son, don't git the idee thet I'll go back on you."Slone took the letter with trembling fingers.All the fury and gloom instantly fled.Lucy had written him! He could not speak.
"Son, I'm double-crossin' the boss, right this minnit!" whispered Holley, hoarsely."An' the same time I'm playin' Lucy's game.If Bostil finds out he'll kill me.I mustn't be ketched up here.But I won't lose track of you--wherever you go."Holley slipped away stealthily in the dusk, leaving Slone with a throbbing heart.
"Wherever you go!" he echoed."Ah! I forgot! I can't stay here."Lucy's letter made his fingers tingle--made them so hasty and awkward that he had difficulty in kindling blaze enough to see to read.The letter was short, written in lead-pencil on the torn leaf of a ledger.Slone could not read rapidly--those years on the desert had seen to that--and his haste to learn what Lucy said bewildered him.At first all the words blurred:
Come at once to the bench in the cottonwoods.I'll meet you there.My heart is breaking.It's a lie--a lie--what they say.I'll swear you were with me the night the boat was cut adrift.I KNOW you didn't do that.I know who...
.Oh, come! I will stick to you.I will run off with you.I love you!"
