wildfire-第2节

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Sarch。〃

The　two　horses　named　were　facing　a　ridge　some　few　hundred　yards　distant；　and
their　heads　were　aloft　and　ears　straight　forward。　Sage　King　whistled　shrilly
and　Sarchedon　began　to　prance。

〃Boys；　you'd　better　drive　them　in；〃　said　Bostil。　〃They'd　like　nothin'　so　well
as　gettin'　out　on　the　sage。　。　。　。　Hullo！　what's　thet　shootin'　up　behind　the
ridge？〃

No　more　'n　Buckles　with　Lucy　makin'　him　run　some；〃　replied　Holley；　with　a　dry
laugh。

〃If　it　ain't！　。　。　。　Lord！　look　at　him　come！〃

Bostil's　anger　and　anxiety　might　never　have　been。　The　light　of　the　upland
rider's　joy　shone　in　his　keen　gaze。　The　slope　before　him　was　open；　and　almost
level；　down　to　the　ridge　that　had　hidden　the　missing　girl　and　horse。　Buckles
was　running　for　the　love　of　running；　as　the　girl　low　down　over　his　neck　was
riding　for　the　love　of　riding。　The　Sage　King　whistled　again；　and　shot　off　with
graceful　sweep　to　meet　them；　Sarchedon　plunged　after　him；　Two　Face　and　Plume
jealously　trooped　down；　too；　but　Dusty　Ben；　after　a　toss　of　his　head；　went　on
grazing。　The　gray　and　the　black　met　Buckles　and　could　not　turn　in　time　to　stay
with　him。　A　girl's　gay　scream　pealed　up　the　slope；　and　Buckles　went　lower　and
faster。　Sarchedon　was　left　behind。　Then　the　gray　King　began　to　run　as　if
before　he　had　been　loping。　He　was　beautiful　in　action。　This　was　playa
gamea　raceplainly　dominated　by　the　spirit　of　the　girl。　Lucy's　hair　was　a
bright　stream　of　gold　in　the　wind。　She　rode　bareback。　It　seemed　that　she　was
hunched　low　over　Buckles　with　her　knees　high　on　his　back　scarcely　astride
him　at　all。　Yet　her　motion　was　one　with　the　horse。　Again　that　wild；　gay　scream
pealed　outcall　or　laugh　or　challenge。　Sage　King；　with　a　fleetness　that　made
the　eyes　of　Bostil　and　his　riders　glisten；　took　the　lead；　and　then　sheered　off
to　slow　down；　while　Buckles　thundered　past。　Lucy　was　pulling　him　hard；　and　had
him　plunging　to　a　halt；　when　the　rider　Holley　ran　out　to　grasp　his　bridle。
Buckles　was　snorting　and　his　ears　were　laid　back。　He　pounded　the　ground　and
scattered　the　pebbles。

〃No　use；　Lucy；〃　said　Bostil。　〃You　can't　beat　the　King　at　your　own　game；　even
with　a　runnin'　start。〃

Lucy　Bostil's　eyes　were　blue；　as　keen　as　her　father's；　and　now　they　flashed
like　his。　She　had　a　hand　twisted　in　the　horse's　long　mane；　and　as；　lithe　and
supple；　she　slipped　a　knee　across　his　broad　back　she　shook　a　little　gantleted
fist　at　Bostil's　gray　racer。

〃Sage　King；　I　hate　you！〃　she　called；　as　if　the　horse　were　human。　〃And　I'll
beat　you　some　day！〃

Bostil　swore　by　the　gods　his　Sage　King　was　the　swiftest　horse　in　all　that　wild
upland　country　of　wonderful　horses。　He　swore　the　great　gray　could　look　back
over　his　shoulder　and　run　away　from　any　broken　horse　known　to　the　riders。

Bostil　himself　was　half　horse；　and　the　half　of　him　that　was　human　he　divided
between　love　of　his　fleet　racers　and　his　daughter　Lucy。　He　had　seen　years　of
hard　riding　on　that　wild　Utah　border　where；　in　those　days；　a　horse　meant　all
the　world　to　a　man。　A　lucky　strike　of　grassy　upland　and　good　water　south　of
the　Rio　Colorado　made　him　rich　in　all　that　he　cared　to　own。　The　Indians；　yet
unspoiled　by　white　men；　were　friendly。　Bostil　built　a　boat　at　the　Indian
crossing　of　the　Colorado　and　the　place　became　known　as　Bostil's　Ford。　From
time　to　time　his　personality　and　his　reputation　and　his　need　brought
horse…hunters；　riders；　sheep…herders；　and　men　of　pioneer　spirit；　as　well　as
wandering　desert　travelers；　to　the　Ford；　and　the　lonely；　isolated　hamlet
slowly　grew。　North　of　the　river　it　was　more　than　two　hundred　miles　to　the
nearest　little　settlement；　with　only　a　few　lonely　ranches　on　the　road；　to　the
west　were　several　villages；　equally　distant；　but　cut　off　for　two　months　at　a
time　by　the　raging　Colorado；　flooded　by　melting　snow　up　in　the　mountains。
Eastward　from　the　Ford　stretched　a　ghastly；　broken；　unknown　desert　of　canyons。
Southward　rolled　the　beautiful　uplands；　with　valleys　of　sage　and　grass；　and
plateaus　of　pine　and　cedar；　until　this　rich　rolling　gray　and　green　range　broke
sharply　on　a　purple　horizon　line　of　upflung　rocky　ramparts　and　walls　and
monuments；　wild；　dim；　and　mysterious。

Bostil's　cattle　and　horses　were　numberless；　and　many　as　were　his　riders；　he
always　could　use　more。　But　most　riders　did　not　abide　long　with　Bostil；　first
because　some　of　them　were　of　a　wandering　breed；　wild…horse　hunters　themselves；
and　secondly；　Bostil　had　two　great　faults：　he　seldom　paid　a　rider　in　money；
and　he　never　permitted　one　to　own　a　fleet　horse。　He　wanted　to　own　all　the　fast
horses　himself。　And　in　those　days　every　rider；　especially　a　wild…horse　hunter；
loved　his　steed　as　part　of　himself。　If　there　was　a　difference　between　Bostil
and　any　rider　of　the　sage；　it　was　that；　as　he　had　more　horses；　so　he　had　more
love。

Whenever　Bostil　could　not　get　possession　of　a　horse　he　coveted；　either　by
purchase　or　trade；　he　invariably　acquired　a　grievance　toward　the　owner。　This
happened　often；　for　riders　were　loath　to　part　with　their　favorites。　And　he　had
made　more　than　one　enemy　by　his　persistent　nagging。　It　could　not　be　said；
however；　that　he　sought　to　drive　hard　bargains。　Bostil　would　pay　any　price
asked　for　a　horse。

Across　the　Colorado；　in　a　high；　red…walled　canyon　opening　upon　the　river；
lived　a　poor　sheep…herder　and　horse…trader　named　Creech。　This　man　owned　a
number　of　thoroughbreds；　two　of　which　he　would　not　part　with　for　all　the　gold
in　the　uplands。　These　racers；　Blue　Roan　and　Peg；　had　been　captured　wild　on　the
ranges　by　Ute　Indians　and　broken　to　racing。　They　were　still　young　and　getting
faster　every　year。　Bostil　wanted　them　because　he　coveted　them　and　because　he
feared　them。　It　would　have　been　a　terrible　blow　to　him　if　any　horse　ever　beat
the　gray。　But　Creech　laughed　at　all　offers　and　taunted　Bostil　with　a　boast
that　in　another　summer　he　would　see　a　horse　out　in　front　of　the　King。

To　complicate　matters　and　lead　rivalry　into　hatred　young　Joel　Creech；　a　great
horseman；　but　worthless　in　the　eyes　of　all　save　his　father；　had　been　heard　to
say　that　some　day　he　would　force　a　race　between　the　King　and　Blue　Roan。　And
that　threat　had　been　taken　in　various　ways。　It　alienated　Bostil　beyond　all
hope　of　reconciliation。　It　made　Lucy　Bostil　laugh　and　look　sweetly　mysterious。
She　had　no　enemies　and　she　liked　everybody。　It　was　even　gossiped　by　the　women
of　Bostil's　Ford　that　she　had　more　than　liking　for　the　idle　Joel。　But　the
husbands　of　these　gossips　said　Lucy　was　only　tender…hearted。　Among　the　riders；
when　they　sat　around　their　lonely　camp…fires；　or　lounged　at　the　corrals　of　the
Ford；　there　was　speculation　in　regard　to　this　race　hinted　by　Joel　Creech。
There　never　had　been　a　race　between　the　King　and　Blue　Roan；　and　there　never
would　be；　unless　Joel　were　to　ride　off　with　Lucy。　In　that　case　there　would　be
the　grandest　race　ever　run　on　the　uplands；　with　the　odds　against　Blue　Roan
only　if　he　carried　double。　If　Joel　put　Lucy　up　on　the　Roan　and　he　rode　Peg
there　would　be　another　story。　Lucy　Bostil　was　a　slip　of　a　girl；　born　on　a
horse；　as　strong　and　supple　as　an　Indian；　and　she　could　ride　like　a　burr
sticking　in　a　horse's　mane。　With　Blue　Roan　carrying　her　light　weight　she　might
run　away　from　any　one　up　on　the　Kingwhich　for　Bostil　would　be　a　double
tragedy；　equally　in　the　loss　of　his　daughter　and　the　beating　of　his
best…beloved　racer。　But　with　Joel　on　Peg；　such　a　race　would　end　in　heartbreak
for　all　concerned；　for　the　King　would　outrun　Peg；　and　that　would　bring　riders
within　gunshot。

It　had　always　been　a　fascinating　subject；　this　long…looked…for　race。　It　grew
more　so　when　Joel's　infatuation　for　Lucy　became　known。　There　were　fewer　riders
who　believed　Lucy　might　elope　with　Joel　than　there　were　who　believed　Joel
might　steal　his　father's　horses。　But　all　the　riders　who　loved　horses　and　all
the　women　who　loved　gossip　were　united　in　at　least　one　thing；　and　that　was
that　something　like　a　race　or　a　romance　would　soon　disrupt　the　peaceful；
sleepy　tenor　of　Bostil's　Ford。

In　addition　to　Bostil's　growing　hatred　for　the　Creeches；　he　had　a　great　fear
of　Cordts；　the　horse…thief。　A　fear　ever　restless；　ever　watchful。　Cordts　hid
back　in　the　untrodden　ways。　He　had　secret　friends　among　the　riders　of　the
ranges；　faithful　followers　back　in　the　canyon　camps；　gold　for　the　digging；
cattle　by　the　thousand；　and　fast　horses。　He　had　always　gotten　what　he　wanted
except　one　thing。　That　was　a　certain　horse。　And　the　horse　was　Sage　King。

Cordts　was　a　bad　man；　a　product　of　the　early　gold…fields　of　California　and
Idaho；　an　outcast　from　that　evil　wave　of　wanderers　retreating　back　over　the
trails　so　madly　traveled　westward。　He　became　a　lord　over　the　free　ranges。　But
more　than　all　else　he　was　a　rider。　He　knew　a　horse。　He　was　as　much　horse　as
Bostil。　Cordts　rode　into　this　wild　free…range　country；　where　he　had　been；
heard　to　say　that　a　horse…thief　was　meaner　than　a　poisoned　coyote。
Nevertheless；　he　became　a　horse…thief。　The　passion　he　had　conceived　for　the
Sage　King　was　the　passion　of　a　man　for　an　unattainable　woman。　Cordts　swore
that　he　would　never　rest；　that　he　would　not　die；　till　he　owned　the　King。　So
there　was　reason　for　Bostil's　great　fear。



CHAPTER　II

Bostil　went　toward　the　house　with　his　daugh