"MINE! ... So that's the trouble. Well, Wildfire won't be mine when you ride the race."

"What do you mean?" demanded Lucy. "You'll sell him to Bostil.... Bah!

you couldn't ..."

"Sell Wildfire!--after what it cost me to catch an' break him? ... Not for all your father's lands an' horses an' money!"

Slone's voice rolled out with deep, ringing scorn. And Lucy, her temper quelled, began to feel the rider's strength, his mastery of the situation, and something vague, yet splendid about him that hurt her.

Slone strode toward her. Lucy backed against the cedar-tree and could go no farther. How white he was now! Lucy's heart gave a great, fearful leap, for she imagined Slone intended to take her in his arms. But he did not.

"When you ride--Wildfire in that--race he'll be--YOURS!" said Slone, huskily.

"How can that be?" questioned Lucy, in astonishment.

"I give him to you."

"You--give--Wildfire--to me?" gasped Lucy.

"Yes. Right now."

The rider's white face and dark eyes showed the strain of great and pa.s.sionate sacrifice.

"Lin Slone! ... I can't--understand you."

"You've got to ride Wildfire in that race. You've got to beat the King.... So I give Wildfire to you. An' now you can't help but ride him."

"Why--why do you give him--to me?" faltered Lucy.

All her pride and temper had vanished, and she seemed lost in blankness.

"Because you love Wildfire. An' Wildfire loves you.... If that isn't reason enough--then ... because I love him--as no rider ever loved a horse.... An' I love you as no man ever loved a girl!"

Slone had never before spoken words of love to Lucy. She dropped her head. She knew of his infatuation. But he had always been shy except once when he had been bold, and that had caused a quarrel. With a strange pain at her breast Lucy wondered why Slone had not spoken that way before? It made as great a change in her as if she had been born again. It released something. A bolt shot back in her heart. She knew she was quivering like a leaf, with no power to control her muscles.

She knew if she looked up then Slone might see the depths of her soul.

Even with her hands shutting out the light she thought the desert around had changed and become all mellow gold and blue and white, radiant as the moonlight of dreams--and that the monuments soared above them grandly, and were beautiful and n.o.ble, like the revelations of love and joy to her. And suddenly she found herself sitting at the foot of the cedar, weeping, with tear-wet hands over her face.

"There's nothin' to---to cry about," Slone was saying. "But I'm sorry if I hurt you."

"Will--you--please--fetch Sarch?" asked Lucy, tremulously.

While Slone went for the horse and saddled him Lucy composed herself outwardly. And she had two very strong desires--one to tell Slone something, and the other to run. She decided she would do both together.

Slone brought Sarchedon. Lucy put on her gauntlets, and, mounting the horse, she took a moment to arrange her skirts before she looked down at Slone. He was now pale, rather than white, and instead of fire in his eyes there was sadness. Lucy felt the swelling and pounding of her heart--and a long, delicious shuddering thrill that ran over her.

"Lin, I won't take Wildfire," she said.

"Yes, you will. You can't refuse. Remember he's grown to look to you.

It wouldn't be right by the horse."

"But he's all you have in the world," she protested. Yet she knew any protestations would be in vain.

"No. I have good old faithful Nagger."

"Would you go try to hunt another wild stallion--like Wildfire?" asked Lucy, curiously. She was playing with the wonderful sweet consciousness of her power to render happiness when she chose.

"No more horse-huntin' for me," declared Slone. "An' as for findin' one like Wildfire--that'd never be."

"Suppose I won't accept him?"

"How could you refuse? Not for me but for Wildfire's sake! ... But if you could be mean an' refuse, why, Wildfire can go back to the desert."

"No!" exclaimed Lucy.

"I reckon so."

Lucy paused a moment. How dry her tongue seemed! And her breathing was labored! An unreal shimmering gleam shone on all about her. Even the red stallion appeared enveloped in a glow. And the looming monuments looked down upon her, paternal, old, and wise, bright with the color of happiness.

"Wildfire ought to have several more days' training--then a day of rest--and then the race," said Lucy, turning again to look at Slone.

A smile was beginning to change the hardness of his face. "Yes, Lucy,"

he said.

"And I'll HAVE to ride him?"

"You sure will--if he's ever to beat the King."

Lucy's eyes flashed blue. She saw the crowd--the curious, friendly Indians--the eager riders--the spirited horses--the face of her father--and last the race itself, such a race as had never been ran, so swift, so fierce, so wonderful.

"Then Lin," began Lucy, with a slowly heaving breast, "if I accept Wildfire will you keep him for me--until ... and if I accept him, and tell you why, will you promise to say--"

"Don't ask me again!" interrupted Slone, hastily. "I WILL speak to Bostil."

"Wait, will you ... promise not to say a word--a single word to ME--till after the race?"

"A word--to you! What about?" he queried, wonderingly. Something in his eyes made Lucy think of the dawn.

"About--the--Because--Why, I'm--I'll accept your horse."

"Yes," he replied, swiftly.

Lucy settled herself in the saddle and, shortening the bridle, she got ready to spur Sarchedon into a bolt.

"Lin, I'll accept Wildfire because I love you."

Sarchedon leaped forward. Lucy did not see Slone's face nor hear him speak. Then she was tearing through the sage, out past the whistling Wildfire, with the wind sweet in her face. She did not look back.