e lean, gray Holley bent a keen gaze upon Bostil. But Bostil did not
notice that; he appeared preoccupied in thought.

"Bostil, the dry winter an' spring here ain't any guarantee thet there
wasn't a lot of snow up in the mountains." Holley's remark startled
Bostil.

"No--it ain't--sure," he replied.

"An' any mornin' along now we might wake up to hear the Colorado
boomin'," went on Holley, significantly.

Bostil did not reply to that.

"Creech hain't lived over there so many years. What's he know about the
river? An' fer that matter, who knows anythin' sure about thet
hell-bent river?"

"It ain't my business thet Creech lives over there riskin' his stock
every spring," replied Bostil, darkly.

Holley opened his lips to speak, hesitated, looked away from Bostil,
and finally said, "No, it sure ain't." Then he turned and walked away,
head bent in sober thought. Bostil came toward the open door where Lucy
stood. He looked somber. At her greeting he seemed startled.

"What?" he said.

"I just said, 'Hello, Dad,'" she replied, demurely. Yet she
thoughtfully studied her father's dark face.

"Hello yourself.... Did you know Van got throwed an' hurt?"

"Yes."

Bostil swore under his breath. "There ain't any riders on the range
thet can be trusted," he said, disgustedly. "They're all the same. They
like to get in a bunch an' jeer each other an' bet. They want MEAN
hosses. They make good hosses buck. They haven't any use for a hoss
thet won't buck. They all want to give a hoss a rakin' over.... Think
of thet fool Van gettin' throwed by a two-dollar Ute mustang. An' hurt
so he can't ride for days! With them races comin' soon! It makes me
sick."

"Dad, weren't you a rider once?" asked Lucy.

"I never was thet kind."

"Van will be all right in a few days."

"No matter. It's bad business. If I had any other rider who could
handle the King I'd let Van go."

"I can get just as much out of the King as Van can," said Lucy,
spiritedly.

"You!" exclaimed Bostil. But there was pride in his glance.

"I know I can."

"You never had any use for Sage King," said Bostil, as if he had been
wronged.

"I love the King a little, and hate him a lot," laughed Lucy.

"Wal, I might let you ride at thet, if Van ain't in shape," rejoined
her father.

"I wouldn't ride him in the race. But I'll keep him in fine fettle."

"I'll bet you'd like to see Sarch beat him," said Bostil, jealously.

"Sure I would," replied Lucy, teas