le?"

"I reckon not."

"But it's the only place where there's people in hundreds of miles.
Surely you won't try to go back the way you came?"

"When Wildfire left that country I left it. We can't back."

"Then you've no people--no one you care for?" she asked, in sweet
seriousness.

"There's no one. I'm an orphan. My people were lost in an Indian
massacre--with a wagon-train crossin' Wyomin'. A few escaped, an' I was
one of the youngsters. I had a tough time, like a stray dog, till I
grew up. An' then I took to the desert."

"Oh, I see. I--I'm sorry," replied Lucy. "But that's not very different
from my dad's story, of his early years.... What will you do now?"

"I'll stay here till my back straightens out.... Will you ride out
again?"

"Yes," replied Lucy, without looking at him; and she wondered if it
were really she who was speaking.

Then he asked her about the Ford, and Bostil, and the ranches and
villages north, and the riders and horses. Lucy told him everything she
knew and could think of, and, lastly, after waxing eloquent on the
horses of the uplands, particularly Bostil's, she gave him a graphic
account of Cordts and Dick Sears.

"Horse-thieves!" exclaimed the rider, darkly. There was a grimness as
well as fear in his tone. "I've heard of Sears, but not Cordts. Where
does this band hang out?"

"No one knows. Holley says they hide up in the canyon country. None of
the riders have ever tried to track them far. It would be useless.
Holley says there are plateaus of rich grass and great forests. The Ute
Indians say that much, too. But we know little about the wild country."

"Aren't there any hunters at Bostil's Ford?"

"Wild-horse hunters, you mean?"

"No. Bear an' deer hunters."

"There's none. And I suppose that's why we're not familiar with the
wild canyon country. I'd like to ride in there sometime and camp. But
our people don't go in for that. They love the open ranges. No one I
know, except a half-witted boy, ever rode down among these monuments.
And how wonderful a place! It can't be more than twenty miles from
home.... I must be going soon. I'm forgetting Sage King. Did I tell you
I was training him for the races?"

"No, you didn't. What races? Tell me," he replied, with keen interest.

Then Lucy told him about the great passion of her father--about the
long, time-honored custom of free-for-all races, and the great races
that had been run in the past; about the Creeches and their sw