ch. The race looked close,
despite what Holley had said. The Indians were beginning to lean
forward, here and there uttering a short, sharp yell. Everything within
Bostil grew together in one great, throbbing, tingling mass. His
rider's eye, keen once more, caught a gleam of gold above the red, and
that gold was Lucy's hair. Bostil forgot the King.

Then Holley bawled into his ear, "They're half-way!"

The race was beautiful. Bostil strained his eyes. He gloried in what he
saw--Lucy low over the neck of that red stallion. He could see plainer
now. They were coming closer. How swiftly! What a splendid race! But it
was too swift--it would not last. The Indians began to yell, drowning
the hoarse shouts of the riders. Out of the tail of his eye Bostil saw
Cordts and Sears and Hutchinson. They were acting like crazy men.
Strange that horse-thieves should care! The million thrills within
Bostil coalesced into one great shudder of rapture. He grew wet with
sweat. His stentorian voice took up the call for Lucy to win.

"Three-quarters!" bowled Holley into Bostil's ear. "An' Lucy's give
thet wild hoss free rein! Look, Bostil! You never in your life seen a
hoss ran like thet!"

Bostil never had. His heart swelled. Something shook him. Was that his
girl--that tight little gray burr half hidden in the huge stallion's
flaming mane? The distance had been close between Lucy and the bunched
riders.

But it lengthened. How it widened! That flame of a horse was running
away from the others. And now they were close--coming into the home
stretch. A deafening roar from the onlookers engulfed all other sounds.
A straining, stamping, arm-flinging horde surrounded Bostil.

Bostil saw Lucy's golden hair whipping out from the flame-streaked
mane. And then he could only see that red brute of a horse. Wildfire
before the wind! Bostil thought of the leaping prairie flame,
storm-driven.

On came the red stallion--on--on! What a tremendous stride! What a
marvelous recovery! What ease! What savage action!

He flashed past, low, pointed, long, going faster every magnificent
stride--winner by a dozen lengths.

CHAPTER XIII

Wildfire ran on down the valley far beyond the yelling crowd lined
along the slope. Bostil was deaf to the throng; he watched the stallion
till Lucy forced him to stop and turn.

Then Bostil whirled to see where Van was with the King. Most of the
crowd surged down to surround the racers, and the yells gave way to th