might as well have read his mind. "Reckon this feller ridin' up
will take down the prize money," remarked Holley, and he pointed to a
man who rode a huge, shaggy, black horse and was leading Lucy's pony.

"A-huh!" exclaimed Bostil. "A strange rider."

"An' here comes Lucy coaxin' the stallion back," added Holley.

"A wild stallion never clear broke!" ejaculated Cordts.

All the men looked and all had some remark of praise for Lucy and her
mount.

Bostil gazed with a strange, irresistible attraction. Never had he
expected to live to see a wild stallion like this one, to say nothing
of his daughter mounted on him, with the record of having put Sage King
out of the race!

A thousand pairs of eyes watched Wildfire. He pranced out there beyond
the crowd of men and horses. He did not want to come closer. Yet he did
not seem to fight his rider. Lucy hung low over his neck, apparently
exhausted, and she was patting him and caressing him. There were horses
and Indians on each side of the race track, and between these lines
Lucy appeared reluctant to come.

Bostil strode down and, waving and yelling for everybody to move back
to the slope, he cleared the way and then stood out in front alone.

"Ride up, now," he called to Lucy.

It was then Bostil discovered that Lucy did not wear a spur and she had
neither quirt nor whip. She turned Wildfire and he came prancing on,
head and mane and tail erect. His action was beautiful, springy, and
every few steps, as Lucy touched him, he jumped with marvelous ease and
swiftness.

Bostil became all eyes. He did not see his daughter as she paraded the
winner before the applauding throng. And Bostil recorded in his mind
that which he would never forget--a wild stallion, with unbroken
spirit; a giant of a horse, glistening red, with mane like
dark-striped, wind-blown flame, all muscle, all grace, all power; a
neck long and slender and arching to the small, savagely beautiful
head; the jaws open, and the thin-skinned, pink-colored nostrils that
proved the Arabian blood; the slanting shoulders and the deep, broad
chest, the powerful legs and knees not too high nor too low, the
symmetrical dark hoofs that rang on the little stones--all these marks
so significant of speed and endurance. A stallion with a wonderful
physical perfection that matched the savage, ruthless spirit of the
desert killer of horses!

Lucy waved her hand, and the strange rider to whom Holley had called
attention st