rode out of the crowd toward Wildfire.

Bostil's gaze took in the splendid build of this lithe rider, the
clean-cut face, the dark eye. This fellow had a shiny, coiled lasso in
hand. He advanced toward Wildfire. The stallion snorted and plunged. If
ever Bostil saw hate expressed by a horse he saw it then. But he seemed
to be tractable to the control of the girl. Bostil swiftly grasped the
strange situation. Lucy had won the love of the savage stallion. That
always had been the secret of her power. And she had hated Sage King
because he alone had somehow taken a dislike to her. Horses were as
queer as people, thought Bostil.

The rider walked straight up to the trembling Wildfire. When Wildfire
plunged and reared up and up the rider leaped for the bridle and with
an iron arm pulled the horse down. Wildfire tried again, almost lifting
the rider, but a stinging cut from the lasso made him come to a stand.
Plainly the rider held the mastery.

"Dad!" called Lucy, faintly.

Bostil went forward, close, while the rider held Wildfire. Lucy was as
wan-faced as a flower by moonlight. Her eyes were dark with emotions,
fear predominating. Then for Bostil the half of his heart that was
human reasserted itself. Lucy was only a girl now, and weakening. Her
fear, her pitiful little smile, as if she dared not hope for her
father's approval yet could not help it, touched Bostil to the quick,
and he opened his arms. Lucy slid down into them.

"Lucy, girl, you've won the King's race an' double-crossed your poor
old dad!"

"Oh, Dad, I never knew--I never dreamed Wildfire--would jump the King,"
Lucy faltered. "I couldn't hold him. He was terrible.... It made me
sick.... Daddy, tell me Van wasn't hurt--or the King!"

"The hoss's all right an' so's Van," replied Bostil. "Don't cry, Lucy.
It was a fool trick you pulled off, but you did it great. By Gad! you
sure was ridin' thet red devil.... An' say, it's all right with me!"

Lucy did not faint then, but she came near it. Bostil put her down and
led her through the lines of admiring Indians and applauding riders,
and left her with the women.

When he turned again he was in time to see the strange rider mount
Wildfire. It was a swift and hazardous mount, the stallion being in the
air. When he came down he tore the turf and sent it flying, and when he
shot up again he was doubled in a red knot, bristling with fiery hair,
a furious wild beast, mad to throw the rider. Bostil never heard as