d and churned in Bostil's bull neck; a thick and
ugly contortion worked in his face; his eyes reflected a sick rage.

Slone saw that two passions shook Bostil--one, a bitter, terrible
disappointment, and the other, the passion of a man who could not brook
being crossed. It appeared to Slone that the best thing he could do was
to get away quickly, and to this end he led Wildfire out of the corral
to the stable courtyard, and there quickly saddled him. Then he went
into another corral for his other horse, Nagger, and, bringing him out,
returned to find Bostil had followed as far as the court. The old man's
rage apparently had passed or had been smothered.

"See here," he began, in thick voice, "don't be a d--- fool an' ruin
your chance in life. I'll--"

"Bostil, my one chance was ruined--an' you know who did it," replied
Slone, as he gathered Nagger's rope and Wildfire's bridle together.
"I've no hard feelin's.... But I can't sell you my horse. An' I can't
ride for you--because--well, because it would breed trouble."

"An' what kind?" queried Bostil.

Holley and Farlane and Van, with several other riders, had come up and
were standing open-mouthed. Slone gathered from their manner and
expression that anything might happen with Bostil in such a mood.

"We'd be racin' the King an' Wildfire, wouldn't we?" replied Slone.

"An' supposin' we would?" returned Bostil, ominously. His huge frame
vibrated with a slight start.

"Wildfire would run off with your favorite--an' you wouldn't like
that," answered Slone. It was his rider's hot blood that prompted him
to launch this taunt. He could not help it.

"You wild-hoss chaser," roared Bostil, "your Wildfire may be a bloody
killer, but he can't beat the King in a race!"

"Excuse ME, Bostil, but Wildfire did beat the King!"

This was only adding fuel to the fire. Slone saw Holley making signs
that must have meant silence would be best. But Slone's blood was up.
Bostil had rubbed him the wrong way.

"You're a lair!" declared Bostil, with a tremendous stride forward.
Slone saw then how dangerous the man really was. "It was no race. Your
wild hoss knocked the King off the track."

"Sage King had the lead, didn't he? Why didn't he keep it?"

Bostil was like a furious, intractable child whose favorite precious
treasure had been broken; and he burst out into a torrent of incoherent
speech, apparently reasons why this and that were so. Slone did not
make out what Bostil meant