Wildfire | Page 8

common sense why don't you take him?"
"I don't care for him," replied Lucy.
"You like him as well as anybody. . . . John Bostil, what do you say?
You approved of Wetherby. I heard you tell him Lucy was like an
unbroken colt and that you'd--"
"Sure, I like Jim," interrupted Bostil; and he avoided Lucy's swift look.
"Well?" demanded his sister.
Evidently Bostil found himself in a corner between two fires. He
looked sheepish, then disgusted.
"Dad!" exclaimed Lucy, reproachfully.
"See here, Jane," said Bostil, with an air of finality, "the girl is of age
to-day--an' she can do what she damn pleases!"
"That's a fine thing for you to say," retorted Aunt Jane. "Like as not
she'll be fetching that hang-dog Joel Creech up here for you to

support."
"Auntie!" cried Lucy, her eyes blazing.
"Oh, child, you torment me--worry me so," said the disappointed
woman. "It's all for your sake. . . . Look at you, Lucy Bostil! A girl of
eighteen who comes of a family! And you riding around and going
around as you are now--in a man's clothes!"
"But, you dear old goose, I can't ride in a woman's skirt," expostulated
Lucy. "Mind you, Auntie, I can RIDE!"
"Lucy, if I live here forever I'd never get reconciled to a Bostil woman
in leather pants. We Bostils were somebody once, back in Missouri."
Bostil laughed. "Yes, an' if I hadn't hit the trail west we'd be starvin' yet.
Jane, you're a sentimental old fool. Let the girl alone an' reconcile
yourself to this wilderness."
Aunt Jane's eyes were wet with tears. Lucy, seeing them, ran to her and
hugged and kissed her.
"Auntie, I will promise--from to-day--to have some dignity. I've been
free as a boy in these rider clothes. As I am now the men never seem to
regard me as a girl. Somehow that's better. I can't explain, but I like it.
My dresses are what have caused all the trouble. I know that. But if I'm
grown up--if it's so tremendous --then I'll wear a dress all the time,
except just WHEN I ride. Will that do, Auntie?"
"Maybe you will grow up, after all," replied Aunt Jane, evidently
surprised and pleased.
Then Lucy with clinking spurs ran away to her room.
"Jane, what's this nonsense about young Joel Creech?" asked Bostil,
gruffly.
"I don't know any more than is gossiped. That I told you. Have you
ever asked Lucy about him?"

"I sure haven't," said Bostil, bluntly.
"Well, ask her. If she tells you at all she'll tell the truth. Lucy'd never
sleep at night if she lied."
Aunt Jane returned to her housewifely tasks, leaving Bostil
thoughtfully stroking the hound and watching the fire. Presently Lucy
returned--a different Lucy--one that did not rouse his rider's pride, but
thrilled his father's heart. She had been a slim, lithe, supple, disheveled
boy, breathing the wild spirit of the open and the horse she rode. She
was now a girl in the graceful roundness of her slender form, with hair
the gold of the sage at sunset, and eyes the blue of the deep haze of
distance, and lips the sweet red of the upland rose. And all about her
seemed different.
"Lucy--you look--like--like she used to be," said Bostil, unsteadily.
"My mother!" murmured Lucy.
But these two, so keen, so strong, so alive, did not abide long with sad
memories.
"Lucy, I want to ask you somethin'," said Bostil, presently. "What
about this young Joel Creech?"
Lucy started as if suddenly recalled, then she laughed merrily. "Dad,
you old fox, did you see him ride out after me?"
"No. I was just askin' on--on general principles."
"What do you mean?"
"Lucy, is there anythin' between you an' Joel?" he asked, gravely.
"No," she replied, with her clear eyes up to his.
Bostil thought of a bluebell. "I'm beggin' your pardon," he said, hastily.
"Dad, you know how Joel runs after me. I've told you. I let him till

lately. I liked him. But that wasn't why. I felt sorry for him--pitied
him."
"You did? Seems an awful waste," replied Bostil.
"Dad, I don't believe Joel is--perfectly right in his mind," Lucy said,
solemnly.
"Haw! haw! Fine compliments you're payin' yourself."
"Listen. I'm serious. I mean I've grown to see---looking back-- that a
slow, gradual change has come over Joel since he was kicked in the
head by a mustang. I'm sure no one else has noticed it."
"Goin' batty over you. That's no unusual sign round this here camp.
Look at--"
"We're talking about Joel Creech. Lately he has done some queer things.
To-day, for instance. I thought I gave him the slip. But he must have
been watching. Anyway, to my surprise he showed up on Peg. He
doesn't often get