Wildfire | Page 9

Peg across the river. He said the feed was getting
scarce over there. I was dying to race Buckles against Peg, but I
remembered you wouldn't like that."
"I should say not," said Bostil, darkly.
"Well, Joel caught up to me--and he wasn't nice at all. He was worse
to-day. We quarreled. I said I'd bet he'd never follow me again and he
said he'd bet he would. Then he got sulky and hung back. I rode away,
glad to be rid of him, and I climbed to a favorite place of mine. On my
way home I saw Peg grazing on the rim of the creek, near that big
spring-hole where the water's so deep and clear. And what do you think?
There was Joel's head above the water. I remembered in our quarrel I
had told him to go wash his dirty face. He was doing it. I had to laugh.
When he saw me--he--then--then he--" Lucy faltered, blushing with
anger and shame.
"Well, what then?" demanded Bostil, quietly.

"He called, 'Hey, Luce--take off your clothes and come in for a swim!'"
Bostil swore.
"I tell you I was mad," continued Lucy, "and just as surprised. That was
one of the queer things. But never before had he dared to--to-"
"Insult you. Then what 'd you do?" interrupted Bostil, curiously.
"I yelled, 'I'll fix you, Joel Creech!'. . . His clothes were in a pile on the
bank. At first I thought I'd throw them in the water, but when I got to
them I thought of something better. I took up all but his shoes, for I
remembered the ten miles of rock and cactus between him and home,
and I climbed up on Buckles. Joel screamed and swore something
fearful. But I didn't look back. And Peg, you know--maybe you don't
know--but Peg is fond of me, and he followed me, straddling his bridle
all the way in. I dropped Joel's clothes down the ridge a ways, right in
the trail, so he can't miss them. And that's all. . . . Dad, was it--was it
very bad?"
"Bad! Why, you ought to have thrown your gun on him. At least
bounced a rock off his head! But say, Lucy, after all, maybe you've
done enough. I guess you never thought of it."
"What?"
"The sun is hot to-day. Hot! An' if Joel's as crazy an' mad as you say
he'll not have sense enough to stay in the water or shade till the sun's
gone down. An' if he tackles that ten miles before he'll sunburn himself
within an inch of his life."
"Sunburn? Oh, Dad! I'm sorry," burst out Lucy, contritely. "I never
thought of that. I'll ride back with his clothes."
"You will not," said Bostil.
"Let me send some one, then," she entreated.
"Girl, haven't you the nerve to play your own game? Let Creech get his

lesson. He deserves it. . . . An' now, Lucy, I've two more questions to
ask."
"Only two?" she queried, archly. "Dad, don't scold me with questions."
"What shall I say to Wetherby for good an' all?"
Lucy's eyes shaded dreamily, and she seemed to look beyond the room,
out over the ranges.
"Tell him to go back to Durango and forget the foolish girl who can
care only for the desert and a horse."
"All right. That is straight talk, like an Indian's. An' now the last
question--what do you want for a birthday present?"
"Oh, of course," she cried, gleefully clapping her hands. I'd forgotten
that. I'm eighteen!"
"You get that old chest of your mother's. But what from me?"
"Dad, will you give me anything I ask for?"
"Yes, my girl."
"Anything--any HORSE?"
Lucy knew his weakness, for she had inherited it.
"Sure; any horse but the King."
"How about Sarchedon?"
"Why, Lucy, what'd you do with that big black devil? He's too high.
Seventeen hands high! You couldn't mount him."
"Pooh! Sarch KNEELS for me."
"Child, listen to reason. Sarch would pull your arms out of their

sockets."
"He has got an iron jaw," agreed Lucy. "Well, then--how about Dusty
Ben?" She was tormenting her father and she did it with glee.
"No--not Ben. He's the faithfulest hoss I ever owned. It wouldn't be fair
to part with him, even to you. Old associations . . . a rider's loyalty . . .
now, Lucy, you know--"
"Dad, you're afraid I'd train and love Ben into beating the King. Some
day I'll ride some horse out in front of the gray. Remember, Dad! . . .
Then give me Two Face."
"Sure not her, Lucy. Thet mare can't be trusted. Look why we named
her Two Face."
"Buckles, then, dear generous Daddy who longs to give his grown-up
girl ANYTHING!"
"Lucy, can't you be