Wildfire

fullness of her life there at the Ford, yet a haunting remorse that she could not be wholly content

teen years old. The thought of her mother, who had died long ago on their way into this wilderness, was the one drop of sadness in her joy. Lucy loved everyb

below in the abyss; the Indians in their bright colors, riding up the river trail; the eagle poised like a feather on the air, and a beneath him the grazing cattle making black dots on the sage; the deep velvet azure of the sky; the golden lights on the bar

the idea of marrying the rich rancher of Durango. Bostil's sister, that stern but lovable woman who had brought her up and taught her, would never persuade her to marry against her will. Lucy imagined herself like a wild ho

parts of the horizon. Lucy did not know what she yearned for, she did not know why the desert called to her, she did not know in what it resembled her spirit, but she did know that these three feelings were as one, deep in her heart. For ten years, every day of her life, she had watched this desert scene, and never had there been an hour that it was not different, yet the same. Ten years

cy blast, the intense cold, the steely skies, the fading snows; the gray old sage and the bleached grass under the pall of the spring sand-storms; the hot furnace breath of summer, with its magnificent cloud pageants in the sky, with the black tempests hanging here and there over the peaks, dark veils floating down and rainbows everywhere, and the lacy waterfalls upon the glistening cliffs and the

he cluster of green-inclosed cabins which composed the hamlet. Bostil was wont to say that in all the world there could hardly be a grander v

mustangs; near by was a field of them, fine and mettlesome and racy; yet Bostil had eyes only for the blooded favorites. Strange it was that not one of these was a mustang or a broken wild horse, for many of the riders' best mounts had been captured by them or the Indians. And it was Bostil's supreme ambition to own a great wild stallion. There was Pl

?" presently

s love, so he di

ff, with her golden hair flying i

Bostil queried, turning

," was the

t have a rider who coul

o ride them hosses, least of all Buc

's safe

dn't I

e. "Lucy pulled my hat down over my eyes-told me to go to thund

It ain't safe for her out there.... Where's my glass?

could no

ge? Antelope? ... Holley, you used to hav

ider, lean and worn, appro

e," said Bost

h of hosses,"

d ho

seein' how they

t. Lucy oughtn't be

ride. An' there's the King an' Sarch right under your no

rst told to any stranger happening by the Ford was how Lucy had been born during a wild ride-almost, as it were, on the back of a horse. That, at least, was her fam

l, with relief. "I wasn't thinkin' so much of danger for

earnestly. "I know the girl. She has no u

armless," a

ined Bostil, quickly. "

d thoughtful and di

make a man out of Joel. But she doesn't care fer him, an' th

I'll rope her in the h

w Bostil's attention from th

King! He's watchin' fer som

ds distant, and their heads were aloft and ears straight forw

ey'd like nothin' so well as gettin' out on the sage

y makin' him run some," repl

... Lord! look

of his head, went on grazing. The gray and the black met Buckles and could not turn in time to stay with him. A girl's gay scream pealed up the slope, and Buckles went lower and faster. Sarchedon was left behind. Then the gray King began to run as if before he had been loping. He was beautiful in action. This was play-a game-a race-plainly dominated by the spirit of the girl. Lucy's hair was a bright stream of gold in the wind. She rode bareback. It seemed that she was hunched low over Buckles with her knees hi

can't beat the King at your own

She had a hand twisted in the horse's long mane, and as, lithe and supple, she slipped

lled, as if the horse were huma

ld upland country of wonderful horses. He swore the great gray could look ba

of the Colorado and the place became known as Bostil's Ford. From time to time his personality and his reputation and his need brought horse-hunters, riders, sheep-herders, and men of pioneer spirit, as well as wandering desert travelers, to the Ford, and the lonely, isolated hamlet slowly grew. North of the river it was more than two hundred miles to the nearest little settlement, with only a few lonely ranches on the road; to the west were several villages,

rse hunters themselves; and secondly, Bostil had two great faults: he seldom paid a rider in money, and he never permitted one to own a fleet horse. He wanted to own all the fast horses himself. And in those

rd the owner. This happened often, for riders were loath to part with their favorites. And he had made more than one enemy by his pe

n the uplands. These racers, Blue Roan and Peg, had been captured wild on the ranges by Ute Indians and broken to racing. They were still young and getting faster every year. Bostil wanted them because he coveted them and becau

husbands of these gossips said Lucy was only tender-hearted. Among the riders, when they sat around their lonely camp-fires, or lounged at the corrals of the Ford, there was speculation in regard to this race hinted by Joel Creech. There never had been a race between the King and Blue Roan, and there never would be, unless Joel were to ride off with Lucy. In that case there would be the grandest race ever run on the uplands, with the odds against Blue Roan only if he carried double. If Joel put Lucy up on the Roan and he rode Peg

elieved Lucy might elope with Joel than there were who believed Joel might steal his father's horses. But all the riders who loved horses and all the women who l

id back in the untrodden ways. He had secret friends among the riders of the ranges, faithful followers back in the canyon camps, gold for the digging

n all else he was a rider. He knew a horse. He was as much horse as Bostil. Cordts rode into this wild free-range country, where he had been heard to say that a horse-thief was meaner than a poisoned coyote. Nevertheless, he became a hor