"Then a rider punched Joel--I never seen who--an' Joel had a fit. I dragged him in here. An' as you see, he ain't come to yet." "Wal, Brackton, the boy's crazy," said Bostil. "So I reckon. An' I'm afeared he'll burn us out--he's crazy on fires, anyway--or do somethin' like." "He's sure a problem. Wal, we'll see," replied Bostil, soberly. And they went out to find Slone waiting. Then Bostil called his guests, and with Slone also accompanying him, went home. Bostil threw off the recurring gloom, and he was good-natured when Lucy came to his room to say good night. He knew she had come to say more than that. "Hello, daughter!" he said. "Aren't you ashamed to come facin' your poor old dad?" Lucy eyed him dubiously. "No, I'm not ashamed. But I'm still a little--afraid." "I'm harmless, child. I'm a broken man. When you put Sage King out of the race you broke me." "Dad, that isn't funny. You make me an--angry when you hint I did something underhand." "Wal, you didn't consult ME." "I thought it would be fun to surprise you all. Why, you're always delighted with a surprise in a race, unless it beats you.... Then, it was my great and only chance to get out in front of the King. Oh, how grand it'd have been! Dad, I'd have run away from him the same as the others!" "No, you wouldn't," declared Bostil. "Dad, Wildfire can beat the King!" "Never, girl! Knockin' a good-tempered hoss off his pins ain't beatin' him in a runnin'-race." Then father and daughter fought over the old score, the one doggedly, imperturbably, the other spiritedly, with flashing eyes. It was different this time, however, for it ended in Lucy saying Bostil would never risk another race. That stung Bostil, and it cost him an effort to control his temper. "Let thet go now. Tell me all about how you saved Wildfire, an' Slone, too." Lucy readily began the narrative, and she had scarcely started before Bostil found himself intensely interested. Soon he became absorbed. That was the most thrilling and moving kind of romance to him, like his rider's dreams. "Lucy, you're sure a game kid," he said, fervidly, when she had ended. "I reckon I don't blame Slone for fallin' in love with you." "Who said THAT!" inquired Lucy. "Nobody. But it's true--ain't it?" She looked up with eyes as true as ever they were, yet a little sad, he thought, a little wistful and wondering, as if a strange and grave thing confronted her. "Yes, Dad--it's--it's true," she answered, haltingly. "Wal, you didn't need to tell me, but I'm glad you did."