"You're better than all of them--my rider!" she cried, full-voiced and tremulous. "Lin, you make me love you so--it--it hurts!" And she seemed about to fling herself into his arms again. There was a strangeness about her--a glory. "But you'll not take the shame of that act. For I won't let you. I'll tell my father I was with you when the boat was cut loose. He'll believe me." "Yes, an' he'll KILL me!" groaned Slone. "Good Lord! Lucy, don't do that!" "I will! An' he'll not kill you. Lin, Dad took a great fancy to you. I know that. He thinks he hates you. But in his heart he doesn't. If he got hold of Wildfire--why, he'd never be able to do enough for you. He never could make it up. What do you think? I told him you hugged and kissed me shamefully that day." "Oh, Lucy! you didn't?" implored Slone. "I sure did. And what do you think? He said he once did the same to my mother! ... No, Lin, Dad'd never kill you for anything except a fury about horses. All the fights he ever had were over horse deals. The two men--he--he--" Lucy faltered and her shudder was illuminating to Slone. "Both of them--fights over horse trades!" "Lucy, if I'm ever unlucky enough to meet Bostil again I'll be deaf an' dumb. An' now you promise me you won't tell him you were with me that night." "Lin, if the occasion comes, I will--I couldn't help it," replied Lucy. "Then fight shy of the occasion," he rejoined, earnestly. "For that would be the end of Lin Slone!" "Then--what on earth can--we do?" Lucy said, with sudden break of spirit. "I think we must wait. You wrote in your letter you'd stick to me--you'd--" He could not get the words out, the thought so overcame him. "If it comes to a finish, I'll go with you," Lucy returned, with passion rising again. "Oh! to ride off with you, Lucy--to have you all to myself--I daren't think of it. But that's only selfish." "Maybe it's not so selfish as you believe. If you left the Ford--now--it'd break my heart. I'd never get over it." "Lucy! You love me--that well?" Then their lips met again and their hands locked, and they stood silent, straining toward each other. He held the slight form, so pliant, so responsive, so alive, close to him, and her face lay hidden on his breast; and he looked out over her head into the quivering moonlit shadows. The night was as still as one away on the desert far from the abode of men. It was more beautiful than any dream of a night in which he had wandered far into strange lands where wild horses were and forests lay black under moon-silvered peaks. "We'll run--then--if it comes to a finish," said Slone, huskily. "But I'll wait. I'll stick it out here. I'll take what comes. So--maybe I'll not disgrace you more." "I told Van I--I gloried in being hugged by you that day," she replied, and her little defiant laugh told what she thought of the alleged disgrace. "You torment him," remonstrated Slone. "You set him against us. It would be better to keep still."