"He's deceiving at first because he's good to look at," said Lucy. "But I wouldn't own him. A saddle will turn on him. He's not vicious, but he'll never get over his scare. He's narrow between the eyes--a bad sign. His ears are stiff--and too close. I don't see anything more wrong with him." "You seen enough," declared Macomber. "An' so you wouldn't own him?" "You couldn't make me a present of him--even on my birthday." "Wal, now I'm sorry, for I was thinkin' of thet," replied Macomber, ruefully. It was plain that the sorrel had fallen irremediably in his estimation. "Macomber, I often tell Dad all you horse-traders get your deserts now and then. It's vanity and desire to beat the other man that's your downfall." Lucy went away, with Van shouldering her box, leaving Macomber trying to return the banter of the riders. The good-natured raillery was interrupted by a sharp word from one of them. "Look! Darn me if thet ain't a naked Indian comin'!" The riders whirled to see an apparently nude savage approaching, almost on a run. "Take a shot at thet, Bill," said another rider. "Miss Lucy might see--No, she's out of sight. But, mebbe some other woman is around." "Hold on, Bill," called Macomber. "You never saw an Indian run like thet." Some of the riders swore, others laughed, and all suddenly became keen with interest. "Sure his face is white, if his body's red!" The strange figure neared them. It was indeed red up to the face, which seemed white in contrast. Yet only in general shape and action did it resemble a man. "Damned if it ain't Joel Creech!" sang out Bill Stark. The other riders accorded their wondering assent. "Gone crazy, sure!" "I always seen it comin'." "Say, but ain't he wild? Foamin' at the mouth like a winded hoss!" Young Creech was headed down the road toward the ford across which he had to go to reach home. He saw the curious group, slowed his pace, and halted. His face seemed convulsed with rage and pain and fatigue. His body, even to his hands, was incased in a thick, heavy coating of red adobe that had caked hard. "God's sake--fellers--" he panted, with eyes rolling, "take this--'dobe mud off me! ... I'm dyin'!" Then he staggered into Brackton's place. A howl went up from the riders and they surged after him. That evening after supper Bostil stamped in the big room, roaring with laughter, red in the face; and he astonished Lucy and her aunt to the point of consternation. "Now--you've--done--it--Lucy Bostil!" he roared. "Oh dear! Oh dear!" exclaimed Aunt Jane. "Done what?" asked Lucy, blankly. Bostil conquered his paroxysm, and, wiping his moist red face, he eyed Lucy in mock solemnity. "Joel!" whispered Lucy, who had a guilty conscience. "Lucy, I never heard the beat of it.... Joel's smarter in some ways than we thought, an' crazier in others. He had the sun figgered, but what'd he want to run through town for? Why, never in my life have I seen such tickled riders."