"But it's a little place," flashed Lucy. "Every one knows me. I'm the only girl. There have been--other fellows who.... And oh! I don't want you made fun of!" "Why?" he asked. Lucy turned away her head without answering. Something deep within her was softening her anger. She must fight to keep angry; and that was easy enough, she thought, if she could only keep in mind Slone's opposition to her. Strangely, she discovered that it had been sweet to find him always governed by her desire or will. "Maybe you misunderstand," he began, presently. And his voice was not steady. "I don't forget I'm only--a beggarly rider. I couldn't have gone into the Ford at all--I was such a ragamuffin--" "Don't talk like that!" interrupted Lucy, impatiently. "Listen," he replied. "My askin' Bostil for you doesn't mean I've any hope. ... It's just I want him an' everybody to know that I asked." "But Dad--everybody will think that YOU think there's reason--why--I--why, you OUGHT to ask," burst out Lucy, with scarlet face. "Sure, that's it," he replied. "But there's no reason. None! Not a reason under the sun," retorted Lucy, hotly. "I found you out here. I did you a--a little service. We planned to race Wildfire. And I came out to ride him.... That's all." Slone's dark, steady gaze disconcerted Lucy. "But, no one knows me, and we've been alone in secret." "It's not altogether--that. I--I told Auntie," faltered Lucy. "Yes, just lately." "Lin Slone, I'll never forgive you if you ask Dad that," declared Lucy, with startling force. "I reckon that's not so important." "Oh!--so you don't care." Lucy felt herself indeed in a mood not comprehensible to her. Her blood raced. She wanted to be furious with Slone, but somehow she could not wholly be so. There was something about him that made her feel small and thoughtless and selfish. Slone had hurt her pride. But the thing that she feared and resented and could not understand was the strange gladness Slone's declaration roused in her. She tried to control her temper so she could think. Two emotions contended within her--one of intense annoyance at the thought of embarrassment surely to follow Slone's action, and the other a vague, disturbing element, all sweet and furious and inexplicable. She must try to dissuade him from approaching her father. "Please don't go to Dad." She put a hand on Slone's arm as he stood close up to Wildfire. "I reckon I will," he said. "Lin!" In that word there was the subtle, nameless charm of an intimacy she had never granted him until that moment. He seemed drawn as if by invisible wires. He put a shaking hand on hers and crushed her gauntleted fingers. And Lucy, in the current now of her woman's need to be placated if not obeyed, pressed her small hand to his. How strange to what lengths a little submission to her feeling had carried her! Every spoken word, every movement, seemed to exact more from her. She did not know herself. "Lin! ... Promise not to--speak to Dad!"