"Sell Wildfire!--after what it cost me to catch an' break him? ... Not for all your father's lands an' horses an' money!" Slone's voice rolled out with deep, ringing scorn. And Lucy, her temper quelled, began to feel the rider's strength, his mastery of the situation, and something vague, yet splendid about him that hurt her. Slone strode toward her. Lucy backed against the cedar-tree and could go no farther. How white he was now! Lucy's heart gave a great, fearful leap, for she imagined Slone intended to take her in his arms. But he did not. "When you ride--Wildfire in that--race he'll be--YOURS!" said Slone, huskily. "How can that be?" questioned Lucy, in astonishment. "I give him to you." "You--give--Wildfire--to me?" gasped Lucy. "Yes. Right now." The rider's white face and dark eyes showed the strain of great and passionate sacrifice. "Lin Slone! ... I can't--understand you." "You've got to ride Wildfire in that race. You've got to beat the King.... So I give Wildfire to you. An' now you can't help but ride him." "Why--why do you give him--to me?" faltered Lucy. All her pride and temper had vanished, and she seemed lost in blankness. "Because you love Wildfire. An' Wildfire loves you.... If that isn't reason enough--then ... because I love him--as no rider ever loved a horse.... An' I love you as no man ever loved a girl!" Slone had never before spoken words of love to Lucy. She dropped her head. She knew of his infatuation. But he had always been shy except once when he had been bold, and that had caused a quarrel. With a strange pain at her breast Lucy wondered why Slone had not spoken that way before? It made as great a change in her as if she had been born again. It released something. A bolt shot back in her heart. She knew she was quivering like a leaf, with no power to control her muscles. She knew if she looked up then Slone might see the depths of her soul. Even with her hands shutting out the light she thought the desert around had changed and become all mellow gold and blue and white, radiant as the moonlight of dreams--and that the monuments soared above them grandly, and were beautiful and noble, like the revelations of love and joy to her. And suddenly she found herself sitting at the foot of the cedar, weeping, with tear-wet hands over her face. "There's nothin' to---to cry about," Slone was saying. "But I'm sorry if I hurt you." "Will--you--please--fetch Sarch?" asked Lucy, tremulously. While Slone went for the horse and saddled him Lucy composed herself outwardly. And she had two very strong desires--one to tell Slone something, and the other to run. She decided she would do both together.