ANYTHING!"

"Lucy, can't you be satisfied an' happy with your mustangs? You've got a
dozen. You can have any others on the range. Buckles ain't safe for you to
ride."

Bostil was notably the most generous of men, the kindest of fathers. It was an
indication of his strange obsession, in regard to horses, that he never would
see that Lucy was teasing him. As far as horses were concerned he lacked a
sense of humor. Anything connected with his horses was of intense interest.

"I'd dearly love to own Plume," said Lucy, demurely.

Bostil had grown red in the face and now he was on the rack. The monstrous
selfishness of a rider who had been supreme in his day could not be changed.

"Girl, I--I thought you hadn't no use for Plume," he stammered.

"I haven't--the jade! She threw me once. I've never forgiven her . . . . Dad,
I'm only teasing you. Don't I know you couldn't give one of those racers away?
You couldn't!"

"Lucy, I reckon you're right," Bostil burst out in immense relief.

"Dad, I'll bet if Cordts gets me and holds me as ransom for the King--as he's
threatened--you'll let him have me!"

"Lucy, now thet ain't funny!" complained the father.

"Dear Dad, keep your old racers! But, remember, I'm my father's daughter. I