told. Nobody knows but us."

"Dad, he'll do something terrible to me!" cried Lucy, aghast at her premonition



CHAPTER III

The days did not pass swiftly at Bostil's Ford. And except in winter, and
during the spring sand-storms, the lagging time passed pleasantly. Lucy rode
every day, sometimes with Van, and sometimes alone. She was not over-keen
about riding with Van--first, because he was in love with her; and secondly,
in spite of that, she could not beat him when he rode the King. They were
training Bostil's horses for the much-anticipated races.

At last word arrived from the Utes and Navajos that they accepted Bostil's
invitation and would come in force, which meant, according to Holley and other
old riders, that the Indians would attend about eight hundred strong.

"Thet old chief, Hawk, is comin'," Holley informed Bostil. "He hasn't been
here fer several years. Recollect thet bunch of colts he had? They're bosses,
not mustangs. . . . So you look out, Bostil!"

No rider or rancher or sheepman, in fact, no one, ever lost a chance to warn
Bostil. Some of it was in fun, but most of it was earnest. The nature of
events was that sooner or later a horse would beat the King. Bostil knew that
as well as anybody, though he would not admit it. Holley's hint made Bostil
look worried. Most of Bostil's gray hairs might have been traced to his years
of worry about horses.