Lucy Bostil could not control the glow of strange excitement under
which she labored, but she could put her mind on the riding of Sage
King. She did not realize, however, that she was riding him under the
stress and spell of that excitement.
She had headed out to make a short cut, fairly sure of her direction,
yet she was not unaware of the fact that she would be lost till she ran
across her trail. That might be easy to miss and time was flying. She
put the King to a brisk trot, winding through the aisles of the sage.
Soon she had left the monument region and was down on the valley floor
again. From time to time she conquered a desire to look back. Presently
she was surprised and very glad to ride into a trail where she saw the
tracks she had made coming out. With much relief she turned Sage King
into this trail, and then any anxiety she had felt left her entirely.
But that did not mitigate her excitement. She eased the King into a
long, swinging lope. And as he warmed to the work she was aroused also.
It was hard to hold him in, once he got out of a trot, and after miles
and miles of this, when she thought best to slow down he nearly pulled
her arms off. Still she finally got him in hand. Then followed miles of
soft and rough going, which seemed long and tedious. Beyond that was
the home stretch up the valley, whose gradual slope could be seen only
at a distance. Here was a straight, broad trail, not too soft nor too
hard, and for all the years she could remember riders had tried out and
trained their favorites on that course.
Lucy reached down to assure herself that the cinch was tight, then she
pulled her sombrero down hard, slackened the bridle, and let the King
go. He simply broke his gait, he was so surprised. Lucy saw him trying
to look back at her, as if he could not realize that this young woman
rider had given him a free rein. Perhaps one reason he disliked her had
been always and everlastingly that tight rein. Like the wary horse he
was he took to a canter, to try out what his new freedom meant.
"Say, what's the matter with you?" called Lucy, disdainfully. "Are you
lazy? Or don't you believe I can ride you?"
Whereupon she dug him with her spurs. Sage King snorted. His action
shifted marvelously. Thunder rolled from under his hoofs. And he broke
out of that clattering roar into his fleet stride, where his hoof-beats
were swift, regular, rhythmic.
Lucy rode him with teeth and fists clenched, bending low. After all,
she thought, it was no trick to ride him. In that gait he was
dangerous, for a fall meant death; but he ran so smoothly that riding
him was easy and certainly glorious. He went so fast that the wind
blinded her. The trail was only a white streak in blurred gray. She
could not get her breath; the wind seemed to whip the air away from
her. And then she felt the lessening of the tremendous pace. Sage King
had run himself out and the miles were behind her. Gradually her sight
became clear, and as the hot and wet horse slowed down, satisfied with
his wild run, Lucy realized that she was up on the slope only a few
miles from home. Suddenly she thought she saw something dark stir
behind a sage-bush just ahead. Before she could move a hand at the
bridle Sage King leaped with a frantic snort. It was a swerving,
nimble, tremendous bound. He went high. Lucy was unseated, but somehow
clung on, and came down with him, finding the saddle. And it seemed,
while in the air, she saw a long, snaky, whipping loop of rope shoot
out and close just where Sage King's legs had been.
She screamed. The horse broke and ran. Lucy, righting herself, looked
back to see Joel Creech holding a limp lasso. He had tried to rope the
King.
The blood of her father was aroused in Lucy. She thought of the
horse--not herself. If the King had not been so keen-sighted, so swift,
he would have gone down with a broken leg. Lucy never in her life had
been so furious.
Joel shook his fist at her and yelled, "I'd 'a' got you--on any other
hoss!"
She did not reply, though she had to fight herself to keep from pulling
her gun and shooting at him. She guided the running horse back into the
trail, rapidly leaving Creech out of sight.
"He's gone crazy, that's sure," said Lucy. "And he means me harm!"
She ran the King clear up to the corrals, and he was still going hard
when she turned down the lane to the barns. Then she pulled him in.
Farlane was there to meet her. She saw no other riders and was glad.
"Wal, Miss Lucy, the King sure looks good," said Farlane, as she jumped
off and flung him the bridle. "He's just had about right, judgin'....
Say, girl, you're all pale! Oh, say, you wasn't scared of the King,
now?"
"No," replied Lucy, panting.
"Wal, what's up, then?" The rider spoke in an entirely different voice,
and into his clear, hazel eyes a little dark gleam shot.
"Joel Creech waylaid me out in the sage--and--and tried to catch me."
Lucy checked herself. It might not do to tell how Joel had tried to
catch her.
"He did? An' you on the King!" Farlane laughed, as if relieved. "Wal,
he's tried thet before. Miss Lucy. But when you was up on the
gray--thet shows Joel's crazy, sure."
"He sure is. Farlane, I--I am mad!"
"Wal, cool off, Miss Lucy. It ain't nothin' to git set up about. An'
don't tell the old man."
"Why not?" demanded Lucy.
"Wal, because he's in a queer sort of bad mood lately. It wouldn't be
safe. He hates them Creeches. So don't tell him."
"All right, Farlane, I won't. Don't you tell, either," replied Lucy,
soberly.
"Sure I'll keep mum. But if Joel doesn't watch out I'll put a crimp in
him myself."
Lucy hurried away down the lane and entered the house without meeting
any one. In her room she changed her clothes and lay down to rest and
think.
Strangely enough, Lucy might never have encountered Joel Creech out in
the sage, for all the thought she gave him. Her mind was busy with the
crippled rider. Who was he? Where was he from? What strange passion he
had shown over the recovery of that wonderful red horse! Lucy could not
forget the feeling of his iron arm when he held her in a kind of
frenzied gratitude. A wild upland rider, living only for a wild horse!
How like Indians some of these riders! Yet this fellow had seemed
different from most of the uncouth riders she had known. He spoke
better. He appeared to have had some little schooling. Lucy did not
realize that she was interested in him. She thought she was sorry for
him and interested in the stallion. She began to compare Wildfire with
Sage King, and if she remembered rightly Wildfire, even in his
disheveled state, had appeared a worthy rival of the King. What would
Bostil say at sight of that flame-colored stallion? Lucy thrilled.
Later she left her room to see if the hour was opportune for her plan
to make up a pack of supplies for the rider. Her aunt was busy in the
kitchen, and Bostil had not come in. Lucy took advantage of the moment
to tie up a pack and carry it to her room. Somehow the task pleased
her. She recalled the lean face of the rider. And that recalled his
ragged appearance. Why not pack up an outfit of clothes? Bostil had a
stock-room full of such accessories for his men. Then Lucy, glowing
with the thought, hurried to Bostil's stock-room, and with deft hands
and swift judgment selected an outfit for the rider, even down to a
comb and razor. All this she carried quickly to her room, where in her
thoughtfulness she added a bit of glass from a broken mirror, and soap
and a towel. Then she tied up a second pack.
Bostil did not come home to supper, a circumstance that made Lucy's
aunt cross. They ate alone, and, waiting awhile, were rather late in
clearing away the table. After this Lucy had her chance in the dusk of
early evening, and she carried both packs way out into the sage and
left them near the trail.
"Hope a coyote doesn't come along," she said. That possibility,
however, did not worry her as much as getting those packs up on the
King. How in the world would she ever do it?
She hurried back to the house, stealthily keeping to the shadow of the
cottonwoods, for she would have faced an embarrassing situation if she
had met her father, even had he been in a good humor. And she reached
the sitting-room unobserved. The lamps had been lighted and a log
blazed on the hearth. She was reading when Bostil entered.
"Hello, Lucy!" he said.
He looked tired, and Lucy knew he had been drinking, because when he
had been he never offered to kiss her. The strange, somber shade was
still on his face, but it brightened somewhat at sight of her. Lucy
greeted him as always.
"Farlane tells me you handled the King great--better 'n Van has worked
him lately," said Bostil. "But don't tell him I told you."
That was sweet praise from Farlane. "Oh, Dad, it could hardly be true,"
expostulated Lucy. "Both you and Farlane are a little sore at Van now."
"I'm a lot sore," replied Bostil, gruffly.
"Anyway, how did Farlane know how I handled Sage King?" queried Lucy.
"Wal, every hair on a hoss talks to Farlane, so Holley says.... Lucy,
you take the King out every day for a while. Ride him now an' watch
out! Joel Creech was in the village to-day. He sure sneaked when he
seen me. He's up to some mischief."
Lucy did not want to lie and she did not know what to say. Presently
Bostil bade her good night. Lucy endeavored to read, but her mind
continually wandered back to the adventure of the day.
Next morning she had difficulty in concealing her impatience, but luck
favored her. Bostil was not in evidence, and Farlane, for once, could
spare no more time than it took to saddle Sage King. Lucy rode out into
the sage, pretty sure that no one watched her.
She had hidden the packs near the tallest bunch of greasewood along the
trail; and when she halted behind it she had no fear of being seen from
the corrals. She got the packs. The light one was not hard to tie back
of the saddle, but the large one was a very different matter. She
decided to carry it in front. There was a good-sized rock near, upon
which she stepped, leading Sage King alongside; and after an
exceedingly trying moment she got up, holding the pack. For a wonder
Sage King behaved well.
Then she started off, holding the pack across her lap, and she tried
the King's several gaits to see which one would lend itself more
comfortably to the task before her. The trouble was that Sage King had
no slow gait, even his walk was fast. And Lucy was compelled to hold
him into that. She wanted to hurry, but that seemed out of the
question. She tried to keep from gazing out toward the monuments,
because they were so far away.
How would she find the crippled rider? It flashed into her mind that
she might find him dead, and this seemed horrible. But her common sense
persuaded her that she would find him alive and better. The pack was
hard to hold, and Sage King fretted at the monotonous walk. The hours
dragged. The sun grew hot. And it was noon, almost, when she reached
the point where she cut off the trail to the left. Thereafter, with the
monuments standing ever higher, and the distance perceptibly lessening,
the minutes passed less tediously.
At length she reached the zone of lofty rocks, and found them
different, how, she could not tell. She rode down among them, and was
glad when she saw the huge mittens--her landmarks. At last she espied
the green-bordered wash and the few cedar-trees. Then a horse blazed
red against the sage and another shone black. That sight made Lucy
thrill. She rode on, eager now, but moved by the strangeness of the
experience.
Before she got quite close to the cedars she saw a man. He took a few
slow steps out of the shade. His back was bent. Lucy recognized the
rider, and in her gladness to see him on his feet she cried out. Then,
when Sage King reached the spot, Lucy rolled the pack off to the ground.
"Oh, that was a job!" she cried.
The rider looked up with eyes that seemed keener, less staring than she
remembered. "You came? ... I was afraid you wouldn't," he said.
"Sure I came.... You're better--not badly hurt?" she said, gravely,
"I--I'm so glad."
"I've got a crimp in my back, that's all."
Lucy was quick to see that after the first glance at her he was all
eyes for Sage King. She laughed. How like a rider! She watched him,
knowing that presently he would realize what a horse she was riding.
She slipped off and threw the bridle, and then, swiftly untying the
second pack, she laid it down.
The rider, with slow, painful steps and bent back, approached Sage King
and put a lean, strong, brown hand on him, and touched him as if he
wished to feel if he were real. Then he whistled softly. When he turned
to Lucy his eyes shone with a beautiful light.
"It's Sage King, Bostil's favorite," said Lucy.
"Sage King! ... He looks it.... But never a wild horse?"
"No."
"A fine horse," replied the rider. "Of course he can run?" This last
held a note of a rider's jealousy.
Lucy laughed. "Run! ... The King is Bostil's favorite. He can run away
from any horse in the uplands."
"I'll bet you Wildfire can beat him," replied the rider, with a dark
glance.
"Come on!" cried Lucy, daringly.
Then the rider and girl looked more earnestly at each other. He smiled
in a way that changed his face--brightened out the set hardness.
"I reckon I'll have to crawl," he said, ruefully. "But maybe I can ride
in a few days--if you'll come back again."
His remark brought to Lucy the idea that of course she would hardly see
this rider again after to-day. Even if he went to the Ford, which event
was unlikely, he would not remain there long. The sensation of
blankness puzzled her, and she felt an unfamiliar confusion.
"I--I've brought you--some things," she said, pointing to the larger
pack.
"Grub, you mean?"
"No."
"That was all I asked you for, miss," he said, somewhat stiffly.
"Yes, but--I--I thought--" Lucy became unaccountably embarrassed.
Suppose this strange rider would be offended. "Your clothes were--so
torn.... And no wonder you were thrown--in those boots! ... So I
thought I'd--"
"You thought I needed clothes as bad as grub," he said, bitterly. "I
reckon that's so."
His look, more than his tone, cut Lucy; and involuntarily she touched
his arm. "Oh, you won't refuse to take them! Please don't!"
At her touch a warmth came into his face. "Take them? I should smile I
will."
He tried to reach down to lift the pack, but as it was obviously
painful for him to bend, Lucy intercepted him.
"But you've had no breakfast," she protested. "Why not eat before you
open that pack?"
"Nope. I'm not hungry.... Maybe I'll eat a little, after I dress up."
He started to walk away, then turned. "Miss Bostil, have you been so
good to every wanderin' rider you happened to run across?"
"Good!" she exclaimed, flushing. She dropped her eyes before his.
"Nonsense. ... Anyway, you're the first wandering rider I ever
met--like this."
"Well, you're good," he replied, with emotion. Then he walked away with
slow, stiff steps and disappeared behind the willows in the little
hollow.
Lucy uncoiled the rope on her saddle and haltered Sage King on the best
grass near at hand. Then she opened the pack of supplies, thinking the
while that she must not tarry here long.
"But on the King I can run back like the wind," she mused.
The pack contained dried fruits and meat and staples, also an
assortment of good things to eat that were of a perishable nature,
already much the worse for the long ride. She spread all this out in
the shade of a cedar. The utensils were few--two cups, two pans, and a
tiny pot. She gathered wood, and arranged it for a fire, so that the
rider could start as soon as he came back. He seemed long in coming.
Lucy waited, yet still he did not return. Finally she thought of the
red stallion, and started off down the wash to take a look at him. He
was grazing. He had lost some of the dirt and dust and the bedraggled
appearance. When he caught sight of her he lifted his head high and
whistled. How wild he looked! And his whistle was shrill, clear,
strong. Both the other horses answered it. Lucy went on closer to
Wildfire. She was fascinated now.
"If he doesn't know me!" she cried. Never had she been so pleased. She
had expected every sign of savageness on his part, and certainly had
not intended to go near him. But Wildfire did not show fear or hate in
his recognition. Lucy went directly to him and got a hand on him.
Wildfire reared a little and shook a little, but this disappeared
presently under her touch. He held his head very high and watched her
with wonderful eyes. Gradually she drew his head down. Standing before
him, she carefully and slowly changed the set of the hackamore, which
had made a welt on his nose. It seemed to have been her good fortune
that every significant move she had made around this stallion had been
to mitigate his pain. Lucy believed he knew this as well as she knew
it. Her theory, an often disputed one, was that horses were as
intelligent as human beings and had just the same fears, likes, and
dislikes. Lucy knew she was safe when she untied the lasso from the
strong root where she had fastened it, and led the stallion down the
wash to a pool of water. And she stood beside him with a hand on his
shoulder while he bent his head to sniff at the water. He tasted it,
plainly with disgust. It was stagnant water, full of vermin. But
finally he drank. Lucy led him up the wash to another likely place, and
tied him securely.
When she got back to the camp in the cedars the rider was there, on his
knees, kindling the fire. His clean-shaved face and new apparel made
him vastly different. He was young, and, had he not been so gaunt, he
would have been fine-looking, Lucy thought.
"Wildfire remembered me," Lucy burst out. "He wasn't a bit scary. Let
me handle him. Followed me to water."
"He's taken to you," replied the rider, seriously. "I've heard of the
like, but not so quick. Was he in a bad fix when you got to him
yesterday?"
Lucy explained briefly.
"Aha! ... If that red devil has any love in him I'll never get it. I
wish I could have done so much for him. But always when he sees me
he'll remember."
Lucy saw that the rider was in difficulties. He could not bend his
back, and evidently it pained him to try. His brow was moist.
"Let me do that," she said.
"Thanks. It took about all my strength to get into this new outfit," he
said, relinquishing, his place to Lucy.
When she looked up from her task, presently, he was sitting in the
shade of the cedar, watching her. He had the expression of a man who
hardly believed what he saw.
"Did you have any trouble gettin' away, without tellin'--about me?" he
asked.
"No. But I sure had a job with those packs," she replied.
"You must be a wonder with a horse."
As far as vanity was concerned Lucy had only one weakness--and he had
touched upon it.
"Well, Dad and Holley and Farlane argue much about me. Still, I guess
they all agree I can ride."
"Holley an' Farlane are riders?" he questioned.
"Yes, Dad's right-hand men."
"Your dad hires many riders, I supposed?"
"Sure I never heard of him turning any rider down, at least not without
a try."
"I wonder if he would give me a job?"
Lucy glanced up quickly. The idea surprised her--pleased her. "In a
minute," she replied. "And he'd be grand to you. You see, he'd have an
eye for Wildfire."
The rider nodded his head as if he understood how that would be.
"And of course you'd never sell nor trade Wildfire?" went on Lucy.
The rider's smile was sad, but it was conclusive.
"Then you'd better stay away from Bostil," returned Lucy, shortly.
He remained silent, and Lucy, busy about the campfire, did not speak
again till the simple fare was ready. Then she spread a tarpaulin in
the shade.
"I'm pretty hungry myself," she said. "But I don't suppose I know what
hunger is."
"After a while a fellow loses the feelin' of hunger," he replied. "I
reckon it'll come back quick.... This all looks good."
So they began to eat. Lucy's excitement, her sense of the unreality of
this adventure, in no wise impaired her appetite. She seemed acutely
sensitive to the perceptions of the moment. The shade of the cedars was
cool. And out on the desert she could see the dark smoky veils of heat
lifting. The breeze carried a dry odor of sand and grass. She heard
bees humming by. And all around the great isolated monuments stood up,
red tops against the blue sky. It was a silent, dreaming, impressive
place, where she felt unlike herself.
"I mustn't stay long," she said, suddenly remembering.
"Will you come back--again?" he asked.
The question startled Lucy. "Why--I--I don't know.... Won't you ride in
to the Ford just as soon as you're able?"
"I reckon not."
"But it's the only place where there's people in hundreds of miles.
Surely you won't try to go back the way you came?"
"When Wildfire left that country I left it. We can't back."
"Then you've no people--no one you care for?" she asked, in sweet
seriousness.
"There's no one. I'm an orphan. My people were lost in an Indian
massacre--with a wagon-train crossin' Wyomin'. A few escaped, an' I was
one of the youngsters. I had a tough time, like a stray dog, till I
grew up. An' then I took to the desert."
"Oh, I see. I--I'm sorry," replied Lucy. "But that's not very different
from my dad's story, of his early years.... What will you do now?"
"I'll stay here till my back straightens out.... Will you ride out
again?"
"Yes," replied Lucy, without looking at him; and she wondered if it
were really she who was speaking.
Then he asked her about the Ford, and Bostil, and the ranches and
villages north, and the riders and horses. Lucy told him everything she
knew and could think of, and, lastly, after waxing eloquent on the
horses of the uplands, particularly Bostil's, she gave him a graphic
account of Cordts and Dick Sears.
"Horse-thieves!" exclaimed the rider, darkly. There was a grimness as
well as fear in his tone. "I've heard of Sears, but not Cordts. Where
does this band hang out?"
"No one knows. Holley says they hide up in the canyon country. None of
the riders have ever tried to track them far. It would be useless.
Holley says there are plateaus of rich grass and great forests. The Ute
Indians say that much, too. But we know little about the wild country."
"Aren't there any hunters at Bostil's Ford?"
"Wild-horse hunters, you mean?"
"No. Bear an' deer hunters."
"There's none. And I suppose that's why we're not familiar with the
wild canyon country. I'd like to ride in there sometime and camp. But
our people don't go in for that. They love the open ranges. No one I
know, except a half-witted boy, ever rode down among these monuments.
And how wonderful a place! It can't be more than twenty miles from
home.... I must be going soon. I'm forgetting Sage King. Did I tell you
I was training him for the races?"
"No, you didn't. What races? Tell me," he replied, with keen interest.
Then Lucy told him about the great passion of her father--about the
long, time-honored custom of free-for-all races, and the great races
that had been run in the past; about the Creeches and their swift
horses; about the rivalry and speculation and betting; and lastly about
the races to be run in a few weeks--races so wonderful in prospect that
even the horse-thief, Cordts, had begged to be allowed to attend.
"I'm going to see the King beat Creech's roan," shouted the rider, with
red in his cheeks and a flash in his eye.
His enthusiasm warmed Lucy's interest, yet it made her thoughtful.
Ideas flashed into her mind. If the rider attended the races he would
have that fleet stallion with him. He could not be separated from the
horse that had cost him so dearly. What would Bostil and Holley and
Farlane say at sight of Wildfire? Suppose Wildfire was to enter the
races! It was probable that he could run away from the whole
field--even beat the King. Lucy thrilled and thrilled. What a surprise
it would be! She had the rider's true love of seeing the unheralded
horse win over the favorite. She had for years wanted to see a
horse--and ride a horse--out in front of Sage King. Then suddenly all
these flashing ideas coruscated seemingly into a gleam--a leaping,
radiant, wonderful thought. Irresistibly it burst from her.
"Let ME ride your Wildfire in the great race?" she cried, breathlessly.
His response was instantaneous--a smile that was keen and sweet and
strong, and a proffered hand. Impulsively Lucy clasped that hand with
both hers.
"You don't mean it," she said. "Oh, it's what Auntie would call one of
my wild dreams! ... And I'm growing up--they say.... But-- Oh, if I
could ride Wildfire against the field in that race.... If I ONLY COULD!"
She was on fire with the hope, flushing, tingling. She was unconscious
of her effect upon the rider, who gazed at her with a new-born light in
his eyes.
"You can ride him. I reckon I'd like to see that race just as much as
Bostil or Cordts or any man.... An' see here, girl, Wildfire can beat
this gray racer of your father's."
"Oh!" cried Lucy.
"Wildfire can beat the King," repeated the rider, intensely. "The tame
horse doesn't step on this earth that can run with Wildfire. He's a
stallion. He has been a killer of horses. It's in him to KILL. If he
ran a race it would be that instinct in him."
"How can we plan it?" went on Lucy, impulsively. She had forgotten to
withdraw her hands from his. "It must be a surprise--a complete
surprise. If you came to the Ford we couldn't keep it secret. And Dad
or Farlane would prevent me, somehow."
"It's easy. Ride out here as often as you can. Bring a light saddle an'
let me put you up on Wildfire. You'll run him, train him, get him in
shape. Then the day of the races or the night before I'll go in an'
hide out in the sage till you come or send for Wildfire."
"Oh, it'll be glorious," she cried, with eyes like stars. "I know just
where to have you hide. A pile of rocks near the racecourse. There's a
spring and good grass. I could ride out to you just before the big
race, and we'd come back, with me on Wildfire. The crowd always stays
down at the end of the racecourse. Only the starters stay out there....
Oh, I can see Bostil when that red stallion runs into sight!"
"Well, is it settled?" queried the rider, strangely.
Lucy was startled into self-consciousness by his tone.
How strangely he must have felt. And his eyes were piercing.
"You mean--that I ride Wildfire?" she replied, shyly. "Yes, if you'll
let me."
"I'll be proud."
"You're very good.... And do you think Wildfire can beat the King?"
"I know it."
"How do you?"
"I've seen both horses."
"But it will be a grand race."
"I reckon so. It's likely to be the grandest ever seen. But Wildfire
will win because he's run wild all his life--an' run to kill other
horses.... The only question is--CAN you ride him?"
"Yes. I never saw the horse I couldn't ride. Bostil says there are some
I can't ride. Farlane says not. Only two horses have thrown me, the
King and Sarchedon. But that was before they knew me. And I was sort of
wild. I can make your Wildfire love me."
"THAT'S the last part of it I'd ever doubt," replied the rider. "It's
settled, then. I'll camp here. I'll be well in a few days. Then I'll
take Wildfire in hand. You will ride out whenever you have a chance,
without bein' seen. An' the two of us will train the stallion to upset
that race."
"Yes--then--it's settled."
Lucy's gaze was impelled and held by the rider's. Why was he so pale?
But then he had been injured--weakened. This compact between them had
somehow changed their relation. She seemed to have known him long.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Lin Slone," replied the rider.
Then she released her hands. "I must ride in now. If this isn't a dream
I'll come back soon." She led Sage King to a rock and mounted him.
"It's good to see you up there," said Slone. "An' that splendid horse!
... He knows what he is. It'll break Bostil's heart to see that horse
beat."
"Dad'll feel bad, but it'll do him good," replied Lucy.
That was the old rider's ruthless spirit speaking out of his daughter's
lips.
Slone went close to the King and, putting a hand on the pommel, he
looked up at Lucy. "Maybe--it is--a dream--an' you won't come back," he
said, with unsteady voice.
"Then I'll come in dreams," she flashed. "Be careful of yourself....
Good-by."
And at a touch the impatient King was off. From far up the slope near a
monument Lucy looked back. Slone was watching her. She waved a
gauntleted hand--and then looked back no more.