wildfire-第4部分

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threatenedyou'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
can　love　a　horse；　too。　Oh；　if　I　ever　get　the　one　I　want　to　love！　A　wild
horsea　desert　stallionpure　Arabian　broken　right　by　an　Indian！　If　I　ever
get　him；　Dad；　you　look　out！　For　I'll　run　away　from　Sarch　and　Benand　I'll
beat　the　King！〃

The　hamlet　of　Bostil's　Ford　had　a　singular　situation；　though；　considering　the
wonderful　nature　of　that　desert　country；　it　was　not　exceptional。　It　lay　under
the　protecting　red　bluff　that　only　Lucy　Bostil　cared　to　climb。　A　hard…trodden
road　wound　down　through　rough　breaks　in　the　canyon　wall　to　the　river。　Bostil's
house；　at　the　head　of　the　village；　looked　in　the　opposite　direction；　down　the
sage　slope　that　widened　like　a　colossal　fan。　There　was　one　wide　street
bordered　by　cottonwoods　and　cabins；　and　a　number　of　gardens　and　orchards；
beginning　to　burst　into　green　and　pink　and　white。　A　brook　ran　out　of　a　ravine
in　the　huge　bluff；　and　from　this　led　irrigation　ditches。　The　red　earth　seemed
to　blossom　at　the　touch　of　water。

The　place　resembled　an　Indian　encampmentquiet；　sleepy；　colorful；　with　the
tiny…streams　of　water　running　everywhere；　and　lazy　columns　of　blue　wood…smoke
rising。　Bostil's　Ford　was　the　opposite　of　a　busy　village；　yet　its　few
inhabitants；　as　a　whole；　were　prosperous。　The　wants　of　pioneers　were　few。
Perhaps　once　a　month　the　big；　clumsy　flatboat　was　rowed　across　the　river　with
horses　or　cattle　or　sheep。　And　the　season　was　now　close　at　hand　when　for
weeks；　sometimes　months；　the　river　was　unfordable。　There　were　a　score　of
permanent　families；　a　host　of　merry；　sturdy　children；　a　number　of　idle　young
men；　and　only　one　girlLucy　Bostil。　But　the　village　always　had　transient
inhabitantsfriendly　Utes　and　Navajos　in　to　trade；　and　sheep…herders　with　a
scraggy；　woolly　flock；　and　travelers　of　the　strange　religious　sect　identified
with　Utah　going　on　into　the　wilderness。　Then　there　were　always　riders　passing
to　and　fro；　and　sometimes　unknown　ones　regarded　with　caution。　Horse…thieves
sometimes　boldly　rode　in；　and　sometimes　were　able　to　sell　or　trade。　In　the
matter　of　horse…dealing　Bostil's　Ford　was　as　bold　as　the　thieves。

Old　Brackton；　a　man　of　varied　Western　experience；　kept　the　one　store；　which
was　tavern；　trading…post；　freighter's　headquarters；　blacksmith's　shop；　and　any
thing　else　needful。　Brackton　employed　riders；　teamsters；　sometimes　Indians；　to
freight　supplies　in　once　a　month　from　Durango。　And　that　was　over　two　hundred
miles　away。　Sometimes　the　supplies　did　not　arrive　on　timeoccasionally　not　at
all。　News　from　the　outside　world；　except　that　elicited　from　the　taciturn
travelers　marching　into　Utah；　drifted　in　at　intervals。　But　it　was　not　missed。
These　wilderness　spirits　were　the　forerunners　of　a　great；　movement；　and　as
such　were　big；　strong；　stern；　sufficient　unto　themselves。　Life　there　was　made
possible　by　horses。　The　distant　future；　that　looked　bright　to　far…seeing　men；
must　be　and　could　only　be　fulfilled　through　the　endurance　and　faithfulness　of
horses。　And　then；　from　these　men；　horses　received　the　meed　due　them；　and　the
love　they　were　truly　worth。　The　Navajo　was　a　nomad　horseman；　an　Arab　of　the
Painted　Desert；　and　the　Ute　Indian　was　close　to　him。　It　was　they　who　developed
the　white　riders　of　the　uplands　as　well　as　the　wild…horse　wrangler　or　hunter。

Brackton's　ramshackle　establishment　stood　down　at　the　end　of　the　village
street。　There　was　not　a　sawed　board　in　all　that　structure；　and　some　of　the
pine　logs　showed　how　they　had　been　dropped　from　the　bluff。　Brackton；　a　little
old　gray　man；　with　scant　beard；　and　eyes　like　those　of　a　bird；　came　briskly
out　to　meet　an　incoming　freighter。　The　wagon　was　minus　a　hind　wheel；　but　the
teamster　had　come　in　on　three　wheels　and　a　pole。　The　sweaty；　dust…caked；
weary；　thin…ribbed　mustangs；　and　the　gray…and…red…stained　wagon；　and　the　huge
jumble　of　dusty　packs；　showed　something　of　what　the　journey　had　been。

〃Hi　thar；　Red　Wilson；　you　air　some　late　gettin'　in；〃　greeted　old　Brackton。

Red　Wilson　had　red　eyes　from　fighting　the　flying　sand；　and　red　dust　pasted　in
his　scraggy　beard；　and　as　he　gave　his　belt　an　upward　hitch　little　red　clouds
flew　from　his　gun…sheath。

〃Yep。　An'　I　left　a　wheel　an'　part　of　the　load　on　the　trail；〃　he　said。

With　him　were　Indians　who　began　to　unhitch　the　teams。　Riders　lounging　in　the
shade　greeted　Wilson　and　inquired　for　news。　The　teamster　replied　that　travel
was　dry；　the　water…holes　were　dry；　and　he　was　dry。　And　his　reply　gave　both
concern　and　amusement。

〃One　more　trip　out　an'　backthet's　all；　till　it　rains；〃　concluded　Wilson。

Brackton　led　him　inside；　evidently　to　alleviate　part　of　that　dryness。

Water　and　grass；　next　to　horses；　were　the　stock　subject　of　all　riders。

〃It's　got　oncommon　hot　early；〃　said　one。

〃Yes；　an'　them　northeast　windshard　this　spring；〃　said　another。

〃No　snow　on　the　uplands。〃

〃Holley　seen　a　dry　spell　comin'。　Wal；　we　can　drift　along　without　freighters。
There's　grass　an'　water　enough　here；　even　if　it　doesn't　rain。〃

〃Sure；　but　there　ain't　none　across　the　river。〃

〃Never　was；　in　early　season。　An'　if　there　was　it'd　be　sheeped　off。〃

〃Creech'll　be　fetchin'　his　hosses　across　soon；　I　reckon。〃

〃You　bet　he　will。　He's　trainin'　for　the　races　next　month。〃

〃An'　when　air　they　comin'　off？〃

〃You　got　me。　Mebbe　Van　knows。〃

Some　one　prodded　a　sleepy　rider　who　lay　all　his　splendid　lithe　length；　hat
over　his　eyes。　Then　he　sat　up　and　blinked；　a　lean…faced；　gray…eyed　fellow；
half　good…natured　and　half　resentful。

〃Did　somebody　punch　me？〃

〃Naw；　you　got　nightmare！　Say；　Van；　when　will　the　races　come　off？〃

〃Huh！　An；　you　woke　me　for　thet？　。　。　。　Bostil　says　in　a　few　weeks；　soon　as　he
hears　from　the　Indians。　Plans　to　have　eight　hundred　Indians　here；　an'　the
biggest　purses　an'　best　races　ever　had　at　the　Ford。〃

〃You'll　ride　the　King　again？〃

〃Reckon　so。　But　Bostil　is　kickin'　because　I'm　heavier　than　I　was；〃　replied　the
rider。

〃You're　skin　an'　bones　at　thet。〃

〃Mebbe　you'll　need　to　work　a　little　off；　Van。　Some　one　said　Creech's　Blue　Roan
was　comin'　fast　this　year。〃

〃Bill；　your　mind　ain't　operatin'；〃　replied　Van；　scornfully。　〃Didn't　I　beat
Creech's　hosses　last　year　without　the　King　turnin'　a　hair？〃

〃Not　if　I　recollect；　you　didn't。　The　Blue　Roan　wasn't　runnin'。〃

Then　they　argued；　after　the　manner　of　friendly　riders；　but　all　earnest；　an
eloquent　in　their　convictions。　The　prevailing　opinion　was　that　Creech's　horse
had　a　chance；　depending　upon　condition　and　luck。

The　argument　shifted　upon　the　arrival　of　two　new…comers；　leading　mustangs　and
apparently　talking　trade。　It　was　manifest　that　these　arrivals　were　not　loath
to　get　the　opinions　of　others。

〃Van；　there's　a　hoss！〃　exclaimed　one。

〃No；　he　ain't；〃　replied　Van。

And　that　diverse　judgment　appeared　to　be　characteristic　throughout。　The
strange　thing　was　that　Macomber；　the　rancher；　had　already　traded　his　mustang
and　money　to　boot　for　the　sorrel。　The　deal；　whether　wise　or　not；　had　been
consummated。　Brackton　came　out　with　Red　Wilson；　and　they　had　to　have　their
say。

〃Wal；　durned　if　some　of　you　fellers　ain't　kind　an'　complimentary；〃　remarked
Macomber；　scratching　his　head。　〃But　then　every　feller　can't　have　hoss　sense。〃
Then；　looking　up　to　see　Lucy　Bostil　coming　along　the　road；　he　brightened　as　if
with　inspiration。

Lucy　was　at　home　among　them；　and　the　shy　eyes　of　the　younger　riders；
especially　Van；　were　nothing　if　not　revealing。　She　greeted　them　with　a　bright
smile；　and　when　she　saw　Brackton　she　burst　out：

〃Oh；　Mr。　Brackton；　the　wagon's　in；　and　did　my　box　come？　。　。　。　To…day's　my
birthday。〃

〃'Deed　it　did；　Lucy；　an'　many　more　happy　ones　to　you！〃　he　replied；　delighted
in　her　delight。　〃But　it's　too　heavy　for　you。　I'll　send　it　upor　mebbe　one　of
the　boys〃

Five　riders　in　unison　eagerly　offered　their　services　and　looked　as　if　each　had
spoken　first。　Then　Macomber　addressed　her：

〃Miss　Lucy；　you　see　this　here　sorrel？〃

〃Ah！　the　same　lazy　crowd　and　the　same　old　storya　horse　trade！〃　laughed　Lucy。

〃There's　a　little　difference　of　opinion；〃　said　Macomber；　politely　indicating
the　riders。　〃Now；　Miss　Lucy；　we…all　know　you're　a　judge　of　a　hoss。　And　as　good
as　thet　you　tell　the　truth。　Thet　ain't　in　some　hoss…traders　I　know。　。　。　。　What
do　you　think　of　this　mustang？〃

Macomber　had　eyes　of　enthusiasm　for　his　latest　acquisition；　but　some　of　the
cock…sureness　had　been　knocked　out　of　him　by　the　blunt　riders。

〃Macomber；　aren't　you　a　great　one　to　talk？〃　queried　Lucy；　severely。　〃Didn't
you　get　around　Dad　and　trade　him　an　old；　blind；　knock…kneed　bag　of　bones　for　a
perfectly　good　ponyone　I　liked　to　ride？〃

The　riders　shouted　with　laughter　while　the　rancher　struggled　with　confusion。

〃'Pon　my　word；　Miss　Lucy；　I'm　surprised　you　could　think　thet　of　such　an　old
friend　of　yoursan'　your　Dad's；　too。　I'm　hopin'　he　doesn't　side　altogether
with　you。〃

〃Dad　and　I　never　agree　about　a　horse。　He　thinks　he　got　the　best　of　you。　But
you　know；　Macomber；　what　a　horse…thief　you　are。　Worse　than　Cordts！〃

〃Wal；　if　I　got　the　best　of　Bostil　I'm　willin'　to　be　thought　bad。　I'm　the　first
feller　to　take　him　in。　。　。　。　An'　now；　Miss　Lucy；　look　over　my　sorrel。〃

Lucy　Bostil　did　indeed　have　an　eye　for　a　horse。　She　walked　straight　up　to　the
wild；　shaggy　mustang　with　a　confidence　born　of　intuition　and　experience；　and
reached　a　hand　for　his　head；　not　slowly；　nor　yet　swiftly。　The　mustang　looked
as　if　he　was　about　to　jump；　but　he　did　not。　His　eyes　showed　that　he　was　not
used　to　women。

〃He's　not　well　broken；〃　said　Lucy。　〃Some　Navajo　has　beaten　his　head　in
breaking　him。〃

Then　she　carefully　studied　the　mustang　point　by　point。

〃He's　deceiving　at　first　because　he's　good　to　look　at；〃　said　Lucy。　〃But　I
wouldn't　own　him。　A　saddle　will　turn　on　him。　He's　not　vicious；　but　he'll　never
get　over　his　scare。　He's　narrow　between　the　eyesa　bad　sign。　His　ears　are
stiffand　too　close。　I　don't　see　anything　more　wrong　with　him。〃

〃You　seen　enough；〃　declared　Macomber。　〃An'　so　you　wouldn't　own　him？〃

〃You　couldn't　make　me　a　present　of　himeven　on　my　birthday。〃

〃Wal；　now　I'm　sorry；　for　I　was　thinkin'　of　thet；〃　replied　Macomber；　r