“Why, no, Holley, I’m not.  I saw your point.  You were right.  But Bostil made me mad.”

“Sure!  He’d make anybody mad.  I’ve seen riders bite themselves, they was so mad at Bostil.  You called him, an’ you sure tickled all the boys.  But you hurt yourself, fer Bostil owns an’ runs this here Ford.”

“So I’ve discovered,” replied Slone.

“You got yourself in bad right off, fer Bostil has turned the riders ag’in you, an’ this here punchin’ of Creech has turned the village folks ag’in you.  What’d pitch into him fer?”

Slone caught the kindly interest and intent of the rider, and it warmed him as Brackton’s disapproval had alienated him.

“Wal, I reckon I’d better tell you,” drawled Holley, as Slone hesitated, “thet Lucy wants to know if you beat up Joel an’ why you did.”

“Holley!  Did she ask you to find out?”

“She sure did.  The girl’s worried these days, Slone. . . .  You see, you haven’t been around, an’ you don’t know what’s comin’ off.”

“Brackton was here to-day an’ he told me a good deal.  I’m worried, too,” said Slone, dejectedly.

“Thet hoss of yours, Wildfire, he’s enough to make you hated in Bostil’s camp, even if you hadn’t made a fool of yourself, which you sure have.”

Slone dropped his head as admission.

“What Creech swears he seen you do to Miss Lucy, out there among the rocks, where you was hid with Wildfire—­is there any truth in thet?” asked Holley, earnestly.  “Tell me, Slone.  Folks believe it.  An’ it’s hurt you at the Ford.  Bostil hasn’t heard it yet, an’ Lucy she doesn’t know.  But I’m figgerin’ thet you punched Joel because he throwed it in your face.”

“He did, an’ I lambasted him,” replied Slone, with force.

“You did right.  But what I want to know, is it true what Joel seen?”

“It’s true, Holley.  But what I did isn’t so bad—­so bad as he’d make it look.”

“Wal, I knowed thet.  I knowed fer a long time how Lucy cares fer you,” returned the old rider, kindly.

Slone raised his head swiftly, incredulously.  “Holley!  You can’t be serious.”

“Wal, I am.  I’ve been sort of a big brother to Lucy Bostil for eighteen years.  I carried her in these here hands when she weighed no more ’n my spurs.  I taught her how to ride—­what she knows about hosses.  An’ she knows more ’n her dad.  I taught her to shoot.  I know her better ‘n anybody.  An’ lately she’s been different.  She’s worried an’ unhappy.”

“But Holley, all that—­it doesn’t seem—­”

“I reckon not,” went on Holley, as Slone halted.  “I think she cares fer you.  An’ I’m your friend, Slone.  You’re goin’ to buck up ag’in some hell round here sooner or later.  An’ you’ll need a friend.”

“Thanks—­Holley,” replied Slone, unsteadily.  He thrilled under the iron grasp of the rider’s hard hand.

“You’ve got another friend you can gamble on,” said Holley, significantly.