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.”