“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.