"I won't."
Slone suddenly turned white, and his eyes flashed dark fire. "You won't be able to help ridin' him any more than I could help it."
"A lot you know about me, Lin Slone!" returned Lucy, with scorn. "I can be as—as bull-headed as you, any day."
Slone evidently controlled his temper, though his face remained white. He even smiled at her.
"You are Bostil's daughter," he said.
"Yes."
"You are blood an' bone, heart an' soul a rider, if any girl ever was. You're a wonder with a horse—as good as any man I ever saw. You love Wildfire. An' look—how strange! That wild stallion—that killer of horses, why he follows you, he whistles for you, he runs like lightnin' for you; he LOVES you."
Slone had attacked Lucy in her one weak point. She felt a force rending her. She dared not look at Wildfire. Yes—all, that was true Slone had said. How desperately hard to think of forfeiting the great race she knew she could win!
"Never! I'll never ride your Wildfire AGAIN!" she said, very, low.
"MINE! ... So that's the trouble. Well, Wildfire won't be mine when you ride the race."