"The h——.... A-huh!"
Lucy did not catch the slip of tongue. She was flushing now. "He said he'd never have let me meet him out there alone—unless—he—he loved me—and as our neighbors and the riders would learn of it—and talk—he wanted you and them to know he'd asked to—to marry me."
"Wal, he's a square young man!" ejaculated Bostil, involuntarily. It was hard for Bostil to hide his sincerity and impulsiveness; much harder than to hide unworthy attributes. Then he got back on the other track. "That'll make me treat him decent, so when he rides up to ask for you I'll let him off with, 'No!"
Lucy dropped her head. Bostil would have given all he had, except his horses, to feel sure she did not care for Slone.
"Dad—I said—'No'—for myself," she murmured.
This time Bostil did not withhold the profane word of surprise. "... So he's asked you, then? Wal, wal! When?"
"To-day—out there in the rocks where he waited with Wildfire for me. He—he—"
Lucy slipped into her father's arms, and her slender form shook. Bostil instinctively felt what she then needed was her mother. Her mother was dead, and he was only a rough, old, hard rider. He did not know what to do—to say. His heart softened and he clasped her close. It hurt him keenly to realize that he might have been a better, kinder father if it were not for the fear that she would find him out. But that proved he loved her, craved her respect and affection.
"Wal, little girl, tell me," he said.
"He—he broke his word to me."