"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."