"Lin Slone—you'll accept the blame!" she whispered, with wide, dark eyes on him, hands at his shoulders.
"Sure I will," replied Slone. "I can't be any worse off."
"You're better than all of them—my rider!" she cried, full-voiced and tremulous. "Lin, you make me love you so—it—it hurts!" And she seemed about to fling herself into his arms again. There was a strangeness about her—a glory. "But you'll not take the shame of that act. For I won't let you. I'll tell my father I was with you when the boat was cut loose. He'll believe me."
"Yes, an' he'll KILL me!" groaned Slone. "Good Lord! Lucy, don't do that!"
"I will! An' he'll not kill you. Lin, Dad took a great fancy to you. I know that. He thinks he hates you. But in his heart he doesn't. If he got hold of Wildfire—why, he'd never be able to do enough for you. He never could make it up. What do you think? I told him you hugged and kissed me shamefully that day."
"Oh, Lucy! you didn't?" implored Slone.
"I sure did. And what do you think? He said he once did the same to my mother! ... No, Lin, Dad'd never kill you for anything except a fury about horses. All the fights he ever had were over horse deals. The two men—he—he—" Lucy faltered and her shudder was illuminating to Slone. "Both of them—fights over horse trades!"
"Lucy, if I'm ever unlucky enough to meet Bostil again I'll be deaf an' dumb. An' now you promise me you won't tell him you were with me that night."
"Lin, if the occasion comes, I will—I couldn't help it," replied Lucy.
"Then fight shy of the occasion," he rejoined, earnestly. "For that would be the end of Lin Slone!"