"Lord knows, I do," replied Creech.
"Wal, then, here's your chance. I'll give you five hundred in gold an' Sarchedon to boot."
Creech looked as if he had not heard aright. Bostil repeated the offer.
"No," replied Creech.
"I'll make it a thousand an' throw Plume in with Sarch," flashed Bostil.
"No!" Creech turned pale and swallowed hard.
"Two thousand an' Dusty Ben along with the others?" This was an unheard-of price to pay for any horse. Creech saw that Bostil was desperate. It was an almost overpowering temptation. Evidently Creech resisted it only by applying all his mind to the thought of his clean-limbed, soft-eyed, noble horse.
Bostil did not give Creech time to speak. "Twenty-five hundred an' Two Face along with the rest!"
"My God, Bostil—stop it! I can't PART with Blue Roan. You're rich an' you've no heart. Thet I always knew. At least to me you never had, since I owned them two racers. Didn't I beg you, a little time back, to lend me a few hundred? To meet thet debt? An' you wouldn't, unless I'd sell the hosses. An' I had to lose my sheep. Now I'm a poor man—gettin' poorer all the time. But I won't sell or trade Blue Roan, not for all you've got!"
Creech seemed to gain strength with his speech and passion with the strength. His eyes glinted at the hard, paling face of his rival. He raised a clenching fist.