Lucy laughed. "Run! ... The King is Bostil's favorite. He can run away from any horse in the uplands."
"I'll bet you Wildfire can beat him," replied the rider, with a dark glance.
"Come on!" cried Lucy, daringly.
Then the rider and girl looked more earnestly at each other. He smiled in a way that changed his face—brightened out the set hardness.
"I reckon I'll have to crawl," he said, ruefully. "But maybe I can ride in a few days—if you'll come back again."
His remark brought to Lucy the idea that of course she would hardly see this rider again after to-day. Even if he went to the Ford, which event was unlikely, he would not remain there long. The sensation of blankness puzzled her, and she felt an unfamiliar confusion.
"I—I've brought you—some things," she said, pointing to the larger pack.
"Grub, you mean?"
"No."
"That was all I asked you for, miss," he said, somewhat stiffly.