Wildfire and the Heritage of the Desert Read Free Page A

coverings, and tables to match, and walls covered with bridles, guns, pistols, Indian weapons and ornaments, and trophies of the chase. In a far corner stood a work-bench, with tools upon it and horse trappings under it. In the opposite corner a door led into the kitchen. This room was Bostil’s famous living-room, in which many things had happened, some of which had helped make desert history and were never mentioned by Bostil.
    Bostil’s sister came in from the kitchen. She was a huge person with a severe yet motherly face. She had her hands on her hips, and she cast a rather disapproving glance at father and daughter.
    â€œSo you’re back again?” she queried, severely.
    â€œSure, Auntie,” replied the girl, complacently.
    â€œYou ran off to get out of seeing Wetherby, didn’t you?”
    Lucy stared sweetly at her aunt.
    â€œHe was waiting for hours,” went on the worthy woman. “I never saw a man in such a stew.… No wonder, playing fast and loose with him the way you do.”
    â€œI told him No!” flashed Lucy.
    â€œBut Wetherby’s not the kind to take no. And I’m not satisfied to let you mean it. Lucy Bostil, you don’t know your mind an hour straight running. You’ve fooled enough with these riders of your Dad’s. If you’re not careful you’ll marry one of them.… One of these wild riders! Wetherby is young and he idolizes you. In all common sense why don’t you take him?”
    â€œI don’t care for him,” replied Lucy.
    â€œYou like him as well as anybody.… John Bostil, what do you say? You approved of Wetherby. I heard you tell him Lucy was like an unbroken colt and that you’d—”
    â€œSure, I like Jim,” interrupted Bostil; and he avoided Lucy’s swift look.
    â€œWell?” demanded his sister.
    Evidently Bostil found himself in a corner between two fires. He looked sheepish, then disgusted.
    â€œDad!” exclaimed Lucy, reproachfully.
    â€œSee here, Jane,” said Bostil, with an air of finality, “the girl is of age to-day—an’ she can do what she damn pleases!”
    â€œThat’s a fine thing for you to say,” retorted Aunt Jane. “Like as not she’ll be fetching that hang-dog Joel Creech up here for you to support.”
    â€œAuntie!” cried Lucy, her eyes blazing.
    â€œOh, child, you torment me—worry me so,” said the disappointed woman. “It’s all for your sake.… Look at you, Lucy Bostil! A girl of eighteen who comes of a family! And you riding around and going around as you are now—in a man’s clothes!”
    â€œBut, you dear old goose, I can’t ride in a woman’s skirt,” expostulated Lucy. “Mind you, Auntie, I can ride !”
    â€œLucy, if I live here forever I’d never get reconciled to a Bostil woman in leather pants. We Bostils were somebody once, back in Missouri.”
    Bostil laughed. “Yes, an’ if I hadn’t hit the trail west we’d be starvin’ yet. Jane, you’re a sentimental old fool. Let the girl alone an’ reconcile yourself to this wilderness.”
    Aunt Jane’s eyes were wet with tears. Lucy, seeing them, ran to her and hugged and kissed her.
    â€œAuntie, I will promise—from to-day—to have some dignity. I’ve been free as a boy in these rider clothes. As I am now the men never seem to regard me as a girl. Somehow that’s better. I can’t explain, but I like it. My dresses are what have caused all the trouble. I know that. But if I’m grown up—if it’s so tremendous—then I’ll wear a dress all the time, except just when I ride. Will that do, Auntie?”
    â€œMaybe you will grow up, after all,” replied Aunt Jane, evidently surprised and pleased.
    Then Lucy with clinking spurs ran away to her room.
    â€œJane, what’s this nonsense about young Joel Creech?” asked