"I WILL speak to Bostil." "Wait, will you ...

promise not to say a word--a single word to ME--till after the race ?" "A word--to you! What about ?" he queried, wonderingly.

Something in his eyes made Lucy think of the dawn.
"About--the--Because--Why, I'm--I'll accept your horse." "Yes," he replied, swiftly.
Lucy settled herself in the saddle and, shortening the bridle, she got ready to spur Sarchedon into a bolt.
"Lin, I'll accept Wildfire because I love you." Sarchedon leaped forward.

Lucy did not see Slone's face nor hear him speak.

Then she was tearing through the sage, out past the whistling Wildfire, with the wind sweet in her face.