Out of Context

This week’s My Discovery Mix, to support my decision to quit sharing them weekly, included particular tracks from some of my favorite artists which, when listened together in a block, almost put me to sleep (Individually these are all great songs.)

It also, for the first time ever, included a 20-second bonus disc blip of the artist discussing their track on the main album. Something that I would never have broadcast or burned on a disc without its accompanying track.

Wildfire
Zane Grey

“Naw! I’ve little use fer Creech,” replied Holley. “An’ you know thet. But I hold for his hosses as I would any man’s.”

“A-huh! An’ what’s your kick?”

“Nothin’—except you could have fetched them over before the flood come down. That’s all.”

The old horse-trader and his right-hand rider looked at each other for a moment in silence. They understood each other. Then Bostil returned to the task of pulling on wet boots and Holley went away.

Bostil opened his door and stepped outside. The eastern ramparts of the desert were bright red with the rising sun. With the night behind him and the morning cool and bright and beautiful, Bostil did not suffer a pang nor feel a regret. He walked around under the cottonwoods where the mocking-birds were singing. The shrill, screeching bray of a burro split the morning stillness, and with that the sounds of the awakening village drowned that sullen, dreadful boom of the river. Bostil went in to breakfast.

He encountered Lucy in the kitchen, and he did not avoid her. He could tell from her smiling greeting that he seemed to her his old self again. Lucy wore an apron and she had her sleeves rolled up, showing round, strong, brown arms. Somehow to Bostil she seemed different. She had been pretty, but now she was more than that. She was radiant. Her blue eyes danced. She looked excited. She had been telling her aunt something, and that worthy woman appeared at once shocked and delighted. But Bostil’s entrance had caused a mysterious break in everything that had been going on, except the preparation of the morning meal.

“Now I rode in on some confab or other, that’s sure,” said Bostil, good-naturedly.

“You sure did, Dad,” replied Lucy, with a bright smile.

“Wal, let me sit in the game,” he rejoined.

“Dad, you can’t even ante,” said Lucy.

“Jane, what’s this kid up to?” asked Bostil, turning to his sister.

“The good Lord only knows!” replied Aunt Jane, with a sigh.

“Kid? … See here, Dad, I’m eighteen long ago. I’m grown up. I can do as I please, go where I like, and anything…. Why, Dad, I could get—married.”

“Haw! haw!” laughed Bostil. “Jane, hear the girl.”

“I hear her, Bostil,” sighed Aunt Jane.

“Wal, Lucy, I’d just like to see you fetch some fool love-sick rider around when I’m feelin’ good,” said Bostil.

Lucy laughed, but there was a roguish, daring flash in her eyes. “Dad, you do seem to have all the young fellows scared. Some day maybe one will ride along—a rider like you used to be—that nobody could bluff…. And he can have me!”