"Into the arms of his Maker,There to learn his fate"—
Speed broke into a run.
"A tear, a sigh, a last 'Good-bye'—The pardon came too late."
"Here, what are you singing about?" angrily protested Speed, as he rounded into view.
"Oh, it's Mr. Speed!"
"Good-morning!" chorused Helen and the chaperon.
"Welcome to our city!" Fresno greeted.
Glass tottered to the steps. "Them songs," he puffed, "is bad for a man when he's trainin'; they get him all worked up."
"We had no idea you would be back so soon," apologized Helen.
"Soon!" Speed measured the distance to a wicker chair, gave it up, and sank beside his trainer. "We left yesterday! We've run miles and miles and miles!"
"You can't be in very good shape," volunteered the singer.
"Oh, is that so?" Glass retorted. "I say he's great. He got my goat—and I'm some runner."
"And I'd be obliged to you if you'd cut out those deeply appealing songs." Speed glowered at his rival. It was Helen who hastened to smooth things.
"It's all my fault. I asked Mr. Fresno to sing something new."
"Bah! That was written by William Cromwell."
"No more of them battle-hymns," Glass ordered. "They don't do Mr.Speed no good."
"All I want is a drink," panted that youthful athlete, and Helen rose quickly, saying that she would bring ice-water.
But the trainer barked, sharply: "Nix! I've told you that twenty times, Wally. It'll put hob-nails in your liver." He rose with difficulty, swaying upon his feet, and where he had sat was a large, irregular shaped, sweat-dampened area. "Come on! Don't get chilled."
"I'd give twenty dollars for a good chill!" exclaimed the overheated college man longingly.
"I would like to see you a moment, Mr. Speed." Roberta rose from the hammock.
"Oh, and I've forgotten my—" Helen checked her words with a startled glance toward the kitchen. "It will be burned to a crisp." She hastened down the porch, and Fresno followed, while Speed looked after them.
"He must be an awful nuisance to a nice girl. Think of a fat, sandy-haired husband in a five-room flat with pink wall-paper and a colored janitor. Run along, Muldoon," to Glass, "I'll be with you in a moment."
When the trainer had waddled out of hearing, Mrs. Keap inquired, eagerly:
"Have you heard from Culver?"
"Didn't you know about it?" Speed swallowed.
Roberta shook her dark head.
"He's in—he's detained at Omaha for ten days. I fixed it."
The overwrought widow dropped back into the hammock, crying weakly:
"Oh, you dear, good boy!"
"Yes, I'm all of that. I—I suppose I'd be missed if anything happened to me!"
"How ever did you manage it?"
"Never mind the details. It took some ingenuity."
Mrs. Keap wrung her hands. "I was so terribly frightened! You see, Jack will be back to-morrow, and I—was afraid—"
There was a call from Glass from the training-quarters.
"How can I ever do enough for you? You have averted a tragedy!"
"Don't let Helen know, that's all. If she thought I'd been the head yeller—"
"I won't breathe a word, and I hope you win the race for her sake."
Mrs. Keap pressed the hand of her deliverer, who trudged his lonely way toward the gymnasium, where Glass was saying:
"'The volley was fired at sunrise.' That means Saturday, Bo."
"Larry, you're the best crepe-hanger of your weight in the world."
Larry bent a look of open disgust upon his employer.
"And you're a good runner, you are," said he. "Why,Ibeat you this morning."
The younger man glanced up hopefully. "Couldn't you beat this cook?"
"You're the only man in this world I can outrun.
"'A tear, a sigh, a last good-bye.'"
"Shut up!"
As Glass consented to do this, the speaker mused, bitterly, "'Early to bed and early to rise.' I wish I had the night- watchman who wrote those words."
"Didn't you never see the sun rise before?"
"Certainly not. I don't stay up that late."
"Well, ain't it beautiful!" The stout man turned admiring eyes to the eastward, and his husky voice softened. "All them colors and tints and shades and stuff! And New York on the other end!"
"I'm too tired to see beauty in anything." As if mindful of a neglected duty, Glass turned upon him. "What are you waiting for? Get those dog-beds off your back." He seized the slack of a sweater and gave it a jerk.
"Don't be so rough; I'll come. You might care to remember you're working for me."
"I am working"—Glass dragged his protege about the room regardless of complaints that were muffled by the thickness of the sweaters—"for my life, and I'll be out of a job Saturday. Now, get under that shower!"
"Do you know, Larry, I'm beginning to like these warm showers; they rest me." As he spoke, Wally took his place beneath the barrel and pulled the cord that connected with the nozzle. The next instant he uttered a piercing shriek and leaped from beneath the apparatus, upsetting Glass, who rose in time to fling his charge back into the deluge.
"Let me out!" yelled the athlete, and made another dash, at which his guardian bellowed:
"Stand still, or I'll wallop you! What's got into you, anyhow?"
The heads of Stover and Willie, thrust through the door, nodded with gratification.
"It's got him livened up considerable," quoth the former. "Listen to that!" It seemed that a battle must be in progress behind the screen, for, mingled with the gasping screams of the athlete and the hoarse commands of the trainer, came sounds of physical contact. The barrel rocked upon its scaffold, the curtains swayed and flapped violently.
"Stand still!"
"It's—it's as c-c-cold asice!"
"Nix! You're overheated, that's all."
"Ow-w-w! Ooo-h-h! I'm dying!"
"It'll do you good."
"He's certainly trainin' him some," said Stover.
"Larry, I've got a cramp!"
"It did harden him," acknowledged Willie.
"What's wrong with you, anyhow?" demanded Glass.
"It's notme, it's the w-w-water!"
Evidently Speed made a frantic lunge here and escaped, for the flow of water ceased.
"It froze d-d-during the night. Oh-h! I'm cold!"
"Cold, eh? Get onto that rubbing-board; I'll warm you."
An instant later the cow-men heard the sounds of a violent slapping mingled with groans.
"Go easy, I say! I'll be black and blue all—LOOK OUT!—not so much in one spot!Ow!"
"Turn over!"
"He's spankin' him," said Stover admiringly.
Again the spatting arose, this time like the sound of a musketry fusilade, during which Berkeley Fresno entered by the other door.
"Don't be so brutal!" wailed the patient to his masseur.
"I'm pretty near through. There! Now get up and dress," ordered the trainer, who, pushing his way out through the blankets, halted at sight of the onlookers.
"How is he?" demanded Stover.
"He—he's trained to the minute. I'm doin' my share, gents."
"Sounds that way," acknowledged Stover's companion. "Say, does it look like we'd win?"
"Well, he just breezed a mile in forty, with his mouth open."
"A mile?" Fresno queried.
"Yes, a regular mile—seven thousand five hundred and thirty feet."
"Is 'forty' good?" queried Willie.
"Good? Why, Salvator never worked no faster. Here he is now—look for yourselves."
Speed appeared, partly clad, and glowing with a rich salmon pink.
"Good-morning," said Fresno politely. "I came in to see how you liked the cold water."
"So that was one of your California jokes, eh? Well, I'll—"
Speed moved ominously in the direction of the tenor, but Willie checked him.
"We put the ice in that bar'l, Mr. Speed."
"You!"
Willie and Stover nodded.
"Then let me tell you I expect to have pneumonia from that bath." The young man coughed hollowly. "That's the way I caught it once before, and it wouldn't surprise me a bit if I'd be too sick to run by Saturday."
"Oh no; you don't get pneumony but once."
"And, besides," Fresno added, "it wouldn't have time to show up by Saturday."
"Get that ice-chest out of my room, that's all; it makes the air damp."
"No indeed!" said Still Bill. "We're goin' to see that you use it reg'lar." Then of Glass he inquired: "What do you do to him next?"
"I give him a nerve treatment. A jack-rabbit jumped at him this morning and he bolted to the outside fence." Larry forced his employer to a seat, then, securing a firm hold of the flesh, began to discourse learnedly upon anatomy and hygiene, the while his victim writhed. It was evident that the cattle-men were intensely interested. "Well, sir, when I first got him his sploven was in terrible shape," said Larry. "In fact, I never saw such a—"
"What was in terrible shape?" ventured the tenor. "His sploven."
"Sploven! Is that a locality or a beverage?"
Glass glowered at the cause of the interruption. "It's a nerve- centre, of course!" Then to the others, he ran on, glibly: "The treatment was simple, but it took time. You see, I had to first trace his bedildo to its source, like this." He thrust a finger into Wally's back and ploughed a furrow upward. "You see?" He paused, triumphantly. "A fore-shortened bedildo! It ain't well yet."
"Can a man run fast with one of them?" inquired Willie.
"Certainly, cer-tain-ly—provided, of course, that the percentage of spelldiffer in the blood offsets it."
Both cowboys came closer now, and hung eagerly upon every word.
"And does it do—that?" they questioned, while Fresno suggested that it was not easy to tell without bleeding the patient.
"No, no! You can hear the spelldiffers." Glass motioned toWillie.
"Put your ear to his chest. Hear anything?"
"Hearts poundin' like a calf's at a brandin'."
"Which proves it!" proudly asserted the trainer. "Barrin' accidents, Mr. Speed will be in the pink of condition by Saturday."
The cow-men beamed benignantly.
"That's fine!"
"We are sure pleased, and we've got something for you, Mr. Speed.Come on, Mr. Fresno, and give us a hand. We'll bring it in."
"It's a present!" exclaimed the athlete, brightly, when the three had gone out. "They seem more friendly this morning."
"Yes!" Glass laughed, mirthlessly. "They think you're going to win."
"Well, how do you know I can't win? You never saw this cook run."
"I don't have to; I've seen you."
"Just the same, I'm in pretty good shape. Maybe I could run if I really tried."
"Send yourself along, Kid. It won't harm you none." The speaker fanned himself, and took a seat in the cosey-corner.
"Ah! Here they come, bearing gifts." Speed rose in pleased expectancy. "I wonder what it can be?"
The three who had just left re-entered the room, carrying a tray- load of thick railroad crockery.
"We've brought your breakfast to you," explained Stover. "We'd like you to eat alone till after the race." Still Bill began to whittle what appeared to be a blood-rare piece of flesh, while Willie awkwardly arranged the dishes.
"You want me toeatas well as sleep here?"
"Exactly."
"Oh, I can't do that! I'm sorry, but—"
"Don't make us insist." Willie looked up from his tray, and Glass raised a moist hand and said:
"Don't make 'em insist."
With fascinated stare Speed drew nearer to Stover and examined the meat bone.
"Why—why, that'sraw!" he exclaimed.
"Does look rar'," agreed the foreman.
"Then take it out and build a fire under it. I'll consent to eat here, but I won't turn cannibal, even to please you."
"I'm sorry." Stover did not interrupt his carving.
"Your diet ain't been right," explained Willie. "You ain't wild enough to suit us."
Speed searched one serious face, then another. Fresno was nodding approval, his countenance impassive.
"Is this a joke?"
"We ain't never joked with you yit, have we?"
"No. But—"
"This breakfast goes as she lays!"
Glass broke abruptly into smothered merriment. "When I laugh nowadays it's a funny joke," he giggled.
That grown men could be so stupid was unbelievable, and Wally, seeing himself the object of a senseless prank, was roused to anger.
"Lawrence, get my coat," said he. "I've been bullied enough; I'm going up to the house." When Stover only continued whittling methodically, he burst out: "Stop honing that shin-bone! If you like it you can eat it! I'm going now to swallow a stack of hot cakes with maple syrup!"
"Mr. Speed," Willie impaled him with a steady glare, "you'll eat what we tell you to, and nothin' else! If we say 'grass,' grass it'll be. You're goin' to beat one Skinner if it takes a human life. And if that life happens to be yours, you got nobody but yourself to blame."
"Indeed!"
"You heard me! I've been set to ride herd on you daytimes, the other boys'll guard you nights. We been double-crossed once—it won't happen again."
"Then it amounts to this, does it: I'm your prisoner?"
"More of a prized possession," offered Stover. "If you ain't got the loy'lty to stand by us, we got tomakeyou! This diet is part of the programme. Now if you think beef is too hearty for this time of day, tear into them eggs."
"You intend to make me eat this disgusting stuff, whether I want to or not?" Even yet the youth could not convince himself that this was other than a joke.
"No." Willie shook his head. "We just aim to make youwantto eat it."
Then Larry Glass made his fatal mistake.
"Say, why don't you let Mr. Speed buy you a new phonograph, and call the race off?" he inquired.
Stover, stricken dumb, paused, knife in hand; Willie stared as if bereft of motion. Then the former spoke slowly. "Looks like we'd ought to smoke up this fat party, Will."
Willie nodded, and Glass realized that the little man's steel- blue eyes were riveted balefully upon him.
"I've had a hunch it would come to that," the near-sighted one replied. "Every time I look at him I see a bleedin' bullet-hole in his abominable regions, about here." He laid a finger upon his stomach, and Glass felt a darting pain at precisely the same spot. It was as agonizing as if Willie's spectacles were huge burning-glasses focussing the rays of a tropic sun upon his bare flesh. He folded protecting hands over the threatened region and backed toward the prayer-rug, mumbling "Allah! Allah!" No matter whither he shifted, the eyes bored into him.
"That's where you hit the gambler at Ogden," he heard Stover say —it might have been from a great distance—"but I aim for the bridge of the nose."
"The belly ain't so sudden as the eye-socket, but it's more lingerin', and a heap painfuller," explained the gun man, and Speed was moved to sympathy.
"Larry only wanted to please you—eh, Larry?" he said, nervously, but Glass made no reply. His distended orbs were frozen upon Willie. It was doubtful if he even heard.
"Our honor ain't for sale," Still Bill declared.
Here Berkeley Fresno spoke. "Of course not. And you mustn't think that Speed is trying to get out of the race. Hewantsto run! And if anything happened to prevent his running he'd be broken-hearted, I know he would!"
Willie's hypnotic eye left the trainer's abdomen and travelled slowly to Speed.
"What could happen?" questioned he.
"N-nothing that I know of."
"You don't aim to leave?"
"Certainly not."
"Oh, you fellows take it too seriously," Fresno offered carelessly. "He mighthaveto."
Willie's upper lip drew back, showing his yellow teeth.
"They don't sell no railroad tickets before Saturday, and the walkin' is bad. There's your breakfast, Mr. Speed. When you've et your fill, you better rest. And don't talk to them ladies, neither; it spoils your train of thought!"
Now that the possibility of escape from the Flying Heart was cut off, the young man felt agonizing regret that he had not yielded to his trainer's earlier importunities and taken refuge in flight while there was yet time. It would have been undignified, perhaps; but once away from these single-minded cattle-men, his life would have been safe at least, and he could have trusted his ingenuity to reinstate him in Miss Blake's good graces. Everything was too late now. Even if he made a clean breast of the whole affair to Jean, or to her brother when he arrived, what good would that do? He doubted Jack's ability to save him, in the light of what had just passed; for men like Willie cared nothing for the orders of the person whose pay-roll they chanced to grace. And Willie was not alone, either; the rest of the crew were equally desperate. What heed would these nomads pay to Jack Chapin's commands, once they learned the truth? They were Arabs who owed allegiance to no one but themselves, the country was wild, the law was feeble, it was twenty miles to the railroad! And, besides, the thought of confession was abhorrent. Physical injury, no matter how severe, was infinitely preferable to Helen Blake's disdain. He cast about desperately for some saving loophole, but found himself trapped—completely, hopelessly trapped.
There were still, however, two days of grace, and to youth two days is an eternity. Therefore, he closed his eyes and trusted to the unexpected. How the unexpected could get past that grim, watchful sentry just outside the door he could not imagine, but when the breakfast-bell reminded him of his hunger, he banished his fears for the sake of the edibles his custodians had served.
"Don't you want anything to eat?" he inquired, when Larry made no move to depart for the cook-house.
"No."
"Not hungry, eh?"
"I'm hungry enough to eat a plush cushion, but—"
"What?"
"Mary!"
"Mariedetta?"
"Sure. She's been chasin' me again. If somebody don't side-track that Cuban, I'll have to lick Carara." He sighed. "I told you we'd ought to tin-can it out of here. Now it's too late."
Willie thrust his head in through the open window, inquiring, "Well, how's the breakfast goin'?" and withdrew, humming a favorite song:
"'Sam Bass was born in Indiany;It was his natif home.At the early age of seventeenYoung Sam commenced to roam.'"
"Fine voice!" said Lawrence, with a shudder.
It was perhaps a half-hour later that Helen Blake came tripping into the gymnasium, radiant, sparkling, her crisp white dress touched here and there with blue that matched her eyes, in her hands a sunshade, a novel, and a mysterious little bundle.
"We were so sorry to lose you at breakfast," she began.
Wally led her to the cosey-corner, and seated himself beside her.
"I suppose it is a part of this horrid training. I would never have mentioned that foot-race if I had dreamed it would be like this."
Here at least was a soul that sympathized.
"The only hardship is not to see you," he declared softly.
Miss Blake dropped her eyes.
"I thought you might like to go walking; it's a gorgeous morning. You see, I've brought a book to read to you while you rest—you must be tired after your run."
"I am, and I will. This is awfully good of you, Miss Blake." Speed rose, overwhelmed with joy, but the look of Glass was not to be passed by. "I-I'm afraid it's impossible, however." The blue eyes flew open in astonishment. "Why?" the girl questioned.
"They won't let me. I—I'm supposed to keep to myself."
"They? Who?"
"Glass."
Miss Blake turned indignantly upon Larry. "Do you mean to say Mr.Speed can't go walking with me?"
"I never said nothing of the sort," declared the trainer. "He can go if he wants to."
"Just the same, I—oughtn't to do it. There is a strict routine— "
A lift of the brows and a courteous smile proclaimed Miss Blake's perfect indifference to the subject, just as Willie sauntered past the open window and spoke to Glass beneath his breath:
"Git her out!"
"I'm so sorry. May I show you a surprise I brought for you?" She unwrapped her parcel, and proudly displayed a pallid, anaemic cake garlanded with wild flowers.
Speed was honestly overcome. "For me?"
"For you. It isn't even cold yet, see! I made it before breakfast, and it looks even better than the one I baked at school!"
"That's what I call fine," declared the youth. "By Jove! and I'm so fond of cake!"
"Have a care!" breathed Larry, rising nervously, but Speed paid no attention.
"Break it with your own hands, please. Besides, it's too hot to cut."
Miss Blake broke it with her own hands, during which operation the brown face of the man outside reappeared in the window. At sight of the cake he spoke sharply, and Lawrence lumbered swiftly across the floor and laid a heavy hand upon the cake.
"Mr. Speed!" he cried warningly.
"Here, take your foot off my angel-food!" fiercely ordered the youth. But the other was like adamant.
"Bo, you are about to contest for the honor of this ranch! That cake will make a bum of you!"
"Oh—h!" gasped the author of the delicacy. "Stop before it is too late!" Glass held his hungry employer at a distance, striving to make known by a wink the necessity of his act.
"There is absolutely nothing in my cake to injure any one," Helen objected loyally, with lifted chin; whereupon the corpulent trainer turned to her and said:
"Cake would crab any athlete. Cake and gals is the limit."
"Really! I had no idea I was the least bit dangerous." Miss Blake, turning to her host, smiled frigidly. "I'm so sorry I intruded."
"Now don't say that!" Speed strove to detain her. "Please don't be offended—I justhaveto train!"
"Of course. And will you pardon me for interrupting your routine?You see, I had no idea I wasn't wanted."
"But you are, and Idowant you! I—"
"Good-bye!" She nodded pleasantly at the door, and left her lover staring after her.
When she had gone, he cried, in a trembling voice: "You're a fine yap, you are! She got up early to do something nice for me, and you insulted her! You wouldn't even let me sit and hold her hand!"
"No palm-readin'." Speed turned to behold his trainer ravenously devouring the cake, and dashed to its rescue.
"It's heavier than a frog full of buckshot. You won't like it,Cul."
"It's perfectly delicious!" came the choking answer.
"Then get back of them curtains. Willie'd shoot on sight."
All that morning the prisoner idled about the premises, followed at a distance by his guard. Wherever he went he seemed to see the sun flash defiance from the polished surface of those lenses, and while he was allowed a certain liberty, he knew full well that this espionage would never cease, night or day, until—what? He could not bear to read the future; anything seemed possible. Time and again he cursed that spirit of braggadocio, that thoughtless lack of moral scruple, which had led him into this predicament. He vowed that he was done with false pretences; henceforth the strictest probity should be his. No more false poses. Praise won by dissimulation and deceit was empty, anyhow, and did he escape this once, henceforth the world should know J. Wallingford Speed for what he was—an average individual, with no uncommon gifts of mind or body, courage or ability.
Yet it was small comfort to realize that he was getting his just deserts, and it likewise availed little to anathematize Fresno as the cause of his misfortune.
At noon Wally went through the mockery of a second blood-rare meal, with no cake to follow, and that afternoon Glass dragged him out under the hot sun, and made him sprint until he was ready to drop from exhaustion. His supper was wretched, and his fatigue so great that he fell asleep at Miss Blake's side during the evening. With the first hint of dawn he was up again, and Friday noon found him utterly hopeless, when, true to his prediction, the unexpected happened. In one moment he was raised from the blackest depths to the wildest transports of delight. It came in the shape of a telegram which Jean summoned him to the house to receive. He wondered listlessly as he opened the message, then started as if disbelieving his eyes; the marks of a wild emotion spread over his features, he burst into shrill, hysterical laughter.
"Do tell us!" begged Roberta.
"Covington—Covington is coming!" Wally felt his head whirl, and failed to note the chaperon's cry of surprise and see the paling of her cheeks. "Covington is coming!Don't you understand?" he shouted. After all, the gods were not deaf! Good old Culver, who had never failed him, was coming as a deliverer.
Even in the face of his extraordinary outburst the attention of the beholders was drawn to Lawrence Glass, who caused the porch to shake beneath his feet; who galloped to his employer, and, seizing him by the hands, capered about like a hippopotamus.
"I told you 'Allah' was some guy," he wheezed. "When doesCovington arrive?" Wally reread the message. "It says 'NoonFriday.' Why, that's to-day! He's here now!"
"'Rah! 'Rah! 'Rah! Covington!" bellowed the trainer, and Mrs.Keap sank to a seat with a stifled moan.
"Why all the 'Oh joy! Oh, rapture!' stuff?" questioned BerkeleyFresno.
"As Socrates, the Hemlock Kid, would put it, 'Snatched from the shadow of the grave,'" quoth Glass, then paused abruptly. "Say, you don't think nothin' could happen to him on the way over from the depot?"
"I'm so sorry we didn't know in time to meet him," lamented MissChapin.
"And I could have run over to the railroad to bid him welcome," laughed Speed. "Twenty miles would do me good."
Still Bill and Willie approached the gallery curiously, and in subdued tones inquired:
"What's the matter, Mr. Speed?"
"You ain't been summoned away?" Willie stared questioningly upward. "No, no! My running partner is on his way here, that's all."
"Running pardner?"
"Culver Covington."
"Oh, we was afraid something had happened. You see, Gabby Gallagher has just blowed in from the Centipede to raise our bets."
"We think it's a bluff, and we'd like to call him."
"Do so, by all means!" cried the excited athlete. "Come on, let's all talk to him!"
The entire party, with the exception of Mrs. Keap, trooped down from the porch and followed the foreman out toward the sheds, where, in the midst of a crowd of ranch-hands, a burly, loud- voiced Texan was discoursing.
"I do wish Jack were here," said Jean nervously, on the way.
Gabby Gallagher seemed a fitting leader for such a desperate crew as that of the Centipede, for he was the hardest-looking citizen the Easterners had beheld thus far. He was thickset, and burned to the color of a ripe olive; his long, drooping mustaches, tobacco-stained at the centre, were bleached at the extremities to a hempen hue. His bristly hair was cut short, and stood aggressively erect upon a bullet head, his clothes were soiled and greasy beneath a gray coating of dust. A pair of alert, lead- blue eyes and a certain facility of movement belied the drawl that marked his nativity. He removed his hat and bowed at sight of Miss Chapin.
"Good-evenin', Miss Jean!" said he. "I hope I find y'all well."
"Quite well, Gallagher. And you?"
"Tol'able, thank you."
"These are my friends from the East."
The Centipede foreman ran his eyes coldly over Jean's companions until they rested upon Speed, where they remained. He shifted a lump in his cheek, spat dexterously, and directed his remark at the Yale man.
"I rode over to see if y'all would like to lay a little mo' on this y'ere foot-race. I allow you are the unknown?"
Speed nodded, and Stover took occasion to remark: "Them's our inclinations, but we've about gone our limit."
"I don't blame you none," said Gallagher, allowing his gaze to rove slowly from top to toe of the Eastern lad. "No, I cain't blame you none whatever. But I'm terrible grieved at them tidin's. Though we Centipede punchers has ever considered y'all a cheap an' poverty-ridden outfit, we gives you credit for bein' game, till now." He spat for a second time, and regarded Stover scornfully.
A murmur ran through the cowboys.
"We are game," retorted Stover, "and for your own good don't allow no belief to the contrary to become a superstition." Of a sudden the gangling, spineless foreman had grown taut and forceful, his long face was hard.
"Don't let a Centipede bluff you!" exclaimed Speed. "Cover anything they offer—give 'em odds. Anything you don't want, I'll take, pay or play, money at the tape. We can't lose."
"I got no more money," said Carara, removing his handsome bespangled hat, "but I bet my sombrero. 'E's wort' two hondred pesos."
Murphy, the Swede, followed quickly:
"Aye ban' send may vages home to may ole' moder, but aye skall bat you some."
"Haven't you boys risked enough already?" ventured Miss Chapin."Remember, it will go pretty hard with the losers."
"Harder the better," came a voice.
"Y'all don't have to bet, jest because I'm h'yar," gibedGallagher.
"God! I wish I was rich!" exclaimed Willie.
But Miss Chapin persisted. "You are two months overdrawn, all of you. My brother won't advance you any more."
"Then my man, Lawrence, will take what they can't cover," offeredSpeed.
"That's right! Clean 'em good, brothers," croaked the trainer.
"If you'll step over to the bunk-house, Gabby, we'll dig up some personal perquisites and family heirlooms." Stover nodded toward his men's quarters, and Gallagher grinned joyously.
"That shore listens like a band from where I set. We aim to annex the wages, hopes, and personal ambitions of y'all, along with your talkin'-machine."
"Excuse me." Willie pushed his way forward. "How's she gettin' along?"
"Fine!"
"You mule-skinners ain't broke her?"
"No; we plays her every evenin'."
The little man shifted his feet; then allowed himself to inquire, as if regarding the habits of some dear departed friend:
"Have you chose any favorite records?"
"We all has our picks. Speakin' personal, I'm stuck on that baggage coach song of Mrs. More's."
"Mo_ray!_" Willie corrected. "M-o-r-a! Heleney Mo_ray_ is the lady's name."
"Mebbe so. Our foot-runner likes that Injun war-dance best of all." Carara smiled at Cloudy, who nodded, as if pleased by the compliment. Then it was that the Flying Heart spokesman made an inquiry in hushed, hesitating tones.
"How do you likeThe Holy City"—he removed his hat, as did those back of him. "As sung by Madam-o-sella Melby?"
"Rotten!" Gallagher said promptly. "That's a bum, for fair."
During one breathless instant the wizened man stood as if disbelieving his ears, the enormity of the insult robbing him of speech and motion. Then he uttered a snarl, and Stover was barely in time to intercept the backward fling of his groping hand.
"No voylence, Willie! There's ladies present."
Stover's captive ground his teeth and struggled briefly, then turned and made for the open prairie without a word.
"It's his first love," said Stover, simply. The other foreman exploded into hoarse laughter, saying:
"I didn't reckon I was treadin' on the toes of no bereafed relatif's, but them church tunes ain't my style. However, we're wastin' time, gents. Where's that bunk-house? Nothin' but money talks loud enough for me to hear. Good-day, white folks!" Gallagher saluted Miss Chapin and her friends with a flourish, and moved away in company with the cowboys.
"I never," said Glass, "seen so many tough guys outside of a street-car strike."
"Gallagher has been in prison," Jean informed him. "He's a wonderful shot."
"Iknewit!"
Speed spoke up brightly: "Well, let's go back to the house and wait for Covington."
"But you were getting ready to go running," said Helen.
"No more running for me! I'm in good enough shape, eh, Larry?"
"Great! Barring the one thing."
"What's that?" queried Fresno.
"A little trouble with one of his nerve-centres, that's all. But even if it got worse during the night, Covington could run the race for him."
The Californian started. At last all was plain. He had doubted from the first, now he was certain; but with understanding came also a menace to his own careful plans. If Covington ran in Speed's place, how could he effect his rival's exposure? On the way back to the house he had to think rapidly.
Mrs. Keap was pacing the porch as the others came up, and called Speed aside; then, when they were alone, broke out, with blazing eyes:
"You said you had stopped him!"
"And I thought I had. I did my best."
"But he's coming! He'll be here any minute!"
"I suppose he learned you were here." Wally laughed.
"Then you must have told him."
"No, I didn't."
"Mr. Speed"—Roberta's cheeks were pallid and her voice trembled —"you—didn't—send that telegram—at all."
"Oh, but I did."
"You wanted him to get here in time to run in your place. I see it all now. You arranged it very cleverly, but you will pay the penalty."
"You surely won't tell Helen?"
"This minute! You wretched, deceitful man!"
Before he could say more, from the front of the house came the rattle of wheels, a loud "Whoa!" then Jean's voice, crying:
"Culver! Culver!" while Mrs. Keap clutched at her bosom and moaned.
Her companion bolted into the house and down the hall, shouting the name of his room-mate. Out through the front door he dashed headlong, in time to behold Fresno and the two girls assisting the new arrival toward the veranda. They were exclaiming in pity, and had their arms about the athlete, for Culver Covington, Intercollegiate One-Hundred-Yard Champion, was hobbling forward upon a pair of crutches.
The yell died in Speed's throat, he felt himself grow deadly faint.
"Crippled!" he gasped, and leaned against the door for support.
In a daze, Speed saw his friend mount the porch painfully; in a daze, he shook his hand. Subconsciously he beheld Lawrence Glass come panting into view, throw up his hands at sight of Covington, and cry out in a strange tongue. When he regained his faculties he broke into the conversation harshly.
"What have you done to yourself?"
"I broke a toe," explained the athlete.
"You broke a toe?"
"He broke a toe!" wailed Glass, faintly.
"If it's nothing but a toe, it won't hurt your running." Speed seized eagerly upon the faintest hope.
"No. I'll be all right in a few weeks." Covington spoke carelessly, his eyes bent upon Jean Chapin. "You've g-got to run to-morrow."
"What!" Covington dragged his glance away from the cheeks of his sweetheart.
"I—I'm sick. You'll have to."
"Don't be an idiot, Wally. I can't walk!"
Helen explained, with the pride of one displaying her own handiwork: "Mr. Speed defends the Flying Heart to-morrow. You are just in time to see him."
"When did you learn to box, Wally?" Covington was genuinely amazed.
"I'm not going to box. It's a footrace. I'm training—been training ever since I arrived."
In his first bewilderment the latecomer might have unwittingly betrayed his friend had not Jean suddenly inquired:
"Where is Roberta?"
"Roberta!" Covington tripped over one of his crutches. "Roberta who?"
"Why, Roberta Keap, of course! She's chaperoning us while mother is away."
The hero of countless field-days turned pale, and seemed upon the point of hobbling back to "Nigger Mike's" buck-board.
"You and she are old friends, I believe?" Helen interposed.
"Yes!Oh yes!" Culver flashed his chum a look of dumb entreaty, but Speed was staring round-eyed into space, striving to read the future.
Helen started to fetch her just as the pallid chaperon was entering the door.
She shook hands with Covington. She observed that he was too deeply affected at sight of her to speak, and it awakened fresh misgivings in her mind.
"H-how d'y do! I didn't know you were—here!" he stammered.
"I thought it would surprise you!" Roberta smiled wanly, amazed at her own self-control, then froze in her tracks as Jean announced:
"Jack will be home to-night, Culver. He'll be delighted to see you!"
J. Wallingford Speed offered a diversion by bursting into a hollow laugh. Now that the world was in league to work his own downfall, it was time someone else had a touch of suffering. To this end he inquired how the toe had come to be broken.
"I broke it in Omaha—automobile accident." Culver was fighting to master himself.
"Omaha! Did you stop in Omaha?" inquired Jean.
"A city of beautiful women," Speed reflected, audibly. "Somebody step on your foot at a dance?"
"No, of course not! I don't know anybody in Omaha! I went motoring—"
"Joy-ride?"
"Not at all."
"Who was with you?" Miss Chapin's voice was ominously sweet.
"N—nobody I knew."
"Does that mean that you were alone?"
"Yes. I stopped off between trains to view the city, and took a'Seeing Omaha' ride. The yap wagon upset, and—I broke my toe."
"You left Chicago ten days ago," said Speed accusingly.
"Of course, but—when I broke my toe I had to stay. It's a beautiful city—lots of fine buildings." "How did you like the jail?"
"What in the world are you boys talking about?" queried MissBlake.
"Mr. Speed seems amused at Culver's accident." Roberta gave him a stinging look. "Now we'd better let Culver go to his room and freshen up a bit. I want to talk to you, Helen," and Speed drooped at the meaning behind her words. But it was time for a general conference; events were shaping themselves too rapidly for him to cope with. Once the three were alone he lost no time in making his predicament known, the while his friend listened in amazement.
"But is it really so serious?" the latter asked, finally.
"It's life or death. There's a homocidal maniac named Willie guarding me daytimes, and a pair of renegades who keep watch at my window all night. The cowboys bathe me in ice-water to toughen me, and feed me raw meat to make me wild. In every corner there lurks an assassin with orders to shoot me if I break training, every where I go some low-browed criminal feels my biceps, pinches my legs, and asks how my wind is. I tell you, I'm going mad."
"And the worst part of it is," spoke Glass, sympathetically, "they'll bump me off first. It's a pipe."
"But, Wally, you can't run."
"Don't I know it?"
"Don'tI?" seconded the trainer.
"Then why attempt the impossible? Call the race off."
"It's too late. Don't you understand? The bets are made, and its 'pay or play.' The cowboys have mortgaged their souls on me."
"He was makin' a play for that little doll—"
"Don't you call Miss Blake a doll, Larry! I won't stand for it!"
"Well, 'skirt,' then."
"Why don't you cut it? There's a train East at midnight."
"And leave Helen—like that? Her faith in me has weakened already; she'd hate me if I did that. No! I've got to face it out!"
"They'll be singin' hymns for both of us," predicted the fat man.
"I don't care. They can boil me in oil—I won't let her think I'm a coward."
"Larry doesn't have to stay."
"Of course not. He can escape."
"Not a chance," said the trainer. "They watch me closer 'n they do him."
Covington considered for a moment. "It certainly looks bad, but perhaps the other fellow can't run either. Who is he?"
"A cook named Skinner."
"Happy name! Well, two-thirds of a sprint is in the start. How does Wally get in motion, Lawrence?"
"Like a sacred ox." Glass could not conceal his contempt.
"I'll give him some pointers; it will all help." But Speed was nervous and awkward—so awkward, in fact, that the coach finally gave it up as a bad job, saying:
"It's no use, Wally, you've got fool feet."
"I have, eh? Well, I didn't break them getting out of jail."
"The less said about that jail the better. I'm in trouble myself."
Speed might have explained that his chum's dilemma was by no means so serious as he imagined, had not watchman Willie thrust his head through the open window at that moment with the remark:
"Time to get busy!"
"We'll be right with you!" Glass seized his protege by the arm and bore him away, muttering: "Stick it out, brother, we're nearin' the end!"
Again Speed donned his running-suit and took to the road for his farewell practise. Again Willie followed at a distance on horseback, watching the hills warily. But all hope had fled from the Yale man now, and he returned to his training-quarters disheartened, resigned.
He was not resigned, however, to the visit he received later from Miss Helen Blake. That young lady rushed in upon him like a miniature cyclone, sweeping him off his feet by the fury of her denunciation, allowing him no opportunity to speak, until, with a half-sob, she demanded:
"Why—why did you deceive me?"
"I love you!" Wally said, as if no further explanation were necessary.
"That explains nothing. You made sport of me! You couldn't love me and do that!"
"Helen!"
"I thought you were so fine, so strong, but you lied—yes, that is what you did! You fibbed to me the first day I met you, and you've been fibbing ever since. I could never, never care for a man who would do that."
"Who has told you these things?"
"Roberta, for one. She opened my eyes to your—baseness."
"Well, Roberta has a grudge against my sex. She's engaged to all the men she hasn't already married. Marriage is a habit with her. It has made her suspicious—"
"But you did deceive me, didn't you?"
"Will you marry me?" asked J. Wallingford Speed.
"The idea!" Miss Blake gasped. "Will you?"
"Please don't speak that way. When a man cares for a woman, he doesn't deceive her—he tells her everything. You told me you were a great runner, and I believed you. I'll never believe you again. Of course, I shall behave to you in a perfectly friendly manner, but underneath the surface I shall be consumed with indignation." Miss Blake commenced to be consumed. "See! You don't acknowledge your perfidy even now."
"What's the use? If I said I couldn't run, and then beat the cook, you'd believe I deceived you again. And suppose that I can't beat him?"
"Then I shall know they have told me the truth."
"And if, on the other hand, I should win"—Miss Blake's eyes fell—"Helen, would you marry me?" Speed started toward her, but she had fled out into the twilight.
Dusk was settling over stretches of purple land, and already the room was peopled by shadows. Work was over; there were sounds of cheerful preparations for supper; from the house came faint chords of laughter; a Spanish song floated in, as Carara told his love to the tune of Mariedetta's guitar:
"'Adios! adios! adios! por siempre,Adios! coqueta, mi amor;Adios! adios! adios! por siempre,Adios! coqueta, mi amor!'"
It was the hush that precedes the evening as it does the dawn; the hour of reverie, in which all music is sweet, and forgotten faces arise to haunt.
Speed stood where the girl had left him, miserable, hopeless, helpless; the words of the Spanish song seemed sung for a lost love of his. And certainly his love was lost. He had stayed on in the stubborn superstitious belief that something would surely happen to relieve him from his predicament—fortune had never failed him before—and instead, every day, every incident, had served to involve him deeper. Now she knew! It was her golden heart that had held her true thus far, but could any devotion survive the sight of humiliation such as he would suffer on the morrow? Already he heard the triumphant jeers of the Centipede henchmen, the angry clamor of the Flying Heart, the mocking laughter of his rival.
He groaned aloud. Forsooth, a broken toe! Of all the countless tens of thousands of toes in Christendom, the one he had hung his salvation upon had proven weaker than a reed. What cruel jest of Fate was this? If Fate had wished to break a toe, why had she not selected, out of all the billions at her disposal, that of some other athlete than Culver Covington—even his own.
J. Wallingford Speed started suddenly and paled. He had remembered that no one could force a crippled man to run.
"By Jove," he exclaimed, "I'll do it!"
He crossed quickly to the bunk-house door and looked in. The room was empty. The supper-bell pealed out, and he heard the cow-men answer it. Now was the appointed moment; he might have no other. With cat-like tread he slipped into the sleeping-quarters, returning in a moment with a revolver. He stared thankfully at the weapon—better this than dishonor.
"Why didn't I think of it before? It's perfectly simple. I'll accidentally shoot myself—in the foot."
But even as he gazed at the gun he saw that the muzzle was as large as a gopher-hole. A bullet of that size would sink a ship, he meditated in a panic, and as for his foot—what frightful execution it would work! But—it were better to lose a foot than a foot-race, under present conditions, so he began to unlace his shoe. Then realizing the value of circumstantial evidence, he paused. No! His disability must bear all the earmarks of an accident. He must guess the location of his smallest and least important toe, and trust the rest to his marksmanship. Visions of blood-poisoning beset him, and when he pressed the muzzle against the point of his shoe his hand shook with such a palsy that he feared he might miss. He steeled himself with the thought that other men had snuffed out life itself in this manner, then sat down upon the floor and cocked the weapon a second time. He wondered if the shock might, by any chance, numb him into unconsciousness. If so, he might bleed to death before assistance arrived. But he had nothing to do with that. The only question was, which foot. He regarded them both tenderly. They were nice feet, and had done him many favors. He loved every toe; they were almost like innocent children. It was a dastardly deed to take advantage of them thus, but he advanced the revolver until it pressed firmly against the outside of his left foot, then closed his eyes, and called upon his courage. There came a great roaring in his ears.
How long he sat thus waiting for the explosion he did not know, but he opened his eyes at length to find the foot still intact, and the muzzle of the weapon pointing directly at his instep. He altered his aim hurriedly, when, without warning of any sort, a man's figure appeared silhouetted against the window.
The figure dropped noiselessly to the floor inside the room, and cried, in a strange voice:
"Lock those doors! Quick!"
Finding that it was no hallucination, Speed rose, calling out:
"Who are you?"
"Sh-h-h!" The stranger darted across the room and bolted both doors, while the other felt a chill of apprehension at these sinister precautions. He grasped his revolver firmly while his heart thumped. The fellow's appearance was anything but reassuring: he was swarthy and sun-browned, his clothes were ragged, his overalls were patched; instead of a coat, he wore a loosely flapping vest over a black sateen shirt, long since rusted out to a nondescript brown.
"I've been trying to get to you for a week," announced the mysterious visitor hoarsely.
"W-what do you want? Who are you?"
"I'm Skinner, cook for the Centipede."
"The man I race?"
"Not so loud." Skinner was training for the faintest sound from the direction of the mess-house.
"I'll kill him!" exulted the Eastern lad. But the other forestalled a murder by running on, rapidly:
"Listen, now! Humpy and I jobbed this gang last month; we're pardners, see? He's got another race framed at Pocatello, and I want to make a get-away—"
"Yes! yes! y-you needn't stay here—on my account."
"Now don't let's take any chances to-morrow, see? We're both out for the coin. What do you want to do—win or lose?" Skinner jumped back to the door and listened.
"What?"
"Don't stall!" the stranger cried, impatiently. "Will I win or will you? What's it worth?" He clipped his words short, his eyes darted furtive glances here and there.
"CanIwin?" gasped Speed.
"You can if there's enough in it for me. I'm broke, see? You bet five hundred, and we'll cut it two ways."
"I-I haven't that much with me."
"Borrow it. Don't be a boob. Meet me in Albuquerque Sunday, and we'll split there."
"Is that all I have to do?"
"Certainly. What's the matter with you, anyhow?" Skinner cast a suspicious glance at his companion.
"I-I guess I'm rattled—it's all so sudden."
"Of course you'll have to run, fast enough so we don't tip off."
"How fast is that?"
"Oh, ten-four," carelessly. "That's what Humpy and I did."
"Ten and four-fifths-seconds?"
"Certainly. Don't kid me! They're liable to break in on us." Skinner stepped to the window, but Speed halted him with a trembling hand and a voice of agony.
"Mr. Skinner, I-I can't run that fast. F-fifteen is going some for me."
"What!" Skinner stared at his opponent strangely. "That's right.I'm a lemon."
"Ain't you the Yale champ? The guy that goes under 'even time'?"
Wally shook his head. "I'm his chum. I couldn't catch a cramp."
The brown face of the Centipede sprinter split into a grin, his eyes gleamed. "Then I'll win," said he. "I'm the sucker, but I'll make good. Get your money down, and I'll split with you."
"No, no! Not you! Me!Imust win!" Speed clutched his caller desperately.
"All right, I'll frame anything; but I can't run any slower thanI did with Joe and make a live of it. They'd shoot us both."
"But there's a girl in this-a girl I love. It means more than mere life."
Skinner was plainly becoming nervous at the length of the interview.
"Couldn't you fall down?" inquired the younger man, timidly.
The cook laughed derisively. "I could fall down twice and beat you in fifteen." After an instant's thought:
"Say, there's one chance, if we don't run straight away. There's a corral out where we race; you insist on running around it, see? There's nothing in the articles about straight-aways. That'll kid 'em on the time. If I get too far ahead, I'll fall down."
"B-but will you stay down? Till I catch up?"
"Sure! Leave it to me."
"You won't forget, or anything like that?"
"Certainly not. But no rough work in front of the cowboys, understand? Sh-h!"
Skinner vaulted lightly through the window, landing in the dirt outside without a sound. "Somebody coming," he whispered. "Understand Merchants' Hotel, Albuquerque, noon, Sunday." And the next instant he had vanished into the dusk, leaving behind him a youth half hysterical with hope.
Out of the blackest gloom had come J. Wallingford Speed's deliverance, and he did not pause to consider the ethics involved. If he had he would have told himself that by Skinner's own confession the Centipede had won through fraud at the first race; if they were paid back in their own coin now it would be no more than tardy justice. With light heart he hastened to replace the borrowed revolver in the bunk-room just as voices coming nearer betokened the arrival of his friends from the house. As he stepped out into the night he came upon Jack Chapin.
"Hello, Wally!"
"Hello, Jack!" They shook hands, while the owner of the FlyingHeart continued.
"I've just got in, and they've been telling me about this foot- race. What in the deuce is the matter with you, anyhow? Why didn't you let me know?"
The girls drew closer, and Speed saw that Miss Blake was pale.
"I wouldn't have allowed it for a minute. Now, of course, I'm going to call it off."
"Oh, Jack, dear, you simply can't!" exclaimed his sister. "You've no idea the state the boys are in."
"They'll never let you, Chapin," supplemented Fresno.
The master laughed shortly. "They won't, eh? Who is boss here,I'd like to know?"
"They've bet a lot of money. And you know how they feel about that phonograph."
"It's the most idiotic thing I ever heard of. Whatever possessed you, Wally? If the men make a row, I'll have to smuggle you and Glass over to the railroad to-night."
"I'm for that," came the voice of Larry.
"I suppose it's all my fault," Miss Blake began wretchedly, whereat the object of their general solicitude took on an aspect of valor.
"Say, what is all this fuss about? I don't want to be smuggled anywhere, thank you!"
"I may not be able to square my men," Chapin reiterated. "It may have gone too far."
"Square! Square! Why should you do any squaring? I'm not going to run-away." Miss Blake clasped her hands and breathed a sigh. "I've got to stay here and run a foot-race to-morrow."
"Don't be a fool, Wally!" Covington added his voice to the others.
Speed whirled angrily. "I don't need your advice—convict!" The champion hobbled hastily out of range. "I know what I'm doing. I'm going to run to-morrow, and I stand a good chance to win."
Mr. Fresno, if he had been a girl, would have been said to have giggled.
"All right,Dearie! I'll bet you five hundred dollars—" as there emerged from the darkness, whence they had approached unseen, Stover, and behind him the other men.
"Evenin'! What's all the excitement?" greeted the leader, softly.
The master of the ranch stepped forward.
"See here, Bill, I'm sorry, but I won't stand for this foot- race."
"Why not?" queried the foreman.
"I just won't, that's all. You'll have to call it off."
"I'm sorry, too."
"You refuse?" The owner spoke ominously.
"You bet he does!" Willie pushed himself forward. "This foot-race is ordained, and it comes off on time. I make bold to inquire if you're talkin' for our runner?"
"Gentlemen, I can only say to you that for myself I want to run!" declared Speed.
"Then you'll run."
"I refuse to allow it," Chapin declared, and instantly there was an angry murmur; but before it could take definite form, Speed spoke up with equal decisiveness.
"You can't refuse to let me run, Jack. There are reasons"—he searched Miss Blake's countenance—"why I must run—and win. And win I shall!" Turning, he stalked away into the darkness, and there followed him a shout of approbation from the ranchmen.
Jack Chapin threw up his hands.
"I've done my best."
"The man's mad!" cried Covington, but Fresno was nearer the truth. "Nothing of the sort," he remarked, and struck a match; "he's bluffing!"
As for Helen Blake, she shook her fair head and smiled into the night.
"You are all wrong," she said. "Iknow!"