It was on the following morning that Miss Blake made bold to
request her favor from J. Wallingford Speed. They had succeeded
in isolating themselves upon the vine-shaded gallery at the rear
of the house, and the conversation had been largely of athletics,
but this, judging from the rapt expression of the girl, was a
subject of surpassing interest. Speed, quick to take a cue,
plunged on.
"I would have made the Varsity basket-ball team myself if I
hadn't been so tiny," said Helen. "I have always wanted to be
tall, like Roberta."
"I shouldn't care for that," said the young man.
"You know she was a wonderful player?"
"So I've heard."
"Do you know," mused Helen, "I have never forgotten what you told
me that first day we met. I think it was perfectly lovely of
you."
"What was that?" Now it must be admitted that J. Wallingford
Speed, in his relations with the other sex, frequently found
himself in a position requiring mental gymnastics of a high
order; but, as a rule, his memory was good, and he seldom crossed
his own trail, so to speak. In this instance he was utterly
without remembrance, however, and hence was non-committal.
"What you told me about your friendship for Mr. Covington. I
think it is very unselfish of you."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that," ventured the young man, vainly racking
his brain. "Nobody could help liking Culver."
"Yes; but how many men would step aside and let their best friend
win prize after prize and never undertake to compete against
him?" Speed blushed faintly, as any modest man might have done.
"Did I tell you that?" he inquired.
"Indeed you did."
"Then please don't speak of it to a mortal soul. I must have said
a great deal that first day, but--"
"But I _have_ spoken of it, and I said I thought it was fine
of you."
"You have spoken of it?"
"Yes; I told Jean."
The Yale man undertook to change the conversation abruptly, but
Miss Blake was a determined young lady. She continued:
"Of course, it was very magnanimous of you to always step aside
in favor of your best friend; but it isn't fair to yourself--it
really isn't. And so I have arranged a little plan whereby you
can do something to prove your prowess, and still not interfere
with Mr. Covington in the least."
Speed cleared his throat nervously. "Tell me," he said, "what it
is."
And Miss Blake told him the story of the shocking treachery of
Humpy Joe, together with the miserable undoing of the Flying
Heart. "Why, those poor fellows are broken-hearted," she
concluded. "Their despair over losing that talking-machine would
be funny if it were not so tragic. I told them you would win it
back for them. And you will, won't you? Please!" She turned her
blue eyes upon him appealingly, and the young man was lost.
"I'll take ten chances," he said. "Where does the raffle come
off?"
"Oh, it isn't a raffle, it's a foot-race. You must run with that
Centipede cook."
"I! Run a race!" exclaimed the young college man, aghast.
"Yes, I've promised that you would. You see, this isn't like a
college event, and Culver isn't here yet."
"But he'll be here in a day or so." Speed felt as if a very large
man were choking him; he decided his collar was too tight.
"Oh, I've talked it all over with Jean. She doesn't want Culver
to run, anyhow."
"Why not?" inquired he, suspiciously.
"I don't know, I'm sure."
"If Miss Chapin doesn't want Culver to run, you surely wouldn't
want me to."
"Not at all. If Mr. Covington knew the facts of the case, he
would be only too happy to do it. And, you see, _you_ know
the facts."
Speed was about to shape a gracious but firm refusal of the
proffered honor when Still Bill Stover appeared at the steps,
doffed his faded Stetson, and bowed limply.
"Mornin', Miss Blake." To the rear Speed saw three other men--an
Indian, tall, swart, and saturnine, who walked with a limp; a
picturesque Mexican with a spangled hat and silver spurs,
evidently the captor of Lawrence Glass on the evening previous;
and an undersized little man with thick-rimmed spectacles and a
heavy-hanging holster from which peeped a gun-butt. All were
smiling pleasantly, and seemed a bit abashed.
"Good-morning, Mr. Stover," said Helen, pleasantly. "This is Mr.
Speed, of whom I spoke to you yesterday." Stover bowed again and
mumbled something about the honor of this meeting, and Miss Blake
cast her eyes over the other members of the group, saying,
graciously: "I'm afraid I can't introduce your friends; I haven't
met them."
The loquacious foreman came promptly to the rescue, rejoicing in
an opportunity of displaying his oratorical gifts.
"Then I'll make you acquainted with the best brandin' outfit in
these parts." He waved a long, bony arm at the Mexican, who
flashed his white teeth. "This Greaser is Aurelio Maria Carara.
Need I say he's Mex, and a preemeer roper?" Carara bowed, and
swept the ground with his high-peaked head-piece. "The Maduro
gent yonder is Mr. Cloudy. His mother being a Navajo squaw, named
him, accordin' to the rights and customs of her tribe, selecting
the title of Cloudy-but-the-Sun-Shines, which same has proved a
misnomer, him bein' a pessimist for fair."
Miss Blake and her companion smiled and nodded, at which Stover,
encouraged beyond measure, elaborated.
"He's had a hist'ry, too. When he reaches man's real-estate the
Injun agent ropes, throws, and hog-ties him, then sends him East
to be cultivated. He spends four years kickin' a football--"
Speed interrupted, with an exclamation of genuine interest.
"Oh, it's true as gospel," the foreman averred. "When he goes
lame in his off leg they ship him back, and in spite of them
handicaps he has become one rustlin' savage at a round-up."
"What college did you attend?" inquired Speed, politely. The
question fell upon unresponsive ears. Cloudy did not stir nor
alter the direction of his sombre glance.
"He don' talk none," Stover explained. "Conversation, which I
esteem as a gift deevine, is a lost art with him. I reckon he
don't average a word a week. What language he did know he has
forgot, and what he ain't forgot he distrusts."
Turning to the near-sighted man who had been staring at the
college youth meanwhile, the spokesman took a deep breath, and
said, simply yet proudly, as if describing the _piece de
resistance_ of this exhibition:
"The four-eyed gent is Willie, plain Willie, a born range-rider,
_and the best hip shot this side of the Santa Fe trail!_"
Speed beheld an undersized man of indeterminate age, hollow-
chested, thin-faced, gravely benignant. It was not alone his
glasses that lent him a scholarly appearance; he had the stooped
shoulders, the thoughtful intensity of gaze, the gentle,
hesitating backwardness of a book-raised man. There were tutors
at Yale quite as colorless, characterless and indefinite, and
immensely more forceful. In place of the revolver at his belt, it
seemed as if Willie should have carried a geologist's pick, a
butterfly-net, or a magnifying-glass: one was prepared to hear
him speak learnedly of microscopy, or even, perhaps, of
settlement work. As a cowboy he was utterly out of place, and it
was quite impossible to take Stover's words seriously.
Nevertheless, Speed acknowledged the introduction pleasantly,
while the benevolent little man blinked back of his lenses.
Stover addressed himself to Miss Blake.
"I told the boys what you said, miss, and we four has come as a
delegation to find out if it goes."
"Mr. Speed and I were just talking about it when you came," said
Helen. "I'm sure he will consent if you add your entreaties to
mine."
"It would sure be a favor," said the cow-man, at which the others
drew nearer, as if hanging on Speed's answer. Even Cloudy turned
his black eyes upon the young man.
The object of their co-operate gaze shifted his feet
uncomfortably and felt minded to flee, but the situation would
not permit of it. Besides, the affair interested him. His mind
was working rapidly, albeit his words were hesitating.
"I--I'm afraid I'm not in shape to run," he ventured. But Stover
would have none of this modesty, admirable as it might appear.
"Oh, I talked with your trainer just now. I told him you was
tipped off to us as a sprinter."
"What did he say?" inquired Speed, with alarm.
"He said 'no' at first, till I told him who let it out; then he
laughed, and said he guessed you was a runner, but you didn't
work at it regular. I asked him how good you was, and he said
none of the college teams would let you run. That's good enough
for us, Mr. Speed."
"But I'm not in condition," objected the youth, with a sigh of
gratitude at Glass's irony.
"I reckon he knows more about that than you do. We covered that
point too, and Mr. Glass said you was never better than you are
right now. Anyhow, you don't have to bust no records to beat this
cook. He ain't so fast."
"It would sure be a kind-hearted act if you'd do it for us," said
the little man in his high, boyish voice. It was a shock to
discover that he spoke in a dialect. "There's a heap of sentiment
connected with this affair. You see, outside of being a prize
that we won at considerable risk, there goes with this phonograph
a set of records, among which we all have our special favorites.
Have you ever heard Madam-o-sella Melby sing _The Holy
City_?"
"I didn't know she sang it," said Speed.
"Take it from me, she did, and you've missed a heap."
"You bet," Stover agreed, in a hushed, awed tone.
"Well, you must have heard Missus Heleney Moray in _The Baggage
Coach Ahead_?" queried the scholarly little man. At mention of
his beloved classic, Carara, the Mexican, murmured, softly:
"Ah! _The Baggage Car_--Te'adora Mora! God bless 'er!"
"I must confess I've never had the pleasure," said Speed,
whereupon the speaker regarded him pityingly, and Stover, jealous
that so much of the conversation had escaped him, inquired:
"Can it be that you never heard that monologue, _Silas on Fifth
Avenoo_?"
Again Speed shook his head.
As if the very memory were hilariously funny, Still Bill's
shoulders heaved, and stifled laughter caused his Adam's apple to
race up and down his leathern throat. Swallowing his merriment at
length, he recited, in a choking voice, as follows: "Silas goes
up Fifth Avenoo and climbs into a bus. There is a girl settin'
opposite. He says, 'The girl opened her valise, took out her
purse, closed her valise, opened her purse, took out a dime,
closed her purse, opened her valise, put in her purse, closed her
valise, handed the dime to the conductor, got a nickle in change,
opened her valise, took out her purse, closed her valise, opened
her purse--'"
At this point the speaker fell into ungovernable hysteria and
exploded, rocking back and forth, slapping his thighs and
hiccoughing with enjoyment. Willie followed him, as did Carara.
Even Cloudy showed his teeth, and the two young people on the
porch found themselves joining in from infection. It was patent
that here lay some subtle humor sufficient to convulse the Far
Western nature beyond all reason; for Stover essayed repeatedly
to check his laughter before gasping, finally: "Gosh 'lmighty! I
never can get past that place. He! He! He! Whoo-hoo! That's sure
ridic'lous, for fair." He wiped his eyes with the back of a
sun-browned hand, and his frame was racked with barking coughs. "I
know the whole blame thing by heart, but--I can't recite it to
you. I bog down right there. Seems like some folks is the
darndest fools!"
Speed allowed this good-humor to banish his trepidation, and
assured the foreman that _Silas on Fifth Avenue_ must indeed
be a very fine monologue.
"It's my favorite," said Still Bill, "but we all have our picks.
Cloudy here likes _Navajo_, which I agree is attuned to
please the savage year, but to my mind it ain't in the runnin'
with _Silas._"
"You see what the phonograph means to these gentlemen," said Miss
Blake. "I think it's a crying shame that they were cheated out of
it, don't you?"
Speed began to outline a plan hastily in his mind.
"I assured them that you would win it back for them, and--"
"We sure hope you will," said Willie, earnestly.
"Amen!" breathed the lanky foreman, his cheeks still wet from his
tears of laughter, but his face drawn into lines of eagerness.
"Please! For my sake!" urged Helen, placing a gentle little hand
upon her companion's arm.
Speed closed his eyes, so to speak, and leaped in the dark.
"All right, I'll do it!"
"Yow-ee!" yelled Stover. "We knew you would!" Willie was beaming
benignantly through his glasses, while both Carara and Cloudy
showed their heartfelt gratitude. "Thank you, Miss Blake. Now
we'll show up that shave-tail Centipede crowd for what it is."
"Wait!" Speed checked the outburst. "I'll consent upon
conditions. I'll run, provided you can arrange the race for an
'unknown.'"
"What does that mean?" Helen asked.
"It means that I don't want my name known in the matter. Instead
of arranging for Mr. Whatever-the-Cook's-Name-Is to run a race
with J. W. Speed, he must agree to compete against a
representative of the Flying Heart ranch, name unknown."
"I don't think that is fair!" cried the girl. "Think of the
honor."
"Yes, but I'm an amateur. I'd lose my standing."
"That goes for us," said Stover. "We don't care what name you run
under. We'll frame the race. Lordy! but this is a glorious
event."
"We can't thank you enough," Willie piped. "You're a true sport,
Mr. Speed, and we aim to see that you don't get the worst of it
in no way. This here race is goin' to be on the square-you hear
me talk-in'. No double-cross this time." Unconsciously the
speaker's hand strayed to the gun at his belt, while his smile
was grim. Speed started.
"What day shall we set?" inquired Stover.
Wally rapidly calculated the date of Culver's arrival, and said:
"A week from Saturday." Covington would soon be _en route_,
and was due to arrive a few days thereafter.
"We'd like to make it to-morrow," ventured Willie.
"Oh, but I must have a chance to get in trim," said the college
man.
"One week from Saturday goes," announced Stover, "and we thank
you again." Turning to Carara, he directed: "Rope your buckskin,
and hike for the Centipede. Tell 'em to unlimber their coin. I'll
draw a month's wages in advance for every son-of-a-gun on the
Flying Heart, and we'll arrange details to-night."
"_Si_," agreed Carara. "I go."
"And don't waste no time neither," directed Willie. "You tear
like a jack-rabbit ahead of a hot wind."
Carara tossed his cigarette aside, and the sound of his spurs was
lost around the corner of the house.
"This makes a boy of me," the last speaker continued. "I can hear
the plaintiff notes of Madam-o-sella Melby once again."