Lawrence Glass was beginning to like New Mexico. Not only did it
afford a tinge of romance, discernable in the deep, haunting eyes
of Mariedetta, the maid, but it offered an opportunity for
financial advancement--as, for instance, the purchase of Willie's
watch. This timepiece cost the trainer twenty-one dollars, and he
sold it to Speed for double the amount, believing in the luck of
even numbers. Nor did young Speed allow his trainer's efforts to
cease here, for in every portable timepiece on the ranch he
recognized a menace, and not until Lawrence had cornered the
market and the whole collection was safely locked in his trunk
did he breathe easily. This required two days, during which the
young people at the ranch enjoyed themselves thoroughly. They
were halcyon days for the Yale man, for Fresno was universally
agreeable, and seemed resigned to the fact that Helen should
prefer his rival's company to his own. Even when Speed had
regretfully dragged himself off to bed in the evening, the plump
tenor amused Miss Blake by sounding the suitor's praises as an
athlete, reports of which pleased Wally intensely. Mr. Fresno was
a patient person, who realized fully the fact that a fall is not
painful unless sustained from a considerable height.
As for Glass, he recounted tales of Mariedetta's capitulation to
his employer, and wheezed merrily over the discomfiture of the
Mexican girl's former admirers.
"She's a swell little dame," he confided to Speed one afternoon,
as they lounged luxuriously in the shade at their customary
resting-place. "Yes, and I'm aces with her, too." They had set
out for their daily run, and were now contesting for the seven-up
supremacy of the Catskill Mountains. Already Glass had been
declared the undisputed champion of the Atlantic Coast, while
Speed on the day previous had wrested from him the championship
of the Mississippi Valley.
"But Mariedetta is dark!" said the college man, as he cut the
cards. "She is almost a mulatto."
"Naw! She's no dinge. She's an Aztec, an' them Aztec's is swell
people. Say, she can play a guitar like a barber!"
"Miss Blake told me she was in love with Carara."
Glass grunted contemptuously. "I've got it on that insurrects
four ways. Why, I'm learning to talk Spanish myself. If he gets
flossy, I'll cross one over his bow." The trainer made a vicious
jab at an imaginary Mexican. "He ain't got a good wallop in him."
Like all New Yorkers, no matter what their station, Lawrence
cherished a provincial contempt for such people as are not of
Manhattan. While he was woefully timid in the presence of
firearms, and the flash of steel reduced him to a panic, he was a
past master at the "manly art," and carried a punch in which he
reposed unlimited faith. The deference with which the cowboys
treated him, their simple, child-like faith in his every
utterance, combined to exaggerate his contempt for them. Even
Carara, disappointed in love, treated him with a smiling,
backward sort of courtesy which the trainer misconstructed as
timidity.
"I thought cowboys was tough guys," continued he, "but it's a
mistake. That little Willie, for instance, is a lamb. He packs
that Mauser for protection. He's afraid some farmer will walk up
and poke his eye out with a corn-cob. One copper with a night-
stick could stampede the whole outfit. But they're all right, at
that," he acknowledged, magnanimously. "They're a nice bunch of
fellers when you know how to take 'em."
"The flies are awful to-day," Speed complained. "They bite my
legs."
"I'll bring out a bath robe to-morrow, and we'll hide it in the
bushes. I wish there was some place to keep this beer cool."
Glass shifted some bottles to a point where the sunlight did not
strike them. "I'm getting tired of training, Larry," acknowledged
the younger man, with a yawn. "It takes so much time."
Glass shook his head in sympathy. "Seems like we'd ought to hear
from Covington," said he.
"He's on his way, no doubt. Isn't it time to go back to the
ranch?"
Glass consulted his watch. "No, we ain't done but three miles.
Here goes for the rubber."
It was Berkeley Fresno who retreated cautiously from the shelter
of a thicket a hundred yards up the arroyo and started briskly
homeward, congratulating himself upon the impulse that had
decided him to follow the training partners upon their daily
routine. He made directly for the corral.
"Which I don't consider there's no consideration comin' to him
whatever," said Willie that evening. "He ain't acted on the
level."
"Now, see here," objected Stover, "he may be just what he claims
he is. Simply because he don't go skally-hootin' around in the
hot sun ain't no sign he _can't_ run."
"What about them empty beer bottles?" demanded Willie. "No feller
can train on that stuff. I went out there myself and seen 'em.
There was a dozen."
"Mebbe Glass drank it. What I claim is this: we ain't got no
proof. Fresno is stuck on Miss Blake, and he's a knocker."
"Then let's _git_ some proof, and dam' quick."
"_Si, Senores_," agreed Carara, who had been an interested
listener.
"I agree with you, but we got to be careful--"
Willie grunted with disgust.
"--we can't go at it like we was killin' snakes. Mr. Speed is a
guest here."
Again the little gun man expressed his opinion, this time in
violet-tinted profanity, and the other cowboys joined in.
"All the same he _is_ a guest, and no rough work goes. I'm
in charge while Mr. Chapin is away, and I'm responsible."
"Senor Bill," Carara ventured, "the fat vaquero, he is no guest.
He is one of us."
"That's right," seconded Willie. "He's told us all along that Mr.
Speed was a Merc'ry-footed wonder, and if the young feller can't
run he had ought to have told us."
Mr. Cloudy showed his understanding of the discussion by nodding
silently.
"We'll put it up to him in the morning," said Stover.
"If Mr. Speed cannot r-r-run, w'at you do, eh?" questioned the
Mexican.
Nobody answered. Still Bill seemed at a loss for words, Mr.
Cloudy stared gloomily into space, and Willie ground his teeth.
On the following morning Speed sought a secluded nook with Helen,
but no sooner had he launched himself fairly upon the subject
uppermost in his mind than he was disturbed by a delegation of
cowboys, consisting of the original four who had waited upon him
that first morning after his arrival. They came forward with
grave and serious mein, requesting a moment's interview. It was
plain there was something of more than ordinary importance upon
their minds from the manner in which Stover spoke, but when Helen
quickly volunteered to withdraw, Speed checked her.
"Stay where you are; I have no secrets from you," said he. Then
noting the troubled face of the foreman, quoted impatiently:
"'You may fire when ready, Gridley.'"
Still Bill shifted the lump in his cheek, and cleared his throat
before beginning formally.
"Mr. Speed, while we honor you a heap for your accomplishments,
and while we believe in you as a man and a champeen, we kind of
feel that it might make you stretch your legs some if you knew
just exactly what this foot-race means to the Flying Heart
outfit."
"I assured you that the Centipede cook would be beaten," said the
college man, stiffly.
"Isn't Mr. Speed's word sufficient?" inquired the girl.
Stover bowed. "It had sure ought to be, and we thank you for them
new assurances. You see, our spiritual on-rest is due to the fact
that Humpy Joe's get-away left us broke, and we banked on you to
pull us even. That first experience strained our credulity to the
bustin' point, and--well, in words of one syllable, we come from
Joplin."
"Missouri," said Willie.
"My dear sirs, I can't _prove_ that you are going to win
your wagers until the day of the race. However, if you are broke
to start with, I don't see how you can expect to lose a great
deal."
"You ain't got the right angle on the affair," Stover explained.
"Outside of the onbearable contumely of losin' twice to this
Centipede outfit, which would be bad enough, we have drawn a
month's wages in advance, and we have put it up. Moreover, I have
bet my watch, which was presented to me by the officials of the
Santa Fe for killin' a pair of road-agents when I was Depity
Sheriff."
Miss Blake uttered a little scream, and Speed regarded the lanky
speaker with new interest. "It's a Waltham movement, solid gold
case, eighteen jewels, and engraved with my name."
"No wonder you prize it," said Wally.
"I bet my saddle," informed Carara, in his slow, soft dialect.
"Stamp' leather wit' silver filagree. It is more dear to me than
--well--I love it ver' much, Senor!"
"Seems like Willie has made the extreme sacrifice," Stover
followed up. "While all our boys has gone the limit, Willie has
topped 'em all: he's bet his gun."
"Indeed! Is it a good weapon?"
"It's been good to me," said the little man, dryly. "I took it
off the quivering remains of a Sheriff in Dodge City, up to that
time the best hip shot in Kansas."
Speed felt a cold chill steal up his spine, while Miss Blake went
pale and laid a trembling hand upon his arm.
"You see it ain't intrinsic value so much as association and
sentiment that leads to this interview," Stover continued. "It
ain't no joke--we don't joke with the Centipede--and we've relied
on you. The Mex here would do murder for that saddle," Carara
nodded, and breathed something in his own tongue. "I have parted
with my honor, and Willie is gamblin' just as high."
"But I notice Mr.--Willie still has his revolver."
"Sure I got it!" Willie laughed, abruptly. "And I don't give it
up till we lose, neither. That's the understandin'." His voice
was surprisingly harsh for one so high-pitched. He looked more
like a professor than ever.
"Willie has reasons for his caution which we respect," explained
the spokesman.
J. Wallingford Speed, face to face with these serious-minded
gentlemen, began to reflect that this foot-race was not a thing
to be taken too lightly.
"I can't understand," he declared, with a touch of irritation,
"why you should risk such priceless things upon a friendly
encounter."
"_Friendly!_" cried Willie and Stover in a tone that made
their listeners gasp. "The Centipede and the Flying Heart is just
as friendly as a pair of wild boars."
"You see, it's a good thing we wised you up," added the latter.
Carara muttered fiercely: "Senor, I works five year' for that
saddle. I am a good gambler, _si, si!_ but I keel somebody
biffore I lose it to the Centipede."
"And is that Echo Phonograph worth all this?" inquired Helen.
"We won that phonograph at risk of life and limb," said Willie,
doggedly, "from the Centipede-"
"--and twenty other outfits, Senor."
"It's a trophy," declared the foreman, "and so long as it ain't
where it belongs, the Flying Heart is in disgrace."
"Even the 'Leven X treats us scornful!" cried the smallest of the
trio angrily. "We're a joke to the whole State."
"I know just how these gentlemen must feel," declared Miss Blake,
tactfully, at which Stover bowed with grateful awkwardness.
"And it's really a wonderful instrument," said he. "I don't
reckon there's another one like it in the world, leastways in
these parts. You'd ought to hear it--clear as a bell--"
"And sweet," said Willie. "God! It's sure sweet!"
"Why, we was a passel of savages on this ranch till we got it--no
sentiment, no music, no nothin' in our souls--except profanity
and thirst. Then everything changed." Stover nodded gravely. "We
got gentle. That music mellered us up. We got so we was as full
of brotherly love as a basket of kittens. Some of the boys
commenced writin' home; Cloudy begin to pay his poker debts.
You'd scarcely hear enough profanity to make things bearable. I
tell you it was refined. It got so that when a man came steamin'
in after a week's high life and low company in town, his wages
gone, and his stummick burnin' like he'd swallered all his cigar-
butts, it didn't make no difference if he found a herd of purple
crocodiles in his blankets, or the bunk-house walls a-crawlin'
with Gila monsters. Little things like that wouldn't phaze him!
He'd switch on the Echo Phonograph and doze off like a babe in
arms, for the tender notes of Madam-o-sella Melby in _The Holy
City_ would soothe and comfort him like the caressin' hand of
a young female woman."
"I begin to feel your loss," said Speed, gravely. "Gentlemen, I
can only assure you I shall do my best."
"Then you won't take no chances?" inquired Willie, mildly.
"You may rely upon me to take care of myself."
"Thank you!" The delegation moved away.
"What d'you think of him?" inquired Stover of the little man in
glasses, when they were out of hearing.
"I think he's all right," Willie hesitated, "only kind of crazy,
like all Eastern boys. It don't seem credible that no sane man
would dast to bluff after what we've said. He'd be flyin' in the
face of Providence."
But this comforting conclusion wavered again, when Berkeley
Fresno, who had awaited their report, scoffed openly.
"He can't run! If he could run he'd be running. I tell you, he
can't run as fast as a sheep can walk."
"Senor, you see those beautiful medal he have?" expostulated
Carara.
"Sure," agreed Willie. "His brisket was covered with 'em. He had
one that hung down like a dewlap."
"Phony!"
"I've killed men for less," muttered the stoop-shouldered man.
"Did you see his legs?" Fresno was bent upon convincing his
hearers.
"Couldn't help but see 'em in that runnin'-suit."
"Nice and soft and white, weren't they?"
"They didn't look like dark meat," Stover agreed, reluctantly.
"But you can't go nothin' on the looks of a feller's legs."
"Well, then, take his wind. A runner always has good lungs, but
I'll bet if you snapped him on the chest with a rubber band he'd
cough himself to death."
"Mebbe he ain't in good shape yet."
Fresno sneered. "No, and he'll never get into good condition with
those girls hanging around him all the time. Don't you know that
the worst thing in the world for an athlete is to talk to a
woman?"
"That's the worst thing in the world for anybody," said Willie,
with cynicism. "But how can we stop it?"
"Make him eat as well as sleep in his training-quarters; don't
let him spend any time whatever in female company. Keep your eyes
on him night and day."
Willie spoke his mind deliberately. "I'm in favor of that. If
this is another Humpy Joe affair I'm a-goin' to put one more
notch in my gun-handle, and it looks like a cub bear had chawed
it already."
"There ain't but one thing to do," Stover announced, firmly.
"We've got to put it up to Mr. Glass and learn the truth."
"You'll find him in the bunk-house," directed Fresno. "I think
I'll trail along and hear what he has to say."