Glass had gone to the cowboys' sleeping-quarters in search of his
employer, and was upon the point of leaving when the delegation
filed in. He regarded them with careless contempt, and removed
his clay pipe to exclaim, cheerfully:
"B--zoo gents! Where's my protege?"
"I don't know. Where did you have it last?"
"I mean Speed, my trainin' partner. That's a French word."
"Oh! We just left him."
"Think I'll hunt him up."
"Wait a minute." Willie came forward. "Let's talk."
"All right. We'll visit. Let her go, professor."
"You've been handlin' him for quite a spell, haven't you?"
"Sure! It's my trainin' that put him where he is. Ask him if it
ain't."
"Then he's a good athlete, is he?"
"Is he good? Huh!" Glass grunted, expressively.
"How fast can he do a hundred yards?"
Larry yawned as if this conversation bored him.
"Oh--about--eight--seconds."
At this amazing declaration Willie paused, as if to thoroughly
digest it.
"Eight seconds!" repeated the little man at length.
"Sure! Depends on how he feels, of course."
Berkeley Fresno, in the corner, snickered audibly, at which the
trainer scowled at him.
"Think he can't do it, eh? Well, he's there four ways from the
ace."
Seeing no evidence that his statement failed to carry conviction
in other quarters at least, Glass went further. It was so easy to
string these simple-minded people that he could not resist the
temptation. "Didn't you never hear about the killin' he made at
Saratoga?" he queried.
Willie started, and his hand crept slowly backward along his
belt. "Killin'! Is that his game?"
"Now, get me right," explained the former speaker. "He breaks
trainin', and goes up to Saratoga for a little rest. While he's
there he wins eight thousand dollars playin' diabolo."
"Playin' what?" queried Stover.
"Diabolo! He backs himself, of course."
Glass took an imaginary spool from his pocket, spun it by means
of an imaginary string, then sent it aloft and pretended to catch
it dexterously. The cowboys watched him with grave,
uncomprehending eyes.
"He starts with a case five and runs it up to eight thousand
dollars, that's all."
Stover uttered an exclamation of astonishment, whereupon the New-
Yorker grew even bolder.
"The next week he hops over to Bar Harbor and wins the Furturity
Ping-pong stakes from scratch. That's worth twenty thousand if
it's worth a lead nickel. Oh, I guess he's there, all right!" He
searched out a match and relighted his pipe.
"I suppose he's a great croquet-player too," observed Fresno,
whose face was purple.
"Sure!" Glass winked at him, glad to see that the Californian
enjoyed this kind of sport.
"We don't care nothin' about his skill at sleight-of-hand
tricks," said the man in spectacles, seriously. "And we wouldn't
hold his croquet habits agin him. Some men drink, some gamble,
some do worse; every man has his weakness, and croquet may be
his. What we want to know is this: can he win our phonograph?"
"Surest thing you know!"
"Then you vouch for him, do you?" Willie's eyes were bent upon
the fat man with a look of searching gravity that warned Glass
not to temporize.
"With my life!" exclaimed the trainer.
"You're on!" said the cowboy, with unexpected grimness.
"What d'you mean?"
But before the other could explain, Berkeley Fresno, who had sunk
weakly into a chair at Larry's extravagant praise of his rival,
afforded a diversion. The tenor had leaned back, convulsed with
enjoyment when, losing his balance, he came to the floor with a
crash. The sudden sound brought a terrifying result, for with a
startled cry the undersized cow-man leaped as if touched by a
living flame. Like a flash of light he whirled and poised on his
toes, his long, evil-looking revolver drawn and cocked, his tense
face vulturelike and fierce. His eyes glared through his
spectacles, his livid features worked as if at the sound of his
own death-call. His whole frame was tense; a galvanic current had
transformed him. His weapon darted toward the spot whence the
noise had come, and he would have fired blindly had not Stover
yelled:
"Don't shoot!"
Willie paused, and the breath crept audibly into his lungs.
"Who done that?" he asked, harshly.
Still Bill brought his lanky frame up above the level of the
table.
"God 'lmighty! don't be so sudden, Willie!" he cried. "It was a
accident."
But the gun man seemed unconvinced. With cat-like tread he stole
cautiously to the door, and stared out into the sunlight; then,
seeing nobody in sight, he replaced his weapon in its resting-
place and sighed with relief.
"I thought it was the marshal from Waco," he said. "He'll never
git me alive."
Stover addressed himself to Fresno, who had gone pale, and was
still prostrate where he had fallen.
"Get up, Mr. Berkeley, but don't make no more moves like that
behind a man's back. He most got you."
Fresno arose in a daze and mopped his brow, murmuring, weakly,
"I-I didn't mean to."
Carara and Mr. Cloudy came out from cover whither they had fled
at Willie's first movement. "I dreamed about that feller agin
last night," apologized the little man. "I'm sort of nervous, and
any sudden noise sets me off."
As for Glass, that corpulent individual had disappeared as if
into thin air; only a stir in one of the bunks betrayed his
hiding-place. At the first sight of Willie's revolver he had
dived for a refuge and was now flattened against the wall, a
pillow pressed over his head to deaden the expected report.
"Hey!" called the foreman, but Glass did not hear him.
"Seems to be gun-shy," observed Willie, gently.
Stover crossed to the bunk and laid a hand upon the occupant, at
which a convulsion ran through the trainer's soft body, and it
became as rigid as if locked in death. "Come out, Mr. Glass, it's
all over."
Larry muttered in a stifled voice, "Go 'way!"
"It was a mistake."
He opened his tight-shut lids, rolled over, and thrust forth a
round, pallid face. He saw Stover laughing, and beheld the white
teeth of Carara, the Mexican, who said:
"Perhaps the Senor is sleepy!"
Finding himself the object of what seemed to him a particularly
senseless joke, the New-Yorker crept forth, his face suffused
with anger. Strangely enough, he still retained the pipe in his
fingers.
"Say, are youse guys tryin' to kid me?" he demanded, roughly. Now
that no firearm was in sight, he was master of himself again; and
seeing the cause of his undignified alarm leaning against the
table, he stepped toward him threateningly. "If you try that
again, young feller, I'll chip you on the jaw, and give you a
long, dreamy nap." He thrust a short, square fist under Willie's
nose.
That scholarly gentleman straightened up, and edged his way to
one side, Glass following aggressively.
"You're a husky, ain't you?" said the little man, squinting up at
the red face above him. "Am I?" Glass snorted. "Take a good
look!" With deliberate menace he bumped violently into the other.
It was with difficulty he could restrain himself from crushing
him.
Stover gasped and retreated, while Carara crossed himself, then
sidled back of a bunk. Mr. Cloudy stepped silently out through
the open door and held his thumbs.
"You start to kid me and I'll wallop you--"
"_One moment!_" Willie was transfigured suddenly. An instant
since he had been a stoop-shouldered, short-sighted,
insignificant person, more gentle mannered than a child, but in a
flash he became a palpitating fury: an evil atom surcharged with
such terrific venom that his antagonist drew back involuntarily.
"Don't you make no threat'nin' moves in my direction, or you'll
go East in an ice-bath!" He was panting as if the effort to hold
himself in leash was almost more than he could stand.
"G'wan!" said Glass, thickly.
"You're deluded with the idea that the Constitution made all men
equal, but it didn't; it was Mr. Colt." With a movement quicker
than light the speaker drew his gun for the second time, and
buried half the barrel in the New-Yorker's ribs.
"_Look out!_" Glass barked the words, and undertook to
deflect the weapon with his hand.
"Let it alone or it'll go off!"
Glass dropped his hand as if it had been burned, and stared down
his bulging front with horrified, fascinated eyes.
"Now, listen. We've stood for you as long as we can. You've made
your talk and got away with it, but from now on you're working
for us. We've framed a foot-race, and put up our _panga_
because you said you had a champeen. Now, we ain't sayin' you
lied--'cause if we thought you had, I'd gut-shoot you here, now."
Willie paused, while Glass licked his lips and undertook to frame
a reply. The black muzzle of the weapon hovering near his heart,
however, stupefied him. Mechanically he thrust the stem of his
pipe between his lips while Willie continued to glare at him
balefully. "You're boss is a guest, but you ain't. We can talk
plain to you."
"Y--yes, of course."
"You said just now you'd answer for him with your life. Well, we
aim to make you! We ain't a-goin' to lose this foot-race under no
circumstances whatever, so we give you complete authority over
the body, health, and speed of Mr. Speed. It's up to you to make
him beat that cook."
"S-s-suppose he gets sick or sprains his ankle?" Glass undertook
to move his body from in front of the weapon, but it followed him
as if magnetized.
"There ain't a-goin' to be no accidents or excuses. It's pay or
play, money at the tape. You're his trainer, and it's your fault
if he ain't fit when he toes the mark. Understand?"
Willie lowered the muzzle of his weapon, and fired between the
legs of Glass, who leaped into the air with all the grace of a
gazelle. It was due to no conscious action on his part that the
trainer leaped; his muscles were stimulated spasmodically, and
propelled him from the floor. At the same time his will was so
utterly paralyzed that he had no control over his movements; he
did not even hear the yell that burst from his throat as his
lungs contracted; he merely knew that he was in the supremest
peril, and that flight was futile. Therefore he undertook to
steady himself. Every tissue of his body seemed to creep and
crawl. The flesh inside his legs was quivering, the close-cropped
hair of his thick neck rose and prickled, and his capacious
abdomen throbbed and pulsated like a huge bowl of jelly. He laid
his hands upon it to still the disturbance. Then he became
conscious that he had bitten his pipe-stem in two and swallowed
the end. He felt it sticking in his throat.
"Did you hear what I said?" demanded Willie, in a voice that
sounded like the sawing of a meat bone.
Glass opened his mouth, and when no sound issued, nodded.
"And you understand?"
Again the trainer bobbed his head. The pipe-stem had cut off all
power of speech, and he knew himself dumb for life.
"Then I guess that's all. It's up to you." Willie replaced his
gun, and the fat man threatened to fall. "Come on, boys!" The
cowboys filed out silently, but on the threshold Willie paused
and darted a venomous glance at his enemy. "Don't forget what I
said about Mr. Colt and the equality of man."
"Yes, sir!--yes, ma'am!" ejaculated the frightened trainer,
nervously. When they were gone he collapsed.
"They are rather severe, aren't they?" ventured Fresno.
"Severe!" cried the unhappy man. "Why, Speed can't--" He was
about to explain everything when the memory of Willie's words
smote him like a blow. That fiend had threatened to kill him,
Lawrence Glass, without preliminary if it became evident that a
fraud had been practiced. Manifestly this was no place for
hysterical confidences. Larry's mouth closed like a trap, while
the Californian watched him intently. At length he did speak, but
in a strangely softened tone, and at utter variance with his
custom.
"Say, Mr. Fresno! Which direction is New York?"
"That way." Fresno pointed to the east, and the other man stared
longingly out through the bunk-house window.
"It's quite a walk, ain't it?"
"Walk?" Berkeley laughed. "It's two or three thousand miles!"
Glass sighed heavily. "Why do you ask?"
"Oh, nothin'. Jest gettin' homesick." He calmed himself with an
effort, entered the gymnasium as if in search of something, and
then set forth to find Speed.
That ecstatic young gentleman wrenched his gaze away from the
blue eyes of Miss Blake to see his trainer signalling him from
afar.
"What is it, Lawrence?"
"Got to see you."
"Presently."
"Nix! I got to see you _now!_" Glass's ruddy face was
blotched, and he seemed to rest in the grip of some blighting
malady. Beneath his arm he carried a tight-rolled bundle. Sensing
something important back of this unusual demeanor, Speed excused
himself and followed Larry, who did not trust to speech until
they were alone in the gymnasium with the doors closed. Then he
unrolled the bundle he carried, spread it upon the floor, and
stepped into its exact centre.
"Are you standing on my prayer-rug?" demanded his companion,
angrily.
"I am! And from this on I'm goin' to make it work itself to
death. She said a feller couldn't get hurt if he stood on it and
said 'Allah.' Well, I'm goin' to wear it out."
"What's wrong?"
"Do you know what's goin' to happen to me if Covington don't get
here and beat this cook?"
"Happen to you?"
"Yes, me! These outlaws have put it up to me to win this bet for
them."
"Well, Covington can beat anybody."
"But Covington isn't here yet."
"Not yet, but--" The young man smiled. "You're not frightened,
are you?"
"Scared to death, that's all," acknowledged the other. Then when
his employer laughed openly, he broke out at a white-heat. "Joke,
eh? Well, you'd better have a good laugh while you can, because
Humpy Joe's finish will be a ten-course dinner to what you'll get
if Covington misses his train."
"How easily frightened you are!"
"Yes? Well, any time people start shooting shots I'm too big for
this earth. The hole in a gun looks as big as a gas-tank to me."
"But nobody is going to shoot you!" exclaimed the mystified
college man.
"They ain't, hey? I missed the Golden Stairs by a lip not half an
hour ago. I got a pipe-stem crossways in my gullet now, and it
tickles." He coughed loudly, then shook his head. "No use; it
won't come up." With feverish intensity he told of his narrow
escape from destruction, the memory bringing a sweat of agony to
his brow. "And the worst of it is," he concluded, "I'm 'marked'
with guns. I've always been that way."
"Tut! tut! Don't alarm yourself. If Covington shouldn't come, the
race will be declared off."
"No chance," announced the trainer, with utter conviction. "These
thugs have made it pay or play, and the bets are down."
"You know I can't run."
"If he don't come, you'll _have_ to!"
"Absurd! I shall be indisposed."
"If you mean you'll get sick, or sprain an ankle, or break a leg,
or kill yourself, guess again. I'm responsible for you now.
Something may go wrong with me, that pipe-stem is liable to gimme
a cancer, but nothin' is goin' to happen to you. My only chance
to make a live of it is to cough up that clay, and get some one
to outrun this cook. You're the only chance I've got, if Culver
don't show, and the first law of nature ain't never been
repealed."
"Self-protection, eh?"
"Exactly." Glass coughed thrice without result, stepped off the
prayerrug, rolled it up tightly; then, hugging it beneath his
arm, went on: "That four-eyed guy slipped me a whole lot of feed-
box information. Why, he's a killer, Wally! And he's got a cash-
register to tally his dead."
"Notches on his gun-handle, I suppose?"
"So many that it looks like his wife had used it to hang pictures
with. I tell you, he's the most deceitful rummy I ever seen.
What's more, he's got the homicide habit, and the habit has got
its eye on _me_." Glass was in deadly earnest, and his alarm
contrasted so strongly with his former contemptuous attitude
toward the cowboys that Speed was constrained to laugh again.
"It's the most amusing thing I ever heard of."
"Yes," said the trainer, with elaborate sarcasm, "it would be
awful funny if it wasn't on the square." He moistened his lip
nervously.
"You alarm yourself unnecessarily. We'll hear from Culver soon,
either by wire or in person. He's never failed me yet. But if I
were you, Larry, I'd leave that Mexican girl alone."
"Mary?"
"Yes. Mariedetta. Now, there's something to be afraid of. If
these cowboys are in love with her and have their eyes on you--"
"Oh, Willie ain't her steady, and he's the only one I'm leary of.
Mary's beau is that Egyptian with the funny clothes, and I can
lick any guy with tight pants."
A gentle knock sounded at the door, at which Speed called:
"Come in!"
Senor Aurelio Maria Carara entered. He was smoking his customary
corn-husk cigarette, but his dark eyes were grave and his silken
mustachios were pointed to the fineness of a bristle.