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 seventeen
Young 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 just _have_ to 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 I _do_ want 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 does
Covington arrive?" Wally reread the message. "It says 'Noon
Friday.' 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 Berkeley
Fresno.
"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 Miss
Chapin.
"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," gibed
Gallagher.
"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," offered
Speed.
"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 like _The 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."
"I _knew_ it!"
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.