The only thing in the world that the victorious Speed wanted was
to lie down and stretch out and allow those glowing coals in his
chest to cool off. But rough hands seized him, and he found
himself astride of Stover's shoulders and gyrating about the Echo
Phonograph in the midst of a war-dance. He kicked violently with
his spiked shoes, whereat the foreman bucked like a wild horse
under the spur and dropped him, and he staggered out of the
crowd, where a girl flew to him.
"Oh, Wally," she cried, "I knew you could!" He sank to the
ground, and she knelt beside him.
Skinner was propped against the corral fence opposite, his face
distorted with suffering, and Gallagher was rubbing his ankle.
"'Taint broke, I reckon," said Gallagher, rising. "I wish to hell
it was!" He stared disgustedly at his fallen champion, and added:
"We don't want y'all for a cook no more, Skinner. You never was
no good nohow." He turned to Helen and handed her a double
handful of bank-notes, as Berkeley Fresno buried his hands in his
pockets and walked away. "Here's your coin, miss. If ever you get
another hunch, let me know. An' here's yours, Mr. Speed; it's a
weddin'-present from the Centipede." He fetched a deep sigh.
"Thank the Lord we'll git somethin' fit to eat from now on!"
Speed staggered to Skinner, who was still nursing his injury, and
held out his hand, whereat the cook winked his left eye gravely.
"The best man won," said Skinner, "and say--there's a parson at
Albuquerque." Then he groaned loudly, and fell to massaging his
foot.
There came a fluttering by his side, and Miss Blake's voice said
to him, with sweetness and with pity: "I'm so sorry you lost your
position, Mr. Skinner. You're a splendid runner!"
"Never mind the job, miss, I've got something to remember it by."
He pointed to a sash which lay beside him. "The loser gets the
ribbon, miss," he explained gallantly.
Off to the right there came a new outcry, and far across the
level prairie a strange sight was revealed to the beholders. A
fat man in white flannels was doubling and dodging ahead of two
horsemen, and even from a considerable distance it could plainly
be seen that he was behaving with remarkable agility for one so
heavy. Repeatedly his pursuers headed him off, but he rushed past
them, seemingly possessed by the blind sense of direction that
guides the homing pigeon or the salmon in its springtime run. He
was headed toward the east.
"Why, it's Larry!" ejaculated Speed. "And Cloudy and Carara."
"Wally, your man has lost his reason!" Chapin called.
At that instant the watchers saw the Mexican thunder down upon
Glass, his lariat swinging about his head. Lazily the rope
uncoiled and settled over the fleeing figure, then, amid a cloud
of dust, Carara's horse set itself upon its haunches and the
white-clad figure came to the end of its flight. There was a
violent struggle, as if the cowboy had hooked a leaping tuna,
cactus plants and sage-brush were uprooted, then the pony began
to back away, always keeping the lariat taut. But Glass was no
easy captive, as his threshing arms and legs betrayed, and even
when he was dragged back to the scene of the race, panting,
grimy, dishevelled, the rope still about his waist, he seemed
obsessed by that wild insanity for flight. He was drenched with
perspiration, his collar was dangling, one end of a suspender
trailed behind him.
At sight of Speed he uttered a cry, then plunged through the
crowd like a bull, but the lariat loop slipped to his neck and
tightened like a hangman's noose.
"Larry," cried his employer, sharply, "have you lost your head?"
"Ain't they g-g-got you yet?" queried the trainer in a strangling
voice.
"You idiot, I won!"
"What!"
"I won--easy."
"You _won!_" Larry's eyes were starting from his head.
"He sure did," said Stover. "Didn't you think he could?"
Glass apprehended that look of suspicion. "Certainly!" said he.
"Didn't I say so, all along? Now take that clothesline off of me;
I've got to run some more."
That evening J. Wallingford Speed and Helen Blake sat together in
the hammock, and much of the time her hand was in his. The breath
of the hills wandered to them idly, fragrant with the odors of
the open fields, the heavens were bright with dancing stars, the
night itself was made for romance. From the bunk-house across the
court-yard floated the voice of the beloved Echo Phonograph, now
sad, now gay; now shrilling the peaceful air with Mme. Melba's
_Holy City_, now waking the echoes with the rasping
reflections of _Silas on Fifth Avenue._ To the spellbound
audience gathered close beside it, it was divine; but deep as was
their satisfaction, it could not compare with that of the tired
young son of Eli. Ineffable peace and contentment were his; the
whole wide world was full of melody.
"And now that I've told you what a miserable fraud I am, you
won't stop loving me?" he questioned.
Helen nestled closer and shook her head. There was no need for
words.
Jack Chapin came out upon the porch with the chaperon. "Well,
Fresno caught his train," he told them.
"And we had such a glorious drive coming back! The night is
splendid!"
"Yes, so nice and moonlight!" Wally agreed pleasantly, whereat
Jack Chapin laughed.
"It's as black as pitch."
"Why, so it is!" Then as a fresh song burst forth from the very
heart of the machine, he murmured affectionately: "By Jove! there
goes _The Baggage Coach Ahead_ once more! That makes ten
times."
"It's a beautiful thing, isn't it?" Miss Blake sighed dreamily.
"I--I believe I'm learning to like it myself," her lover agreed.
"Poor Frez!"
The bridesmaids wore white organdie and carried violets.