Going Some

  CHAPTER XII

  It was usually a procedure not alone of difficulty but ofdiplomacy as well, to rout out the ranch-hands of the FlyingHeart without engendering hostile relations that might bear fruitduring the day. This morning Still Bill Stover had more than hiscustomary share of trouble, for they seemed pessimistic.

  Carara, for instance, breathed a Spanish oath as he combed hishair, and when the foreman inquired the reason, replied:

  "I don' sleep good. I been t'ink mebbe I lose my saddle on thisfootrace."

  Cloudy, whose toilet was much less intricate, grunted from theshadows:

  "I thought I heard that phonograph all night."

  "It was the Natif Son singin' to his gal," explained one of thehands. "He's gettin' on my nerves, too. If he wasn't a friend ofthe boss, I'd sure take a surcingle and abate him considerable."

  "Vat you t'ank? I dream' Mr. Speed is ron avay an' broke hisleg," volunteered Murphy, the Swede, whose name New Mexico hadshortened from Bjorth Kjelliser.

  "Run away?"

  "Ya-as! I dream' he's out for little ron ven piece of noosepaperblow up in his face an' mak' him ron avay, yust same as horse. Hesnort an' yump, an' ron till he step in prairie-dog hole andbroke his leg."

  "Strange!" said Willie.

  "What?"

  "My rest was fitful and disturbed and peopled by strange fanciesa whole lot. I dreamp' he _throwed_ the race!"

  A chorus of oaths from the bunks.

  "What did you do?" inquired Stover.

  "I woke up, all of a tremble, with a gun in each hand."

  "I don't take no stock in dreams whatever," said some one.

  "Well, I'm the last person in the world to be superstitious,"Still Bill observed, "but I've had sim'lar visions lately."

  "Maybe it's a om-en."

  "What is a om-en?" Carara inquired.

  "A om-en," explained Willie, "is a kind of a nut. Salted om-ensis served at swell restaurants with the soup."

  In the midst of it Joy, the cook, appeared in the doorway, andspoke in his gentle, ingratiating tones:

  "Morning, gel'mum! I see 'im again."

  "Who?"

  "No savvy who; stlange man! I go down to spling-house for bucketwater; see 'im lide 'way. Velly stlange!"

  "I bet it's Gallagher."

  "Vat you tank he vants?" queried Murphy.

  "He's layin' to get a shot at our runner," declared Stover, whileMr. Cloudy, forgetting his Indian reserve, explained in classicEnglish his own theory of the nocturnal visits. "Do you rememberHumpy Joe? Well, they didn't cripple him, but he lost. I don'tthink Gallagher would injure Mr. Speed, but--he might--bribehim."

  "_Caramba_!" exclaimed the Mexican.

  "God 'lmighty!" Willie cried, in shocked accents.

  "I believe you're right, but"--Stover meditated briefly beforeannouncing with determination--"we'll do a little night-ridin'ourselves. Willie, you watch this young feller daytimes, and therest of us'll take turns at night. An' don't lose sight of thefat man, neither--he might carry notes. If you don't like thelooks of things--you know what cards to draw."

  "Sixes," murmured the near-sighted cow-man. "Don't worry."

  "If you see anything suspicious, burn it up. And we'll take ashot at anything we see movin' after 9 P.M."

  Then Berkeley Fresno came hurriedly into the bunk-house with avery cheery "Good-morning! I'm glad I found you up and doing," hesaid blithely. "I thought of something in my sleep." It wasevident that the speaker had been in more than ordinary haste tomake his discovery known, for underneath his coat he still worehis pajama shirt, and his hair was unbrushed.

  "What is it?"

  "Your man Speed isn't taking care of himself."

  "What did I tell you?" said Willie to his companions.

  "It seems to me that in justice to you boys he shouldn't act thisway," Fresno ran on. "Now, for instance, the water in his shower-bath is tepid."

  There was an instant's silence before Stover inquired, withominous restraint:

  "Who's been monkeying with it?"

  "It's warm!"

  "Oh!" It was a sigh of relief.

  "A man can't get in shape taking warm shower-baths. Warm waterweakens a person."

  "Mebbe you-all will listen to me next time!" again cried Willie,triumphantly. "I said at the start that a bath never helpednobody. When they're hot they saps a man's courage, and whenthey're cold they--"

  "No, no! You don't understand! For an athlete the bath ought tobe cold--the colder the better. It's the shock that hardens afellow."

  "Has he weakened himself much?" inquired the foreman.

  "Undoubtedly, but--"

  "What?"

  "If we only had some ice--"

  "We got ice; plenty of it. We got a load from the railroadyesterday."

  "Then our only chance to save him is to fill the barrel quickly.We must freeze him, and freeze him well, before it is too late!By Jove! I'm glad I thought of it!"

  Stover turned to his men. "Four of you-all hustle up a couplehundred pounds of that ice _pronto!_ Crack it, an' fill thebar'l." There was a scramble for the door.

  "And there's something else, too," went on Berkeley. "He's beingfed wrong for his last days of training. The idea of a man eatinglamb-chops, fried eggs, oatmeal, and all that debilitating stuff!Those girls overload his stomach. Why, he ought to have somethingto make him strong--fierce!"

  "Name it," said Willie, shortly.

  "Something like--like--bear meat."

  "We ain't got no bear." Willie looked chagrined.

  "This ain't their habitat," added Stover apologetically.

  "Well, he ought to have meat, and it ought to be wild--raw, ifpossible."

  "There ain't nothin' wilder 'n a long-horn. We can git him asteer."

  "You are sure the meat isn't too tender?"

  "It's tougher 'n a night in jail."

  "There ain't no sausage-mill that'll dent it."

  "Good! The rarer it is the better. Some raw eggs and a goodstrong vegetable--"

  "Onions?"

  "Fine! We'll save him yet!"

  "We'll get the grub."

  "And he'll eat it!" Willie nodded firmly.

  Stover issued another order, this time to Carara. "You 'n Cloudybutcher the wildest four-year-old you can find. If you can't getclose enough to rope him, shoot him, and bring in a hind quarter.It's got to be here in time for breakfast."

  "Si, Senor!" The Mexican picked up his lariat; the Indian took aWinchester from an upper bunk and filled it with cartridges.

  "Of course, he'll have to eat out here; they spoil him up at thehouse."

  "Sure thing!"

  "I'd hate to see him lose; it would be a terrible blow to MissBlake." Fresno shook his head doubtfully.

  "What about us?"

  "Oh, you can stand it--but she's a girl. Ah, well," the speakersighed, "I hope nothing occurs between now and Saturday toprevent his running."

  "It won't," Stover grimly assured the Californian. "Nothin'whatever is goin' to occur."

  "He was speaking yesterday about the possibility of some businessengagement--"

  The small man in glasses interrupted. "Nothin' but death shalltake him from us, Mr. Fresno."

  "If I think of anything else," offered Berkeley, kindly, "I'lltell you."

  "We wish you would."

  Fresno returned to the house, humming cheerily. It was still anhour until his breakfast-time, but he had accomplished much. Inthe midst of his meditation he came upon Miss Blake emerging uponthe rear porch.

  "Good-morning!" he cried. She started a trifle guiltily. "Whatare you doing at this hour?"

  "Oh, I just love the morning air," she answered. "And you?"

  "Same here! 'Honesty goes to bed early, and industry risesbetimes.' That's me!"

  "Then you have been working?"

  Fresno nodded. He was looking at four cowboys who were enteringthe gymnasium, staggering beneath dripping gunny-sacks. Then heturned his gaze searchingly upon the girl.

  "
Were you looking for Speed?" he asked accusingly. "The idea!"Miss Blake flushed faintly.

  "If you are, he has gone for a run. I dearly love to see him getup early and run, he enjoys it so. To give pleasure to others isone of my constant aims. That is why I learned to sing." "I havebeen baking a cake," said Helen, displaying the traces of heroccupation upon hands, arms, and apron, while Fresno, at sight ofthe blue apron tied at her throat and waist, felt that he himselfwas as dough in her hands. "I had a dreadful time to make itrise."

  "Early rising is always unpopular."

  "How clever you are this morning."

  "If I were a cake I would rise at your lightest word."

  "The cook said it wouldn't be fit to eat," declared Helen.

  "Jealousy! She hadn't been up long."

  "And I _did_ leave a lot of dishes to wash after I hadfinished," Miss Blake admitted.

  "I should love to eat your cooking."

  "Once in a while, perhaps, but not every day."

  "Every day--always and always. You know what I-mean, Miss Blake--Helen!" The young man bent a lover's gaze upon his companionuntil he detected her eyes fastened with startled inquiry uponhis toilet. Remembering, he buttoned his coat, but ran on. "Thisis the first chance I've had to see you alone since Speedarrived. There's something I want to ask you."

  "I--I know what it is," stammered Helen. "You want me to let yousing again. Please do. I love morning music--and your voice is sotender."

  "Life," said Berkeley, "is one sweet--"

  "What is going on here?" demanded a voice behind them, and Mrs.Keap came out upon the porch, eying the pair suspiciously. It wasevident that she, like Fresno, had dressed hurriedly.

  "Mr. Fresno is going to sing to us," explained the younger girl,quickly.

  "Really?"

  "I am like the bird that greets the morn with song," laughed thetenor, awkwardly.

  "What are you going to sing?" demanded the chaperon, stillsuspiciously. "_Dearie_."

  "Don't you know any other song?"

  "Oh yes, but they are all sad."

  "I'm getting a trifle tired of _Dearie_, let's have one ofthe others." Mrs. Keap turned her eyes anxiously toward thetraining-quarters, and it was patent that she had not countedupon this encounter. Noting her lack of ease, Fresno saidhopefully:

  "If you are going for a walk, I'll sing for you at some othertime."

  "Is Mr. Speed up yet?"

  "Up and gone. He'll be back soon."

  Then Mrs. Keap sank into the hammock, and with something likeresignation, said:

  "Proceed with the song."

  Along the road toward the ranch buildings plodded two dustypedestrians, one a blond youth bundled thickly in sweaters, theother a fat man who rolled heavily, and paused now and then tomop his purple face. Both were dripping as if from an immersion,while the air about the latter vibrated with heat waves. Theyboth stumbled as they walked, and it was only by the strongesteffort of will that they propelled themselves. As they neared thecorner of the big, low-lying ranch-house, already reflecting thehot glare of the morning sun, a man's clear tenor voice came tothem.

  "The volley was fired at sunrise, Just at the break of day"--

  "Did you get that?" one of the two exclaimed hoarsely. "They'repractising a death-march, and it's ours."

  "And as the echoes lingered, His soul had passed away."

  "That's you, Wally!" wheezed the trainer.

  "Into the arms of his Maker, There to learn his fate"--

  Speed broke into a run.

  "A tear, a sigh, a last 'Good-bye'-- The pardon came too late."

  "Here, what are you singing about?" angrily protested Speed, ashe rounded into view.

  "Oh, it's Mr. Speed!"

  "Good-morning!" chorused Helen and the chaperon.

  "Welcome to our city!" Fresno greeted.

  Glass tottered to the steps. "Them songs," he puffed, "is bad fora man when he's trainin'; they get him all worked up."

  "We had no idea you would be back so soon," apologized Helen.

  "Soon!" Speed measured the distance to a wicker chair, gave itup, and sank beside his trainer. "We left yesterday! We've runmiles and miles and miles!"

  "You can't be in very good shape," volunteered the singer.

  "Oh, is that so?" Glass retorted. "I say he's great. He got mygoat--and I'm some runner."

  "And I'd be obliged to you if you'd cut out those deeplyappealing songs." Speed glowered at his rival. It was Helen whohastened to smooth things.

  "It's all my fault. I asked Mr. Fresno to sing something new."

  "Bah! That was written by William Cromwell."

  "No more of them battle-hymns," Glass ordered. "They don't do Mr.Speed no good."

  "All I want is a drink," panted that youthful athlete, and Helenrose quickly, saying that she would bring ice-water.

  But the trainer barked, sharply: "Nix! I've told you that twentytimes, Wally. It'll put hob-nails in your liver." He rose withdifficulty, swaying upon his feet, and where he had sat was alarge, irregular shaped, sweat-dampened area. "Come on! Don't getchilled."

  "I'd give twenty dollars for a good chill!" exclaimed theoverheated college man longingly.

  "I would like to see you a moment, Mr. Speed." Roberta rose fromthe hammock.

  "Oh, and I've forgotten my--" Helen checked her words with astartled glance toward the kitchen. "It will be burned to acrisp." She hastened down the porch, and Fresno followed, whileSpeed looked after them.

  "He must be an awful nuisance to a nice girl. Think of a fat,sandy-haired husband in a five-room flat with pink wall-paper anda colored janitor. Run along, Muldoon," to Glass, "I'll be withyou in a moment."

  When the trainer had waddled out of hearing, Mrs. Keap inquired,eagerly:

  "Have you heard from Culver?"

  "Didn't you know about it?" Speed swallowed.

  Roberta shook her dark head.

  "He's in--he's detained at Omaha for ten days. I fixed it."

  The overwrought widow dropped back into the hammock, cryingweakly:

  "Oh, you dear, good boy!"

  "Yes, I'm all of that. I--I suppose I'd be missed if anythinghappened to me!"

  "How ever did you manage it?"

  "Never mind the details. It took some ingenuity."

  Mrs. Keap wrung her hands. "I was so terribly frightened! Yousee, Jack will be back to-morrow, and I--was afraid--"

  There was a call from Glass from the training-quarters.

  "How can I ever do enough for you? You have averted a tragedy!"

  "Don't let Helen know, that's all. If she thought I'd been thehead yeller--"

  "I won't breathe a word, and I hope you win the race for hersake."

  Mrs. Keap pressed the hand of her deliverer, who trudged hislonely way toward the gymnasium, where Glass was saying:

  "'The volley was fired at sunrise.' That means Saturday, Bo."

  "Larry, you're the best crepe-hanger of your weight in theworld."

  Larry bent a look of open disgust upon his employer.

  "And you're a good runner, you are," said he. "Why, _I_ beatyou this morning."

  The younger man glanced up hopefully. "Couldn't you beat thiscook?"

  "You're the only man in this world I can outrun.

  "'A tear, a sigh, a last good-bye.'"

  "_Shut up!_"

  As Glass consented to do this, the speaker mused, bitterly,"'Early to bed and early to rise.' I wish I had the night-watchman who wrote those words."

  "Didn't you never see the sun rise before?"

  "Certainly not. I don't stay up that late."

  "Well, ain't it beautiful!" The stout man turned admiring eyes tothe eastward, and his husky voice softened. "All them colors andtints and shades and stuff! And New York on the other end!"

  "I'm too tired to see beauty in anything." As if mindful of aneglected duty, Glass turned upon him. "What are you waiting for?Get those dog-beds off your back." He seized the slack of asweater and gave it a
jerk.

  "Don't be so rough; I'll come. You might care to remember you'reworking for me."

  "I am working"--Glass dragged his protege about the roomregardless of complaints that were muffled by the thickness ofthe sweaters--"for my life, and I'll be out of a job Saturday.Now, get under that shower!"