Going Some

  "Say," he said, pointing a finger, "who's that?"

  "Skinner, the man I run."

  Glass groaned. "His name ain't Skinner; that's 'Whiz' Long. Sixyears ago I saw him win the Sheffield Handicap from scratch innine-three." Then, as Speed did not seem to be particularlypressed, "Don't you understand, Wally? He's a pro; this is hisgame!"

  To which the younger man replied, serenely and happily, "It'sfixed."

  "What's fixed?"

  "The race. It' s all arranged--framed."

  "Who framed it? How? When?"

  "Sh-h! I did. Yesterday; by stealth; I fixed it."

  "You win from 'Whiz' Long, and you can't run under fifteen?"

  Wally nodded. "I told him that--it's all right."

  "You told him?" Glass staggered. "It's all right? Say! Don't youknow he's the fastest, crookedest, cheatingest, double-crossingest--why, he just came to feel you out!"

  And Speed turned dizzy.

  "And you fell for that old stuff!" Larry's voice was tremblingwith anger and disgust. "Why, that's part of his 'work.' He'sdouble-crossed every runnin' mate he ever had. He'd cheat hismother. Wait!"

  Skinner had left the crowd, and was seated now in the shade ofthe corral fence. He glanced upward from beneath his black browsas Larry reached and greeted him. "Hello, Whiz! I just 'made'you--" Then he shook his head.

  "I haven't got you. My name is Skinner."

  "Nix on that monaker," Glass smiled, indulgently. "I had a man inthat Sheffield Handicap six years ago."

  "You're in bad," asserted the cook steadily, "but assuming thatmy name _is_ Long--"

  "I didn't say your name was 'Long.' I called you 'Whiz.'" Glasschuckled at the point as he scored it. "Now come in; be good."

  Skinner darted a look toward Gallagher and the Centipede mengathered about the shrilling phonograph, stooped and tied hisshoes, and breathed softly:

  "Spiel!"

  "This little feller I'm trainin'--does he win?"

  Without an upward glance, Skinner inquired:

  "Did the man you trained for the Sheffield Handicap win?"

  "Never mind that. Does this frame-up go through?" It happenedthat Speed, drawn irresistibly, had come forward to hang uponevery word, and now chose this moment to interrupt.

  "It's all right, Mr. Skinner--" But Skinner leaped to his feet.

  "Don't try anything like that!" he cried, in a terrible voicethat brought Gabby Gallagher striding toward them.

  "What's goin' on here? Are they try in' to fix you, Skinner?"

  "Not a bit like it," Glass protested stoutly. "I only asked himwhich side he'd rather run on, and now he calls for policeprotection."

  "Don't try it again, that's all!" the cook warned, sullenly.

  "I reckon I'll take a hand in this!" Gallagher was in a finerage, and would have fallen upon the offender had not Stoverstepped in his path.

  "I reckon you won't!" he said easily.

  The two glared at each other, and were standing thus when Speedand his trainer moved gently off. They made their way to thehouse in comparative silence. "I--I made a mistake," said Wally.

  "You've been jobbed like you was a baby," said Glass. "Thereain't but one thing to do now. Go into the house and change yourclothes, and when you get ready to run, get ready to run for yourlife--and mine." Over on the race-course Gallagher was inquiring:

  "Who's goin' to send these y'ere athaletes away?"

  "I am!" announced Willie without hesitation "Bein' perhaps thehandiest man present with a weepon, I'm goin' to start thisjourney." He looked his foes squarely in the eyes. "Has anybodygot objections to me?" The silence was nattering, and more loudlynow, so that Skinner might hear, he added: "If your man tries tobeat the gun, I'll have him wingin' his way to lands celestialbefore he makes his second jump."

  Gallagher acknowledged the fairness of this proposition. "Thisrace is goin' to be squar'," said he. "We're ready when y'allare."

  J. Wallingford Speed stepped out of his clothes and into hissilken running-suit. He was numb and cold. His hands performedtheir duties to be sure, but his brain was idle. All he knew wasthat he had been betrayed and all was lost. He heard Glasspanting instructions into his ear, but they made no impressionupon him. In a dull trance he followed his trainer back to thetrack, his eyes staring, his bones like water. Not until he heardthe welcoming shout of the Flying Heart henchmen did he realizethat the worst was yet to come. He heard Larry still coachingearnestly: "If you can't bite him, trip him up," and some onesaid:

  "Are we ready?"

  Glass held out his hand. "Good-bye, Mr. Speed."

  Chapin came forward and spoke with artificial heartiness, "Good-luck, Wally; beat him at the start," and Covington followed.

  "Remember," he cautioned, sadly, "what I told you about thestart--it's your only chance."

  "Why don't you fellows think about the finish of this race?"faltered the runner.

  Then, in a voice broken with excitement, Helen Blake spoke,holding out her hand for a good-bye clasp. "Dear Mr. Speed," shesaid, "will you try to remember this?--remember to run before hedoes, and don't let him catch up to you. If you do that, I just_know_ you'll win."

  This magnificent display of confidence nerved the athlete, and hesmiled at her. He wished to speak, but dared not trust himself.

  Gallagher was calling; so he went to the starting-point, whencehe surveyed the course. There it lay, no more than a lane leadingdown between ranks of brown-faced men whose eyes were turned uponhim. On the top rail of the corral perched Willie, revolver inhand. The babble of voices ceased, the strident laughter stilled,Speed heard the nervous Tustle of feminine skirts. Skinner wasstanding like a statue, his toe to the mark, his eyes averted.

  "You'll start here and run a hundred yards out yonder to thetape," Gallagher announced.

  "I refuse!" said Speed firmly.

  For one breathless instant there was a hush of amazement, then acry of rage. Still Bill Stover hurled the nearest man out of hispath, and stode forward, his lean face ablaze. He wheeled andflung up his hand as if to check some hidden movement ofWillie's.