"No voylence yet, Will! What d'you mean, Mr. Speed?"
Speed uttered what he knew was his final joke on earth. "I meanthat I refuse to run straightaway. I'm an all-around athlete, andI must run all around something."
Amid shouts of confusion, those who had taken positions along thecourse came crowding back to the starting-point. Willie wrappedhis legs about the top rail of the fence and drew a secondrevolver, while the two foremen bellowed indistinguishablethreats at each other. Chapin lost no time in withdrawing hisguests out of the turmoil, but Helen kept her place, her facechalky but her eyes very bright.
"What are you tryin' to hand us?" roared Gallagher.
Still Bill was quick to take a cue. "Don't get hectic!" said he."There's nothin' in the articles about runnin' straight. Let 'emrun around the corral." But at this suggestion every voice seemedto break out simultaneously.
"Humpy Joe ran straightaway," declared Gallagher.
"Yes, an' he kept at it," piped Willie. "I favor the idea of themrunners comin' back where they start from."
"Listen, all of you," Speed announced. "I am going to run aroundand around and around this corral. If Mr. Skinner chooses toaccompany me, he may trail along; otherwise I shall run alone."
"Never heerd of such a thing!" Gallagher was dancing in hisexcitement, but Skinner calmed him by announcing, curtly:
"I'll beat him any way he wants to run."
"You couldn't beat a rug," retorted Wally, and Glass suddenlysmote his palms together, crying, blankly:
"I forgot the rug!"
"We don't want no arg'ment afterwards. Does the Centipede acceptits fate?" Still Bill glared at the faces ringed about him.
"We do if Skinner says so."
"Twice around the corral," agreed Skinner. "But no accidents,understand? If he falls, I keep going."
Instantly there ensued a scramble for grand-stand seats; thecowboys swarmed like insects upon the stout fence of the corral.
"Then you'll start and finish here. Once y'all pass we'll stretcha string to yonder post, and the first man to bust it wins. Who'sgot a string?"
"Mr. Gallagher, won't you use my sash?" Helen quickly unfastenedthe long blue bow of ribbon from her cotton gown, and Gallagherthanked her, adding:
"Moreover, the winner gets it!"
For the first time, then, Skinner addressed Miss Blake.
"Hadn't you better make that the loser, miss? The winner gets thecoin," and the assent came in a flashing smile from sky-blueeyes.
"Then the loser gets the ribbon!" Gallagher announced loudly, andmade one end fast to the corral. "Which I call han'some treatmentfor Mr. Speed, an' only wish we might retain it at the Centipedeas a remembrance. Are the runners ready?"
Those near the starting-line gave room. Skinner stepped quicklyout from his blanket, and stamped his spikes into the soil; heraised and lowered himself on his toes to try his muscles. Speeddrew his bath-robe from his shoulders and thrust it toward histrainer, who shook his head.
"Give it to Covington, Bo; I won't be here when you come back."
"Get on your marks!" The starter gave his order.
Speed set his spikes into the dirt, brought his weight forwardupon his hands. He whispered something to Skinner. That gentlemanstraightened up, whereupon Willie cried for a second time:
"On your marks!" and again Skinner crouched.
"Get set!"
The crowd filled its lungs and waited. Helen Blake buried hernails in her rosy cold palms. Chapin and his friends were swayedby their heart-beats, while even Fresno was balanced upon histoes, his plump face eager. The click of Willie's gun soundedsharp as he cocked it.
Into the ear close by his cheek Speed again whispered anagonized--
"Don't forget to fall down!"
This time the cook of the Centipede leaped backward with an angrysnarl, while the crowd took breath.
"Make him quit talking to me!" cried Skinner.
Gallagher uttered an imprecation and strode forward, only to havehis way once more barred by Still Bill Stover. "He can talk if hewants to."
"There is nothing," Speed pointed out with dignity, "in thearticles to forbid talking. If I wished to, I could sing. Yes, orwhistle, if I felt like it."
"_On your marks!"_ came the rasping voice of Willie as Wallymurmured to Skinner:
"Remember, I trust you."
Skinner ground his teeth; the tendons in his calves stood outrigidly.
"Get set!"
Once more the silence of death wrapped the beholders, and Willieraised his arm. Speed cast one lingering farewell glance to theskies, and said, devoutly: "What a beautiful, beautiful day!"
Now the starter was shaking in an ague of fury.
"Listen, you!" he chattered, shrilly. "I'm goin' to shoot twicethis time--once in the air, and the next time at the nearestfoot-runner. Now, _get set_!" and the speaker pulledtrigger, whereupon Speed leaped as if the bullet had been aimedat him.
Instantly a full-lunged roar went up that rolled away to thefoot-hills, and the runners sped out of the pandemonium, theirlegs twinkling against the dust-colored prairie. Down to the turnthey raced. Speed was leading. Fright had acted upon him as anelectric charge; his terror lent him wings; he was obsessed by apropelling force outside of himself. Naturally strong, lithe, andactive, he likewise possessed within him the white-hot flame ofyouth, and now, with a nameless fear to spurn him on, he ran asany healthy, frightened young animal would run. At the secondturn Skinner had not passed him, but the thud of his feet wasclose behind.
This unparalleled phenomenon surprised Lawrence Glass perhapsmost of all. He had laid his plans to slip quietly out of thecrowd under cover of the first confusion and lay his own courseeastward; but when he beheld his protege actually in the lead, heremained rooted to his tracks. Was this a miracle? He turned toCovington, to find him dancing madly, his crutches waving overhis head, in his eyes the stare of a maniac. His mouth wasdistended, and Glass reasoned that he must be shouting violently,but could not be sure. Suddenly Covington dashed to the turnwhence the runners would be revealed as they covered the lasthalf lap, for nothing was distinguishable through the fence,burdened by human forms, and Larry lumbered after him, ploughinghis way through the crowd and colliding with the box upon whichstood the Echo Phonograph, of New York and Paris. He hurledMariedetta out of his path with brutal disregard, but even beforehe could reach his point of vantage the sprinters burst into thehomestretch. Larry Glass saw it all at a glance--Speed wasweakening, while Skinner was running easily. Nature had done herutmost; she could not work the impossible. As they tore past,Skinner was ahead.
The air above the corral became blackened with hats as if a flockof vultures had wheeled suddenly; the shriek of triumph that rosefrom the Centipede ranks warned the trainer that he had tarriedtoo long. Heavily he set off across the prairie for New York.
The memory of that race awakened Speed from his slumbers manytimes in later years. When he found the brown shoulder of hisrival drawing past he realized that for him the end of all thingswas at hand. And yet, be it said to his credit, he held doggedlyto his task, and began to fight his waning strength with reneweddetermination. Down through the noisy crowd he pounded at theheels of his antagonist, then out upon the second lap. But nowhis fatigue increased rapidly, and as it increased, so didSkinner's lead. At the second turn Wally was hopelesslyoutdistanced, and began to sob with fury, in anticipation of thelast, long, terrible stretch. Back toward the final turn theycame, the college man desperately laboring, the cook striding onlike a machine. Wally saw the rows of forms standing upon thefence, but of the shouting he heard nothing. Skinner was twentyyards ahead now, and flung a look back over his shoulder. As heturned into the last straightaway he looked back again andgrinned triumphantly.
Then--J. Wallingford Speed gasped, and calling upon his uttermostatom of strength, quickened the strides of his leaden legs.Skinner had fallen!
A shriek of exultation came from the Flying Heart followers; itdied as the unfortunate man
struggled to his feet, and was offagain before his opponent had overtaken him. Down the alley ofhuman forms the two came; then as their man drew ahead for aninstant or two, such a bedlam broke forth from Gallagher's crewthat Lawrence Glass, well started on his overland trip, judgedthat the end had come.
But Skinner wavered. His ankle turned for a second time; heseemed about to fall once more. Then he righted himself, but hecame on hobbling.
The last thirty yards contained the tortures of a lifetime toWally Speed. His lungs were bursting, his head was rolling, everystep required a separate and concentrated effort of will. He knewhe was wobbling, and felt his knees ready to buckle beneath him,but he saw the blue, tight-stretched ribbon just ahead, andcontinued to lessen the gap between himself and Skinner until hefelt he must reach out wildly and grasp at the other man'sclothing. Helen's face stood out from the blur, and her lipscried to him. He plunged forward, his outflung arm tore theribbon from its fastening, and he fell. But Skinner was behindhim.
CHAPTER XVIII
The only thing in the world that the victorious Speed wanted wasto lie down and stretch out and allow those glowing coals in hischest to cool off. But rough hands seized him, and he foundhimself astride of Stover's shoulders and gyrating about the EchoPhonograph in the midst of a war-dance. He kicked violently withhis spiked shoes, whereat the foreman bucked like a wild horseunder the spur and dropped him, and he staggered out of thecrowd, where a girl flew to him.
"Oh, Wally," she cried, "I knew you could!" He sank to theground, and she knelt beside him.
Skinner was propped against the corral fence opposite, his facedistorted with suffering, and Gallagher was rubbing his ankle.
"'Taint broke, I reckon," said Gallagher, rising. "I wish to hellit was!" He stared disgustedly at his fallen champion, and added:"We don't want y'all for a cook no more, Skinner. You never wasno good nohow." He turned to Helen and handed her a doublehandful of bank-notes, as Berkeley Fresno buried his hands in hispockets and walked away. "Here's your coin, miss. If ever you getanother hunch, let me know. An' here's yours, Mr. Speed; it's aweddin'-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, andheld out his hand, whereat the cook winked his left eye gravely.
"The best man won," said Skinner, "and say--there's a parson atAlbuquerque." Then he groaned loudly, and fell to massaging hisfoot.
There came a fluttering by his side, and Miss Blake's voice saidto him, with sweetness and with pity: "I'm so sorry you lost yourposition, 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 theribbon, miss," he explained gallantly.
Off to the right there came a new outcry, and far across thelevel prairie a strange sight was revealed to the beholders. Afat man in white flannels was doubling and dodging ahead of twohorsemen, and even from a considerable distance it could plainlybe seen that he was behaving with remarkable agility for one soheavy. Repeatedly his pursuers headed him off, but he rushed pastthem, seemingly possessed by the blind sense of direction thatguides the homing pigeon or the salmon in its springtime run. Hewas 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 uponGlass, his lariat swinging about his head. Lazily the ropeuncoiled and settled over the fleeing figure, then, amid a cloudof dust, Carara's horse set itself upon its haunches and thewhite-clad figure came to the end of its flight. There was aviolent struggle, as if the cowboy had hooked a leaping tuna,cactus plants and sage-brush were uprooted, then the pony beganto back away, always keeping the lariat taut. But Glass was noeasy captive, as his threshing arms and legs betrayed, and evenwhen he was dragged back to the scene of the race, panting,grimy, dishevelled, the rope still about his waist, he seemedobsessed by that wild insanity for flight. He was drenched withperspiration, his collar was dangling, one end of a suspendertrailed behind him.
At sight of Speed he uttered a cry, then plunged through thecrowd like a bull, but the lariat loop slipped to his neck andtightened 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 stranglingvoice.
"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 inthe hammock, and much of the time her hand was in his. The breathof the hills wandered to them idly, fragrant with the odors ofthe open fields, the heavens were bright with dancing stars, thenight itself was made for romance. From the bunk-house across thecourt-yard floated the voice of the beloved Echo Phonograph, nowsad, now gay; now shrilling the peaceful air with Mme. Melba's_Holy City_, now waking the echoes with the raspingreflections of _Silas on Fifth Avenue._ To the spellboundaudience gathered close beside it, it was divine; but deep as wastheir satisfaction, it could not compare with that of the tiredyoung son of Eli. Ineffable peace and contentment were his; thewhole wide world was full of melody.
"And now that I've told you what a miserable fraud I am, youwon't stop loving me?" he questioned.
Helen nestled closer and shook her head. There was no need forwords.
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 issplendid!"
"Yes, so nice and moonlight!" Wally agreed pleasantly, whereatJack Chapin laughed.
"It's as black as pitch."
"Why, so it is!" Then as a fresh song burst forth from the veryheart of the machine, he murmured affectionately: "By Jove! theregoes _The Baggage Coach Ahead_ once more! That makes tentimes."
"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.
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