Going Some

by Beach, Rex Ellingwood

  The figure dropped noiselessly to the floor inside the room, and cried, in a strange voice:

  "Lock those doors! Quick!"

  Finding that it was no hallucination, Speed rose, calling out:

  "Who are you?"

  "Sh-h-h!" The stranger darted across the room and bolted both doors, while the other felt a chill of apprehension at these sinister precautions. He grasped his revolver firmly while his heart thumped. The fellow's appearance was anything but reassuring: he was swarthy and sun-browned, his clothes were ragged, his overalls were patched; instead of a coat, he wore a loosely flapping vest over a black sateen shirt, long since rusted out to a nondescript brown.

  "I've been trying to get to you for a week," announced the mysterious visitor hoarsely.

  "W-what do you want? Who are you?"

  "I'm Skinner, cook for the Centipede."

  "The man I race?"

  "Not so loud." Skinner was training for the faintest sound from the direction of the mess-house.

  "I'll kill him!" exulted the Eastern lad. But the other forestalled a murder by running on, rapidly:

  "Listen, now! Humpy and I jobbed this gang last month; we're pardners, see? He's got another race framed at Pocatello, and I want to make a get-away—"

  "Yes! yes! y-you needn't stay here—on my account."

  "Now don't let's take any chances to-morrow, see? We're both out for the coin. What do you want to do—win or lose?" Skinner jumped back to the door and listened.

  "What?"

  "Don't stall!" the stranger cried, impatiently. "Will I win or will you? What's it worth?" He clipped his words short, his eyes darted furtive glances here and there.

  "Can I win?" gasped Speed.

  "You can if there's enough in it for me. I'm broke, see? You bet five hundred, and we'll cut it two ways."

  "I-I haven't that much with me."

  "Borrow it. Don't be a boob. Meet me in Albuquerque Sunday, and we'll split there."

  "Is that all I have to do?"

  "Certainly. What's the matter with you, anyhow?" Skinner cast a suspicious glance at his companion.

  "I-I guess I'm rattled—it's all so sudden."

  "Of course you'll have to run, fast enough so we don't tip off."

  "How fast is that?"

  "Oh, ten-four," carelessly. "That's what Humpy and I did."

  "Ten and four-fifths-seconds?"

  "Certainly. Don't kid me! They're liable to break in on us." Skinner stepped to the window, but Speed halted him with a trembling hand and a voice of agony.

  "Mr. Skinner, I-I can't run that fast. F-fifteen is going some for me."

  "What!" Skinner stared at his opponent strangely. "That's right.

  I'm a lemon."

  "Ain't you the Yale champ? The guy that goes under 'even time'?"

  Wally shook his head. "I'm his chum. I couldn't catch a cramp."

  The brown face of the Centipede sprinter split into a grin, his eyes gleamed. "Then I'll win," said he. "I'm the sucker, but I'll make good. Get your money down, and I'll split with you."

  "No, no! Not you! Me! I must win!" Speed clutched his caller desperately.

  "All right, I'll frame anything; but I can't run any slower than

  I did with Joe and make a live of it. They'd shoot us both."

  "But there's a girl in this-a girl I love. It means more than mere life."

  Skinner was plainly becoming nervous at the length of the interview.

  "Couldn't you fall down?" inquired the younger man, timidly.

  The cook laughed derisively. "I could fall down twice and beat you in fifteen." After an instant's thought:

  "Say, there's one chance, if we don't run straight away. There's a corral out where we race; you insist on running around it, see? There's nothing in the articles about straight-aways. That'll kid 'em on the time. If I get too far ahead, I'll fall down."

  "B-but will you stay down? Till I catch up?"

  "Sure! Leave it to me."

  "You won't forget, or anything like that?"

  "Certainly not. But no rough work in front of the cowboys, understand? Sh-h!"

  Skinner vaulted lightly through the window, landing in the dirt outside without a sound. "Somebody coming," he whispered. "Understand Merchants' Hotel, Albuquerque, noon, Sunday." And the next instant he had vanished into the dusk, leaving behind him a youth half hysterical with hope.

  Out of the blackest gloom had come J. Wallingford Speed's deliverance, and he did not pause to consider the ethics involved. If he had he would have told himself that by Skinner's own confession the Centipede had won through fraud at the first race; if they were paid back in their own coin now it would be no more than tardy justice. With light heart he hastened to replace the borrowed revolver in the bunk-room just as voices coming nearer betokened the arrival of his friends from the house. As he stepped out into the night he came upon Jack Chapin.

  "Hello, Wally!"

  "Hello, Jack!" They shook hands, while the owner of the Flying

  Heart continued.

  "I've just got in, and they've been telling me about this foot- race. What in the deuce is the matter with you, anyhow? Why didn't you let me know?"

  The girls drew closer, and Speed saw that Miss Blake was pale.

  "I wouldn't have allowed it for a minute. Now, of course, I'm going to call it off."

  "Oh, Jack, dear, you simply can't!" exclaimed his sister. "You've no idea the state the boys are in."

  "They'll never let you, Chapin," supplemented Fresno.

  The master laughed shortly. "They won't, eh? Who is boss here,

  I'd like to know?"

  "They've bet a lot of money. And you know how they feel about that phonograph."

  "It's the most idiotic thing I ever heard of. Whatever possessed you, Wally? If the men make a row, I'll have to smuggle you and Glass over to the railroad to-night."

  "I'm for that," came the voice of Larry.

  "I suppose it's all my fault," Miss Blake began wretchedly, whereat the object of their general solicitude took on an aspect of valor.

  "Say, what is all this fuss about? I don't want to be smuggled anywhere, thank you!"

  "I may not be able to square my men," Chapin reiterated. "It may have gone too far."

  "Square! Square! Why should you do any squaring? I'm not going to run-away." Miss Blake clasped her hands and breathed a sigh. "I've got to stay here and run a foot-race to-morrow."

  "Don't be a fool, Wally!" Covington added his voice to the others.

  Speed whirled angrily. "I don't need your advice—convict!" The champion hobbled hastily out of range. "I know what I'm doing. I'm going to run tomorrow, and I stand a good chance to win."

  Mr. Fresno, if he had been a girl, would have been said to have giggled.

  "All right, Dearie! I'll bet you five hundred dollars—" as there emerged from the darkness, whence they had approached unseen, Stover, and behind him the other men.

  "Evenin'! What's all the excitement?" greeted the leader, softly.

  The master of the ranch stepped forward.

  "See here, Bill, I'm sorry, but I won't stand for this foot- race."

  "Why not?" queried the foreman.

  "I just won't, that's all. You'll have to call it off."

  "I'm sorry, too."

  "You refuse?" The owner spoke ominously.

  "You bet he does!" Willie pushed himself forward. "This foot-race is ordained, and it comes off on time. I make bold to inquire if you're talkin' for our runner?"

  "Gentlemen, I can only say to you that for myself I want to run!" declared Speed.

  "Then you'll run."

  "I refuse to allow it," Chapin declared, and instantly there was an angry murmur; but before it could take definite form, Speed spoke up with equal decisiveness.

  "You can't refuse to let me run, Jack. There are reasons"—he searched Miss Blake's countenance—"why I must run—and win. And win I shall!" Turning, he stalked away into the darkness, and there follow
ed him a shout of approbation from the ranchmen.

  Jack Chapin threw up his hands.

  "I've done my best."

  "The man's mad!" cried Covington, but Fresno was nearer the truth. "Nothing of the sort," he remarked, and struck a match; "he's bluffing!"

  As for Helen Blake, she shook her fair head and smiled into the night.

  "You are all wrong," she said. "I know!"

  CHAPTER XVI

  The day of the race dawned bright and fair, without a cloud to mar its splendor. As the golden morning wore on, a gradual excitement became apparent among the cowboys, increasing as the hours passed, and as they prepared with joy to invade their rival's territory; nevertheless, the vigilant watch upon their champion did not relax. Theirs was an attitude of confidence tinged with caution.

  It was some time after midnight that Lawrence Glass had been the cause of a wild alarm that brought the denizens of the ranch out in night apparel. Jack Chapin, awakened by a cry for help, had found him in the hands of Carara and Cloudy, who had been doing night duty in accordance with Stover's orders. What with the trainer's loud complaints, the excited words of his captors, and the confusion resulting when the bunk-house emptied itself of men half clad, it had taken the ranch-owner some time to discover that Glass had been surprised in the act of escaping. It seemed that the sentries, seeing a figure skulking past the white adobe walls of the house, had called upon it to halt. There had been a dash for liberty, then a furious struggle before the intruder's identity became clear, and but for Chapin's prompt arrival upon the scene violence would inevitably have resulted. As it was, the owner had difficulty in restraining his men, who saw in this significant effort a menace to their hopes.

  "I tell you, I'm walkin' in my sleep," declared Glass for the twentieth time.

  "Caramba! You try for get away," stormed the Mexican. "Pig!"

  "Not a bit like it! I've been a sonnambulust ever since I'm a baby."

  "Why didn't you answer when we called?" Cloudy demanded.

  "How can I talk when I'm sound asleep?"

  "If you couldn't hear us call, why did you run?"

  "Now have a little sense, pal. A sleep-walker don't know what he's doin'."

  "Since there's no harm done, you'd better all go back to bed," Chapin advised. "Mr. Glass has the liberty of the ranch, boys, night or day, asleep or awake."

  "Looks to me like he was tryin' to elope some." Stover balanced upon one bare foot, and undertook to remove a sand-burr from the other. In the darkness he seemed supernaturally tall, so that Glass hastened to strengthen his story.

  "I was walkin' in my sleep as nice as you please when those rummies lep' on me. Say! You know that's dangerous; you can kill a guy wakin' him up so sudden."

  "There's easier ways than that," spoke Willie from the gloom.

  "It's a yap trick just the same. I was in the middle of a swell dream, too."

  "Come, come, Stover, get your boys back to bed! We'll have the whole ranch up with this noise."

  Chapin himself led Glass around the house, while that gentleman made no offer to explain the dream which had prompted him to pack his suit-case before letting himself out of the training- quarters. Once safely back in the gymnasium, he sat up till dawn, a prey to frightful visions which the comfortable morning light did not serve to dissipate.

  Wally Speed slept serenely through the whole disturbance, and was greatly amused at the story when he awoke. He was sorely tempted to make known his agreement with Skinner, and put an end to his trainer's agony of mind; but he recalled Skinner's caution, and reflected that the slightest indiscretion might precipitate a tragedy. For the first time since the beginning of the adventure he was perfectly at ease, and the phenomenon added to his trainer's dismay.

  Others beside Lawrence Glass were apprehensive. Culver Covington, for instance, was plainly upset, while Roberta Keap pleaded headache and had her breakfast served in her room.

  It was shortly afterward that she appeared in the gymnasium doorway, and cried, in an accusing voice:

  "Well, Mr. Speed!"

  "Yes, quite well."

  "You traitor!"

  "You modern Borgia! Didn't you go and tell Helen everything?"

  "Didn't you promise to stop Culver?"

  "I did. I had him thrown in jail at Omaha. What more could I do?"

  "You did try? Honestly?" Mrs. Keap allowed her indignation to abate slightly. "If I had known that, I wouldn't have told Helen. I'm sorry you didn't explain. I was angry—furious. And I was frightened so!" She broke down suddenly. "What shall I do about them? I can see what they want to say, and yet I daren't let either speak a word."

  "Mrs. Keap, are you sure Culver loves you?"

  "Horribly! And he suspects the truth. I saw him change the moment he found me here." Roberta began to weep; two limpid tears stole down her cheeks, she groped for a chair, and Wally hastened to her assistance. As he supported her, she gave way completely and bowed her head upon his shoulder.

  It was in perfect keeping with the luck of things that Miss Blake should enter at the moment. She had come with Jack and his sister to inquire regarding the fitness of her champion and to nerve him for the contest, and she stood aghast. Chapin stepped forward with a look of suspicion, inquiring:

  "What's going on here?"

  Miss Blake spoke brightly, tinkling ice in her voice.

  "There's no necessity for an explanation, is there? It seems time for congratulations."

  "Oh, see here now! Mrs. Keap's really engaged to Culver, you know."

  "Culver!"

  "Culver!"

  Both the young ranchman and his sister stared at the chaperon with growing horror, while she undertook to explain; but the blow had fallen so swiftly that her words were incoherent, and in the midst of them her hostess turned and fled from the room.

  "Now don't begin to aviate until you understand the truth," Speed continued. "While she's engaged to that broken-toed serpent, she doesn't love him, do you see?" He smiled.

  "I do not see!"

  "It was simply a habit Mrs. Keap had got into—I should say it was an impulsive engagement that she has repented of."

  "No doubt she was repenting when we interrupted you," said Miss

  Blake, bitterly.

  Then Chapin added, helplessly: "But Culver is engaged to my sister Jean!"

  "Jean!" Mrs. Keap exposed her tragic face. "Then—he deceived me! Oh-h! What wretches men are!" The widow commenced to sob.

  Outside came Miss Chapin's voice: "So here you are, Mr. Covington!" And the next moment she reappeared, dragging the crippled champion behind her. Thrusting him toward Roberta, she pouted: "There, Mrs. Keap! I give him back to you."

  "Perhaps you'd better go on with your explanations," Chapin suggested, coldly, to Speed.

  "How can I when you won't listen to me? Hear ye! Hear ye! Culver was engaged to marry Mrs. Keap, but she discovered what a reprobate he is—"

  There was indistinguishable dissent of some sort from Mr.

  Covington.

  "—and she learned to detest him!"

  Mrs. Keap likewise dissented in accents muffled.

  "Well, she would have learned to detest him in a short time, because she's in love with Jack Chapin; so she came to old Doctor Speed in her troubles, and he promised to fix it all up. Now I guess you four can do the rest of the explaining. Let this be a lesson to all of you. If you ever get in trouble, come to the match-making kid. I'll square it."

  They were four happy young people, and they lost no time in escaping elsewhere. When they had gone, their benefactor said to Miss Blake:

  "Wouldn't you like to make that a triple wedding? We might get club rates."

  For answer Miss Blake hurried to the door and was gone.

  Over at the Centipede there was a great activity and yet a certain idleness also, as if it had been a holiday. The men hung about in groups listening to the peripatetic phonograph. A dozen or more outsiders had ridden over from the post-office to witness the con
test. Out by the corral, which stood close to the first break of the foot-hills, Skinner was superintending the laying out of a course, selecting a stretch of level ground worn smooth and hard by the tread of countless hoofs.

  "Makes a pretty good track, eh?" he said to Gallagher. "I wonder how fast this feller is? Ever heard?"

  "They seem to think he's a whirlin' ball of fire, but that don't worry you none, does it?" Gallagher bent his lead-blue eyes upon the cook, who shrugged carelessly, and Gallagher smiled; he was forced to admit that his man did not appear to be one easily frightened. Skinner's face was hard, his lips thin, his jaw was not that of a weakling. He had dressed early, then wrapped a horse-blanket about his shoulders, and now, casting this aside, sprinted down the dirt track for a few yards to test the footing, while Gallagher watched him with satisfaction—a thing of steel and wire, as tough, as agile, and as spirited as a range-raised cow-pony. He was unshaven, his running-trunks were cut from a pair of overalls, held up at the waist by a section of window- cord, and his chest was scantily covered by an undershirt from which the sleeves had been pulled. But when he returned to pick up his blanket Gallagher noted approvingly that he was not even breathing heavily. With a knowledge confined mainly to live- stock, the foremen inquried:

  "How's your laigs? I like to see 'em hairy, that-a-way; it's a sign of stren'th. I bet this college boy is as pink as a maiden's palm! He don't look to me like he could run."

  "They fool you sometimes," said Skinner. "By-the-way, what have you bet?"

  "We laid the phonograph agin their treasures an' trappin's—"

  "But how much money?"

  "We got three hundred pesos down, but they sent word they was comin' loaded for b'ar, so we rustled five hundred more."

  Skinner's eyes gleamed. "I wish I had a couple of hundred to bet on myself."

  "Broke, eh?"

  "I'm as clean as a hound's tooth."

  "I'm sorry y'all tossed off your wages, but"—Gallagher started suspiciously—"say! I reckon that won't affect your runnin' none, will it?"