Going Some

by Rex Beach

  CHAPTER IV

  It was on the following morning that Miss Blake made bold torequest her favor from J. Wallingford Speed. They had succeededin isolating themselves upon the vine-shaded gallery at the rearof the house, and the conversation had been largely of athletics,but this, judging from the rapt expression of the girl, was asubject of surpassing interest. Speed, quick to take a cue,plunged on.

  "I would have made the Varsity basket-ball team myself if Ihadn't been so tiny," said Helen. "I have always wanted to betall, like Roberta."

  "I shouldn't care for that," said the young man.

  "You know she was a wonderful player?"

  "So I've heard."

  "Do you know," mused Helen, "I have never forgotten what you toldme that first day we met. I think it was perfectly lovely ofyou."

  "What was that?" Now it must be admitted that J. WallingfordSpeed, in his relations with the other sex, frequently foundhimself in a position requiring mental gymnastics of a highorder; but, as a rule, his memory was good, and he seldom crossedhis own trail, so to speak. In this instance he was utterlywithout remembrance, however, and hence was non-committal.

  "What you told me about your friendship for Mr. Covington. Ithink it is very unselfish of you."

  "Oh, I wouldn't say that," ventured the young man, vainly rackinghis brain. "Nobody could help liking Culver."

  "Yes; but how many men would step aside and let their best friendwin prize after prize and never undertake to compete againsthim?" Speed blushed faintly, as any modest man might have done.

  "Did I tell you that?" he inquired.

  "Indeed you did."

  "Then please don't speak of it to a mortal soul. I must have saida great deal that first day, but--"

  "But I _have_ spoken of it, and I said I thought it was fineof you."

  "You have spoken of it?"

  "Yes; I told Jean."

  The Yale man undertook to change the conversation abruptly, butMiss Blake was a determined young lady. She continued:

  "Of course, it was very magnanimous of you to always step asidein favor of your best friend; but it isn't fair to yourself--itreally isn't. And so I have arranged a little plan whereby youcan do something to prove your prowess, and still not interferewith Mr. Covington in the least."

  Speed cleared his throat nervously. "Tell me," he said, "what itis."

  And Miss Blake told him the story of the shocking treachery ofHumpy Joe, together with the miserable undoing of the FlyingHeart. "Why, those poor fellows are broken-hearted," sheconcluded. "Their despair over losing that talking-machine wouldbe funny if it were not so tragic. I told them you would win itback for them. And you will, won't you? Please!" She turned herblue eyes upon him appealingly, and the young man was lost.

  "I'll take ten chances," he said. "Where does the raffle comeoff?"

  "Oh, it isn't a raffle, it's a foot-race. You must run with thatCentipede cook."

  "I! Run a race!" exclaimed the young college man, aghast.

  "Yes, I've promised that you would. You see, this isn't like acollege event, and Culver isn't here yet."

  "But he'll be here in a day or so." Speed felt as if a very largeman were choking him; he decided his collar was too tight.

  "Oh, I've talked it all over with Jean. She doesn't want Culverto run, anyhow."

  "Why not?" inquired he, suspiciously.

  "I don't know, I'm sure."

  "If Miss Chapin doesn't want Culver to run, you surely wouldn'twant me to."

  "Not at all. If Mr. Covington knew the facts of the case, hewould be only too happy to do it. And, you see, _you_ knowthe facts."

  Speed was about to shape a gracious but firm refusal of theproffered honor when Still Bill Stover appeared at the steps,doffed his faded Stetson, and bowed limply.

  "Mornin', Miss Blake." To the rear Speed saw three other men--anIndian, tall, swart, and saturnine, who walked with a limp; apicturesque Mexican with a spangled hat and silver spurs,evidently the captor of Lawrence Glass on the evening previous;and an undersized little man with thick-rimmed spectacles and aheavy-hanging holster from which peeped a gun-butt. All weresmiling pleasantly, and seemed a bit abashed.

  "Good-morning, Mr. Stover," said Helen, pleasantly. "This is Mr.Speed, of whom I spoke to you yesterday." Stover bowed again andmumbled something about the honor of this meeting, and Miss Blakecast her eyes over the other members of the group, saying,graciously: "I'm afraid I can't introduce your friends; I haven'tmet them."

  The loquacious foreman came promptly to the rescue, rejoicing inan opportunity of displaying his oratorical gifts.

  "Then I'll make you acquainted with the best brandin' outfit inthese parts." He waved a long, bony arm at the Mexican, whoflashed his white teeth. "This Greaser is Aurelio Maria Carara.Need I say he's Mex, and a preemeer roper?" Carara bowed, andswept the ground with his high-peaked head-piece. "The Madurogent yonder is Mr. Cloudy. His mother being a Navajo squaw, namedhim, accordin' to the rights and customs of her tribe, selectingthe title of Cloudy-but-the-Sun-Shines, which same has proved amisnomer, him bein' a pessimist for fair."

  Miss Blake and her companion smiled and nodded, at which Stover,encouraged beyond measure, elaborated.

  "He's had a hist'ry, too. When he reaches man's real-estate theInjun agent ropes, throws, and hog-ties him, then sends him Eastto be cultivated. He spends four years kickin' a football--"Speed interrupted, with an exclamation of genuine interest.

  "Oh, it's true as gospel," the foreman averred. "When he goeslame in his off leg they ship him back, and in spite of themhandicaps he has become one rustlin' savage at a round-up."

  "What college did you attend?" inquired Speed, politely. Thequestion fell upon unresponsive ears. Cloudy did not stir noralter the direction of his sombre glance.

  "He don' talk none," Stover explained. "Conversation, which Iesteem as a gift deevine, is a lost art with him. I reckon hedon't average a word a week. What language he did know he hasforgot, and what he ain't forgot he distrusts."

  Turning to the near-sighted man who had been staring at thecollege youth meanwhile, the spokesman took a deep breath, andsaid, simply yet proudly, as if describing the _piece deresistance_ of this exhibition:

  "The four-eyed gent is Willie, plain Willie, a born range-rider,_and the best hip shot this side of the Santa Fe trail!_"

  Speed beheld an undersized man of indeterminate age, hollow-chested, thin-faced, gravely benignant. It was not alone hisglasses that lent him a scholarly appearance; he had the stoopedshoulders, the thoughtful intensity of gaze, the gentle,hesitating backwardness of a book-raised man. There were tutorsat Yale quite as colorless, characterless and indefinite, andimmensely more forceful. In place of the revolver at his belt, itseemed as if Willie should have carried a geologist's pick, abutterfly-net, or a magnifying-glass: one was prepared to hearhim speak learnedly of microscopy, or even, perhaps, ofsettlement work. As a cowboy he was utterly out of place, and itwas quite impossible to take Stover's words seriously.Nevertheless, Speed acknowledged the introduction pleasantly,while the benevolent little man blinked back of his lenses.Stover addressed himself to Miss Blake.

  "I told the boys what you said, miss, and we four has come as adelegation to find out if it goes."

  "Mr. Speed and I were just talking about it when you came," saidHelen. "I'm sure he will consent if you add your entreaties tomine."

  "It would sure be a favor," said the cow-man, at which the othersdrew nearer, as if hanging on Speed's answer. Even Cloudy turnedhis black eyes upon the young man.

  The object of their co-operate gaze shifted his feetuncomfortably and felt minded to flee, but the situation wouldnot permit of it. Besides, the affair interested him. His mindwas working rapidly, albeit his words were hesitating.

  "I--I'm afraid I'm not in shape to run," he ventured. But Stoverwould have none of this modesty, admirable as it might appear.

  "Oh, I talked with your trainer just now. I told him you wastipped off to us as a sprinter."

&nb
sp; "What did he say?" inquired Speed, with alarm.

  "He said 'no' at first, till I told him who let it out; then helaughed, and said he guessed you was a runner, but you didn'twork at it regular. I asked him how good you was, and he saidnone of the college teams would let you run. That's good enoughfor us, Mr. Speed."

  "But I'm not in condition," objected the youth, with a sigh ofgratitude at Glass's irony.

  "I reckon he knows more about that than you do. We covered thatpoint too, and Mr. Glass said you was never better than you areright now. Anyhow, you don't have to bust no records to beat thiscook. He ain't so fast."

  "It would sure be a kind-hearted act if you'd do it for us," saidthe little man in his high, boyish voice. It was a shock todiscover that he spoke in a dialect. "There's a heap of sentimentconnected with this affair. You see, outside of being a prizethat we won at considerable risk, there goes with this phonographa set of records, among which we all have our special favorites.Have you ever heard Madam-o-sella Melby sing _The HolyCity_?"

  "I didn't know she sang it," said Speed.

  "Take it from me, she did, and you've missed a heap."

  "You bet," Stover agreed, in a hushed, awed tone.

  "Well, you must have heard Missus Heleney Moray in _The BaggageCoach Ahead_?" queried the scholarly little man. At mention ofhis beloved classic, Carara, the Mexican, murmured, softly:

  "Ah! _The Baggage Car_--Te'adora Mora! God bless 'er!"

  "I must confess I've never had the pleasure," said Speed,whereupon the speaker regarded him pityingly, and Stover, jealousthat so much of the conversation had escaped him, inquired:

  "Can it be that you never heard that monologue, _Silas on FifthAvenoo_?"

  Again Speed shook his head.

  As if the very memory were hilariously funny, Still Bill'sshoulders heaved, and stifled laughter caused his Adam's apple torace up and down his leathern throat. Swallowing his merriment atlength, he recited, in a choking voice, as follows: "Silas goesup Fifth Avenoo and climbs into a bus. There is a girl settin'opposite. He says, 'The girl opened her valise, took out herpurse, closed her valise, opened her purse, took out a dime,closed her purse, opened her valise, put in her purse, closed hervalise, handed the dime to the conductor, got a nickle in change,opened her valise, took out her purse, closed her valise, openedher purse--'"

  At this point the speaker fell into ungovernable hysteria andexploded, rocking back and forth, slapping his thighs andhiccoughing with enjoyment. Willie followed him, as did Carara.Even Cloudy showed his teeth, and the two young people on theporch found themselves joining in from infection. It was patentthat here lay some subtle humor sufficient to convulse the FarWestern nature beyond all reason; for Stover essayed repeatedlyto check his laughter before gasping, finally: "Gosh 'lmighty! Inever can get past that place. He! He! He! Whoo-hoo! That's sureridic'lous, for fair." He wiped his eyes with the back of asun-browned hand, and his frame was racked with barking coughs. "Iknow the whole blame thing by heart, but--I can't recite it toyou. I bog down right there. Seems like some folks is thedarndest fools!"

  Speed allowed this good-humor to banish his trepidation, andassured the foreman that _Silas on Fifth Avenue_ must indeedbe a very fine monologue.

  "It's my favorite," said Still Bill, "but we all have our picks.Cloudy here likes _Navajo_, which I agree is attuned toplease the savage year, but to my mind it ain't in the runnin'with _Silas._"

  "You see what the phonograph means to these gentlemen," said MissBlake. "I think it's a crying shame that they were cheated out ofit, don't you?"

  Speed began to outline a plan hastily in his mind.

  "I assured them that you would win it back for them, and--"

  "We sure hope you will," said Willie, earnestly.

  "Amen!" breathed the lanky foreman, his cheeks still wet from histears of laughter, but his face drawn into lines of eagerness.

  "Please! For my sake!" urged Helen, placing a gentle little handupon her companion's arm.

  Speed closed his eyes, so to speak, and leaped in the dark.

  "All right, I'll do it!"

  "Yow-ee!" yelled Stover. "We knew you would!" Willie was beamingbenignantly through his glasses, while both Carara and Cloudyshowed their heartfelt gratitude. "Thank you, Miss Blake. Nowwe'll show up that shave-tail Centipede crowd for what it is."

  "Wait!" Speed checked the outburst. "I'll consent uponconditions. I'll run, provided you can arrange the race for an'unknown.'"

  "What does that mean?" Helen asked.

  "It means that I don't want my name known in the matter. Insteadof arranging for Mr. Whatever-the-Cook's-Name-Is to run a racewith J. W. Speed, he must agree to compete against arepresentative of the Flying Heart ranch, name unknown."

  "I don't think that is fair!" cried the girl. "Think of thehonor."

  "Yes, but I'm an amateur. I'd lose my standing."

  "That goes for us," said Stover. "We don't care what name you rununder. We'll frame the race. Lordy! but this is a gloriousevent."

  "We can't thank you enough," Willie piped. "You're a true sport,Mr. Speed, and we aim to see that you don't get the worst of itin no way. This here race is goin' to be on the square-you hearme talk-in'. No double-cross this time." Unconsciously thespeaker's hand strayed to the gun at his belt, while his smilewas grim. Speed started.

  "What day shall we set?" inquired Stover.

  Wally rapidly calculated the date of Culver's arrival, and said:"A week from Saturday." Covington would soon be _en route_,and was due to arrive a few days thereafter.

  "We'd like to make it to-morrow," ventured Willie.

  "Oh, but I must have a chance to get in trim," said the collegeman.

  "One week from Saturday goes," announced Stover, "and we thankyou again." Turning to Carara, he directed: "Rope your buckskin,and hike for the Centipede. Tell 'em to unlimber their coin. I'lldraw a month's wages in advance for every son-of-a-gun on theFlying Heart, and we'll arrange details to-night."

  "_Si_," agreed Carara. "I go."

  "And don't waste no time neither," directed Willie. "You tearlike a jack-rabbit ahead of a hot wind."

  Carara tossed his cigarette aside, and the sound of his spurs waslost around the corner of the house.

  "This makes a boy of me," the last speaker continued. "I can hearthe plaintiff notes of Madam-o-sella Melby once again."