Going Some Part 41

"On the contrary, it is full of clothes. It is I who contain the money." He thrust a cold palm into his pocket as Covington dragged him aside to advise him not to be an utter idiot, to throw his money away if he must, but to throw it to charity or to his friends.

"Yes," Gla.s.s seconded, lugubriously, "and hold out enough to buy me a _Gates Ajar_ in immortelles." But he said also, as if to himself, "He may be wrong in the burr, but he's a game little guy."

As the Centipede foreman counted the money, Helen came forward, announcing:

"You'll _have_ to win now, won't you, Mr. Speed? I've wagered five hundred dollars on you. I bet against Mr. Fresno."

"Fresno! So he's out from cover at last, eh?"

"I haven't been under cover," spoke up the Californian. "I've been wise all along."

Chapin wheeled. "Does it seem to you quite the thing to bet against our man, Fresno?" he inquired, his glance full in the other's eyes.

"Why not? There's no sentiment in financial affairs."

Speed shrugged. "Our tenor friend will sing his way back to California." He turned with his thanks to Helen.

"The talkin'--machine!" interrupted Still Bill, suddenly. A group of men was approaching, who bore the phonogragh upon a dry-goods box, and deposited it in state beside the race-course. "Say, Gabby, s'pose you give us a tune, just to show she's in good order."

"Suspicious, eh?"

"You bet! There's a monologue I'd admire to hear. It's called-"

"We'll have _The Holy City_," said Willie, positively. "It's more appropriate."

So, with clumsy fingers, Gallagher fitted a record, then wound up the machine under the jealous eyes of the Flying Heart cowboys.

Drawn by the sound, Skinner, wrapped to the chin in his blanket, idled toward the crowd, affording Gla.s.s a sight of his face for the first time. The latter started as if stung, and crying under his breath, "Salted car-horse!" drew his employer aside.

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

"Skinner, the man I run."

Gla.s.s groaned. "His name ain't Skinner; that's 'Whiz' Long. Six years ago I saw him win the Sheffield Handicap from scratch in nine-three." Then, as Speed did not seem to be particularly pressed, "Don't you understand, Wally? He's a pro; this is his game!"

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

"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?" Gla.s.s staggered. "It's all right? Say! Don't you know 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 trembling with anger and disgust. "Why, that's part of his 'work.' He's double-crossed every runnin' mate he ever had. He'd cheat his mother. Wait!"

Skinner had left the crowd, and was seated now in the shade of the corral fence. He glanced upward from beneath his black brows as Larry reached and greeted him. "h.e.l.lo, Whiz! I just 'made'

you--" Then he shook his head.

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

"Nix on that monaker," Gla.s.s smiled, indulgently. "I had a man in that Sheffield Handicap six years ago."

"You're in bad," a.s.serted the cook steadily, "but a.s.suming that my name _is_ Long--"

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

Skinner darted a look toward Gallagher and the Centipede men gathered about the shrilling phonograph, stooped and tied his shoes, 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 happened that Speed, drawn irresistibly, had come forward to hang upon every 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 voice that brought Gabby Gallagher striding toward them.

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

"Not a bit like it," Gla.s.s protested stoutly. "I only asked him which side he'd rather run on, and now he calls for police protection."

"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 fine rage, and would have fallen upon the offender had not Stover stepped in his path.

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

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

"You've been jobbed like you was a baby," said Gla.s.s. "There ain't but one thing to do now. Go into the house and change your clothes, and when you get ready to run, get ready to run for your life--and mine." Over on the race-course Gallagher was inquiring:

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