Going Some Part 31

With fascinated stare Speed drew nearer to Stover and examined the meat bone.

"Why--why, that's _raw_!" he exclaimed.

"Does look rar'," agreed the foreman.

"Then take it out and build a fire under it. I'll consent to eat here, but I won't turn cannibal, even to please you."

"I'm sorry." Stover did not interrupt his carving.

"Your diet ain't been right," explained Willie. "You ain't wild enough to suit us."

Speed searched one serious face, then another. Fresno was nodding approval, his countenance impa.s.sive.

"Is this a joke?"

"We ain't never joked with you yit, have we?"

"No. But--"

"This breakfast goes as she lays!"

Gla.s.s broke abruptly into smothered merriment. "When I laugh nowadays it's a funny joke," he giggled.

That grown men could be so stupid was unbelievable, and Wally, seeing himself the object of a senseless prank, was roused to anger.

"Lawrence, get my coat," said he. "I've been bullied enough; I'm going up to the house." When Stover only continued whittling methodically, he burst out: "Stop honing that s.h.i.+n-bone! If you like it you can eat it! I'm going now to swallow a stack of hot cakes with maple syrup!"

"Mr. Speed," Willie impaled him with a steady glare, "you'll eat what we tell you to, and nothin' else! If we say 'gra.s.s,' gra.s.s it'll be. You're goin' to beat one Skinner if it takes a human life. And if that life happens to be yours, you got n.o.body but yourself to blame."

"Indeed!"

"You heard me! I've been set to ride herd on you daytimes, the other boys'll guard you nights. We been double-crossed once--it won't happen again."

"Then it amounts to this, does it: I'm your prisoner?"

"More of a prized possession," offered Stover. "If you ain't got the loy'lty to stand by us, we got to _make_ you! This diet is part of the programme. Now if you think beef is too hearty for this time of day, tear into them eggs."

"You intend to make me eat this disgusting stuff, whether I want to or not?" Even yet the youth could not convince himself that this was other than a joke.

"No." Willie shook his head. "We just aim to make you _want_ to eat it."

Then Larry Gla.s.s made his fatal mistake.

"Say, why don't you let Mr. Speed buy you a new phonograph, and call the race off?" he inquired.

Stover, stricken dumb, paused, knife in hand; Willie stared as if bereft of motion. Then the former spoke slowly. "Looks like we'd ought to smoke up this fat party, Will."

Willie nodded, and Gla.s.s realized that the little man's steel- blue eyes were riveted balefully upon him.

"I've had a hunch it would come to that," the near-sighted one replied. "Every time I look at him I see a bleedin' bullet-hole in his abominable regions, about here." He laid a finger upon his stomach, and Gla.s.s felt a darting pain at precisely the same spot. It was as agonizing as if Willie's spectacles were huge burning-gla.s.ses focussing the rays of a tropic sun upon his bare flesh. He folded protecting hands over the threatened region and backed toward the prayer-rug, mumbling "Allah! Allah!" No matter whither he s.h.i.+fted, the eyes bored into him.

"That's where you hit the gambler at Ogden," he heard Stover say --it might have been from a great distance--"but I aim for the bridge of the nose."

"The belly ain't so sudden as the eye-socket, but it's more lingerin', and a heap painfuller," explained the gun man, and Speed was moved to sympathy.

"Larry only wanted to please you--eh, Larry?" he said, nervously, but Gla.s.s made no reply. His distended orbs were frozen upon Willie. It was doubtful if he even heard.

"Our honor ain't for sale," Still Bill declared.

Here Berkeley Fresno spoke. "Of course not. And you mustn't think that Speed is trying to get out of the race. He _wants_ to run! And if anything happened to prevent his running he'd be broken-hearted, I know he would!"

Willie's hypnotic eye left the trainer's abdomen and travelled slowly to Speed.

"What could happen?" questioned he.

"N-nothing that I know of."

"You don't aim to leave?"

"Certainly not."

"Oh, you fellows take it too seriously," Fresno offered carelessly. "He might _have_ to."

Willie's upper lip drew back, showing his yellow teeth.

"They don't sell no railroad tickets before Sat.u.r.day, and the walkin' is bad. There's your breakfast, Mr. Speed. When you've et your fill, you better rest. And don't talk to them ladies, neither; it spoils your train of thought!"

CHAPTER XIV

Now that the possibility of escape from the Flying Heart was cut off, the young man felt agonizing regret that he had not yielded to his trainer's earlier importunities and taken refuge in flight while there was yet time. It would have been undignified, perhaps; but once away from these single-minded cattle-men, his life would have been safe at least, and he could have trusted his ingenuity to reinstate him in Miss Blake's good graces.

Everything was too late now. Even if he made a clean breast of the whole affair to Jean, or to her brother when he arrived, what good would that do? He doubted Jack's ability to save him, in the light of what had just pa.s.sed; for men like Willie cared nothing for the orders of the person whose pay-roll they chanced to grace. And Willie was not alone, either; the rest of the crew were equally desperate. What heed would these nomads pay to Jack Chapin's commands, once they learned the truth? They were Arabs who owed allegiance to no one but themselves, the country was wild, the law was feeble, it was twenty miles to the railroad!

And, besides, the thought of confession was abhorrent. Physical injury, no matter how severe, was infinitely preferable to Helen Blake's disdain. He cast about desperately for some saving loophole, but found himself trapped--completely, hopelessly trapped.

There were still, however, two days of grace, and to youth two days is an eternity. Therefore, he closed his eyes and trusted to the unexpected. How the unexpected could get past that grim, watchful sentry just outside the door he could not imagine, but when the breakfast-bell reminded him of his hunger, he banished his fears for the sake of the edibles his custodians had served.

"Don't you want anything to eat?" he inquired, when Larry made no move to depart for the cook-house.

"No."

"Not hungry, eh?"

"I'm hungry enough to eat a plush cus.h.i.+on, but--"

"What?"