Going some

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Title:GoingSome
Author:RexBeach
ReleaseDate:September,2004[EBook#6488][Yes,wearemorethanoneyear
aheadofschedule][ThisfilewasfirstpostedonDecember22,2002]
Edition:10
Language:English
Charactersetencoding:ASCII


***STARTOFTHEPROJECTGUTENBERGEBOOKGOINGSOME***

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GOINGSOME
AROMANCEOFSTRENUOUSAFFECTION
BY
REXBEACH
SUGGESTEDBYTHEPLAYBYREXBEACHANDPAULARMSTRONG
ILLUSTRATEDBYMARKFENDERSON


CHAPTERI
Fourcowboysinclinedtheirbodiesoverthebarbed-wirefencewhichmarked
thedividing-linebetweentheCentipedeRanchandtheirown,staring
mournfullyintoasummernightsuchasonlythefarsouthwesterncountry
knows.Bigyellowstarshungthickandlow-solowthatitseemedtheymight
almostbepluckedbyanupstretchedhand-andasilentairblewacrossthousands
ofopenmilesoflandlyingcrispandfragrantunderthevelvetdark.
Andasthefourinclinedtheirbodies,theyinclinedalsotheirears,afterthe
strainedmanneroflistenerswhofeelanguishatwhattheyhear.Avoice,shrill
andhuman,piercedthenightlikeaneedle,then,withawailofatorturedsoul,
diedawayamiddiscordantraspings:thevoiceofaphonograph.Itwastheir
own,orhadbeenuntiloneoverconfidentday,whentheFlyingHeartRanchhad
riskeditasawagerinafootracewiththeneighboringCentipede,andtheirown
manhadbeentooslow.Asithadbeentheirpride,itremainedtheirdisgrace.
Dearlyhadtheyloved,anddearlylostit.Itmeantsomethingthatlookedlike
honor,andthoughthereweretenthousandthousandphonographs,inallthe
worldtherewasnotonethatcouldtakeitsplace.
Thesoundceased,therewasanapprovingdistantmurmurofmen’svoices,and
thenthesongbegan:
“Jerusalem,Jerusalem,Liftupyourvoiceandsing—”

Higherandhigherthevoicemounteduntilitreachedagainitsfirstthin,earsplittingpitch.
“StillBill”Stoverstirreduneasilyinthedarkness.“Why‘n‘elldon’ttheykeep
herwoundup?”hecomplained.“Gallagher’sgotthesoulofawart-hog.It’s
criminalthewayhemassacresthathymn.”
FromarodfartherdownthewirefenceWillieansweredhim,inaboy’sfalsetto:
“Iwonderifhedoesittospiteme?”
“Hedon’tknowyou’rehere,”saidStover.


Theothercameoutofthegloom,alittlestoop-shoulderedmanwithspectacles.
“Iain’tnowayssure,”hepiped,peeringupathislankyforeman.“Whydoyou
reckonheallusletsMrs.Melbypeteroutonmyfavoriterecord?Hedonethe
samethinglastnight.Itlookslikeaninsult.”
“It’snothingbutignorance,”Stoverreplied.“Hedon’twantnotroublewithyou.
Noneof‘emdo.”
“I’dliketoknowforcertain.”Thesmallmanseemedtornbydoubt.“IfIonly
knewhedoneita-purpose,I’dgithim.IbetIcoulddoitfromhere.”
Stover’svoicewasgruffashecommanded:“Forgetit!Ain’titbadenoughforus
fellerstohangaroundlikethiseverynightwithoutadvertisingouridiocybya
gun-play?”
“Theyain’tgotnorighttothatphonograph,”Willieaverred,darkly.
“Ohyes,theyhave;theywonitfairandsquare.”
“Fairandsquare!DoyoumeantosayHumpyJoerunthatfootraceonthe
square?”
“Ineversaidnothin’likethatwhatever.Imeanwebetit,andwelostit.Listen!
TheregoesCarara’spiece!”
Outpastthecorralfloatedtheannouncementinaman’smetallicsyllables:
“TheBaggageCoachAhead,assungbyHelenaMorafortheEchoPhonograph,
ofNewYorkandPa-a-aris!”
FromthedusktotherightofthetwolistenersnowissuedsoftSpanishphrases.

“MadredeDios!‘TheBaggageCarinFront!’T’adoraMora!Godbless‘er!”
Duringtherenditionofthisaffectingballadthetwocow-menremaineddraped
uncomfortablyoverthebarbed-wirebarrier,lostinrapturousenjoyment.When
thelastnotehaddiedaway,Stoverrousedhimselfreluctantly.
“It’stimewewasturnin’in.”Hecalledsoftly,“Hey,Mex!”


“Si,Senor!”
“Comeon,youandCloudy.Vamos!It’steno’clock.”
HeturnedhisbackontheCentipedeRanchthathousedthetreasure,andin
companywithWillie,madehiswaytotheponies.Twootherfiguresjoined
them,onehumminginamusicalbaritonethestrainsofthesongjustended.
“Cutthatout,Mex!They’llhearus,”Stovercautioned.
“Caramba!Thist’ingisbrekmy‘eart,”saidtheMexican,sadly.“Itseemlike
theSenoritaMoraissingthatsongtome.MebbesheknowsI’msetout‘ereon
cactusan’listentoher.Ah,IlovethatSenoritaver’much.”
Thelittlemanwiththeglassesbegantoswearinhishighfalsetto.Hisearhad
caughtthephonographoperatorinanothermusicalmistake.
“Thathorn-toadletMrs.Melbydieagainto-night,”saidhe.“It’ssurecomin’to
arunnacaboobetweenhimandme.Ifsomebodydon’tkillhimprettysoon,he’ll
wearoutthatmachinebeforewegititback.”
“Humph!Itdon’tlooklikewe’devergetitback,”saidStover.
Oneofthefoursighedaudibly,thenvaultingintohissaddle,wentlopingaway
withoutwaitingforhiscompanions.
“Cloudy’ssorebecausetheydidn’tplayNavajo,”saidWillie.“Well,Idon’t
blame‘emnoneforomittin’thatwardance.Itain’tgottheclassofthemother
pieces.Whileit’sdevisedtosuittheintellectofanInjun,perhaps;itain’tinthe
runnin’withTheHolyCity,whichtuneisthesweetestandsacredesteversung.”
Cararapausedwithahandupontheneckofhiscayuse.
“EetisnotsofineasTheBaggageCarinFront,”hedeclared.

“It’sgotitbeatamile!”Willieflashedback,harshly.
“Hereyou!”exclaimedStover,“noarguments.Weallhaveourfavorites,andit
ain’tuptonoindividualtoforcehislikesanddislikesdownnootherfeller’s
throat.”Thetwomenheaddressedmountedtheirbroncosstiffly.


“Irepeat,”saidWillie:“TheHolyCity,assungbyMrs.Melby,istheswellest
tunethateverhittheseparts.”
CararamutteredsomethinginSpanishwhichtheotherscouldnotunderstand.
“They’reallfinepieces,”Stoverobserved,placatingly,whenfairlyoutof
hearingoftheranch-houses.“Youboyshaveeachgotyourpreference.Cloudy,
bein’anInjun,hasgothis,andIrisetostatethatIlikethatmonologue,Silason
FifthAvenoo,betterthanallof‘em,whichain’tnothin’ag’instmyjudgmentnor
yours.WhenSilassays,‘Thegirlopenedhervalise,tookourherpurse,closed
hervalise,openedherpurse,tookoutadime,closedherpurse,openedher
valise,putinherpurse,closedhervalise,givethedimetotheconductor,gota
nickelinchange,thenopenedhervalise,tookoutherpurse,closedhervalise-’”
Stoverbegantorockinhissaddle,thenburstintoaloudguffaw,followedbyhis
companions.“Gosh!That’sawfulfunny!”
“Si!si!”acknowledgedCarara,hiswhiteteethshowingthroughthegloom.
“An’it’sjustlikeafoolwoman,”titteredWillie.“That’ssureoneridic’lousline
oftalk.”
“StillBill”wipedhiseyeswiththebackofabonyhand.“Iknowthathull
monologuebyheart,butIcan’tnevergetpastthatspottosavemysoul.Right
thereIbogdown,complete.”Againheburstintowildlaughter,followedbyhis
companions.“Idon’tseehowfolkscanbesodam’funny!”hegasped.
“It’snaturalto‘em,likewarts,”saidWillie;“they’rebornwithit,thesameasI
wasborntoshootstraightwitheitherhand,andthesameastheMexwasbornto
throwarope.Hedon’tknowhowhedoesit,andneitherdoI.Somefolkscan
sayfunnythings,somecansing,likeMissusMelby;somecanrunfootraces,like

thatCentipedecook—”CararabreathedaneloquentMexicanoath.
“DoyoureckonhefixedthatracewithHumpyJoe?”inquiredStover.
“Name’sSkinner,”Willieobserved.“Itsuresoundsbad.”
“I’msorryHumpyleftussosudden,”saidStillBill.“We’doughttohave
questionedhim.Ifweonlyhadproofthattheracewascrooked—”
“Youcansogambleitwascrooked,”thelittlemanaverred.“ThemCentipede


fellersneverdonenothin’onthesquare.TheygotHumpyJoe,andfixeditfor
himtolosesotheycouldgetthattalkin’-machine.That’swhyhepulledout.”
“I’dhatetothinkit,”saidtheforeman,gloomily;thenafteramoment,during
whichtheonlysoundwasthatofthemuffledhoof-beats:“Well,whatwegoin’
todoaboutit?”
“Humph!I’velaidawakenightsfigurin’thatout.Ireckonwe’lljusthavetogit
anotherfootracerandbeatSkinner.Heain’tthefastestintheworld.”
“Thattakescoin.We’rebroke.”
“MebbeMr.Chapinwouldlendahelpin’hand.”
“Nochance!”saidStover,grimly.“He’ssoreonfoot-racin’.Saysitdisturbsus
andupsetsourequalubrium.”
Cararafetchedadeepsigh.
“It’sver’badt’ing,Senor.Idon’feelnoworsew’enmygran’motherdie.”
Thethreemenlopedonwardthroughthedarkness,weightedheavilywith
disappointment.
AffairsattheFlyingHeartRanchwerenotalltoJackChapin’sliking.Eversince
thatmemorablefootrace,morethanamonthbefore,agloomhadbroodedover
theplacewhicheventhepresenceoftwoSmithCollegegirls,nottomention
thatofMr.Fresno,wasunabletodissipate.Thecowboysmopedaboutlike
melancholyshades,andneglectedtheirworktodiscussthedisgracethathad
fallenuponthem.Itwasatasktogetanyofthemoutinthemorning,severalhad
quit,therestwerequarrellingamongthemselves,andthebunk-househad

alreadybeenthesceneofmorethanoneencounter,altogethertoosanguinaryto
haveoriginatedfromsuchatrivialcauseasafootrace.Itwasnotexactlyan
auspiciousatmosphereinwhichtoentertainahousefulofcollegeboysandgirls,
allunversedinthewaysoftheWest.
ThemasteroftheranchsoughthissisterJean,totellherfranklywhatwasonhis
mind.
“Seehere,Sis,”hebegan,“Idon’twanttocastacloudoveryourlittlehouse-


party,butIthinkyou’dbetterkeepyourfriendsawayfrommymen.”
“Why,whatisthematter?”shedemanded.
“Thingsareataprettyhightensionjustnow,andtheboyshavehadtwoorthree
rowsamongthemselves.YesterdayFresnotriedto‘kid’WillieaboutTheHoly
City;saiditwaswrittenasacoonsong,andwasn’tsungingoodsociety.Ifhe
hadn’tbeenaguest,IguessWilliewouldhavemurderedhim.”
“Oh,Jack!Youwon’tletWilliemurderanybody,notevenBerkeley,whilethe
peoplearehere,willyou?”coaxedMissChapin,anxiously.
“WhatmadeyouinviteBerkeleyFresno,anyhow?”wastherejoinder.“Thisis
nogildednoveltytohim.HeisaWesternman.”
MissChapinnumberedherreasonssagely.“Inthefirstplace—Helen.Then
therehadtobeenoughmentogoaround.Lastandbest,heisthemostadorable
manIeversawatahouse-party.He’sanangelatbreakfast,singsperfectly
beautifully—youknowhewasontheStanfordGleeClub—”
“Humph!”Jackwasunimpressed.“IfyouropedhimforHelenBlaketobrand,
whyhaveyousentforWallySpeed?”
“Well,yousee,BerkeleyandHelendidn’tquitehititoff,andMr.Speedis—a
friendofCulver’s.”MissChapinblushedprettily.
“Oh,Isee!Ithoughtmyselfthatthisaffairhadsomethingtodowithyouand
CulverCovington,butIdidn’tknowithadlapsedintoasortofmatrimonial
round-up.SupposeMissBlakeshouldn’tcareforSpeedafterhegetshere?”

“Oh,butshewill!That’swhereBerkeleyFresnocomesin.Whentwomenbegin
tofightforher,she’llhavetobegintoformapreference,andI’msureitwillbe
forWallySpeed.Don’tyousee?”
Thebrotherlookedathissistershrewdly.“Itseemstomeyoulearnedalotat
Smith.”
Jeantossedherhead.“Howabsurd!Thatsortofknowledgeisperfectlynatural
foragirltohave.”Thensheteased:“Butyouadmitthatmyselectionofa
chaperonwasexcellent,don’tyou,Jack?”


“Mrs.KeapandIarethebestoffriends,”Jackaverred,withsupremedignity.
“I’mnotinthemarket,andamandoesn’tmarryawidow,anyhow.It’stooold
andexperiencedabeginning.”
“Nonsense!RobertaKeapisonlytwenty-three.Why,shehardlyknewher
husband,even!Itwasoneofthosesudden,impulsiveaffairsthatwould
overwhelmanygirlwhohadn’tseenamanforfouryears.Andthenheenlisted
intheSpanishWar,andwaskilled.”
“Consideratechap!”
“Roberta,youknow,ismybestfriend,afterHelen.Dobenicetoher,Jack.”
MissChapinsighed.“Itistoobadtheotherscouldn’tcome.”
“Yes,asmallhouse-partyhasitsdisadvantages.By-the-way,what’sthatgold
thingonyourfrock?”
“It’samedal.Culversentittome.”
“Another?”
“Yes,hewontheintercollegiatechampionshipagain.”MissChapinproudly
extendedtheemblemonitsribbon.
“IwishtogoodnessCovingtonhadbeenheretotakeHumpyJoe’splace,”said
theyoungcattle-manasheturneditover.“Theboysarejustbrokenheartedover
losingthatphonograph.”
“I’llgethimtorunandwinitback,”Jeanoffered,easily.Herbrotherlaughed.

“Takemyadvice,Sis,anddon’tletCulvermixupinthisgame!Thestakesare
toohigh.IthinkthatCentipedecookisaprofessionalrunner,myself,andifour
boyswerebeatenagain—well,youandmotherandIwouldhavetomoveoutof
NewMexico,that’sall.No,we’dbetterletthememoryofthatdefeatdieoutas
quicklyaspossible.YouwarnFresnonottojokeaboutitanymore,andI’lltake
Mrs.Keapoffyourhands.Shemaybeawidow,shemayevenbethechaperon,
butI’lldoit;Iwilldoit,”promisedJack—“formysister’ssake.”


CHAPTERII
HelenBlakewasundeniablybored.Thesultryafternoonwasverylong—longer
eventhanBerkeleyFresno’sautobiography,andquiteasdry.Itwastoohotand
dustytoride,soshetookrefugeinthelatest“bestseller,”andsoughtouta
hammockonthevine-shadedgallery,whereJeanChapinwaswritingletters,
whilethedisconsolateFresno,banished,wanderedatlarge,vaguelyinjuredat
herlackofappreciation.
Absent-mindedly,thegirlsdippedintotheboxofbonbonsbetweenthem.Jean
finishedhercorrespondenceandessayedconversation,buthercompanion’s
blondheadwasbowedoverthebookinherlap,andtheeffortmetwithno
response.Lulledbythesomniferousdroningofinsectsandlazyechoesfrom
afar,MissChapinwasonthevergeofslumber,whenshesawherguestrapidly
turnthelastpagesofhernovel,then,withachocolatebetweenherteeth,read
wide-eyedtothefinish.MissBlakeclosedthebookreluctantly,uncurledslowly,
thenstaredoutthroughthedancingheat-waves,herblueeyesshadowedwith
romance.
“Didshemarryhim?”queriedJean.
“No,no!”HelenBlakesighed,blissfully.“Itwasinfinitelyfiner.Shekilled
herself.”
“Iliketoseethemgetmarried.”
“Naturally.Youareatthatstage.ButIthinksuicideismoreglorious,inmany

cases.”
MissChapinyawnedopenly.“Speakingofsuicides,isn’tthisranchthedeadest
place?”
“Oh,Idon’tthinksoatall.”MissBlakepickedherwayfastidiouslythroughthe
bonbons,nibblingtentativelyatseveralbeforemakingherchoice.“Ohyes,you
do,andyouneedn’tbepolitejustbecauseyou’reaguest.”“Well,then,tobeas
truthfulasaboarder,itisalittledull.Notforourchaperon,though.Thetime
doesn’tseemtodragonherhands.Jackcertainlyismakingitpleasantforher.”


“Ifyoucalltakingherouttowatchalotofbellowingcalvesgetbranded,
entertainment,”MissChapinsighed.
“Iwonderwhatmakeswidowssofascinating?”observedtheyouthfulMiss
Blake.
“IhopeIneverfindout.”Jeanclutchednervouslyatthegoldmedalonherdress.
“Wouldn’tthatbedreadful!”
“Mydear,Culverseemsperfectlyhealthy.Whyworry?”
“I—Iwishhewerehere.”
MissBlakeleanedforwardandreadtheinscriptiononhercompanion’smedal.
“Oh,isn’titheavy!”feelingitreverently.
“Puregold,likehimself!Youshouldhaveseenhimwhenhewonit.Why,atthe
finishofthatraceallthemenbutCulverweremakingthemosthorriblefaces.
Theyweresimplydead.”
MissBlake’shandswereclaspedinherlap.“Theyallmakefaces,”saidshe.
“HaveyoutoldRobertaaboutyourengagement?”
“No,shedoesn’tdreamofit,andIdon’twanthertoknow.I’msoafraidshe’ll
think,nowthatmotherhasgone,thatIaskedherherejustasachaperon.
PerhapsI’lltellherwhenCulvercomes.”
“Iadoreathletes.Iwouldn’tgiveacentforamanwhowasn’tathletic.”
“DoesMr.Speedgoinforthatsortofthing?”

“Rather!ThedaywemetattheYalegameshehadmedalsalloverhim,andthat
nightatthedanceheusedthemostwonderfulathleticlanguage—wecould
scarcelyunderstandhim.Mr.Covingtonmusthavetoldyouallabouthim;they
arechums,youknow.”
MissChapinfurrowedherbrowsmeditatively.
“IhaveheardCulverspeakofhim,butneverasanathlete.HaveyouandMr.
Speedsettledthingsbetweenyou,Helen?Imean,hashe—saidanything?”


MissBlakeflushed.
“Notexactly.”Sheadjustedacushiontocoverherconfusion,thenleanedback
complacently.“Buthehasstuttereddangerouslyseveraltimes.”
Amusicaltinkleofsilverspurssoundedinthedistance,andaroundthecornerof
thecook-houseoppositecameCarara,theMexican,hiswide,spangledsombrero
tippedrakishlyoveroneear,acorn-huskcigarettedroopingfromhislips.
Evidentlyhispresencewasinspiredbysomespecialmotive,forheglanced
sharplyabout,andfailingtodetectthetwogirlsbehindthedistantscreenof
vines,removedhiscigaretteandwhistledthrice,likeaquail,then,leaning
againsttheadobewall,curledhisblacksilkenmustachestoneedle-points.
“It’sthatromanticSpaniard!”whisperedHelen.“Whatdoeshewant?”
“It’shisafternooncallonMariedetta,themaid,”saidJean.“Theymeetthere
twiceaday,morningandafternoon.”
“Alovers’tryst!”breathedMissBlake,eagerly.“Isn’thegracefuland
picturesque!Canwewatchthem?”
“‘Sh-h!Thereshecomes!”
Fromtheoppositedirectionappearedaslim,swarthyMexicangirl,anIndian
water-jugbalanceduponhershoulders.Shewascladinthestraight-hanging
nativegarment,beltedinwithasash;herfeetwereinsandals,andshemovedas
silentlyasashadow.
DuringthefourdayssinceMissBlake’sarrivalattheFlyingHeartRanchshe

hadseenMariedettaflittingnoiselesslyhereandthere,buthadneverheardher
speak.Thepretty,expressionlessfacebeneathitsstraightblackhairhadever
retaineditswoodenstolidity,thevelvetyeyeshadnotlaughednorfrownednor
sparkled.Sheseemedtobemerelyapartofthisfarsouthwesternpicture;abitof
inanimateyetbreathinglocalcolor.Now,however,thegirldroppedherjug,and
withalowcryglidedtoherlover,whotossedasidehiscigaretteandtookherin
hisarms.Fromthisdistancetheirwordswereindistinguishable.
“Howperfectlyromantic,”saidtheEasterngirl,breathlessly.“Ihadnoidea
Mariedettacouldloveanybody.”


“Sheisavolcano,”Jeananswered.
“Why,it’slikeaplay!”
“Anditgoesonallthetime.”
“Howgentleandsweetheis!Ithinkheischarming.Heisnotatalllikethe
othercowboys,ishe?”
Whilethetwowitnessesofthescenewereeagerlydiscussingit,Joy,theChinese
cook,emergedfromthekitchenbearingabucketofwater,hispresencehidden
fromtheloversbythecornerofthebuilding.Cararalanguidlyreleasedhis
inamoratafromhisembraceandloungedoutofsightaroundthebuilding,
pausingatthefarthercornertowaftheragracefulkissfromtheendsofhis
fingers,aswithafarewellflashofhiswhiteteethhedisappeared.Mariedetta
recoveredherwater-jugandglidedonwardintothecourtinfrontofthecookhouse,herfacemasklike,hermovementsdeliberateasusual.Joy,spyingthegirl,
grinnedather.Shetossedherheadcoquettishlyandherstepslackened,
whereuponthecook,withaslyglancearound,tappedhergentlyonthearm,and
said:
“Nicel’ilgally.”
“Theidea!”indignantlyexclaimedMissBlakefromherhammock.
ButMariedettawasnotoffended.Insteadshesmiledoverhershoulderasshe
hadsmiledatherloveraninstantbefore.

“Melikeyoufine.Youlikepie?”Joynoddedtowardthedoortotheculinary
department,asiftomakefreeofhishospitality,attheinstantthatCarara,who
hadcircledthebuilding,cameintoviewfromtheoppositeside,afreshcigarette
betweenhislips.Hislanguorvanishedatthefirstglimpseofthescene,andhe
strodetowardthewhite-cladCelestial,whodovethroughtheopendoorlikea
prairiedogintoitshole.Cararafollowedathisheels.
“Itserveshimright!”criedMissBlake,rising.“IhopeMr.Carara—”
Adinoffallingpotsandpansissuedfromthecook-house,mingledwithshrill
criesandsoftSpanishimprecations;then,withonelong-drawnwail,the
pandemoniumceasedassuddenlyasithadcommenced,andCararaissuedforth,


blackwithanger.
“Ha!”saidhe,scowling‘atMariedetta,whohadretreated,herhanduponher
bosom.Heexhaledalungfulofcigarettesmokethroughhisnostrilsfiercely.
“Youplaywit’me,eh?”
“No!no!”Mariedettarantohim,and,seizinghisarm,cooedamorouslyin
Spanish.
“Bah!Vamos!”Cararaflungherfromhim,andstalkedaway.
“Well,ofalltheoutrageousthings!”saidMissBlake.“Why,shewasactually
flirtingwiththatChinaman.”
“Mariedettaflirtswitheverymanshecanfind,”saidJean,calmly,“butshe
doesn’tmeananyharm.She’llmarryCararasometime—ifhedoesn’tkillher.”
“Killher!”MissBlake’seyeswereround.“Hewouldn’tdothat!”
“Indeed,yes.HeisaMexican,andhehasaterribletemper.”
MissBlakesankbackintothehammock.“Howperfectlydreadful!Andyet-it
mustbeheavenlytoloveamanwhowouldkillyou.”
MissChapinlostherselfinmeditationforaninstant.“Culverisalmostlikethat
whenheisangry.Hello,herecomesourforeman!”
Stover,atall,ganglingcattle-manwithdroopinggrizzledmustache,came

shamblinguptothesteps.Hisweather-beatenchapsweremuchtooshortforhis
lengthylimbs,thecollarofhisfadedflannelshirtlackedaninchofmeetingat
thethroat,itssleeveswereshrunkenuntilhishairyhandshungdownliketassels.
Hewaslooseandspineless,hismovementstemperedwiththeslothfulnessofthe
farSouthwest.Hisappearancegaveonetheimpressionthatready-made
garmentsareneverlongenough.Hedustedhisbootswithhissombreroand
clearedhisthroat.
“‘Evening,MissJean.IsMr.Chapinaround?”
“Ithinkyou’llfindhimdownbythespring-house.CanIdoanythingforyou?”


“Nope!”Stoversighedheavily,andgothisframegraduallyintomotionagain.
“You’renotlookingwell,Stover.Areyouill?”inquiredMissChapin.
“Notphysical,”saidtheforeman,checkingthemovementwhichhadnotyet
communicateditselftheentirelengthofhisframe.“Ireckonmysperret’sbroke,
that’sall.”
“Haven’tyourecoveredfromthatfootrace?”
“Ihavenot,andIneverwill,solongasthatorneryCentipedeoutfithasgotiton
us.”
“Nonsense,Stover!”
“Whathavetheydone?”inquiredMissBlake,curiously.“Ihaven’theardabout
anyfootrace.”
“Youtellher,”saidtheman,withanothersigh,andahopelessgesturethattold
thedepthofhisfeelings.
“Why,Stoverhiredafellowacoupleofmonthsagoasahorse-wrangler.The
mansaidhewashungry,andmadeagoodimpression,soweputhimon.”
HereStoverslowlyraisedonebootedfootandkickedhisothercalf.“Theboys
nicknamedhimHumpyJoe—”
“Why,poorthing!Washehumpbacked?”inquiredHelen.
“No,”answeredStillBill.“Humpbackislucky.WecalledhimHumpyJoe

becausewhenitcametorunninghecouldsuregetupandhumphimself.”
“SoonafterJosephwenttowork,”Jeancontinued,“theCentipedeoutfithireda
newcook.YouknowtheCentipedeRanch—theoneyouseeoveryonderbythe
foot-hills.”
“Itwasn’t‘soonafter,’itwassimuletaneous,”saidStover,darkly.“We’re
beginnin’toseeplainatlast.”Hewentonasiftoairtheinjurythatwasgnawing
him.“Onedaywehearthatthisgrub-slingeroveryonderthinkshecanrun,
whichsameisaswelcometousasthesmellofflowersonaspringbreeze,for


HumpyJoehadamusedusinhisidlehoursbyrunningjack-rabbitstoearth—”
“Notreally?”saidMissBlake.
“Well,no,butfromwhatweseewejudgehe’doughttolimpahundredyardsin
aboutnothingandthree-fifthsseconds,soweframearacebetweenhimandthe
Centipedecook.”
“Asamatteroffact,therehasbeenafeudforyearsbetweenthetwooutfits,”
Jeanoffered.
“Withtumulchousjoywebetourwagesandalltheloosegearwehave,andina
burstofchildishenthusiasmweputup—thetalking-machine.”
“Aphonograph?”
“Yes.AnEchoPhonograph,”saidMissChapin.
“OfNewYorkandParis,”addedStover.
“OurboyswonitfromthisveryCentipedeoutfitatabronco-bustingtournament
inCheyenne.”
“Wyoming.”Stovermadethelocationdefinite.
“TheCentipedecrowdtooktheirdefeatbadlyonFrontierDay,andsworetoget
even.”
“AndwasHumpyJoedefeated?”askedHelen.
“Washe?”StillBillshookhisheadsadly,andsighedforathirdtime.“Itlooked
likehewasrunningbackward,miss.”

“Butreallyhewasonlybeatenafoot.Itwasawonderfulrace.Isawit,”said
Jean.“Itmademethinkoftheracesatcollege.”
MissBlakepuckeredherbrowstryingtothink.
“Joseph,”shesaid.“No,Idon’tthinkIhaveseenhim.”
Stover’slipsmetgrimly.“Idon’treckonyouhave,miss.Sincethatracehehas


beenhardtodescry.Hepassedfromviewhurriedly,sotospeak,headedtoward
thefoot-hills,andleapingfromcragtocraglikethehardyshamrockoftheSwiss
Yelps.”
MissBlakegiggled.“Whatmadehimhurryso?”
“Us!”Stovergazedathersolemnly.“Weain’tnoneofusbeenthesamesince
thatfootrace.Yousee,itain’tthefinancialvalueofthatEchoPhonograph,nor
the‘double-cross’thathurts:it’sthefactthatthemangiestoutfitintheTerritory
hastrimmedusoutoftheonethingthatstandsforhonorandexcellenceand
‘scientificattainment,’asthejudgesaidwhenwewonit.Thattalking-machine
meantmoretousthanyouEasternfolkscanunderstand,Ireckon.”
“IfIwereyouIwouldcheerup,”saidMissBlake,kindly,andwithsome
importance.“MissChapinhasacollegefriendcomingthisweek,andhecanwin
backyourtrophy.”
StoverglancedupatJeanquickly.
“Isthatright,MissChapin?”
“Hecanifhewill,”Jeanasserted.
“Canherun?”
“Heistheintercollegiatechampion,”declaredthatyounglady,withproud
dignity.
“Anddoyoureckonhe’drunforusandtheEchoPhonographofNewYorkand
Paris,ifweframedarace?It’sanhonor!”
ButMissChapinsuddenlyrecalledherbrother’scautionofthedaybefore,and
hesitated.

“I—Idon’tthinkhewould.Yousee,heisanamateur—hemightbeoutof
training—”
“Theidea!”exclaimedMissBlake,indignantly.“IfCulverwon’trun,Iknow
whowill!”Sheclosedherlipsfirmly,andturnedtotheforeman.“Youtellyour
friendsthatwe’llseeyougetyourtrophyback.”


“Helen,I—”
“Imeanit!”declaredMissBlake,withspirit.
Stoverbowedloosely.“Thankyou,miss.Theverythoughtofitwillcheerupthe
gang.Life‘roundhereisblacker‘naspadeflush.IthinkI’lltellWillie.”He
shambledrapidlyoffaroundthehouse.
“Helendear,Idon’twantCulvertogetmixedupinthisaffair,”explainedMiss
Chapin,assoonastheywerealone.“It’sallutterlyfoolish.Jackdoesn’twant
himto,either.”
“Verywell.IfCulverdoesn’tfeelthathecanbeatthatcookrunning,Iknowwho
willtry.Mr.SpeedwilldoanythingIask.It’sashamethewaythosemenhave
beentreated.”
“ButMr.Speedisn’tasprinter.”
“Indeed!”MissBlakebridled.“PerhapsCulverCovingtonisn’ttheonlyathlete
inYaleCollege.IhappentoknowwhatI’mtalkingabout.Naturallythetwo
boyshavenevercompetedagainsteachother,becausetheyarefriends—Mr.
Speedisn’tthesorttoracehisroom-mate.Oh!hewouldn’ttellmehecouldrun
ifitwerenottrue.”
“Idon’tthinkhewillconsentwhenhelearnsthetruth.”
“Iassureyou,”saidMissBlake,sweetly,“hewillbedelighted.”


CHAPTERIII
ItwasstillearlyintheafternoonwhenJackChapinandtheyouthfulchaperon

foundtheotheryoungpeopletogetheronthegallery.
“Here’satelegramfromSpeed,”beganJack.
“It’sterriblyfunny,”saidMrs.Keap.“ThatMexicanbroughtittousdownatthe
spring-house.”
MissBlakelostherboredexpression,andsatupinthehammock.
“‘Mr.JackChapin,’”readtheowneroftheFlyingHeartRanch.“‘DearJack:I
couldn’twaitforCovington,someetwithbrass-bandandfireworksthis
afternoon.Haveflowersinbloominthelittleparkbesidethedepot,andseethat
thedaisiesnodtome.—J.WallingfordSpeed.’”
“Park,eh?”saidFresno,dryly.“Telegraphoffice,water-tank,andacattle-chute.
Wheredoesthisfellowthinkheis?”
“Hereisapostscript,”addedChapin.
“‘Ihaveavaletwhodoesnotseemtoenjoythetrip.Divideakissamongthe
girls.’”
“Well,well!He’sstingywithhiskisses,”observedBerkeley.“Whoisthis
humorousparty?”
“HewasaFreshmanatYaletheyearIgraduated,”explainedJack.
“Toobadhenevergotoutofthatclass.”ItwasevidentthatMr.Speed’slevity
madenoimpressionupontheGleeClubtenor.“Hehatestotalkabouthimself,
doesn’the?”
“Ithinkheisveryclever,”saidMissBlake,warmly.
“Howwelldoyouknowhim?”
“NotaswellasI’dliketo.”


Fresnopuffedathislittlepipewithoutremarkingatthis.
“Well,whowantstogoandmeethim?”queriedJack.
“Won’tyou?”askedhissister.
“Ican’t.I’vejustgotwordfromtheElevenXthatI’mwanted.Theforemanis
hurt.Imaynotbebackforsometime.”

“NiggerMikemetme,”observedFresno,darkly.
“ThenNiggerMikeforSpeed,”laughedthecattle-man.“I’vetoldCararato
hitchupthepintosforme.Imustbegoing.”
“I’llseethatyouaresafelystarted,”saidtheyoungwidow;andleavingthetrio
onthegallery,theyenteredthehouse.
Whentheyhadgone,JeansmiledwiselyatHelen.“Roberta’ssuchathoughtful
chaperon,”sheobserved,whereuponMissBlakegiggled.
AsforMrs.Keap,shewasinquiringofJackwithgenuinesolicitude:
“Doyoureallymeanthatyoumaybegoneforsometime?”
“Ido.Itmaybeaweek;itmaybelonger;Ican’ttelluntilIgetoverthere.”
“I’msorry.”Mrs.Keap’sfaceshowedsomedisappointment.
“SoamI.”
“Ishallhavetolookoutfortheseyoungpeopleallbymyself.”
“Whataqueerlittlewayyouhaveoftalking,asifyouwereyearsandyears
old.”
“IdofeelasifIwere.I—I—well,Ihavehadanunhappyexperience.Youknow
unhappinessbuildsmonthsintoyears.”
“WhenJeangotupthishouse-party,”youngChapinbegan,absently,“IthoughtI
shouldbeboredtodeath.But—Ihaven’tbeen.Youknow,Idon’twanttogo
overthere?”Henoddedvaguelytowardthesouth.


“Ithoughtperhapsitsuitedyourconvenience.”Hiscompanionwatchedhim
gravely.“Areyouquitesurethatyoursister’sguestshavenot—hadsomethingto
dowiththissuddendetermination?”
“Iamquitesure.IneverlikedtheoldFlyingHeartsomuchasIdoto-day.I
neverregrettedleavingitsomuchasIdoatthismoment.”
“Wemaybegonebeforeyoureturn.”
YoungChapinstarted.“Youdon’tmeanthat,really?”Mrs.Keapnoddedher
darkhead.“ItwasallverywellformetochaperonHelenonthewayoutfrom

theEast,but—itisn’texactlyregularformetoplaythatpartherewithother
youngpeopletolookafter.”
“Butyouunderstand,ofcourse—Jeanmusthaveexplainedtoyou.Motherwas
calledawaysuddenly,andshecan’tgetbacknow.Yousurelywon’tleave—you
can’t.”Chapinadded,hopefully:“Why,youwouldbreakupJean’sparty.You
see,there’snobodyaroundheretotakeyourplace.”
“But—”
“Nonsense!Thisisanunconventionalcountry.What’swrongwithyouasa
chaperon,anyway?Nobodyouthereevenknowswhatachaperonis.AndI’llbe
backassoonasIcan.”
“Doyoureallythinkthatwouldhelp?”Roberta’seyeslaughedhumorously.
“I’mnotthinkingoftheothers,I’mthinkingofmyself,”declaredtheyoung
man,boldly.“Idon’twantyoutogobeforeIreturn.Youmustnot!Ifyougo,I—
Ishallfollowyou.”Hegraspedherhandimpulsively.
“Oh!”exclaimedthechaperon.“Thismakesitevenmoreimpossible.Go!Go!”
Shepushedhimaway,hercolorsurging.“GotoyouroldElevenXRanchright
away.”
“ButImeanit,”hedeclared,earnestly.Then,assheretreatedfarther:“It’sno
use,Isha’n’tgonowuntil—”
“Youhaveknownmelessthanaweek!”


“Thatislongenough.Roberta—”
Mrs.Keapspokewithhonestembarrassment.“Listen!Don’tyouseewhata
situationthisis?IfJeanandHelenshouldeverdiscover—”
“Jeanplanneditall;eventhis.”
Mrs.Keapstaredathiminhorrifiedsilence.
“Youdoloveme,Roberta?”Chapinundertooktoremovethegirl’shandsfrom
herface,whenaslightcoughinthehallbehindcausedhimtoturnsuddenlyin
timetoseeBerkeleyFresnopassingtheopendoor.

“There!Yousee!”Mrs.Keap’sfacewastragic.“Yousee!”Sheturnedandfled,
leavingthemasteroftheranchinthemiddleofthefloor,bewildered,butabit
inclinedtobehappy.AmomentlatertheplumpfaceofBerkeleyFresno
appearedcautiouslyaroundthedoor-jamb.Hecoughedagaingravely.
“Ihappenedtobepassing,”saidhe.“You’llpardonme?”
“ThisisthemostthicklysettledspotinNewMexico!”Chapindeclared,withan
artificiallaugh,chokinghisindignation.
Fresnoslowlybroughthisroundbodyoutfromconcealment.
“Icameintogetamatch.”
“Whydon’tyoucarrymatches?”
Fresnopuffedcomplacentlyuponhispipe.“This,”hemused,ashishost
departed,“eliminatesthechaperon,andthathelpssome.”
StillBillStoverlostnotimeinbreakingthenewstotheboys.
“There’ssomethingcomin’off,”headvisedWillie.“We’vegotanotherfootrunner!”
Ifhehadhopedforanoutburstofraptureonthepartofthelittlegunmanhewas
disappointed,forWillieshiftedhisholster,smiledevillythroughhisglasses,and
inquired,withominousrestraint:


“Whereishe?”
BeingtheonemanontheFlyingHeartwhohadoccasiontowearagun,Willie
seldomsmiledfromasenseofhumor.Hereitmaybesaidthat,deceivedatfirst
byhisscholarlyappearance,hisfellow-laborershadjibedatWillie’saffectation
ofaswingingholster,butthecustomhadlanguishedabruptly.Whenitbecame
knownwhohewas,theotherranch-handshadvolublydeclaredthatthiswasa
freecountry,whereamanmightexerciseawidediscretioninthechoiceof
personaladornment;andasforthem,theyavowedunanimouslythatthepractice
ofpackingaColtswasonewhichmetwiththeirmostcordialapprobation.In
timeWillie’ssix-shooterhadbecomeacceptedasapartofthelocalscenery,and,
likethescenery,noonethoughtofremarkinguponit,leastofallthosewhobest

knewhislackofhumor.HehadcometothemoutoftheNowhere,somefour
yearspreviously,andwhileheneverspokeofhimself,anddiscouraged
reminiscenceinothers,itbecameknownthroughthosevagueuncharted
channelsbywhichnewstravelsonthefrontier,thatbackintheTexasPanhandle
therewasalimpingmarshalwhofeltregretsatmentionofhisname,andthat
farthernorthwereothermenwhohadasuperstitiousdreadofundersizedcowmenwithspectacles.Therewerealsostoriesoflonesome“run-ins,”which,
owingtoWillie’ssecretivenessandthepermanentsilenceoftheother
participants,neverbecamemorethanintangiblerumors.Buthewasagood
ranchman,attendedtohisbusiness,andthesheriff’sofficewasremote,soWillie
hadworkedonunmolested.
“Thishereisarealfoot-runner,”saidStover.
“Exactly,”agreedtheother.“Whereishe?”
“He’llbeherethisafternoon.NiggerMike’sbringin’himoverfromtherailroad.
He’saguest.”
“Oh!”
“Yep!He’sintercollegitchampeenofYale.”
“Yale?”repeatedthenear-sightedman.“Don’tknow’sIeverbeenthere.Much
ofatown?”
“Iain’tnevertravelledEastmyself,butMissJeanandthelittleyaller-hairedgirl
sayhe’sthefastestmanintheworld.Ifiggeredwemightribupsomethingwith


theCentipede.”StillBillwinkedsagely.
“Seehere,doyoureckonhe’drun?”
“Sure!He’safriendoftheboss.Andhe’llrunonthelevel,too.Hecan’tbe
nothin’likeHumpy.”
“Ifheis,I’llgithim,”saidthecowboy.“Oh,I’llgithimsure,guestornoguest.
Buthowaboutthephonograph?”
“TheCentipedewillputitupquickenough;thereain’tnosentimentinthat
outfit.”

“Thenitsoundsgood.”
“An’it’llwork.Gallagher’sanxioustotrimusagain.Somefolkscan’tstand
prosperity.”
Williespatunerringlyatagrasshopper.“Lord!”saidhe,“it’stoogood!Itdon’t
soundpossible.”
“Well,itis,andourmanwillbeherethisevenin’.WatchoutforNiggerMike,
andwhenhedrivesuplet’sgivethispartyawelcomethat’llwarmhishearton
thejump.There’snothin’likeagoodimpression.”
“I’llbeonthejob,”assuredWillie.“ButIstaterighthereandnow,ifwedogeta
racethereain’ta-goin’tobenochanceofourlosin’forasecondtime.”
AndStoverwentonhiswaytospreadthetidings.
Itwasgrowingdarkwhentherattleofwheelsoutsidetheranch-housebrought
theoccupantstotheporchintimetoseeNiggerMikehalthisbuckboardand
twofigurespreparetodescend.
“It’sMr.Speed!”criedMissBlake.Thensheutteredascreamasthevelvet
darknesswasrentbyadozentonguesofflame,whileashrillyelpingarose,asof
anApachewar-party.
“It’stheboys,”saidJean.“Whatonearthhaspossessedthem?”