Chapter 11

That was a terrible hour for J. Wallingford Speed. As for Larry, once he had grasped the full significance of the telegram, he became a different person. Some fierce electric charge wrought a chemical alteration in his every fibre; he became a domineering, iron-willed autocrat, obsessed by the one idea of his own preservation, and not hesitating to use physical force when force became necessary to lessen his peril.

Repeatedly Speed folded his arms over his stomach, rocked in the throes of anguish, and wailed that he was perishing of cramps; the trainer only snorted with derision. When he refused to don the clothes selected for him, Glass fell upon him like a raging grizzly.

"You won't, eh? We'll see!" Then Speed took refuge in anger, but the other cried:

"Never mind the hysterics, Bo. You're going to run off some blubber to-day."

"But I have to go riding!"

"Not a chance!"

"I tell you I'll run when I come back," maintained the youth, almost tearfully beseeching. "They're waiting for me."

"Let 'em gallop--you can run alongside."

"With all these sweaters? I'd have a sunstroke."

"It's the best thing for you. I never thought of that."

As Glass forced his protege toward the house, the other young people appeared clad for their excursion; their horses were tethered to the porch. And it was an ideal day for a ride--warm, bright, and inviting. Over to the northward the hills, mysteriously purple, invited exploration; to the south and east the golden prairie undulated gently into a hazy realm of infinite possibilities; the animals themselves turned friendly eyes upon their riders, champing and whinnying as if eager to bear them out into the distances.

"We are ready!" called Jean gayly.

"What in the world--" Helen paused at sight of the swathed figure. "Are you cold, Mr. Speed?"

"Climb on your horses and get a start," panted the burly trainer; "he's goin' to race you ten miles."

"I'm going to do nothing of the sort. I'm going to--"

But Glass jerked him violently, crying:

"And no talkin' to gals, neither. You're trainin'. Now, get a move!"

Speed halted stubbornly.

"Hit her up, Wally! G'wan, now--faster! No loafing, Bo, or I'll wallop you!" Nor did he cease until they both paused from exhaustion. Even then he would not allow his charge to do more than regain his breath before urging him onward.

"See here," Wally stormed at last, "what's the use? I can't--"

"What's the use? That's the use!" Glass pointed to the north, where a lone horseman was watching them from a knoll. "D'you know who that is?"

The rider was small and