Chapter 15 - Page 2

Omaha--automobile accident." Culver was fighting to master himself.

"Omaha! Did you stop in Omaha?" inquired Jean.

"A city of beautiful women," Speed reflected, audibly. "Somebody step on your foot at a dance?"

"No, of course not! I don't know anybody in Omaha! I went motoring--"

"Joy-ride?"

"Not at all."

"Who was with you?" Miss Chapin's voice was ominously sweet.

"N--nobody I knew."

"Does that mean that you were alone?"

"Yes. I stopped off between trains to view the city, and took a 'Seeing Omaha' ride. The yap wagon upset, and--I broke my toe."

"You left Chicago ten days ago," said Speed accusingly.

"Of course, but--when I broke my toe I had to stay. It's a beautiful city--lots of fine buildings." "How did you like the jail?"

"What in the world are you boys talking about?" queried Miss Blake.

"Mr. Speed seems amused at Culver's accident." Roberta gave him a stinging look. "Now we'd better let Culver go to his room and freshen up a bit. I want to talk to you, Helen," and Speed drooped at the meaning behind her words. But it was time for a general conference; events were shaping themselves too rapidly for him to cope with. Once the three were alone he lost no time in making his predicament known, the while his friend listened in amazement.

"But is it really so serious?" the latter asked, finally.

"It's life or death. There's a homocidal maniac named Willie guarding me daytimes, and a pair of renegades who keep watch at my window all night. The cowboys bathe me in ice-water to toughen me, and feed me raw meat to make me wild. In every corner there lurks an assassin with orders to shoot me if I break training, every where I go some low-browed criminal feels my biceps, pinches my legs, and asks how my wind is. I tell you, I'm going mad."

"And the worst part of it is," spoke Glass, sympathetically, "they'll bump me off first. It's a pipe."

"But, Wally, you can't run."

"Don't I know it?"

"Don't I?" seconded the trainer.

"Then why attempt the impossible? Call the race off."

"It's too late. Don't you understand? The bets are made, and its 'pay or play.' The cowboys have mortgaged their souls on me."

"He was makin' a play for that little doll--"

"Don't you call Miss Blake a doll, Larry! I won't stand for it!"

"Well, 'skirt,' then."

"Why don't you cut it? There's a train East at midnight."

"And leave Helen--like that? Her faith in me has weakened already; she'd hate me if I did that.