Beneath his arm he carried a tight-rolled bundle. Sensing
something important back of this unusual demeanor, Speed excused
himself and followed Larry, who did not trust to speech until
they were alone in the gymnasium with the doors closed. Then he
unrolled the bundle he carried, spread it upon the floor, and
stepped into its exact centre.
"Are you standing on my prayer-rug?" demanded his companion,
angrily.
"I am! And from this on I'm goin' to make it work itself to
death. She said a feller couldn't get hurt if he stood on it and
said 'Allah.' Well, I'm goin' to wear it out."
"What's wrong?"
"Do you know what's goin' to happen to me if Covington don't get
here and beat this cook?"
"Happen to you?"
"Yes, me! These outlaws have put it up to me to win this bet for
them."
"Well, Covington can beat anybody."
"But Covington isn't here yet."
"Not yet, but--" The young man smiled. "You're not frightened,
are you?"
"Scared to death, that's all," acknowledged the other. Then when
his employer laughed openly, he broke out at a white-heat.
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