"Good-bye, Mr. Speed."
Chapin came forward and spoke with artificial heartiness, "Good-
luck, Wally; beat him at the start," and Covington followed.
"Remember," he cautioned, sadly, "what I told you about the
start--it's your only chance."
"Why don't you fellows think about the finish of this race?"
faltered the runner.
Then, in a voice broken with excitement, Helen Blake spoke,
holding out her hand for a good-bye clasp. "Dear Mr. Speed," she
said, "will you try to remember this?--remember to run before he
does, and don't let him catch up to you. If you do that, I just
_know_ you'll win."
This magnificent display of confidence nerved the athlete, and he
smiled at her. He wished to speak, but dared not trust himself.
Gallagher was calling; so he went to the starting-point, whence
he surveyed the course. There it lay, no more than a lane leading
down between ranks of brown-faced men whose eyes were turned upon
him. On the top rail of the corral perched Willie, revolver in
hand. The babble of voices ceased, the strident laughter stilled,
Speed heard the nervous Tustle of feminine skirts.
Pages:
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232