"Yow-ee!" yelled Stover. "We knew you would!" Willie was beaming benignantly through his glasses, while both Carara and Cloudy showed their heartfelt gratitude. "Thank you, Miss Blake. Now we'll show up that shave-tail Centipede crowd for what it is." "Wait!" Speed checked the outburst. "I'll consent upon conditions. I'll run, provided you can arrange the race for an 'unknown.'" "What does that mean?" Helen asked. "It means that I don't want my name known in the matter. Instead of arranging for Mr. Whatever-the-Cook's-Name-Is to run a race with J. W. Speed, he must agree to compete against a representative of the Flying Heart ranch, name unknown." "I don't think that is fair!" cried the girl. "Think of the honor." "Yes, but I'm an amateur. I'd lose my standing." "That goes for us," said Stover. "We don't care what name you run under. We'll frame the race. Lordy! but this is a glorious event." "We can't thank you enough," Willie piped. "You're a true sport, Mr. Speed, and we aim to see that you don't get the worst of it in no way. This here race is goin' to be on the square-you hear me talk-in'. No double-cross this time." Unconsciously the speaker's hand strayed to the gun at his belt, while his smile was grim. Speed started. "What day shall we set?" inquired Stover. Wally rapidly calculated the date of Culver's arrival, and said: "A week from Saturday." Covington would soon be _en route_, and was due to arrive a few days thereafter. "We'd like to make it to-morrow," ventured Willie. "Oh, but I must have a chance to get in trim," said the college man. "One week from Saturday goes," announced Stover, "and we thank you again." Turning to Carara, he directed: "Rope your buckskin, and hike for the Centipede. Tell 'em to unlimber their coin. I'll draw a month's wages in advance for every son-of-a-gun on the Flying Heart, and we'll arrange details to-night." "_Si_," agreed Carara. "I go." "And don't waste no time neither," directed Willie. "You tear like a jack-rabbit ahead of a hot wind." Carara tossed his cigarette aside, and the sound of his spurs was lost around the corner of the house. "This makes a boy of me," the last speaker continued. "I can hear the plaintiff notes of Madam-o-sella Melby once again." CHAPTER V Larry Glass discovered his protege on the rear porch engrossed with Miss Blake, and signalled him from afar; but the young man ignored the signal, and the trainer strolled up to the steps. "Hello, Larry! What's on your mind?" inquired Speed. "I'd like to see you." Glass, clad in his sportiest garments, seemed utterly lacking in the proper appreciation of a valet's position. He treated his employer with a tolerant good-nature. Miss Blake excused herself and went into the house, whereupon her companion showed his irritation. "See here, Larry, don't you know better than to interrupt me in the midst of a hammock talk?"