Stover turned to his men. "Four of you-all hustle up a couple hundred pounds of that ice _pronto!_ Crack it, an' fill the bar'l." There was a scramble for the door. "And there's something else, too," went on Berkeley. "He's being fed wrong for his last days of training. The idea of a man eating lamb-chops, fried eggs, oatmeal, and all that debilitating stuff! Those girls overload his stomach. Why, he ought to have something to make him strong--fierce!" "Name it," said Willie, shortly. "Something like--like--bear meat." "We ain't got no bear." Willie looked chagrined. "This ain't their habitat," added Stover apologetically. "Well, he ought to have meat, and it ought to be wild--raw, if possible." "There ain't nothin' wilder 'n a long-horn. We can git him a steer." "You are sure the meat isn't too tender?" "It's tougher 'n a night in jail." "There ain't no sausage-mill that'll dent it." "Good! The rarer it is the better. Some raw eggs and a good strong vegetable--" "Onions?" "Fine! We'll save him yet!" "We'll get the grub." "And he'll eat it!" Willie nodded firmly. Stover issued another order, this time to Carara. "You 'n Cloudy butcher the wildest four-year-old you can find. If you can't get close enough to rope him, shoot him, and bring in a hind quarter. It's got to be here in time for breakfast." "Si, Senor!" The Mexican picked up his lariat; the Indian took a Winchester from an upper bunk and filled it with cartridges. "Of course, he'll have to eat out here; they spoil him up at the house." "Sure thing!" "I'd hate to see him lose; it would be a terrible blow to Miss Blake." Fresno shook his head doubtfully. "What about us?" "Oh, you can stand it--but she's a girl. Ah, well," the speaker sighed, "I hope nothing occurs between now and Saturday to prevent his running." "It won't," Stover grimly assured the Californian. "Nothin' whatever is goin' to occur." "He was speaking yesterday about the possibility of some business engagement--" The small man in glasses interrupted. "Nothin' but death shall take him from us, Mr. Fresno." "If I think of anything else," offered Berkeley, kindly, "I'll tell you." "We wish you would." Fresno returned to the house, humming cheerily. It was still an hour until his breakfast-time, but he had accomplished much. In the midst of his meditation he came upon Miss Blake emerging upon the rear porch. "Good-morning!" he cried. She started a trifle guiltily. "What are you doing at this hour?" "Oh, I just love the morning air," she answered. "And you?" "Same here! 'Honesty goes to bed early, and industry rises betimes.' That's me!" "Then you have been working?" Fresno nodded. He was looking at four cowboys who were entering the gymnasium, staggering beneath dripping gunny-sacks. Then he turned his gaze searchingly upon the girl. "Were you looking for Speed?" he asked accusingly. "The idea!" Miss Blake flushed faintly.