"Twice around the corral," agreed Skinner. "But no accidents, understand? If he falls, I keep going." Instantly there ensued a scramble for grand-stand seats; the cowboys swarmed like insects upon the stout fence of the corral. "Then you'll start and finish here. Once y'all pass we'll stretch a string to yonder post, and the first man to bust it wins. Who's got a string?" "Mr. Gallagher, won't you use my sash?" Helen quickly unfastened the long blue bow of ribbon from her cotton gown, and Gallagher thanked her, adding: "Moreover, the winner gets it!" For the first time, then, Skinner addressed Miss Blake. "Hadn't you better make that the loser, miss? The winner gets the coin," and the assent came in a flashing smile from sky-blue eyes. "Then the loser gets the ribbon!" Gallagher announced loudly, and made one end fast to the corral. "Which I call han'some treatment for Mr. Speed, an' only wish we might retain it at the Centipede as a remembrance. Are the runners ready?" Those near the starting-line gave room. Skinner stepped quickly out from his blanket, and stamped his spikes into the soil; he raised and lowered himself on his toes to try his muscles. Speed drew his bath-robe from his shoulders and thrust it toward his trainer, who shook his head. "Give it to Covington, Bo; I won't be here when you come back." "Get on your marks!" The starter gave his order. Speed set his spikes into the dirt, brought his weight forward upon his hands. He whispered something to Skinner. That gentleman straightened up, whereupon Willie cried for a second time: "On your marks!" and again Skinner crouched. "Get set!" The crowd filled its lungs and waited. Helen Blake buried her nails in her rosy cold palms. Chapin and his friends were swayed by their heart-beats, while even Fresno was balanced upon his toes, his plump face eager. The click of Willie's gun sounded sharp as he cocked it. Into the ear close by his cheek Speed again whispered an agonized-- "Don't forget to fall down!" This time the cook of the Centipede leaped backward with an angry snarl, while the crowd took breath. "Make him quit talking to me!" cried Skinner. Gallagher uttered an imprecation and strode forward, only to have his way once more barred by Still Bill Stover. "He can talk if he wants to." "There is nothing," Speed pointed out with dignity, "in the articles to forbid talking. If I wished to, I could sing. Yes, or whistle, if I felt like it." "_On your marks!"_ came the rasping voice of Willie as Wally murmured to Skinner: "Remember, I trust you." Skinner ground his teeth; the tendons in his calves stood out rigidly. "Get set!" Once more the silence of death wrapped the beholders, and Willie raised his arm. Speed cast one lingering farewell glance to the skies, and said, devoutly: "What a beautiful, beautiful day!" Now the starter was shaking in an ague of fury.