from the railroad. He's a guest." "Oh!" "Yep! He's intercollegit champeen of Yale." "Yale?" repeated the near-sighted man. "Don't know's I ever been there. Much of a town?" "I ain't never travelled East myself, but Miss Jean and the little yaller-haired girl say he's the fastest man in the world. I figgered we might rib up something with the Centipede." Still Bill winked sagely. "See here, do you reckon he'd run?" "Sure! He's a friend of the boss. And he'll run on the level, too. He can't be nothin' like Humpy." "If he is, I'll git him," said the cowboy. "Oh, I'll git him sure, guest or no guest. But how about the phonograph?" "The Centipede will put it up quick enough; there ain't no sentiment in that outfit." "Then it sounds good." "An' it'll work. Gallagher's anxious to trim us again. Some folks can't stand prosperity." Willie spat unerringly at a grasshopper. "Lord!" said he, "it's too good! It don't sound possible." "Well, it is, and our man will be here this evenin'. Watch out for Nigger Mike, and when he drives up let's give this party a welcome that'll warm his heart on the jump. There's nothin' like a good impression." "I'll be on the job," assured Willie. "But I state right here and now, if we do get a race there ain't a-goin' to be no chance of our losin' for a second time." And Stover went on his way to spread the tidings. It was growing dark when the rattle of wheels outside the ranch- house brought the occupants to the porch in time to see Nigger Mike halt his buck-board and two figures prepare to descend. "It's Mr. Speed!" cried Miss Blake. Then she uttered a scream as the velvet darkness was rent by a dozen tongues of flame, while a shrill yelping arose, as of an Apache war-party.