Speed began to outline a plan hastily in his mind. "I assured them that you would win it back for them, and--" "We sure hope you will," said Willie, earnestly. "Amen!" breathed the lanky foreman, his cheeks still wet from his tears of laughter, but his face drawn into lines of eagerness. "Please! For my sake!" urged Helen, placing a gentle little hand upon her companion's arm. Speed closed his eyes, so to speak, and leaped in the dark. "All right, I'll do it!" "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.