"Well, Covington can beat anybody." "But Covington isn't here yet." "Not yet, but--" The young man smiled. "You're not frightened, are you?" "Scared to death, that's all," acknowledged the other. Then when his employer laughed openly, he broke out at a white-heat. "Joke, eh? Well, you'd better have a good laugh while you can, because Humpy Joe's finish will be a ten-course dinner to what you'll get if Covington misses his train." "How easily frightened you are!" "Yes? Well, any time people start shooting shots I'm too big for this earth. The hole in a gun looks as big as a gas-tank to me." "But nobody is going to shoot you!" exclaimed the mystified college man. "They ain't, hey? I missed the Golden Stairs by a lip not half an hour ago. I got a pipe-stem crossways in my gullet now, and it tickles." He coughed loudly, then shook his head. "No use; it won't come up." With feverish intensity he told of his narrow escape from destruction, the memory bringing a sweat of agony to his brow. "And the worst of it is," he concluded, "I'm 'marked' with guns. I've always been that way." "Tut! tut! Don't alarm yourself. If Covington shouldn't come, the race will be declared off." "No chance," announced the trainer, with utter conviction. "These thugs have made it pay or play, and the bets are down." "You know I can't run." "If he don't come, you'll _have_ to!" "Absurd! I shall be indisposed." "If you mean you'll get sick, or sprain an ankle, or break a leg, or kill yourself, guess again. I'm responsible for you now. Something may go wrong with me, that pipe-stem is liable to gimme a cancer, but nothin' is goin' to happen to you. My only chance to make a live of it is to cough up that clay, and get some one to outrun this cook. You're the only chance I've got, if Culver don't show, and the first law of nature ain't never been repealed."