“Quite some,” replied Bert with a curious little smile.  “The next time you talk to Trent or Henderson ask them about it, if you don’t believe me.”

He strolled off, and after he had gone the men held a consultation.  Chip was openly skeptical regarding Bert’s offer to run.  “He’s a fine lad an’ all that,” he opined, “but it takes more than an amateur to beat this sharp.  The boy would be out of his class, I reckon, if he came up against this yere sprinter.”

The others seemed inclined to agree with Chip’s view of the matter, but Sandy demurred.  “I’ve been watchin’ that lad,” he said, “an’ I’ve noticed he don’t usually go around shootin’ off his mouth about nothin’.  Seems t’ me before we pass up his proposition it might be a good idea to look up his friends an’ see what they say about it.”

“Waal, thet’s only fair,” remarked one of the cowboys known to his mates only as “Bud.”  “I vote we make Sandy an’ Chip a committee o’ two to see Trent an’ Henderson an’ question them on this yere p’int.  Yuh don’t want to fergit thet if we could find somebody thet could beat this Helena candidate we’d have it on them effete citizens so bad they’d wear mournin’ fer a year.”

This consideration had great weight with the others, and they all assented to Bud’s proposition.  It was agreed that at the first opportunity Sandy and Chip should question Tom and Dick on the subject of Bert’s running abilities, and so the matter was dropped for the present.

The “committee,” however, kept it in mind, and when, as they were returning to the bunkhouse that same evening, Chip and Sandy espied Dick and Tom at no great distance, riding along in leisurely fashion, they immediately hailed them.

On hearing their names called the two friends looked around, and, seeing the ranchmen beckoning to them, cantered over in their direction, and quickly reached the spot on which they were standing.

“What’s up?” questioned Dick, “anything wrong?”

“No, not ’specially,” answered Sandy, slightly at a loss as to the best way to bring up the subject.  “Yuh see, it’s this way.  Some o’ the boys has heard thet your pal, Wilson, is somethin’ of a runner, and we was jest cur’ous to know ef it was so.  Can you wise us up on this yere mooted p’int?”

Dick looked over at Tom and grinned.  “You tell ’em, Tom,” he said; “tell them whether Bert can run or not.”

“Well,” said Tom, “Bert isn’t such an awful good runner, no.  He’s never done a thing in that line except win the Marathon run at the last Olympic games, break every college record from one to twenty-five miles, and set up a new world’s record for the five mile distance.  Outside of that he can’t run worth a cent, can he, Dick?”

For a moment Dick was too amused watching the faces of the two ranchmen to answer.  “Wh-what are yuh tryin’ t’ hand us, anyhow,” demanded Chip.  “Do yuh really mean he’s the same Wilson thet won the big Marathon race?”