COLUMBIA’S LAST CHANCE
On the run out they had been heading almost due west, with the sun
shining directly in their eyes. Now that the turn had been made, they
had it easier; for they were no longer half blinded by that glare.
The railroad was not so very far off but that a train passing at one
place, the passengers leaned out of the windows waving hankerchiefs,
and shouting words of cheer. For everybody loves a boy athlete,
and seems to be drawn to utter strangers, when coming upon them
unexpectedly.
Frank had already made up his mind on several matters. One was that
he did not feel his best somehow, on this important day; and that if
it all depended on him, there was a strong possibility that either
Clifford or Bellport would land the prize, and carry off that gold
watch.
This might have worried him considerably at another time, but it did
not now; for he had been keeping a watchful eye on his running mate,
and realized that Lanky was in fit shape for the greatest effort of
his life.
Barring accidents, Frank really believed the long-legged fellow could
overtake the leaders inside of a quarter of a mile, no matter how
desperately they strove to maintain their present advantage.
He was content that it should be so. And in times to come he would
never envy Lanky that splendid timepiece, which was to be the reward of
his pluck and running ability.
Still, he deemed it wise to hold back as much as he could, and not
allow this impetuous comrade his head. Letting the two who led the run
set the pace, was the wisest thing that could be done. They were apt to
vie with each other in little spurts that were calculated to exhaust
their vim; while those behind could continue to push steadily along
in a grinding, irresistible way, always keeping a certain amount of
reserve speed on tap for an emergency.
It was about this time that the runners entered upon the gloomiest
part of the entire course. Frank remembered the stretch of dense woods
full well. He had even hunted for gray squirrels here, more than a few
times; though as a rule the boys of Columbia seldom came this way, when
the river offered them such a field for most of their sports, summer
and winter.
The trees were of unusual size, and grew so thickly that there was
always an aspect of gloom hanging over the district. It had rather a
bad name, too, on account of a peddler having met with his death here
years back; and though the authorities had done their duty as well as
possible, the tramp who undoubtedly was responsible for the forest
tragedy had never been apprehended.
Still, there did not seem to be any chance for even a schemer such as
Frank believed Larry Parker to be to play any trick upon his opponents.
He could not slacken his own pace; and it was altogether unlikely that
he would influence any Clifford comrade to lie in wait, so as to trip
the runners, or in some other way bring them to a stop.
Besides, just then Parker was in the lead, and could not know what a
surprise was in store for him when Lanky Wallace broke loose. He seemed
to have only the wily Bellport runner, Coddling, to fear. And that
fellow was too smart, Frank believed, to give his rival any chance to
come in contact with him.
Four miles more to run!
How slowly time seemed to pass! Why, it was as though an age had
elapsed since the pistol cracked that sent the contestants flying like
the wind on their way.
“Can’t we go a _little_ faster, Frank?” Lanky asked, as they struck the
big woods; and the look he turned on his chum was more expressive than
even his words.
Frank shook his head in the negative. Knowing the impulsive nature of
the tall Columbia student, Roderick Seymour in the beginning had given
Lanky to understand that he must govern his actions by those of Frank
Allen. If the other gave him the word to let himself out at any time,
then he could start on his own responsibility. For it was understood
before the race started, that the contestants of each school could
assist one another by advice, or in any other legitimate way, while
endeavoring to land the prize.
A minute later Lanky suddenly cried out; and it gave Frank a shock,
for he instantly conceived the thought that his running mate must have
wrenched an ankle, and that would put him out of the running.
“What is it?” he gasped.
“Look ahead, at the side of the road!” answered the other, between his
set teeth.
Frank did so, and immediately echoed Lanky’s cry.
“Another fellow put out of the race, just like Bones was!” he
exclaimed, feeling that this time it certainly could not have been an
accident that had disabled the second rival of Larry Parker.
But the sharp eyes of Lanky had made an additional discovery. It was
not any too bright there under those great trees; but Lanky was noted
for his keen eyesight.
“It isn’t Coddling at all!” he called out, as he ran on.
“That’s a fact; because he’s dressed in regular clothes; but it’s a
boy, and he acts like he was suffering like anything!” Frank went on,
slackening his pace just a little as they drew nearer the recumbent
figure.
Just then the boy who had been lying there like one nearly dead, heard
the sound of their voices, likely enough; at any rate, he lifted his
head, and seeing them, made a desperate effort to scramble to his feet.
The first thing Frank saw was that one of his legs seemed utterly
helpless. Then he felt a thrill of horror, for he discovered that blood
was trickling down, as though the wound might be most severe.
“Wow! it’s Bill Klemm!” burst from Lanky, who had been staring at the
pained face of the boy.
The fellow immediately stretched out both hands toward the runners, and
called to them in a weak voice that quite wrung Frank’s heart.
“Fellers, get help fur me, quick! I’ve nigh bled to death. Fell out of
a high tree, and broke my leg, I ’spect. Oh! the bone come through, and
it keeps on bleedin’ to beat the band! Please don’t leave me like them
other fellers did. I’ll die, sure I will. Oh! it’s terrible, the pain!
Frank, Lanky, help me!”
The two long-distance runners stopped short. The lure of that golden
prize was for the moment utterly forgotten by both of them. Here was
a boy whom they had never liked, and who was known as the latest
scapegrace of the town. Even then he was hiding from justice, fearing
punishment because of that fire at the high-school building, which was
laid at his door.
But for all that he was one of their schoolmates. They had played with
him from time to time in the past. And there could be no doubt in the
world but that poor Bill Klemm was suffering dreadfully; there was no
make-believe about that expression of pain on his dirty face.
“We must help him, Frank!” said Lanky, firmly.
He wanted to win that race above all things. Glory and victory,
together with that fine prize, had been ever before his mind. Then
there was his promise to Dora that he would do his very level best to
bring the Columbia colors in ahead of all competitors.
But above all else Lanky had a heart. He could not pass by, as
evidently Parker and Coddling had done, without extending even a word
of sympathy to the stricken bad boy of Columbia.
Frank had to do some pretty tall thinking just then. He would not
desert Bill, but was there any necessity for both of them to give up
the run?
He could hardly believe that Coddling, at any rate, would have been
quite so cold-hearted. Perhaps he had not understood what it really
meant. He may even have suspected that some wily Columbia student,
hoping to delay the leaders, had gotten himself up in this fashion to
play the injured act. All sorts of expedients had been practiced in
former long runs, to break in upon the winning spell of the leaders;
and clever Coddling was alive to such tricks.
But with Frank and Lanky there could be no such excuse for wantonly
deserting the boy who begged for their help. They could see for
themselves that he was in a serious condition; and that unless someone
stood by him, to assist in stopping that flow of blood, Bill might even
die.
Frank knew that his work was cut out for him. He did not relinquish the
last hope of being in the run to the finish without a sigh; for there
was always some expectation that Columbia might have to look to him for
victory, should Lanky fail in the pinch.
But he sturdily put the clamps on when he felt this spirit trying to
choke the generous impulses of his heart.
[Illustration: “GO ON, I TELL YOU, LANKY, YOU MUST WIN THIS RACE!”
_Boys of Columbia High in Track Athletics._ _Page 205._]
Lanky must go on, and do his level best for Old Columbia; leaving to
him the less pleasant duty of caring for the injured Bill Klemm.
“I’ll look after him, Lanky; you keep right along, and beat them out!
Hear?” he exclaimed, turning on his chum.
Lanky shook his head in the negative.
“You go, and let me stay, Frank!” he said, crushing down the feeling
of rebellion because so miserable a specimen as Bill Klemm, of all
Columbia boys, should interfere with the successful carrying-out of
their part in the race.
“I’ll not stir from this spot until I’ve seen Bill taken in charge,”
was the way Frank spoke. “And it’s silly to think that both of us must
stay. There will be others along after a minute or two, and they can
help me. Go on, I tell you, Lanky. You _must_ win this race. Think of
Dora; and the proud colors of Columbia that will be trailed in the dust
if you fail them. My duty is here; yours to beat out those two runners
ahead. Now you’re off!”
Frank actually turned Lanky around, and gave him a shove. The tall boy
glared once over his shoulder, and gave his chum a last look, in which
affection mingled with the stern resolve that filled his soul.
Then he was away like the wind. Around the bend beyond he flashed as
might a departing sunbeam; and Frank Allen, as he turned once more
toward the injured boy, was saying gladly to himself:
“Lanky will do it! he’s keyed up to making a record run; and he’ll just
pass the other fellows like they were standing still!”