THE END OF THE LONG RUN
“Where are Asa Barnes and Wat Kline?”
Frank asked the question as he was bending down over the wounded boy,
making a rude tourniquet, with which to stop the flow of blood, by
compressing the leg above the broken part.
He put this question from a double motive; being curious to know why
Bill’s cronies had not attempted to assist him in his trouble; and also
to keep the mind of the wounded boy off his pain as much as he could.
“The skunks deserted me at the last!” grumbled Bill, gasping with the
agony he was doubtless enduring.
“Do you mean they ran away, and left you like this?” demanded the
amateur surgeon, twisting the stick he had inserted in the handkerchief
that was already knotted around the leg.
“Naw, they never knowed anything about me bein’ hurt,” whimpered Bill,
and then he gave a little snort, going on: “Ouch! that hurts like all
get out, Frank! Let up on a feller a little, can’t you? I know I ain’t
always treated you white; but sure you wouldn’t take it out on me, now
I’m down!”
“You don’t understand, Bill,” Frank replied, giving even a firmer twist
to the handkerchief by means of the grip he maintained on the stick
which was passed through the upper part; “I’m trying to press down on
the artery, and stop the flow of blood. It may hurt some; but be a man
and bear it. I’m doing all I can to save your very life, Bill.”
The wretched Bill began to cry, and Frank hardly knew what he could do,
since he had his hands full with holding that knotted handkerchief,
and the stick with which he had turned it again and again, until the
knot pressed down exactly on the artery under the knee, and stopped the
blood from flowing.
Just then a runner came along. It was Wentworth, of course. And he gave
signs of meaning to stop to ask what it all meant.
Frank knew that possibly this runner might have a ghost of a show to
come in either first, or second. Those further back would be out of the
running by the time they arrived here; and he could depend on one of
them to assist him.
So he waved his hand to Wentworth, and called out:
“Go on! Don’t stop for a second, Wentworth! You’ve still got some show!
One of our Columbia boys here has been hurt. I’ll stop Mallory or
Keating when they come on, to help me get him out of this before he
bleeds to death. Get along with you now, Wentworth. Take the will for
the deed! Your school wants you to make a try for that prize!”
Thus urged, Wentworth did push right along, though be it said to his
honor that he gave evidences of reluctance in so leaving Frank. He must
have seen from the appearance of the wounded boy that it was a serious
matter.
“Oh! why did you let him go on?” complained Bill, who was getting a
trifle light-headed, the result of the pain and excitement combined.
“Looks like you just wanted me to die right here, Frank Allen.”
“There are two other fellows coming along soon, and they’ll stop to
help us,” Frank tried to console him by saying. “Yes, I can see one
right now, and he’ll sure be here in a minute, Bill. Just keep up your
pluck a little while more. It’s going to be all right; and you’ll pull
through, never fear.”
But poor Bill was almost in a state of collapse by the time Mallory
reached the spot. Frank did not know this boy, for he was a newcomer
in Bellport. But he had a good face; and sure enough, as soon as he
understood what the matter was, he evinced a perfect readiness to stand
by.
“My chance for making that prize has gone anyway, Allen,” he said,
with a sigh of keen disappointment. “I worked too hard the last week,
and you can see I’ve just gone stale. Can’t get any speed out of my
legs, no matter how I try. So I call quits right here, and stay with
you to help get this poor chap to a doctor.”
“Doctor, yes, that’s what I need, boys!” muttered Bill, weakly.
“Here comes Keating along,” Mallory continued presently; “and he’s
pretty well winded, too; so I reckon he’ll hold over, and give us a
hand. That’s better than coming in at the tail-end of the procession,
anyhow. People’ll say you might ’a’ had a _little_ chance, only that
duty held you on the road. Hi! Keating, we want you here!”
The runner was not averse to stopping, for his wind seemed about gone.
Indeed, he was even then possibly debating whether he wanted to keep
up the hopeless race, or head for Bellport on a walk, to strike the
trolley line further down the road.
“What’s all this mean?” he asked, in a gasp, as he came up.
“A fellow has been badly hurt, and we’ve got to get him to town,”
Mallory explained.
“If one of you could keep hold of this stick, and not let up on the
pressure a little bit, I’d try and find a farm somewhere near, where
I could borrow a horse and wagon, to carry him back to town,” Frank
remarked just then, knowing that it was their only chance.
“Sure, we’ll stick by you, Allen!” was the ready response of Keating,
who proved to be a pretty fine sort of a fellow. “Skip out, and get
back as soon as you can. I’d like to pike on to the grounds, and see
who won the race before all the crowd gets away. But we’ll wait, no
matter how long you take, Allen.”
“Oh! rats! what have we got to lose?” replied the other, laughingly.
“We’re long since out of the swim, anyhow. But I say, Allen, where’d
you learn how to put on a tourniquet so well? My dad’s the new doctor
in Bellport, and I wager he’d say he couldn’t have done it better
himself, in an emergency. If this fellow gets through alive, he’ll owe
a heap to you, believe me.”
But Frank did not wait to listen to any words of praise. He was on
the run even as Keating spoke in this strain. For he had remembered
that when hunting squirrels in these woods, he had come on a little
farm that was almost lost among the tall timber; and secured a most
refreshing drink of buttermilk from a pleasant woman who seemed to be
running the place.
It was to look for this that he now set out. And he was cudgeling his
brains as hard as he could while hastening away, trying to figure out
just how he could best reach this hidden farm. A mistake might lose
him much time; and if the life of the wounded boy was to be saved, they
must surely get him to the doctor as speedily as possible.
Fortunately Frank was a boy who noticed everything; and once he had
visited a place, he could find his way there again because of this
habit of observation. So now he called things to mind, and remembered
how he had passed that crooked tree that made him laugh because of its
queer shape, just after he came out of the lane that led direct to the
hidden farm.
And so he found what he sought, and turning in, sped lightly along,
rapidly nearing the farm. The only thing that worried him now was the
possibility of the occupants being away; for nearly everybody around
Columbia for twenty miles had in some way heard of the great athletic
contests, and doubtless made it a point to be present on this eventful
day.
If that happened to be the case, and he could find a spare horse, as
well as any sort of vehicle, Frank was resolved to appropriate them
without any compunction. When a human life depends on rapid action, it
is no time to stand on ceremony; and he felt sure he could depend on
that cheery little woman of the farm to applaud his action.
Sure enough, there was no one home at that hour. Chickens were in
evidence; a litter of pigs grunted near the barn; several sheep
were cropping the grass in a nearby pasture; just beyond a group of
gentle-eyed cows looked curiously at him as he came hastily up, and
called out.
But the house was closed, and the door locked!
Frank ran straight out to the barn and stables. Here he found an old
horse, and a wagon that would serve his purpose. Managing to hitch the
animal between the shafts after some fashion, Frank threw armfuls of
sweet smelling hay into the bed of the vehicle, upon which the wounded
boy could lie.
Then he was off, using the whip on the old animal in a fashion that
doubtless astonished Dobbin not a little. But the beast kicked up his
heels, and went on a gallop down the lane until the road was reached.
So, before a great while had elapsed, Frank was back again with the
boys who were bending over poor Bill, dressed only in their running
togs as they were. With as much tenderness as possible they lifted the
wounded lad, and deposited him in the wagon. He cried out with the
agony several times, though they tried to be very careful.
Frank drove the old horse, while the other two sat alongside Bill, and
endeavored to cheer him up; though the boy began to close his eyes, and
seemed as though he might be faint with what he had gone through.
While the road was good Frank hurried the animal as much as he dared.
And since they must pass the athletic grounds on their way to Columbia,
he would not have been human had he not listened, with his heart
seemingly in his mouth, to catch the tenor of the exultant shouts that
were being raised by the departing hosts of spectators.
They were streaming in various directions, in knots and crowds, and the
greatest enthusiasm seemed to abound; as though the finish of the long
run might have been very dramatic.
Borne on the late afternoon breeze came the familiar chorus of voices
that the efficient cheer captain, Herman Hooker, led with such powerful
effect.
The sound thrilled Frank Allen as nothing else could have done. He
found himself involuntarily joining in with that never-to-be-forgotten
rallying cry that had so often aroused himself and his mates to
undreamed-of endeavors on the field of strife:
“Ho! ho! ho! hi! hi! hi! _veni! vidi! vici!_ We came, we saw, we
conquered! Columbia! ’Rah!”
That told the story! The departing hosts seemed to be all Columbia
people, judging from the shouts that arose. Then Lanky--good, reliable
old Lanky--had passed both Parker and Coddling in the race, and landed
the colors of his school across the tape, winner of the long run!
And Frank felt content that it was so.