Fluke Victory
Jacques’ unexpected leave-taking came as a bitter disappointment to Brad
and Dan who had hoped to learn more about the boy.
“We don’t know where he went or why,” Fred explained to the Cubs as they
reread the farewell message. “Dad and I carried a basket of trash down to
the beach, leaving Jacques here. When we came back, he was gone.”
“That was only a few minutes ago,” Mr. Hatfield added. “Dan, you and Brad
didn’t see the boy anywhere on the beach?”
Dan replied that they had observed no one.
“Dad and I weren’t away from the Cave ten minutes,” Fred further
explained. “I can’t understand what got into Jacques. He seemed cheerful
earlier this morning.”
“Maybe he was afraid we’d ask too many questions,” Brad commented, his
gaze roving slowly about the room. “Say, isn’t there something different
about this place?”
“Different?” Mr. Hatfield echoed. “A chair has been upset and another one
shoved against the wall. Come to think of it, both those chairs were in
place when Fred and I carried out the trash!”
“Maybe someone came here while you were away and forced Jacques to
leave!” Dan exclaimed.
“The boy seemed well enough satisfied this morning,” Mr. Hatfield said,
folding and buttoning the note into his jacket pocket. “That’s what makes
it seem strange that he’d leave without explaining. Suppose we look
around down on the beach.”
Eager to search for clues, the boys clattered down the stairway ahead of
the Cub leader.
At the foot of the steps they noticed several freshly made footsteps in
the sand. Scattered among the imprints left by a small shoe were those of
a man’s heavy-soled footgear.
“Dan, your theory about someone forcing Jacques to leave may be correct!”
Mr. Hatfield exclaimed. “The boy may have gone willingly enough. But that
upset chair makes me wonder.”
Now rather excited by their discoveries, the Cubs followed the footprint
trail for twenty yards along the beach.
Now and then, a small circular mark appeared near the shoe prints. To the
observing Cubs this indicated that a stick or similar round object had
been carried by Jacques’ companion.
“And see here!” Midge exclaimed, staring at a confusion of prints in the
sand. “Doesn’t this look as if a scuffle took place, Mr. Hatfield?”
“It does,” agreed the Cub leader, praising Midge for his observation.
“Either Jacques stumbled or was given a hard shove. One can see plainly
where he fell down.”
The trail of footprints led the Cubs on to a paved road paralleling the
river front. There it abruptly ended.
“Well, we’ve lost them,” Mr. Hatfield said, gazing up and down the
deserted highway.
“And now we’ll never know who Jacques was or where he came from,” Dan
said. “About all he told us was that he’s a Cub.”
“Even that seems odd,” Mr. Hatfield commented. “I’ve checked, and Jacques
never was a member of any Webster City Den. I only hope that whoever took
the boy away treats him right. Those bruises the doctor mentioned, rather
trouble me.”
Failure to learn what had become of Jacques disturbed not only Mr.
Hatfield but all of the Cubs. During the next three days, the topic was a
major one discussed at the Cave.
The Cub leader reported Jacques’ disappearance to police, but was
informed that no boy of his description had been reported missing.
At first, the Cubs spent many hours trying to decipher the coded message
which Dan and Brad had removed from Jacques’ clothing.
Failing to figure it out or to hear more of the boy, the matter began to
fade into the background. Only Dan remained determined to work out the
code.
Meanwhile, the Cubs turned their attention to an important swimming meet
which had been scheduled with the boys of Den 1.
In a meet held the month before, the rival Den had captured top honors by
a score of 20 to 16. Defeat rankled in the hearts of the Den 2 Cubs who
were determined to make a better showing in the second contest.
A total of three meets had been scheduled for the season. An engraved
silver loving cup would be awarded to the Den which won two of the
contests.
“I’m afraid Ross Langdon will win the Saturday meet too,” Dan remarked
glumly one afternoon as he practiced with the other Cubs at the “Y” pool.
“That guy swims as if he’s jet propelled!”
Although Den 1 boasted several fine swimmers, 11-year-old Ross was by far
the greatest threat to the rival Cubs. Muscularly built, the boy had the
energy of a youngster of fifteen. His crawl stroke lacked form, but by
sheer strength he managed to win every race he entered.
“You swim as well as Ross does,” Brad told Dan loyally. “Your form is
better.”
“Maybe,” Dan admitted, “but I lack his endurance. I hold out fairly well
in the 25-yard free style, but in the 50, I began to lose my wind. And
you know we’ve got to capture both events to nose out Den 1 in the final
tally.”
“Sure, I know,” Brad acknowledged, easing his body snake-fashion down the
pool wall into the chlorinated water. “Just get in and pitch, old boy.
Remember, the Den is counting on you!”
“That’s what makes me worried, Brad. I want to do my best. I practice and
practice, but where does it get me?”
Sam Hatfield emerged from the dressing room in time to hear Dan’s final
remark.
“You just keep plugging and top speed will come, Dan,” he said
cheerfully. “Stop worrying about Ross Langdon. One of these days his lack
of form will catch up with him. Now dive into that pool and swim eight
lengths.”
“Eight?” Dan groaned.
“Eight,” the Cub leader repeated firmly. “It’s the only way you’ll ever
build up your endurance. When the going gets hard—just keep going.”
Inspired by this advice, Dan dived into the water, and with smooth
strokes slashed his way the first length of the pool.
After a turn at the wall, his breath became a little short and he slowed
down a little. By the end of the third length, his stroke lost some of
its hard drive. At five lengths, his steady six-beat leg thrash became a
tired wiggle. Finally at the end of the eighth length, Dan was holding
out by sheer will power.
“Keep it up!” Mr. Hatfield called encouragingly. “You’re doing fine.”
At that moment Ross Langdon sauntered into the pool. Large for his age
and a natural athlete, the boy’s appearances at the “Y” were few and far
between, for he disliked to practice. On this afternoon, however, he had
donned satin trunks, showered, and evidently intended to swim.
Observing Dan’s now jerky stroke, he uttered a loud horse-laugh. Then to
show off, he plunged into the pool, and swam the length with a speed
which tossed foam ahead of his thrashing arms.
Thoroughly discouraged by the display, Dan wheeled over to the side to
watch.
“What’s the use?” he muttered to Brad who slithered alongside in the
water. “I couldn’t quite finish eight lengths and here Ross blazes in and
tears up the pool!”
“That’s all right, Dan,” Brad encouraged him. “You won’t see him doing
more than a few lengths before he caves in. You just keep plugging the
way Mr. Hatfield said.”
“But the meet is Saturday. And look at that guy travel! His form may not
be so hot, but how he can chop the water!”
Well aware that the Cubs of Den 2 were watching, Ross swam another
length, finishing off with a snappy turn at the wall.
Then he pulled himself from the pool, stretching out on the tile floor to
relax.
“See, I told you!” Brad muttered. “As soon as the going gets hard, he
quits.”
“To win the 25-yard and the 50-yard dash, he won’t need too much
reserve,” Dan sighed. “Well, I’ll sure do my best to win, but I’ve got a
dark brown feeling.”
On Saturday, the day set for the swimming meet, enthusiasm had mounted to
high pitch. By two o’clock, all the Cubs, their parents and many other
spectators had gathered at the “Y” to witness the contest.
Five events had been scheduled, fancy diving, the 25-yard free style
race, the 50-yard swim, a 100-yard relay, and a back stroke event.
Points were to be awarded on the basis of five for first place, three for
second, and one for third place. According to the rules, each team was
allowed to enter two contestants in an event.
Den 2 swung off to a good start with Brad taking top honors and Midge
Holloway coming in third. This lead of six to three brought enthusiastic
cheers from the gallery.
The second event, the racing back crawl, proved discouraging to Den 2.
Though Chips Davis swam an excellent race, he lost to one of the Den 1
boys. Den 2, however, managed to snare both second and third places,
giving them a total score of 10 to 8.
“From now on it will be nip and tuck,” Brad said grimly as the 25-yard
free style was called. “So far Ross Langdon hasn’t had a chance to swim.”
At the crack of the gun, Dan and Ross hit the water together. From that
first moment of the race it was evident to the spectators that the
remainder of the meet would resolve itself into a battle between the two
swimmers.
Though Dan exerted his best efforts, Ross won the event by an easy
six-foot margin. Dan was awarded second place, while another swimmer from
Den 1 captured third position. The scoreboard proclaimed the discouraging
totals: Den 1—14. Den 2—13.
Only two events remained, the 50-yard free style and the 100-yard relay.
However, Ross was entered in both events and the Cubs knew his flashy
speed could be counted upon to win for his den.
“That boy is in top form today—if you can say he has any form,” Midge
muttered, slapping Dan encouragingly on the back. “Well, get in there and
show him!”
“Sure, sure,” Dan laughed, but his words had a hollow ring.
As the Cubs of Den 2 expected, their rivals walked away with the relay by
a score of 20 to 16.
“Fat chance we have of winning now,” Dan said as the final event of the
meet was called. “We’d have to make a complete sweep, and we’ll be lucky
to capture one place.”
“It sure looks bad for Den 2,” Brad agreed. “But get in there and fight,
boy! Ross acts a bit winded. He may not hold out.”
In the 50-yard free style, the Cubs were required to swim two lengths of
the pool. Before the start of the race, an official reminded the boys
that they must remain in their lanes and touch the wall at the turn or be
disqualified.
At the crack of the gun Ross and Dan were off to a fast start, followed
by the field of slower swimmers.
As Brad had observed, Ross seemed somewhat tired from his earlier
performances. His stroke looked ragged and jerky. Dan by contrast forged
smoothly ahead, pressing him hard every inch of the way.
At the turn, the two rivals were racing almost even. Determined to gain
the lead, Ross lunged for the wall, his finger tips missing it by a scant
margin. So rapidly did he turn, that few noticed.
Dan, tucking into a tight ball, also made a fast turn, but touched the
wall. His shove-off however, was weak. When his head came out of water
for a gulp of air, he was disconcerted to see that Ross was a full body
length ahead.
“Come on, Dan!” his teammates yelled encouragingly. “You can do it!”
Dan dug in, but his breath was coming hard. Despite his best efforts he
could not recapture the lead. In a moment, it seemed, the race was over.
Ross had touched the finish wall a scant arm’s length ahead, and was
congratulated as the winner.
For the members of Den 2 it was slight consolation that Mack had won
third place, nosing out a Den 1 swimmer. The scoreboard proclaimed Den 1
the victor by a total of 25 to 20.
“Congratulations, Ross,” Dan said, offering his hand. “You swam a fine
race!”
“Thanks,” the other boy grinned. “You weren’t so bad yourself. Pressed me
plenty at first.”
Other members of Den 1 had gathered in a little group. After talking
rather excitedly, they called Ross over. The other Cubs could not hear
what was said, but they gathered that Ross himself was the topic of
conversation. Apparently, he disagreed with his teammates about some
matter, for his voice rose in sharp protest.
Then the Cubs heard him say sullenly: “Okay, if you want to be saps, go
ahead! It makes me sick, after the way I worked to win for the team!”
Ross’ teammates talked to their coach briefly. Then before the audience
or Den 2 swimmers could leave the pool, a whistle blasted for attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we regret that an error has been made in scoring,”
an official announced. “It has been brought to notice that one of the
contestants, Ross Langdon, failed to touch the wall at the end of the
first length.”
A buzz of conversation greeted this announcement. Brad and Dan glanced
quickly at each other, and then at Ross. The face of the latter was as
black as a summer rainstorm.
“Due to this infraction of the rules, Ross has been disqualified,” the
official continued. “Dan Carter wins first place.”
A mighty cheer rocked the pool gallery. Even heavier applause broke out
as new figures went up on the scoreboard:
Den 2—24 Den 1—21.
Brad and the other Den 2 teammates swarmed about Dan, clapping him on his
dripping shoulders.
“Dan, you did it!” Red Suell congratulated him. “Now the matches are
even! If we win the third meet, that silver cup is in the bag.”
“IF is right,” Dan laughed. “Don’t forget, this victory was a fluke.”
From Mr. Hatfield, the Cubs learned that only the good sportsmanship of
the Den 1 teammates had been responsible for their success. Ross himself
had made no mention of his failure to touch the wall, and his error had
gone unnoticed by officials.
“Two of Den 1 swimmers saw Ross miss the turn,” the Cub leader revealed.
“They reasoned that honor means more than victory.”
“A Cub Always is Square,” Dan quoted thoughtfully.
“That’s right,” Mr. Hatfield agreed. “I’m proud of our boys for winning,
but equally proud of the other team for reporting the incident.”
The swimmers of Den 1 gathered around to congratulate Dan and his
teammates. Ross, however, had slipped away to the dressing room without a
word.
“He’s a little sore,” one of his teammates remarked. “But he’ll get over
it. The coach warned Ross plenty of times to be careful about that turn.
He never paid much attention.”
Feeling on top of the world, Dan showered and dressed. As he was getting
his things from the locker, he bumped squarely into Ross.
Dan waited a moment, expecting the other boy to offer some word of
congratulation. When Ross said nothing, he remarked:
“You had a tough break, fellow.”
Ross gave a snort of disgust. “I’ll say it was a tough break,” he agreed.
“In a straight race, you couldn’t win and we both know it!”
The remark annoyed Dan.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawled. “My stroke is improving every day. I
noticed you were pretty well winded at the finish.”
“Bunk. I didn’t even exert myself!”
“Anyway, now that the two teams are tied, it will make a good meet when
the final contest is scheduled,” Dan said, trying to ease out of a
disagreeable conversation.
“Sure,” Ross said, his eyes flashing. “Maybe you can dig up another
technical point and win the cup! You’ll never earn it on merit!”
And with that challenge, he brushed past Dan and slouched out of the
dressing room.