RACING FOR A LIFE
Fate had taken a hand in affairs. Frank Allen, one of the most loving
and obedient of sons, had grown up to his present age with a fine
respect and a high regard for his father. He was now stricken by this
news from the lips of the doctor.
“It’s life or death!” resounded in his ears as he turned to run out
of the hospital.
Paul, Ralph and Lanky had overheard the words of the doctor—and could
not misunderstand. But, as is always the case, the news came to their
ears with an entirely different meaning. Though they regarded Frank
highly, though they loved him, though there was little they would not
do for him and with him as their guide, the words meant not so much
to them as they meant to their sturdy, aggressive leader.
“It’s life or death!”
The words were thundered at him by an inner consciousness, literally
throbbing in his mind.
“Frank, can we go with you? We are going. Tell us what to do and
we’ll do it!” From Lanky came the words, quiet, meaningful, the
words of a friend ready to help in a crisis.
“The quickest possible way to Coville is by river. It’s our only way
now,” muttered Frank. He was still in a daze at the news which had
been given to him by the doctor.
“You come along slowly. Don’t run. Take your time. I’ll have the
_Rocket_ ready!” and Lanky turned on his heel and made a dash out of
the door of the silent hospital while the others stood in a small
group near the door.
The words of Lanky Wallace galvanized all of them into action. He had
thought of the thing to do—prepare the _Rocket_ for the trip, and he
alone had started toward the river to attend to the duty of getting
the boat out of the house.
Just as the other boys started for the door a girlish figure came
in—Minnie Cuthbert.
“Oh, Frank!” she exclaimed as she reached out her hand to his. “I’m
so sorry to hear the news. Is there anything I can do? Please tell
me—anything!”
“The doctor says there’s only one thing to be done—to get a drug
which the druggists around here don’t seem to have. A Coville
druggist has it, so he told me. The quickest way to get it is to
drive the _Rocket_ down. I’m going now to get it.”
They looked fairly into each other’s eyes, this girl whose
attractiveness held Frank in its grip, and this one boy who had been
the magnet for most of the attention of Minnie Cuthbert.
“Is there nothing I can do for you?” she asked. “If I can go with you
in the motor boat, or if there is anything I can do for you while you
are gone—tell me, and I’ll be more than glad to be of service.”
“There isn’t a thing you can do—now—Minnie. God and the doctor have
put everything into my hands. The _Rocket_ must make her real race
to-night—for the life of dad. And mother and Helen! Oh, what will
they find when they reach here! Lanky has gone ahead to get the
_Rocket_ out. I’m going now—every minute means something. The doctor
says it’s life or death.”
There was the drama which is forced upon people frequently in this
life. A pleasure craft, given to be a thing for joy only, trimmed and
tried for its foremost activity in the ownership of Frank Allen—the
race against the _Speedaway_—was now called into action by the
Fates to race against the greatest contestant in the activities of
life—Death.
Yet Frank, still not quite out of the realm of dreams, still
suffering the rude shock of the news which the doctor had given to
him, comprehended mentally something of the awful tragedy which he
faced or which faced him, but the body was unwilling to act in unison
with the demands of the moment.
It is not a simple thing to be told, without warning of any kind, to
be told with words that come as scathingly and as relentlessly as a
bolt of lightning from a stormless sky, that one’s father, beloved,
is lying at death’s door and that one’s own action is the only
possible thing which might save him to the contact of the worldly
things.
He stepped quickly, lightly, to the front door, screened and swinging
half open in the breeze which was blowing in from the river, and
followed the two boys who had gone out to the broad veranda ahead of
him.
“There isn’t a minute to spare!” he said, his cap thrown to his head.
“It’s life or death!”
The three boys fairly raced for the foot of the avenue, Frank knew
that good old Lanky was probably even now swinging open the doors and
loosening the fastenings of the _Rocket_, ready for the race.
“Hey! Hey!” came a cry from the crossing of Fourth Street as the boys
tore at full speed to the river.
“Frank! Frank Allen!” came the cry.
All three of the boys halted almost instantly, for the loud cry came
from one who seemed to call for a purpose.
It was Chief Berry, hurrying around the corner. He beckoned to Frank.
“Frank, it is my very sad duty to say to you that you must come to
my office at once. I want you to explain something which has just
been brought to my attention.”
“I can’t! I’ve got to go to Coville. My father is dying, and the
doctor just told me that I must get to Coville for a medicine which
is necessary to save him.”
“I cannot help it—you’ve got to come to my office!” sternly announced
the officer of the law.
Frank was unmindful, however, of anything that any one might tell
him, of any obstacles which might be placed in his way. There was
only one goal, only one activity. Dominated only by the one thought,
he turned and started away.
“Wait a minute, young man!” exclaimed the officer of the law. “I say
you must come to my office with me at once.”
“And I told you that I must go to Coville. Now, I’m going to Coville.
Whatever you have to ask me or say to me can wait!” Again Frank
started.
“I’ll place you under arrest!”
“Listen!” Frank Allen turned and faced the chief of police. “Don’t
say anything like that to me when I’m in trouble, or, Chief Berry,
I’ll forget myself and I’ll forget your position. I’ll smash your
face if you make a move to stop me.”
Frank Allen, determined, knowing only one duty in the whole world,
and the chief of police, knowing only that he was trying to stop a
boy whom he had always known as an upstanding, honest, honorable one
on hearsay evidence which had come to him late that afternoon, faced
each other for only one minute, and then, like the flash of a bullet,
Frank Allen left the corner and was gone.
Racing to the boat-house, putting every ounce of his strength into
the legs which carried him to the _Rocket_ for his race down the
Harrapin River and back again, Frank’s mind was not in any way
crowded with thoughts of the chief of police.
It was only after he leaped aboard the _Rocket_ which, as he reached
the boat-house, was being pushed out of the little place by Lanky
Wallace, that he gave any thought to the words of the officer of the
law.
The other two boys had overheard all that passed, and only Paul, of
the two, was anxious. Ralph West was dumbly, silently, unthinkingly,
following Frank, without heed to any one or anything else.
The _Rocket_ moved out to the river, was met by the current and her
nose turned downstream, while Lanky threw the flywheel around with a
spin, and they were off.
Frank turned the searchlight full on the stream, seeking for anything
which might interpose itself as an obstacle, but the river was clear.
Stars peeped out overhead, and a new moon shyly looked down.
Though the words of the chief of police puzzled Frank, though he
thought he recognized in them a threat, there was something far more
important for him to do—his father lay at the point of death back
there in the hospital, the only drug the doctor knew which would save
him was down the river at Coville, and nothing could get that drug
back in time to save this precious life but the _Rocket_ and himself.
Picking his way carefully downstream for half a mile, getting out
of the zone where trouble might rise, he found himself very shortly
pushing the _Rocket_ faster and faster, her nose well up out of
water, the steady noise of the muffled exhaust telling him that all
was going well. The breeze, to help him along his way, was at his
back.
Paul and Ralph lay prone on their stomachs as far forward as they
dared to go, while Lanky Wallace kept his place at the side of the
cockpit where he could hear any word that Frank might utter.
Faster and faster went the _Rocket_. The speed was far beyond any
expectation of Frank’s, the air rushing past his face causing his
eyes to squint until they were almost closed, his hand now and then
directing the searchlight to keep the path ahead well lighted.
Miles slipped from under them in the night, and Frank, no other
thought in mind save the goal at Coville as quickly as it could be
made, urged the _Rocket_ on its way, having every foot of speed the
engine could give.
No word passed between the boys. The two forward gasped now and then
as a rush of air suddenly shot down their open mouths.
Ahead of them loomed a broad raft of logs, and Paul turned his head
involuntarily to signal or to call to Frank.
But the searchlight had picked it up and Frank held the _Rocket_ far
enough over to make around one end of the raft without lessing speed.
Was there any chance that the doctor may have failed, in the
excitement at the hospital, in his own sincere and earnest
solicitation over the condition of Mr. Allen—was there any chance
that he might have forgotten to telephone to Coville so that the man
might have the drug ready?
Could he make it down there and then, returning against the strong
current of the Harrapin River and the wind as well, be back in
Columbia in time to save his father?
Would this race be a futile one? Was the fast-moving specter of Death
to win this contest?
Frank thought of all the kind things his father had said and done, of
the counsel his father had given to him. He thought too of his mother
and Helen rushing on toward Columbia, now nearly there, and of what
they would have to face if he, Frank, did not get the drug back in
time.
He was facing the greatest strain he had ever faced—racing his motor
boat in an effort to save the life of his father—himself, the son,
trusted with the one mission which meant so much to the family, the
life of his father!
Frank’s involuntary effort was to push on the wheel, to urge, to
force the _Rocket_ to increased speed, to make it fly. What was there
that could be done to give her greater speed? Surely, this was not
all he could get from this boat!
He leaned over to see that everything exterior was functioning
properly.
Out of the darkness to one side came the shrill sound of a tug’s
whistle, and Frank threw the searchlight over to find it. It was dead
ahead, whistling the passing signal, which Frank returned at once.
“Wow! Where are ye goin’ in such a hurry?” came a yell from aft of
the tug as the _Rocket_ shot by only two boat-lengths away, at the
same time striking into the wash from the tug and casting spray in
goodly amounts over the two boys forward.
Paul and Ralph released their holds to wipe the spray from their eyes.
Just at this moment something came up the river from the port side,
long and slim, running directly across the path of the _Rocket_!
The searchlight was shooting a little high, and its rays were cast
upward instead of along the surface of the river.
There was no time to throw it into place. The spray and the rocking
of the motor boat in the wash of the tug had decreased their ability
to see clearly for just a few seconds. They were almost upon this
obstacle, whatever it was.
Frank saw two ends of it—recognized they were running squarely into
the midships of a launch which was crossing their path slowly!
Action was demanded! Something must be done! This thing would be cut
in two! Their own boat would be injured! They might lose in this race
for a life!
Frank threw the _Rocket’s_ nose far over, the rudder acted instantly,
the _Rocket_ careened, and Paul Bird went tumbling into the river.