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[Illustration: FRED WAS APPARENTLY IN NO GREAT DISTRESS.
_Page 197_]
Fred Fenton on the Track
Or
The Athletes of Riverport School
BY
ALLEN CHAPMAN
AUTHOR OF "FRED FENTON THE PITCHER," "TOM FAIRFIELD SERIES," "BOYS OF
PLUCK SERIES," "THE DAREWELL CHUMS SERIES," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
BOOKS FOR BOYS BY ALLEN CHAPMAN
=FRED FENTON ATHLETIC SERIES=
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume, 40 cents, postpaid.
FRED FENTON THE PITCHER
FRED FENTON IN THE LINE
FRED FENTON ON THE CREW
FRED FENTON ON THE TRACK
=TOM FAIRFIELD SERIES=
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume, 40 cents, postpaid.
TOM FAIRFIELD'S SCHOOLDAYS
TOM FAIRFIELD AT SEA
TOM FAIRFIELD IN CAMP
TOM FAIRFIELD'S PLUCK AND LUCK
=THE DAREWELL CHUMS SERIES=
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume, 60 cents, postpaid.
THE DAREWELL CHUMS
THE DAREWELL CHUMS IN THE CITY
THE DAREWELL CHUMS IN THE WOODS
THE DAREWELL CHUMS ON A CRUISE
THE DAREWELL CHUMS IN A WINTER CAMP
=BOYS OF PLUCK SERIES=
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume, 60 cents, postpaid.
THE YOUNG EXPRESS AGENT
TWO BOY PUBLISHERS
MAIL ORDER FRANK
A BUSINESS BOY'S PLUCK
THE YOUNG LAND AGENT
CUPPLES & LEON CO. PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
Copyrighted 1913, by CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
FRED FENTON ON THE TRACK
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE CROSS COUNTRY RUNNERS 1
II. A STRANGE SOUND FROM A WELL 9
III. OUT OF THE DEPTHS 17
IV. FRED GETS A SHOCK 25
V. HOW GOOD SPRANG FROM EVIL 32
VI. THE NEWS CORNEY BROUGHT 40
VII. WHERE IS COLON? 49
VIII. A CLUE IN THE DITCH 58
IX. THE COVERED WAGON 66
X. THE AMBUSH 75
XI. THE HAUNTED MILL 83
XII. A BROKEN DOOR 92
XIII. HOW GABE MADE GOOD 100
XIV. PRACTICE FOR THE RACE 109
XV. THE ACCIDENT 117
XVI. A GLOOMY PROSPECT 126
XVII. AN UNEXPECTED ALLY 134
XVIII. FORCED TO LEND A HAND 142
XIX. GLORIOUS NEWS 150
XX. A WELCOME GUEST 158
XXI. THE ATHLETIC MEET 167
XXII. FRED ON THE TRACK 174
XXIII. A CLOSE COUNT 182
XXIV. THE LONE RUNNER 191
XXV. THE ALASKA CLAIM 200
FRED FENTON ON THE TRACK
CHAPTER I
THE CROSS-COUNTRY RUNNERS
"I see you're limping again, Fred."
"That's right, Bristles. I stubbed my toe at the very start of this
cross-country run, and that lost me all chance of coming in ahead.
That's why I fell back, and have been loafing for a stretch."
"And let me catch up with you; eh? Well, I reckon long-legged Colon will
have a cinch in this race, Fred."
"Seems that way. He can get over ground for a certain time like a deer,
you know."
"Huh! more like a kangaroo, I call it; because it always seems to me he
takes big jumps every chance he gets."
Both boys laughed heartily at the picture drawn by Andy Carpenter, who
was known all through the country around the town of Riverport as
"Bristles," on account of the odd way in which his heavy hair stood up.
His companion, Fred Fenton, had assumed a leading place in school
athletic sports since coming to the town on the Mohunk something like a
year previous to the early Fall day when we meet them taking part in
this cross-country run.
That Fred was a pretty fine fellow, as boys go, nearly everybody seemed
agreed. He was modest, and yet could stand up for his rights when
imposed upon; and at the same time he was always ready to lend a helping
hand to a companion in trouble.
Fred had himself occasion to know what it meant to lie awake nights, and
wonder if fortune would ever take a turn for the better. His father had
been left a valuable property away up in Alaska, by a brother who had
died; but there was a lot of red tape connected with the settlement; and
a powerful syndicate of capitalists had an eye on the mine, which was
really essential to their interests, as it rounded out property they
already owned.
A certain man, Hiram Masterson by name, who had been in Alaska for
years, and who had come back to the States to visit an uncle, Sparks
Lemington, living in Riverport, had at first been inclined to side with
the syndicate. Later on he changed his mind, and determined to give
evidence for the Fentons which would, in all probability, cause the
claim to be handed over to them.
How this change came about in the mind of Hiram Masterson, through an
obligation which he found himself under to Fred Fenton, has already been
told at length in the first volume of this series, called: "Fred Fenton,
the Pitcher; Or, The Rivals of Riverport School."
Then it turned out that Hiram suddenly and mysteriously disappeared; and
those who were so deeply interested in his remaining in Riverport
learned that he had really been carried off by agents of the rich
association of mine owners, of whom Sparks Lemington was one. How the
search for the missing witness was carried on, as well as an account of
interesting matters connected with the football struggles in the three
towns bordering the Mohunk, will be found in the second book in the
series, entitled "Fred Fenton in the Line; Or, The Football Boys of
Riverport School."
Once again when hope ran high in the breasts of the Fentons they were
doomed to disappointment, and long waiting. A brief letter was received
from Hiram, written from Hong Kong, telling them that he was on the way
home by slow stages, and would doubtless appear under another name, to
avoid recognition by his uncle, Sparks Lemington. What new expectations
this letter raised in the humble Fenton home; together with the story of
the boat races on the Mohunk, has been related at length in the third
volume, just preceding this, and issued under the name of "Fred Fenton
on the Crew; Or, The Young Oarsman of Riverport School."
But now several months had passed, and as yet Hiram had not come. This
was telling heavily on Fred, who counted the days as they dragged past,
and kept wondering if, after all, the missing witness had died abroad,
and they would never get the benefit of his evidence.
He knew his father was once more falling back into his old condition of
mental distress, and he saw the lines gather on the usually smooth
forehead of his mother. But Fred was by nature a light-hearted lad, who
tried to look on the brighter side of things. He put these dismal
thoughts resolutely aside as much as he could and took his part in the
various pleasures that the young people of the town enjoyed.
Those who were at his side in all sorts of athletic rivalries never
suspected that the boy often worried. And even pretty Flo Temple, the
doctor's daughter, whom Fred always took to picnics, and on boat rides
on moonlight nights, as well as to singing school and choir meetings, if
she thought him a trifle more serious than seemed necessary, did not
know what an effort it required for Fred to hide his anxieties.
Of course both Bristles and Fred were in running costume, in that they
wore as scanty an outfit of clothes as possible. They were jogging
along leisurely, and this allowed plenty of time for talk between them.
Bristles was one of Fred's best chums. Not a great while back he had
fallen into what he called a "peck of trouble, with the pot boiling
over," and Fred had been of great help to him. In fact, had it not been
for him the mystery of who was taking some of Miss Muster's opals might
never have been cleared up; and the elderly spinster, who was Bristles'
mother's aunt, must have always believed that her grand-nephew was the
guilty one.
But Fred had proved otherwise. He had even been smart enough to have the
rich old maid on the spot when Gabe Larkins, the butcher's hired boy,
was secreting his last bit of plunder. In her gratitude at finding that
the culprit was not her own nephew, Miss Muster had even forgiven Gabe,
who had promised to turn over a new leaf.
Somehow the thoughts of Bristles seemed to go back to several things
which had happened to himself and Fred not a great while previous.
"That was a great time we had, Fred," he went on to say, as they fell
into a walk, with a hill to climb; "I mean when we worked in double
harness, and ran up against so many queer adventures last summer, in
boat-racing time. Remember how we managed to rescue little Billy
Lemington when he fell out of his brother's canoe; and how he begged us
not to tell a single soul, because his father would whip him for
disobeying?"
"Do you think Buck ever knew the truth of that canoe business?" remarked
Fred. "I recollect your telling me he accused you of taking his canoe,
and using it, because some fellow saw us putting it back in the place he
kept it, and reported to Buck. And he was some mad, too, threatening all
sorts of things if ever we touched his boat again."
"Say, d'ye know, between you and me and the henhouse, Fred, I don't
believe he's ever heard the truth about that little affair to this day!"
exclaimed Bristles, earnestly. "Want to know why I say that, do you?
Well, just yesterday he threw it at me. We were with some fellows on the
school campus, when the talk turned to canoes, and I happened to say I
knew mighty little about the cranky things, as I'd had no experience in
one."
"Oh! I can see how ready Buck would be to take advantage of that
opening, and give you one of his sneering stabs with his tongue,"
observed Fred, quickly.
"Just what he did, Fred," asserted the other, frowning; "he turned on me
like a flash, and remarked that he guessed I forgot a certain occasion
when I had enjoyed _one_ canoe ride, anyhow, if it was in a stolen boat.
I came mighty near telling the whole thing, how we had saved his little
brother from drowning, or at least how you had, while I helped get you
both ashore. But I stopped myself just in time, and let it pass by."
"Well," Fred went on to say, looking around at the dusty road they had
just reached; "here's where we draw in close again to Riverport, to
strike off again on the second leg of the run after we pass the Hitchen
hotel at the crossroads. I suppose I ought not to keep on, with my toe
hurting as it does; but you know I just hate to give up anything I
start. Perhaps I'll be game enough to hold out to the end; and, besides,
the pain seems to be passing off lately. I could even sprint a little,
if I had to."
"Too late now to dream of heading off Colon, who has kept on the jump
right along, while we took things easy. But I always like to be with
you, Fred. You're a cheery sort of a feller, you know; and I feel better
every time I chat with you."
Poor Fred,--who was secretly nursing deep anxiety to his heart, not
willing to confide in even his best friends, lest in some way Squire
Lemington get wind of the fact that they had heard from Hiram
Masterson,--winced, and then smiled. Well, if he could put on a
cheerful front, in spite of all that tried to weigh his spirits down, so
much the better.
"We must turn at the crossroads, Bristles," he remarked. "The course
heads into the northwest from there, up to Afton's pond; then due east
two miles to Watch Hill; where we turn again and follow the turnpike
home again."
"Oh! I guess I can stand for it, if you keep me company all the way,
Fred; though I never was built for a runner, I reckon. But listen to all
that shouting; would you? Some feller is excited, it sounds like. There,
just what I expected was the matter; there's a horse taken the bit
between his teeth, and is running away. I can see a boy sprinting after
him, and that's his voice we get. Now, I wonder what it's up to us to
do; step aside and let the runaway nag pass by; or try something to stop
him? What say, Fred; can we block the road, and make him hold up,
without taking too much risk?"