PRACTICE FOR THE RACE
"About time you started on your five mile run, isn't it, Fred? Because
the afternoon's slipping away," said Dick Hanshaw, as he came over to
the little group of boys who were chatting on the green of the field,
which later on would be the scene of the gathering crowds coming to
witness the athletic meet of the three rival schools.
Dozens of the lads were in their "working togs," as they called them.
Indeed, all around was a scene of great activity. Men were hammering
away at a tremendous rate, putting up the last series of raised seats
intended to accommodate the spectators on the next day, many of whom
would be willing to pay for good seats. And here and there, all over the
field, boys were running, jumping, vaulting with poles, and doing all
sorts of stunts connected with athletics.
Colon had not come out at all. It had been decided that after his
adventure he must take more rest, in order to be fit for the events of
the morrow. He was at home, playing dominoes with one of his chums.
Others came and went as though he might be holding a reception. And the
news concerning his condition was eagerly sought with the appearance of
every new bunch of schoolboys arriving on the field.
Fred was in his usual running costume, for he meant to make a last try
to beat his record, so as to know how he would stand when the final test
came. There was a string of good fellows ranged against him in that five
mile race; and Fred did not pretend to be without doubts concerning his
ability to head the procession.
"I was just thinking that myself, Dick," he replied as he stooped down
to tie his shoes over again, in preparation for a start. "The four
entries from Riverport are getting impatient to start; but Brad is
holding back for some reason or other."
"Here he comes this way now, and perhaps we'll know what it means,"
remarked Dick; who had intended to be one of the long distance squad
himself, but straining a tendon in his foot that very morning had made
him give up the idea.
Brad Morton came bustling along. Fred saw that he looked worried, and
wondered what could have gone wrong now. With Colon safe it did not seem
as if anybody connected with the Riverport school should be anxious.
"Do we start soon, Brad?" he asked, as the captain of the track team
reached convenient talking distance.
"The rest do; but the committee have decided to make a change about your
running, Fred," were the surprising words he heard.
"Oh! that's all right," Fred replied, smiling; "I'm ready to give up to
some better man, if that's what you mean."
"What?" gasped Dick Hendricks.
"Oh! rats!" cried Brad. "There's no better man in this matter at all,
Fred. Fact is, you're the only one in our string who stands a good
chance of beating that speedy Boggs in to-morrow's race. I've heard some
talk among a lot of Mechanicsburg fellows. They're trying to get a line
on your kind of running, Fred; which shows that they know right well
you're the only one they need fear."
"Oh! well, they've seen me run lots of times when we played baseball and
fought it out on the gridiron," remarked Fred, naturally flushing a
little under the kind words of praise.
"Yes, that's so; but it's got out that you've picked up a new kink in
the way of getting over ground. They kept harping on that all the time.
And I got the notion they've some of their crowd posted along the course
to-day to take notes and compare time, so they can spot what you do. If
you've got a weak point, climbing hills for instance, they'll report,
and that's where Boggs will pass you."
"Well, you've got something up your sleeve, Brad, when you tell me this;
so out with it," Fred observed, reading the other's face cleverly.
"It's this," the track captain went on; "when the rest of the string
start you drop out, and disappear like fog. Then they'll have their
trouble for their pains."
"That sounds nice, but tell me where does my needed exercise come in?"
remarked Fred; "and I'd like to get a line myself on what I can do."
"See here, don't you know of some other five mile course you could take
on the sly, without anybody being the wiser for it?" asked Brad.
"Why, yes, I do, only it happens to be a harder run all told, than the
course mapped out by the committee," replied Fred, promptly.
"That oughtn't to make much difference," the other went on, with a sigh
of relief; "you'll know right well that if you can make it in the same
time you've done the regular course, it'll be all the better."
"Is this really necessary, Brad?" asked Dick; "lots of us expected to
get a line on Fred ourselves; and if he sneaks off unbeknown, how're we
going to know what to expect to-morrow?"
"We talked it over, and that's what we settled on," came the reply. "So
just hold your horses, Dick, till to-morrow. Fred's going to show you
something then that he's keeping up his sleeve. You mark me."
"Don't take any stock in what Brad says," declared Fred. "I haven't
anything so wonderful, only a little notion that came to me, and which I
really believe does help me get over the ground a little bit faster,
with less fatigue. But wait and see what to-morrow brings along. Now,
Brad, suppose you arrange things so that I can be close to those bushes
over yonder when the pistol sounds for the start. Once I get in there,
I'll drop down, and let the rest pass me. After that I'll find a way to
leave without being seen; and start off on my own hook over another five
mile course."
"And Fred, when you come back, go straight home without showing up here.
I'll let it be known that by my orders you didn't start in the regular
run, for reasons that were sufficient for the committee to give the
order; and that you went off on a little turn of your own."
"Say, I can see the face of the fellow who comes in ahead, and learns
that nothing's been seen of Fred Fenton," remarked Dick, with a wide
smile. "Won't he be just patting himself on the back as a world-beater
though, up to the time he learns Fred never started at all!"
With the crack of the pistol the long line of young athletes surged
forward, amid loud cries from the crowd that had gathered to witness the
start. Many eyed Fred hopefully; for the word had gone around that upon
him Riverport must depend to wrest victory from the grasp of that tall
runner, Boggs, who was said to be a tremendous "stayer," and as speedy
almost as Colon himself.
Fred was following out his little scheme for vanishing. He struck the
edge of the bush patch, and was on the extreme end of the line, so that
he believed he could drop out of the race, and no one be the wiser. By
the time the runners reached the road over which they were to go for two
and a half miles, they would be so far away from the crowd that no one
could be certain which runner might be Fred, and whether he was
pace-maker to the squad or not.
It all worked like a charm too. Fred watched his chance, and falling
back, so that he had nobody behind him, suddenly dropped down flat.
Shortly after, he started to crawl to one side. Here he was able to take
advantage of some trees; and one way or another managed to get out of
range of the vision of those on the field.
After that, chuckling at the success of his little plan, Fred started
for the place which was to be the beginning of his five mile run. It was
some distance from the athletic field; and would take him in an
entirely different direction from that covered by the balance of the
contestants.
It surely did take him over peculiar territory. Now he was following a
fair kind of a country road; presently he cut across a stretch of
woodland, jumping fallen trees, and vaulting stone fences with all the
vigor of healthy youth.
Two miles, and Fred felt satisfied that he was doing uncommonly well. He
believed that his muscles had never before responded so splendidly to
his demands. When he reached that two mile mark, made by himself when he
used to modestly practice in private, not wishing to be watched, because
he was not known as a runner in those days, Fred believed he had his
best time shortened more than a few seconds. And that over rough ground,
such as he would find in no part of the regular race.
Now he had reached the worst part of all, and which he wished he were
well over with. This was an old limestone quarry, that had not been
worked for years. There were pits scattered here and there, some of them
partly concealed by the friendly bushes that grew here and there to the
edge.
Fred knew he must be careful until he had placed this region behind.
Once before he had come close to slipping down into one of those deep
holes, from which he understood the limestone had been taken, as it was
found in spots. He did not want to be caught napping a second time.
"To have Colon missing was bad enough," he said to himself, as he jumped
nimbly to the right, and then to the left, in order to avoid suspicious
spots; "but if I disappeared, and couldn't be found, I just guess the
whole town would take a fit. But I'll take mighty good care it doesn't
happen. Whew, come near doing it right then, on the left. I must sheer
off more the other way!"
And then, ten seconds later, as he thought he saw a break in the bushes
that seemed to mark one of the treacherous holes, Fred sprang to the
right, to find his feet passing through blank space, and his body
shooting downward.
After all his precautions, he had made a mistake, and had plunged into
one of the numerous pits with which the level track of the old quarry
was spotted.