THE MARATHON RUNNERS
The same general principles that might apply in a mile run, or a two
hundred yard dash, would not be worth while attempting in this long race.
Those contestants who managed to cover the entire distance were bound to
be so exhausted when the last mile was reached that they could not be
expected to have much stamina left, so as to make a "Garrison finish."
On this account there would be little holding back on the part of the
runners. Besides, they knew that it would be desirable if there was a
break in the bunch in the early stages of the game. There would thus be
no crowding, the weaker falling back, though still keeping on in the hope
that something might happen to the leaders when their chances would still
be good.
Here and there along the first five miles little groups of schoolboys had
assembled in order to cheer their favorites along. They did not string
out any further than this because everyone wished to hurry back to the
"Green" in order to see something of the humorous contests, as well as to
be in position there when the first tired runner turned the bend half a
mile up the road.
Some of these enthusiastic boys even ran alongside for a short time, as
though in this way they could put fresh heart in their chums. To their
credit be it said that not in a single instance did they offer to detain
one of the rival runners, or interfere in the slightest degree with his
free passage; though of course in their partisan fashion they managed to
send out a few taunts after him, to the effect that he was only "wasting
his time."
During that five miles those who remained in the lead could be counted on
the fingers of one hand. They were Ackers, Colon, Fred Fenton and
Badger; and this alignment at least gave promise of a keen competition
between the three rival schools, since each of them was represented
there.
About this time Fred picked up, and pressed Ackers hard. He was
following out the plan that had been arranged between himself and his
chums, whereby the one who was reckoned the most dangerous of all
outsiders might be harried. Fred had never really run in a race against
this so-called "Wonder," and he was anxious to discover just what he had
in the way of speed.
Of course he knew at the same time that it was endurance that would be
apt to win this race. Speed is all very well, and in part quite
necessary, but with twenty-five miles to be covered the main thing is
always staying qualities.
So he and Ackers had a merry little sprint, in which Fred gained until he
passed the other. Upon that, Ackers, realizing that this sort of thing
if persisted in would utterly ruin his chances, even though Fred dropped
out also, fell back to his old style of plodding steadily along in a
regular grid, just content to keep ahead of the other two.
Fred kept on increasing his lead until he had some little ground between
himself and the Wonder. One of his reasons for doing this was to be able
to register at the road station just short of where the cut-off came in.
He hoped to be able to vanish under the marked birch trees before Ackers
could sight him, and in this way make the other choose his own place for
leaving the road.
If Ackers went in below, he would strike the marsh, and in this way block
his own progress but no doubt Ackers knew this, since he and his friends
had been down to examine the course, and must have done considerable
prowling around here.
Upon arriving at the station, Fred lost not a second in seizing the
pencil offered to him by the waiting keeper, and jotting down his name,
as well as the time indicated upon the face of the little clock that was
placed in plain view.
He did not say half a dozen words to the other, because he felt that he
needed every bit of his breath. There was a runner just turning the bend
below, and from his number being One he knew that it was the "terrible"
Ackers.
So off Fred bounded, and the keeper, looking after him smiled with
satisfaction, he being a Riverport gentleman, and reckoned very fair and
square.
"In splendid shape after running more than ten miles, I should say," he
told himself, "and this other fellow coming on like a whirlwind seems to
be just as well off. There's a third close behind him, too. That makes
it an interesting and exciting race. I'm only sorry I have to be up
here, and wait for the last to come past before I can jump in my car and
speed back to town to be in at the finish."
Fred had figured closely, for when he reached the birch trees Ackers had
not as yet appeared around the bend above the station. In this way he
was able to plunge in among the bushes without giving the other runner an
opportunity to follow him, something Fred did not wish to have happen.
Once in the woods, Fred pushed on steadily.
He knew that speed was not of so much value to him now as accuracy. If
he became confused in his bearings, and lost the trail, it would ruin his
chances for coming in ahead of his competitors.
Accordingly Fred bent every energy to observing where he was going.
Colon would be sure to follow in his track, regardless of what Ackers had
done. By taking that road leading from the old farm of Ezekial Parsons,
where they had found Tom Flanders lying in the haymow with a broken leg,
they believed they could gain from five to eight minutes on anyone who
pushed through the thickets and trailed around the tongue of the marsh.
One thing Fred was glad of,---the favorable condition of the weather. He
could not help remembering how that early Spring thunderstorm had burst
upon them at the time he and his chums were investigating this region for
the first time. What a lucky thing it was the weather clerk had ordered
up such a grand day for the long race, with the sun not too hot, and
never a cloud in the blue sky overhead.
Fred, though keeping all his senses on the alert, so that he might see
the "blazes" made on their former trip, and not lose his way, was
nevertheless not blind or deaf to other things around him.
He loved the wide open woods, and was never so happy as when surrounded
by their solitude. The cawing of the crows, the tapping of the
sapsucker, the rat-tat-tat of the bold red-headed woodpecker inviting
insects in the rotten limb to look out, and he gobbled up, the frisking
of the red squirrel as he darted like a flash around to the other side of
a tree trunk---all these and more he noted as he pushed sturdily forward.
Once arrived in the vicinity of the old, ramshackle barn where he and his
comrades had sought shelter from the rain, Fred planned to leave the
zigzag trail and take to the farmer's road. This would bring him to a
point just above the toll-gate where the next registering booth was
located.
As the old couple had been made aware of the stirring event of that
particular day, Fred would not be surprised to see them on the lookout,
ready to give him a cheery wave of the hand as he passed by.
He counted himself as lucky to get along over that rough section of his
journey without any accident. There was always a possibility of catching
his foot in some unseen vine, and finding himself thrown violently to the
ground. Even a slight injury to his knee might work to his disadvantage,
since it was bound to cripple him at some time during the remaining
thirteen or more miles that must be passed over before the goal was
reached.
Now he discovered a stump of a tree that had been cut down recently, and
which he remembered lay close to where they were standing at the time
they headed for the shelter of the old barn. This assured him that he
must have covered the worst of the trail, and was about to strike easier
going. Fred thought he would not be averse to this, since it had been
hard pushing through the scrub, where lowhanging branches of trees
continually threatened to strike him in the eyes, and all manner of
hidden traps awaited the feet of the unwary.
He did not doubt in the least but that by taking the road he would so
increase his speed over one who stuck to the crooked trails, that he must
arrive at the toll-gate station quite a little time ahead of Ackers.
Well, every minute would be apt to count, for like each one of the other
Riverport contestants Fred had been told all sorts of amazing stories
about the ability of the Mechanicsburg "Wonder" to recuperate, and come
in at the end of a long race apparently fresh. That had been one of the
reasons for his brush with Ackers; he had tried to run him off his feet,
and test this feature of his make-up.
There was the old barn at last. Fred saw its familiar outlines with the
greatest satisfaction. So far as he could tell he had carried out every
part of his work with clock-like fidelity, for he had counted on reaching
this point at a given time, and expected to be registering again far in
advance of all others.
Bursting from the shelter of the woods Fred gave a single glance back of
him. He saw no sign of Colon, and yet felt positive that the other must
even then be threading his tortuous way through the undergrowth, and
would arrive within a few minutes at most.
Of course it was far from Fred's policy to wait for his chum. If Colon's
wind and endurance stood the severe test, he would have the chance of
overtaking any who might be ahead of him, during that run home.
Otherwise he must "take his medicine;" but it would be the utmost folly
for the leader to waste even five seconds for the privilege of exchanging
a few sentences with his chum.
They had arranged all this in advance, and meant to keep strictly to the
line of action laid out. Should Fred falter in the last mile, and the
wonderful Ackers begin to overhaul him, Colon hoped to be within striking
distance. If he were in fit trim, he could then outstrip the
Mechanicsburg contestant by a display of some of that queer jumping style
of running that had been likened to the progress of a kangaroo.
A shout told Fred that the old farmer and his wife were on the watch, and
had recognized him. They were standing in the doorway of their humble
cottage, and waved to him as he flitted past.
He only turned to answer their greeting, and having by then reached the
private road which connected the farm with the main thoroughfare, started
along it. Now it was possible for Fred to increase his pace to a regular
run, though there was still a necessity for keeping his eyes about him,
since the way was far from being smooth.
As he reached a point where a turn would shut out a view of what lay
behind, Fred glanced back over his shoulder, wondering if Colon might be
in sight. There was no sign of the long-legged runner, however. Fred
whipped around the curve.
He was wondering how Ackers was running, and he really hoped that the
Mechanicsburg runner might not lose himself, in his eagerness to shorten
the distance across lots. That would take all the snap out of the race,
making it a dead sure thing for Riverport, with two of their entries
leading on the home stretch. Fred thought of those thousands of eager
spectators, and how bitterly many of them were sure to be disappointed if
there was no hot finish to the grand Marathon, with the winner just
nosing in as it were, amidst the most intense suspense.
All at once Fred became conscious of a new sound nearby. This time it
did not have any connection with the voices of the woods. On the
contrary he believed it to be the agonized cry of a child.
It grew louder as he ran along, proving that he must be rapidly
approaching the spot where something was going on. Fred remembered that
stirring event on the frozen river, when he and Bristles had been able to
rescue the boy who had fallen in through the air-hole. Somehow it struck
him that he was listening once more to the plaintive voice of little
Sadie Ludson as she cried so pitifully for help.
Increasing his speed, Fred presently burst into full view of what was
going on there under the trees, and his whole soul filled with
indignation as well as anger as he comprehended the reason for those
pleading cries.