GARRY GRAYSON'S FOOTBALL RIVALS
OR
The Secret of the Stolen Signals
By ELMER A. DAWSON
Author of "Garry Grayson's Hill Street Eleven,"
"Garry Grayson Showing His Speed,"
Etc.
_ILLUSTRATED BY_
Walter S. Rogers
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
Made in the United States of America
Copyright, 1926, by
GROSSET & DUNLAP
Garry Grayson's Football Rivals
[Illustration: GARRY TUCKED THE BALL UNDER HIS ARM AND TORE THROUGH.]
CONTENTS
I Falling from the Skies
II A Close Call
III The Wounded Aviator
IV An Old Enemy
V Into Empty Space
VI Getting into Swing
VII Picking the Team
VIII Something Brewing
IX Hitting the Line
X Mysterious Happenings
XI Under Suspicion
XII Out of the Game
XIII Tracing the Threads
XIV Brought to Book
XV A Merited Punishment
XVI A Plot in the Making
XVII Facing the Foe
XVIII Crooked Work
XIX Weaving the Web
XX In Desperate Plight
XXI Temptation
XXII The Stolen Signals
XXIII Almost a Tragedy
XXIV Startling News
XXV Going over the Top
GARRY GRAYSON'S FOOTBALL RIVALS
CHAPTER I
Falling from the Skies
"It won't be long now, fellows, before we get a chance at the old
football," exulted Garry Grayson as he and his companions made their
way through the woods about two miles from Lenox, their home town.
"The season can't come too quickly to suit me," returned Rooster Long,
as he avoided a spreading root that threatened to trip him. "Gee, my
foot is fairly itching for the feel of the pigskin!"
"And now that we're no longer lowly freshmen, we may have a look in for
the regular team," remarked Nick Danter.
"Here's hoping," put in big Bill Sherwood. "Of course, to be on the
scrubs is better than nothing, but I'm good and tired of being the
doormat for the first-string fellows."
"I guess we all are," observed Ted Dillingham. "One thing is certain,
anyway. They can't keep Garry off the regulars after the way he played
in that game that won the championship for Lenox High. Gee, that was
some football playing, I'll tell the world!"
"It isn't a cinch for anybody," declared Garry soberly. "But so many of
the old stars graduated in June that there'll be a good many places to
be filled. There's Dittler, for instance--"
"And that boy will certainly be missed!" exclaimed Nick Danter. "The
whole backfield was built around him. When it came to bucking the line
and skirting the ends, there wasn't a player in the High School League
that could give him any points."
"Right you are," agreed Garry. "The boy was a wonder. Minter, too, was
no slouch, and they don't come any better than Payne. Both of them are
gone, and it will be mighty hard work to fill their shoes."
"But the biggest loss of all is Ralph Wynn," asserted Rooster Long.
"Look at the way he ran the team. Used his brains every minute. Many's
the game he's won by quick thinking. He had the beef, too, and the
speed. It won't look like the same old team with the captain gone."
"It's a blow to the school and the team," Bill acquiesced. "But that's
all in the game. The other schools will have lost some of their stars,
too; so in the long run things will about even up."
"We've got one bit of luck, anyway, in having Mr. Phillips as our
coach," put in Ted Dillingham.
"That's right," agreed Garry heartily. "At first it looked as though he
was going to have hard work in filling Coach Garwin's place, but the
way Mr. Phillips brought the team through to the championship showed
that he was there with the goods."
"You said a mouthful that time," agreed Nick.
"Luck for Garry that old Shrugg did the disappearing act when he did,"
remarked Ted with a grin. "That English prof sure had it in for one
fellow on the scrubs."
"And all because of a muddy football!" laughed Bill Sherwood, referring
to an unfortunate occasion when Garry Grayson, quite by accident, had
kicked a ball heavy with mud into the face of Trompet Shrugg, thereby
ruffling that gentleman's temper as well as bespattering his immaculate
waistcoat.
"Speaking of mud," put in Rooster, glancing skyward, "it sure looks as
though we were going to have plenty of it before long. See that row of
banked-up clouds?"
"Just wind clouds," scoffed Garry, giving Rooster a poke in the ribs
with a four-foot branch he had picked up from the ground.
Rooster grabbed the end of it and a spirited tussle ensued. By the time
Garry had succeeded in wresting the improvised weapon from his friend's
grasp the sky was definitely overcast with heavy clouds. The prophecy
of storm seemed about to be fulfilled.
"Never knew it to fail just when we'd planned to catch some fish and
have a good time," grumbled Nick Danter, as he looked disconsolately at
his fishing rod.
"Oh, stop your grouching," counseled Rooster. "We're close to the creek
now and we'll have plenty of time to catch a mess before it rains.
Those clouds may blow over. Anyway, we've got a better chance to make a
catch on a cloudy day."
"Righto," asserted Garry. "I'm for the fish every time. A few drops of
rain won't hurt us, anyhow."
"It may make the wood too wet to burn, though," observed Ted
Dillingham. "And there's no fun catching fish if you can't cook them."
"I guess we can rake enough dry brush together for a fire," predicted
Bill hopefully.
"You fellows are talking as though we had a mess already," laughed
Nick. "Perhaps we won't have a nibble."
"We won't, eh?" scoffed Ted. "Just watch me land 'em! Say, who's got
that can of worms?"
Rooster Long produced that highly necessary adjunct to a fishing
excursion, and the boys hastened their steps down the narrow woods path
that led to the stream.
It was by no means their first visit to the spot. The creek was an
inlet to Bass Lake and abounded in fish that had many times had their
numbers depleted by the young fishermen.
"The fellows that don't catch any will have to build the fire,"
pronounced Garry Grayson, as he got his tackle ready. "Is that a go?"
"Seems like rubbing it in," returned Rooster, grinning. "But you can't
bluff me. Bet I land the first one."
"And I'll get the biggest one," predicted Ted.
"Brag's a good dog, but Holdfast's a better," remarked Bill Sherwood,
with a superior air, as he baited his hook.
Nick said nothing, but his line hit the water first and was grabbed
almost immediately by a hungry perch that the boy landed in fine style.
"I'll let the fish do my talking for me," and he grinned tantalizingly
as he displayed his catch.
"If it can talk more like a fish than you do, it's pretty good,"
Rooster came back at him.
A few minutes later Garry landed a still bigger perch. Then Ted caught
a catfish and Bill captured a bass. Other fish were captured from time
to time, but luck constantly eluded Rooster Long, though several times
he sought what he thought might be better positions for his purpose.
At the end of twenty minutes Garry counted their catch.
"Nine in all," he announced. "That's more than we can eat, and I'm as
hungry as a wolf. Rooster's the goat. Come, varlet," he commanded,
addressing that youth, "rustle us some brushwood and make a fire for
your betters."
Rooster picked up a fish and threw it at him, but Garry dodged and the
fish caught Ted Dillingham square in the mouth.
"Say!" sputtered that young lad indignantly, as he used his
handkerchief vigorously, "why don't you hit what you aim at? Are you
cross-eyed? Think I want my fish raw?"
"There, there, Ted," said Garry soothingly, "you ought to be glad to
suffer for a friend. Think of how much worse you'd have felt if it had
hit me."
"Not on your life I wouldn't!" grumbled Ted, still plying his
handkerchief. "I'll smell that fish all day."
"I don't see why," remarked Bill innocently. "It's perfectly fresh."
"Not half as fresh as some fellows I know," retorted Ted, as he looked
about for something to throw at his tormentors.
But they laughingly scurried out of reach and then turned to cleaning
the fish. By the time Rooster had the fire going, the fish were ready,
and soon the delicious aroma whetted still further the young appetites
that needed no sharpening.
They had brought cocoa with them in two milk bottles and this they
heated in an old saucepan that Garry Grayson's mother had loaned to
them for such occasions. There were plenty of sandwiches, besides
buttered rolls and jam. The feast was one fit for a king, the boys
thought, as they munched fish and rolls and drank cocoa out of tin cups.
"This is the life!" sighed Rooster Long contentedly. "And this fish,"
with another huge bite, "sure is the berries."
"Keep still a minute!" cried Bill Sherwood. "What's that?"
Complete silence fell upon the group, broken only by the crackling of
the fire. Then through the quiet came a humming sound like the whirring
of a powerful motor.
"It's either a car burning up the road--" began Ted.
"Or an airplane," finished Garry. "Sounds more like one of those birds
to me."
"It's an airplane, all right," declared Bill. "And it sounds as though
it were right overhead."
The whir of the motor grew to a roar, and the boys, starting to
their feet and staring up through the trees, saw the great man-made
bird sweep nearly overhead, coming for a moment between them and the
lowering sky.
As they watched, the plane appeared to waver, then make a dart downward.
The boys cried out in alarm.
But in a moment the pilot seemed to have recovered control, and
the great machine winged its way upward, engine once more purring
rhythmically.
"That guy's got engine trouble, all right," declared Nick Danter, with
a shake of his head.
"I'd sure hate to take a dip like that," remarked Rooster, filling his
tin cup again. "Apt to scramble your brains--"
"Providing you have any," grinned Garry. "Say, listen, old boy, sling
over another of those rolls, will you?"
Rooster obeyed, then turned to Bill Sherwood.
"I've been meaning to ask you, Bill," he said, "how Frank was getting
along."
"Fine," replied Bill, his face beaming. "Guess the old boy has learned
his lesson. Buckling down to his work like a dog at a bone. And home--"
He paused, and then added with a grin: "Is once more home. Frank sure
did upset us all for a while."
"There's another fellow who should have learned his lesson too," put in
Ted, his brows knitting into a scowl. "And that's Sandy Podder."
"Not a bit of it!" declared Nick. "You'd have a hard time knocking
anything into that guy's thick skull. He was scared for a while, of
course, at the close squeak he had in that Gyp Mooney robbery; but
now he's getting into his stride again. I hear all sorts of things
about his goings on. He's got it in for you too, Garry, good and
plenty--don't make any mistake about that."
Garry Grayson shrugged.
"I'm not lying awake worrying about it, you bet," he rejoined
carelessly.
"Just the same, what Nick says is right," said Bill, poking at the
fire with a long stick. "It was your father, Garry, who showed him up
in that last rough stuff he tried to pull, and you yourself got the
information from Jerry Cox that put him on the fritz. Sandy Podder
isn't the fellow to forget anything like that. Take it from me, he'll
get even if he can."
"Well, let him try it," said Garry cheerfully. "We've outwitted that
rascal several times already, and I guess we can again, if we have to.
But say, fellows, here comes the rain."
A splash fell on the embers of their fire, followed by another and yet
another.
The boys jumped to their feet, hastily gathering up the remnants of
their feast, their rods, and can of bait.
"Guess we'll have to run for it," conjectured Rooster. "From the look
of the sky it'll soon be coming down in bucketfuls."
"How about Peeble's cabin?" Nick suggested, referring to a tumbledown
hut in the woods whose former owner had long since passed into the
great beyond, leaving his earthly habitat to the mercy of wind and
storm.
Poor as it was, it would yet afford some shelter from the rain, and, as
soon as they had looked to the remnants of their fire, the boys turned
their steps toward it.
They had barely reached it and slammed the rickety door to behind them
when the storm broke in fury, dashing upon the leaky roof and beating
at the dirty, cracked windows.
Through the largest hole in the roof, the rain was beginning to drip
in an ever-increasing stream.
"Hey, there's a shower bath for you, Garry!" cried Rooster, and held
his chum beneath the trickle.
Garry dodged the unwelcome shower and in retaliation grabbed Rooster
and held him beneath the stream, which coursed chillingly down the
hapless Rooster's back.
Rooster howled, and with a convulsive effort freed himself from Garry's
grasp, at the same time butting his head against the ribs of his
adversary.
In the laughing scrimmage, both boys went down and rolled over and over
on the rotting floor of the cabin, to the huge delight of their chums.
"Soak him, Garry!"
"Attaboy, Rooster!"
"Go to, you fel--"
The words were interrupted by a rending crash, and the next moment it
seemed as though the universe had come down about their ears!