LOST IN THE WOODS
"Fairfield, Fitch, Wilson, Abbot," remarked the official checker-out,
as Tom and his three chums trotted out of the door of the gymnasium on
the afternoon of the cross-country run. "All right boys. Getting away
in good time," and the Senior student who was acting in the official
capacity smiled in rather a patronizing manner. "Now if you check in
together you'll be doing well. Take it easy. You haven't got much of
a run, and you've oceans of time to do it in."
"Huh! I guess you think this isn't much of a Marathon," remarked Jack,
pausing to address the checker, who had marked their names down on a
slip of paper.
"Neither it is, son," came the answer. "In my day we had lots of
stiffer ones."
"And did the fellows all make good?" asked Tom, for though he and his
chums had spent one year at Elmwood Hall this was the first big run
they had taken part in, and on it depended much--their chance to play
on the big eleven.
"Oh, most of 'em did," replied the Senior. "Of course some couldn't
stand the pace, and others wouldn't. But, as I say, it was stiffer in
those days. I don't know what the world is coming to, anyhow," and he
looked as though he had on his shoulders a large share of the
responsibility of regulating the universe. "You'd better cut away,
fellows," he added, "for, though you've got lots of time, it's better
to loaf on the other end of the run than on this one. Hike!"
"He doesn't give himself any airs; does he? Oh no!" exclaimed Bert
sarcastically, as he jogged along beside his chums.
"Oh, that's the way with all Seniors," said Jack.
"I hope we'll not be," murmured Tom.
"Do you think we will?" asked George Abbot. "I wonder what makes
Seniors think they're so high and mighty? Do you think we'll make this
run? Will------"
"Foolish question number six thousand four hundred and twenty-one!"
interrupted Tom, with a laugh. "Now if you're going to start on your
interrogatory stunt, Georgie my lad, you'll make this run alone. I'm
not going to get dry in the roof of my mouth answering questions."
"All right, I won't ask any more," promised the lad who was such a
questioner.
"I wonder who are just ahead of us?" asked Bert, as he stopped a second
to tie a loose shoe lace.
"Let's ask," suggested Tom.
He halted and hurled back this question at the checking Senior, who sat
near the door of the gymnasium.
"Who's ahead of us, Rockford?"
"Let's see," and the checker consulted his slips. "Oh, Sam Heller and
Nick Johnson," he answered. "They've got four minutes start of you."
"All right; thanks!" shouted Tom, as he again took up his stride.
"Say, let's pass 'em," suggested Jack. "I'd rather be ahead of 'em,
than behind, anyhow."
"All right," assented Tom. "Shall we pass 'em now, or later?"
"Oh, wait a bit," said Bert. "Let's get our second wind, first."
This suited the others, and they jogged along at an easy pace. The day
was pleasant, not too warm, and there was a refreshing breeze when one
got on the hilltops. The run was through a rolling country, and the
roads were in good condition.
"Say, this is fun!" exclaimed Bert, when they had covered the first
half mile. "I like it better than I thought I would."
"Wait a bit," advised Jack. "It hasn't half started yet. When you've
done about ten miles the next five will seem twice as long."
On they swung, down a slope that made for easy going. When they topped
the next rise Jack uttered an exclamation:
"There are a couple of lads just ahead of us," he said, pointing down
in a small valley into which the runners must now descend.
"And if they aren't Sam Heller and his crony I'm a goat!" said Tom.
"That's Sam's run, all right."
"So it is," agreed Bert. "Shall we make a sprint and pass 'em?"
"Oh, there's time enough yet," said George. "Don't let's rush things."
They accepted this easy way out of it, and, as a matter of fact, none
of them cared very much about passing Sam and Nick. They jogged down
the slope, to strike a level stretch, and, by this time, Sam and his
companion were out of sight beyond a turn in the road.
"There's Aldenhurst!" exclaimed Tom at length, as they came in view of
a small but pretty village.
"And if there isn't a soda water stand in it I'm going to make a
complaint to the police!" gasped Bert. "I'm as dry as a fish."
"Don't fill up on trash," advised Tom. "The rules said that was bad to
do;" for a few simple directions as to the best way of making the run
had been circulated by Coach Jackson.
"Well, I'm going to swab out with seltzer, anyhow," declared Jack,
"rules or no rules."
"Oh, I guess that won't hurt," admitted Tom, and a little later they
had lined up before a crossroads grocery, in front of which was the
magical sign: "Ice Cold Soda!"
"Ginger ale! Birch beer! Sasp'rilla! Cream sody!" rattled off the
snub-nosed and freckle-faced lad behind the counter, when our four
friends filed in and asked for some cool drink. "That's all I've got."
"Any seltzer?" asked Tom, who knew the risk of taking into an
over-heated system the artificially flavored and colored concoctions
that pass current as summer drinks.
"Seltzer?" queried the lad. "Do you mean that there fizzy stuff that
squirts all over when you press down on the handle of the bottle?"
"That's her!" laughed Jack. "Pass it out--if it's cold."
"Oh, it's cold all right, but nobody around here likes it," volunteered
the lad. "I took some once, and it tasted like salt water with needles
in it. I'd rather have strawberry pop."
"Seltzer's good for your system, son. Pass it out," ordered Tom, with
a laugh at the description of the mineral water, and the lad went to a
big refrigerator where, after moving out some tubs of butter, and some
bottles of milk, he came upon the seltzer which he set before our
heroes.
"That's good!" exclaimed Tom, as he drained his glass, and then, after
a brief rest, they started off on the cross-country run again, waving
farewell to the lad who had so aptly characterized the seltzer.
They crossed the river at Weldon, and circled up the hill to Marsden.
There the going was stiff, and they realized why Jackson had given them
such leeway in time, for the slope was a steep one.
"This is good for our legs," remarked Jack, as he plodded on.
"Yes, and Sam and Nick seem to be still ahead of us," remarked Tom.
"They're keeping up well--better than I thought they would."
"Unless they've taken a short cut," suggested George.
"They have to check in at Marsden," said Bert.
"Well, they may take a cut there. However, it doesn't matter," said
Tom.
It was beginning to get dusk now, the September days being short.
There were about five miles of the run left when the four lads paused
at a wayside farmhouse located at the fork of the highway to make sure
they were on the right route to reach the river road.
"Yes, you kin git to it this way," remarked a tall, lanky lad, who was
hanging over the front gate, seemingly waiting for someone. "There's a
bad hill, though."
"Is there any other road to the river?" asked Tom.
"Yes, you kin cut through the woods, and it's level all the way," was
the answer. "I'd take that road."
"But we don't want a _shorter_ way," said Tom quickly. "We're doing a
school endurance run," he explained, "and we have to cover just so many
miles. We don't want to cheat."
"Oh, you won't cheat," chuckled the farm lad. "If any thing it's
longer through them woods," and he pointed to a patch of forest just
ahead. "There's a wagon road through them trees, that comes out on the
river road. The only difference is that it cuts off the hill."
"Then let's take it!" suggested Jack. "I hate hills, and it's all
right as long as we cover the distance. There's no more checking to be
done until we hit the gym. I say let's take to the woods."
"All right," agreed Tom. "Is the path a plain one?" he asked the lad.
"We don't want to get lost."
"Oh, yes, it's plain enough. A couple of other fellows passed here a
while ago, and I told them about it."
"Sam Heller, and Nick, I'll wager!" exclaimed Bert.
"Sure," assented Jack. "Much obliged," he called to the farm lad, as
the four struck off toward the woods.
"Maybe you won't be--after a bit," murmured the lad, as he turned away
from the gate, a twinkle coming into his pig-like eyes. "I earned that
dollar easy enough--jest directin' 'em to the wood-road," and he looked
at a bill crumpled in his hand. "I never made money any easier. Them
two fellers, jest ahead, who told me to direct the next bunch into the
woods, must have lots of coin. I guess it'll be a while afore them
four lads strike the river, goin' through the woods," and, chuckling,
he went into the house, after a look at Tom and his chums.
"Say it's going to be dark before we get back," remarked George, when
they were well within the woods. "I wonder if we can see?"
"Sure," asserted Tom. "The trees are cut away at the top and it's
going to be moonlight a little later. This is a good road, and, even
if it's longer than the other, we cut off a big hill. We can explain
how we came to take it, and it's fair as long as we do the distance."
"If we only get in on time," murmured Bert.
"Oh, I guess we will," said Jack.
Together they jogged on. It became more and more dark, and, as the
wood road was not in the best of condition, they stumbled over roots
and tree branches. But, as Tom said, it was light enough to see their
way fairly well.
"Say!" exclaimed Jack, after nearly an hour spent in tramping the
woodland path, "this doesn't seem just right. The road is narrower
than it was at first."
"Let's strike a match and take a look," suggested Tom.
"And we ought to have been at the river some time ago," added Bert. "I
wonder if we came right?"
Tom lighted a match, and set fire to a wisp of bark. It blazed up
brightly, and as he held it to the ground he cried out:
"Fellows, we're off the main road. We must have made a turn in the
dark. We're on some by-path."
"Then turn back right away!" exclaimed Bert.
They did, using the torch to see by. But, after they had retraced
their steps for fifteen minutes, Tom again called a halt.
"Fellows!" he said, "there's no use going on.
"Why not?" asked Jack.
"Because we're lost. We've been going around in a circle. There's the
same fallen beech tree we passed a little while ago. We're lost!"