THE GREAT RACE.
“Have you heard the news--great excitement--big robbery--Mr. Nixon’s
automobile stolen--Noddy kidnapped--terrible--awful--whoop!”
Andy Rush let out the above avalanche of words as he met Ned the next
morning, as the merchant’s son was on his way to see Jerry.
“What’s all that, Andy?”
“Last night! Somebody kidnapped the auto and rode off in
Noddy--fearful--terrible--I mean some one kidnapped Noddy and rode off
in the auto! I’m all excited!”
“I can see that without being told,” remarked Ned. “But can’t you calm
down a bit and explain.”
Andy tried but it was hard work. Ned gathered that something out of the
ordinary had happened. As soon as he could leave Andy he hurried to
Jerry’s house.
“Have you heard the news?” asked Ned.
“About Noddy and the auto?”
“Yes.”
“I was there when it happened.”
“You don’t mean it! Tell me all about it!”
Thereupon Jerry did. He had no sooner finished than Bob appeared and
wanted the particulars.
“Have you told any one about this?” asked Ned.
“Only you two.”
“Then we’d better go and tell father. He expects us to meet Noddy again
at ten o’clock to-day.”
The three chums called on Mr. Slade. He was greatly surprised at what
Jerry had to tell, and he agreed that no especial good would have come
from Jerry having given an alarm at the time.
“I must see Mr. Nixon and explain the situation to him,” said Mr. Slade.
“The sheriff had better be told also. You boys might as well come along,
to give certain details.”
In a little while the three boys, with Mr. Slade, were in the drawing
room of the Nixon home. Mr. Nixon, looking worn and pale, greeted them.
Mr. Slade went over the whole story, occasionally calling on one or the
other of the boys as to certain facts. He told the circumstances from
the time Ned saw the light in the mill until the happenings of the
previous night, when Jerry saw Noddy run away in the automobile.
“I am deeply grieved at my son’s conduct,” said Mr. Nixon. “It is a
bitter blow to me. I thank you Mr. Slade, and you boys also, for being
so considerate as not to publish the story broadcast. I have shame
enough without that.
“I shall pay back the thousand dollars Noddy took. I will ask you, Mr.
Slade to be a witness to that transaction. As far as the automobile is
concerned, that was my property, and, in order to save my son from being
branded as a double thief, I here and now make him a present of the
machine. So he is in something that belongs to him. I only hope he comes
back, for I love him in spite of his faults.
“I agree with you, Mr. Slade, that the sheriff must be informed. It is
only due Ned, to clear him of all suspicion, though any one who knew
him would be sure he was never guilty. That is all that can be done, I
believe. When I pay Mr. Judson the money he has lost he will have no
reason for proceeding against my son. This ends the mill robbery mystery
forever I hope. Once again I thank you all for your consideration.”
Mr. Slade quietly motioned for the boys to withdraw and Mr. Nixon was
left alone in his grief and sorrow. That afternoon Mr. Slade accompanied
Noddy’s father to Mr. Judson and the stolen money was repaid. The mill
owner agreed to begin no legal proceedings against the misguided young
man. Nor was there any charge against Bill Berry, though Mr. Nixon said
he wished Noddy was out of the bad man’s influence. When the sheriff was
told of the circumstances and informed that the case had been settled he
announced that he was satisfied.
“I always did like the looks of you, Ned,” he remarked, “and I was sorry
to arrest you, but duty is duty, you know, as the elephant said when he
squirted water in the face of the man who stuck a pin in him.”
The boys did not quite see the connection, but decided to let it go at
that. The sheriff, who had called on Mr. Slade, at the latter’s request,
went off, and said the case was ended as far as he was concerned.
“And now to get ready for the race to-morrow!” cried Jerry. “Everything
is straightened out, and we only have to think of winning. Hurrah!”
Each one was up bright and early the next morning, though the races
did not start until two o’clock in the afternoon. It was a beautiful
September day, just cool enough to take the temper from a warm sun, and
with only a light breeze blowing.
Somehow the morning passed. The boys made one trip to the grounds
without their machines, and found men busy raising the banks at the
turns of the course, so that there would be less danger to the riders.
The turns were banked with wood, although the track itself was a hard
dirt one.
Though it seemed hours and hours until the hands of the clock approached
the “two” mark, they did eventually. Shortly before one o’clock,
however, the boys were at the track. Old Pete Bumps was there ahead of
them, having been sent over by Mr. Baker.
“Here we all be, happy and free,” said Pete, as he greeted the boys.
“Here, just stay near the machines,” said Bob. “And mind, don’t go away
from them, no matter if some one offers you a pipe, cigars, tobacco and
matches.”
“That I will not, I will stay on the spot,” said Pete, gravely.
“My, what a crowd!” exclaimed Ned.
And indeed there was a big gathering. The grand stand was almost
filled, and the bleachers completely, while hundreds stood up all the
way around the oval track. There were many ladies and gentlemen, club
members and citizens of Cresville, besides any number of boys and girls.
The Cresville Athletic Club was a well known one, and the big prizes
offered for the motor-cycle race had attracted riders from all over the
state. There were thirty starters, and, as the track was not wide enough
for them all to line up at once it had been decided to get them away in
three batches of ten each, the second squad to start off after the first
finished, and the third after the second.
The boys made quick work of getting into their racing togs. Then, with
fifteen minutes to spare before the five minute warning gun would send
all practicers from the course, they went out on the track. They found
their machines were working to perfection, and each one, in his secret
heart, hoped he would win the coveted first prize.
It seemed no more than a few minutes before a gun went off, and a man
with a megaphone began shouting to have the track cleared. People
scurried for their seats, and there was a tense feeling in the air, that
always precedes a test of strength and endurance. Riders hurried from
the course to give a last drop of oil to their machines. Late coming
contestants were busy pinning their numbers on their shirts, and,
altogether there was a scene of confusion.
Though it was the largest race the three chums had ever been in, they
kept cool. They had all their arrangements made, and soon, with all the
other riders they were called to the judges’ stand. They were briefly
told of the rules, and then lots were drawn to determine in what squad
the riders were to start off.
Ned, Bob and Jerry each drew different numbers. Ned was to start off
with the first batch, Jerry with the second, and Bob with the third.
In this way it would not be known until the very last squad had finished
who had won, and thus interest would be maintained until the end.
“Bang!” another shot was fired. It indicated that the races would start
in two minutes.
“Go in and win, Ned,” advised Jerry as he and Bob left their chum with
the riders of the first batch.
“The same to you!” exclaimed Ned.
“Line up!” called the starter, and the ten riders mounted their
machines, which were held for them by men engaged for the purpose by the
club. There was a moment of suspense!
“Go!” shouted the starter, at the same time firing his revolver.
The riders, shoved off by those who held the machines, pedaled
furiously, and then, having sufficient momentum, started the motors. It
sounded as if a battery of gatling guns had gone into action, for most
of the contestants, in an endeavor to lighten their cycles, had taken
off the mufflers, and the wild cheer that was given by the spectators as
the batch started off was drowned to the contestants by reason of the
gas explosions.
Ned handled his machine well, and secured a good place, about third from
the front. He quickly had his motor going at full speed, and he was
delighted to see that he was increasing his lead over the man behind
him. He was slowly creeping up on the man ahead of him, when the latter
looked back. Then he turned on a little more power, and slowly drew away
from Ned. The boy knew, then, that there was at least one machine faster
than his.
Around and around the track the riders went. They took the turns at
dangerous speed, and one man had a spill that put him out of the
contest. Another burst a tire and had to withdraw. Ned managed to pass
one of the men in front of him, but by that time some one had come up
from the rear, and he still found himself third.
Suddenly, as he passed the judges’ stand, he heard a revolver shot, and
saw a red flag waved. It indicated that there were two laps more.
On the eight riders swept like the wind, and, a quarter of a mile from
the finish, one of the riders in front of Ned began to slacken speed.
His batteries had failed at the last moment, and Ned rushed past him, a
good second in the first squad.
“Fine!” exclaimed Jerry as he and Bob rushed up to congratulate him. “I
only hope I do as well!”
“I want to see you do better,” said Ned.
Little time was lost in getting the second detachment off. Again the
explosions sounded and the air was rent with cheers. Jerry had secured a
good start, but he had not made more than two laps before he was aware
that a plan to get him into a pocket was being made. He tried to avoid
it but he was pitted against racers of skill, most of them grown men.
Once inside the fatal “V” shaped formation of riders Jerry gave the race
up for lost. His machine was going almost at top speed. He managed to
get directly behind the fourth man in the left leg of the “V,” and hung
there, hoping some chance might offer. He knew he could make a good
record if he was allowed to escape.
Then, when there was but a mile of the race left, there came a chance.
The man behind whom he was riding burst a tire. He fell from his machine
and there would have been a serious smash-up had not Jerry quickly and
skillfully turned aside, shot through the gap made by the missing fourth
rider, and, swinging away from the pole a bit, taken his place second
from the leader. Jerry threw his motor on to full speed. The man in the
lead had his there already.
Jerry was hopeful. There was one lap more and his machine was working
like a charm. He was but ten feet behind the leader, whose cycle was
working to the limit, and Jerry saw that he was slowly but surely
forging ahead.
Then one of those things happened that come so unexpectedly and so
inexplainably to gasolene motors. Jerry’s suddenly refused to work.
The explosions ceased. He worked the pedals frantically, but it was of
no use. The batch of riders swept past him, and he saw with regret and
chagrin that he was distanced.
“There goes my chance!” he said sorrowfully as he dismounted and pushed
his machine from the track. “All our hope is in Bob now!”
No sooner was the second squad of riders out of the way than the third
batch came hurrying on the track. They were lined up, the pistol
cracked, and away they went. Ned and Jerry, who had found a good place
to watch, strained their eyes for a sight of Bob.
“He’s close to the front!” cried Ned.
“No, he’s away to the rear,” said Jerry, and so it proved.
By some mischance Bob was third from the rear as the riders swept around
on the first lap.
“He doesn’t look discouraged,” said Jerry. “Maybe he is running his
motor slow, and trying to keep out of a pocket.”
“I hope so,” grunted Ned.
With the exception of two riders well to the fore, and Bob and two
others in the rear, the contestants were pretty well bunched. For
several laps no one gained an advantage. One man tried to steal up, but
he was promptly pocketed and lost whatever chance he had.
“Why doesn’t Bob do something? There are only two miles more!” groaned
Ned.
“Watch him!” cried Jerry suddenly. “I believe he’s been hanging back on
purpose, so as not to get in a pocket.”
Ned gazed with straining eyes. Certainly Bob seemed to be increasing his
speed. He was sixth from the last. Another lap was reeled off. Bob crept
up two more places.
“Bang!” went the gun. The red flag was waved. There were two more laps
and the race would be over.
“He’s got to do something quick now!” exclaimed Jerry.
“And I’ll bet he’s going to do it!” exclaimed Ned as Bob swept past, a
look of determination on his face.
Then, while the big crowd looked on, almost holding its breath,
something happened. Bob turned the levers of his machine with a quick
motion. He shot forward on his machine as an arrow leaves a bow. Outside
and around the bunch of riders he swept! Past the two confident leaders
he went! Up ahead to the very front he forged while a mighty shout went
up!
“If he can only keep it!” cried Ned, and his voice had something of
agony in it.
And keep it Bob did. He held his place the rest of that lap and during
the next, though he was close pressed, and swept across the line a
winner!
“He wins this heat! I wonder if he wins the race!” cried Jerry.
Their doubts were set at rest a minute later. The announcer, with his
big megaphone invited silence with uplifted hand.
“Race won by Robert Baker!” he shouted. “Second was Timothy Wilson, and
third William Jones. Time of the winner--”
But the crowd never stopped to hear what the official time was. With
wild shouts, with the tossing of hats and canes in the air, they cheered
again and again for Bob.
“He’s won the race! He’s won the race!” cried Ned jumping about and
slapping Jerry on the back. “Now for our touring car!”