ON THE FINAL MILE OF THE COURSE
Meanwhile, in order to understand certain important events that came
about, it is necessary that we follow the runners, and devote this
chapter to what occurred up to the time that first fellow came
lunging around the final bend, having covered the whole course up to
the final lap.
For a mile or so along the road there were bunches of schoolboys and
girls waiting to give some of the contestants a cheering word as they
flashed past. The enthusiasts, however, would not linger long, for
they likely enough wished to see the comical part of the programme
carried out. Besides, once the runners had straggled past their
posts the only interest remaining for them in the race was its
conclusion. So they would want to get back to the grounds, and
secure positions along the line to the first bend, where they could
greet each contestant as he appeared, and cheer him on; for he would
probably need encouragement, being near the point of exhaustion.
Hugh had figured things out exactly, and knew what he could do. He
was not alarmed because several of the visiting runners led the way,
and even "Just" Smith had quite a little lead over him.
Pegging along, Hugh covered mile after mile with a steadiness that he
had reduced to machine-like motion. He had timed himself, and the
whole course was mentally charted for his guidance. If he reached
the cut-off road at a certain time he would know things were moving
just as swiftly as necessary. Those boys who strained themselves in
that first seven miles would be apt to rue their rashness when they
began to feel their legs quiver with weakness under them, and still
miles remained to be covered ere the goal came in sight. And,
besides, they were sure to be in no condition for a hot final sprint,
in case of keen competition.
So Hugh, having registered as required at two booths on the way, and
thus learned the order in which the trio ahead of him seemed to be
running, finally arrived at the sunken quarry road. He recognized
the landmarks before he reached the spot; and losing not a second of
time darted among the trees.
"Just" Smith was still leading him, for here and there he could
distinguish the other's footprints, where the ground chanced to be a
little moist. Hugh also had reason to believe that Nick Lang was
coming strong not a great distance behind him. He wondered whether
Nick meant to take advantage of the old quarry road as well as he and
"Just" Smith, and Horatio in the bargain. For that matter Hugh did
not care an iota; if Nick considered it would be to his advantage he
was at liberty to benefit by this scheme of Hugh's. It was all for
the glory of Scranton High; and far better that Nick won the prize,
than that it should be taken by an Allandale, or a Belleville
contestant--that is, if he won it honestly.
Apparently, on the face of the returns, when half of the fifteen-mile
course had been run, the victory was likely to be carried off by
Whipple, the fleet-winged Allandale chap who had played right field
during the baseball matches; "Just" Smith; himself; or possibly Nick
Lang. There was always a dim and remote possibility, however, of a
dark horse forging to the front on the home stretch. This might be
Horatio Juggins, or McKee, or perhaps that Belleville runner, Conway,
who had looked so confident when Hugh surveyed the line of eager
faces at the start.
Hugh remembered every foot of the way along that quarry road. He had
a faculty for impressing features of the surrounding landscape on his
mind, so that he could recall it at pleasure, just as though he held
a photograph in his hand.
Now he was drawing near the quarry itself, the loneliest and most
gruesome stretch of the entire cut-off; with "Just" Smith still in
the lead. Hugh felt proud of his chum, and often chuckled as he
contemplated the other's supreme delight in case a fickle fortune
allowed him to come in ahead; for honors of this sort were a rare
thing in the past of the Smith boy; and certainly he had never before
been so close to reaping such a colossal prize as the winning of the
Marathon would be reckoned.
Now Hugh glimpsed the quarry on one side of him. How his thoughts
flew backward to marshal the strange events so recently happening
there, in which he and some of his comrades had had the good fortune
to participate.
Just then he heard a plain groan. It gave him a little thrill, but
not because he fancied there was anything supernatural connected with
the sound. Looking in the direction from whence the groan came he
discovered a boy sitting on the ground, and rubbing his lower
extremities vigorously.
It was "Just" Smith! Evidently something not down on the programme
had happened to the boy who led the race across the quarry road.
Hugh suspected treachery immediately. He turned aside, and sprang
towards his chum.
"Hey! what ails you, 'Just' Smith?" he called out, wasting some of
his precious breath in the bargain. "This isn't the way to win a
Marathon, don't you know? What if you have barked your shin?--forget
all about it, and get moving again!"
The Smith boy looked very sad, as he shook his face dolefully.
"Huh! wish I could, Hugh," he hastened to mumble, still rubbing his
shin, and making faces as though it hurt him considerably. "I've
tried to run, but shucks; what's the use when you can hardly limp at
the best? I'm through, Hugh, sorry to say. You keep on, and bag the
prize; next to winning it myself I'd love to know _you_ took it away
from that Whipple chap."
"But--how did the accident happen, 'Just' Smith?" continued Hugh.
"Accident nothing!" snapped the other, between his set teeth. "It
was all a set-up game to knock one of us out of the race, I tell you.
If you'd been leading at the time, why, that shower of rocks must
have met you."
"Rocks, did you say?" exclaimed Hugh, looking dark.
Just then the sound of footsteps was heard. A runner went past them
on the full tear. It was Nick Lang, and when he turned his face
toward the two on their knees the wicked look on his grinning face
told more eloquently than words how his brain had been the one to
hatch up this miserable trick whereby he hoped to gain an advantage
over one of his schoolmates who might happen to be leading him in the
race. He vanished down the road, still running strong. "Just" Smith
almost howled, he was so furious.
"That's the chap who engineered this rotten game, I tell you, Hugh!"
he snapped. "And chances are ten to one it was Leon Disney and that
Tip Slavin who threw all those stones, and then ran away laughing, so
I couldn't glimpse 'em. Say, I was struck in half a dozen places.
I've got a lump on my head nearly as big as a hen's egg; and my elbow
hurts like everything. I was so flustered that I must have got
twisted in a vine, or else struck a root, for I fell, and barked my
shin something fierce. I wanted to chase after the cowards, but knew
it was silly to think of such a thing. Then I tried to keep on, but
it wasn't any use, and I gave it up as a bad job. But Hugh, I hope
you don't mean to let that skunk profit by his trickery. Please
start off, and beat him out, if it takes a leg."
"But I hate to leave you here, 'Just' Smith, much as I'd like to
chase after Nick, because now he deserves to be beaten."
"Oh! don't bother about me, Hugh. I'll try and get to the main
road, even if I have to _crawl_. Later on you can come back for me
in some sort of rig. Whew! but I'm as mad as a hatter because I've
lost my fine chance, when I was going so strong, with plenty of
reserve force held back."
Hugh realized that duty called upon him to do as his chum demanded.
It would be a shame if Nick Lang actually profited through such a
rank act of treachery toward his fellows of Scranton High. An
individual should be ready to sacrifice his school or its interests
to his own personal ambition, and certainly never should it be
allowed that he gain his ends through such a dastardly trick as the
waylaying of another on the road, and his being assaulted, as "Just"
Smith had been.
"All right, I'll do it, then!" Hugh exclaimed, with a look of sudden
determination. "Expect me back later on, old fellow! Bye-bye!
Don't try to do too much, and hurt yourself worse!"
With these words he sprang away. "Just" Smith gave him a parting
cheer, that must have come a bit hard, owing to the pain he suffered,
and also the bitter disappointment that wrung his boyish and
ambitious heart.
Hugh had but one thought now, which was to speed along at such a clip
as to allow him to finally overtake and pass the treacherous Nick,
and leave him in the lurch. The spur of punishing the other for such
dastardly conduct was apt to prove an incentive calculated to add
considerably to Hugh's running.
Nick had the advantage, since he must be well on the way to the main
thoroughfare by now; and once that was gained there was a clear field
ahead of him. But one more registering station remained, and that
was at a certain turn on the way home. Then would come the final
three miles, with the pace increasing constantly, as those in the
lead vied with each other to get ahead, or to retain that proud
position.
Hugh quickly regained the mastery over his aroused feelings. He must
stay cool and collected so as to do exactly the right thing at the
right time. A little slip in the way of judgment was likely to lose
him the race, for he now learned as he gained the main road, that
there were not only one but two competitors ahead of him.
Yes, the fleet-footed Whipple had somehow managed to spin along over
the ground, and was now not far behind Nick Lang. Possibly the
fellow from Allandale had also secretly examined the course and
discovered a cut-off on his own account, through means of which he
anticipated gaining a great advantage over all the other runners in
the Marathon.
Hugh now set out to make steady gains. He must be within a certain
distance of those two fellows by the time the last stretch was
reached, or else all his hope of overtaking and passing them would be
lost.
He found that his powers of endurance and speed had not been
misjudged, for they responded nobly when called upon for a further
spurt. Now, he was greatly lessening the distance separating him
from Whipple; who, in turn, seemed able to hold his own with Nick.
The latter began to show the first signs of distress when they were
at the beginning of the last two miles. He looked over his shoulder,
and no runner ever is guilty of such an unwise proceeding unless his
heart has commenced to be filled with grave doubts as to his being a
winner.
Again did Hugh notice Nick doing this, and he took fresh courage from
the circumstance. Yes, and looking more closely he also saw that
Nick was not running true to form any longer; he had begun to wobble
more or less, as though unable to continue on in a straight line.
That was another bad sign, since it causes the runner to cover
unnecessary ground; and also indicates a weakening heart.
Hugh let out another burst of speed. He was closing the gap rapidly;
and, apparently, Whipple also seemed to be gaining on the almost
played-out Nick.
They were now within less than a mile of the finish; the last turn
would soon be reached, with the gun booming out the fact of their
arrival. Hugh girded his loins for a Garrison finish, and gloried in
the conviction that he was in trim to do himself credit.