Fred Fenton Marathon Runner: The Great Race at Riverport School

CHAPTER XXII

"THEY'RE OFF!"

"Somebody please give me the official list of entries; I'm not sure I have it right," and as Cissie Anderson said this she looked around her at the clump of enthusiastic school friends, both boys and girls, surrounding her seat in the grandstand.

There were Flo Temple, Mame Wells, and several other girls, as well as Semi-Colon, Cornelius Shays and a few other fellows who believed in being comfortable during the long wait, while the contestants were absent.

"That's me, Cissie," Semi-Colon spoke up, flourishing a paper proudly. "I've just come from the blackboard where they've posted the names of the entries. You know each school was to be limited to four contestants?"

"Yes, but please give me the list," said Cissie, impatiently. "They're beginning to gather around the starting line, and I want to be sure I've got everything correct. Just think how small I'd feel if I cheered the wrong one."

"You can cheer everybody," Flo told her, "until the time comes to welcome the first runner, and then Riverport hopes to do herself proud."

"Mechanicsburg has four entries," Semi-Colon announced, purposely raising his rather puny voice so that every one within a radius of twenty feet might profit by his knowledge, "and they are Dolan, Wagner, Waterman, and Ackers. The last named is called the Mechanicsburg Wonder, and they all say he's going to win this Marathon in a walk."

At that there were scornful exclamations from the faithful Riverport rooters.

"We've seen Ackers run plenty and good, when he played left tackle on their football eleven!" announced one boy, jeeringly.

"And if I remember rightly he didn't run fast enough to make many touchdowns, eh, fellows?" exclaimed another Riverport student.

"You wait and see, that's all!" they were told by an indignant girl nearby, who undoubtedly had her home in the up-river town.

"Yeth," added her companion, a boy who lisped terribly, but was not prevented by this affliction from speaking his mind in behalf of his native town, "they thay thosth that laugh lasth laugh loudetht. Justh wait, and thee which thide of your mouth you laugh from, fellowth."

"Well, I've got Mechanicsburg down all pat, Semi-Colon," observed Cissie, who had smiled sweetly while this side talk was going on, "and now how about Paulding?"

"Only three entries there," the answer came, "because Ogden was hurt on a practice run yesterday afternoon, and it was too late to grind a substitute into decent condition."

"Then they are Collins, Everett and Badger; is that right?" asked Cissie, as she poised her lead pencil over her little pad.

"Correct," Semi-Colon announced. "You all know who Riverport's boys are going to be, but all the same I'll just mention them. Their names seem to roll off my tongue as easy as anything – Sid Wells, Colon, Bristles Carpenter, and last hut far from least, our splendid all-around athlete, Fred Fenton."

There was a generous clapping of hands around that section of the grandstand; although the pair from Mechanicsburg looked scornful, and shrugged their shoulders in truly loyal style, for they were faithful rooters for their home town.

"There is no such thing as a handicap in this race, I understand?" remarked a gentleman who apparently was a stranger in the vicinity, for no one seemed to know him.

"Oh, no sir, such a thing isn't ever considered in a Marathon race," Semi-Colon immediately told him. "Every tub has to rest on its own bottom, and the fellow who can stand the gruelling run best is going to come in ahead of the string."

"There are eleven entries, I believe you said?" continued the gentleman, who was evidently looking for general information, not being much of a sporting patron, "and if they all start out in a bunch, I should think there might be some little confusion."

"Not at all, sir," the boy assured him. "Each runner has a big number fastened to his breast and back, so that he can be known at a distance. In that way the judges can see any trickery that may be attempted. And besides, although they may start off in a clump, before three miles have been run the chances are they'll be strung all along the road, and with numerous little hot sprints to get the lead."

"And while waiting for them to come in sight, what is going to happen here?" continued the gentleman, waving his hand toward the open space before the grandstand where preparations had evidently been made for other entertainments.

"Oh! amuse the crowd, and keep them from getting too anxious," Semi-Colon told him, readily enough, for his greatest delight was to spread information. "The committee on sports has arranged several comical entertainments. There's going to be several sack races to begin with; climbing the greased pole for another thing; catching a greased pig for another; and a three-foot race to wind up with."

"A three-foot race!" repeated the gentleman: "I don't know that I've ever heard of that; would you mind explaining a little further, my lad?"

"Oh! the contestants are entered in pairs, you see," Semi-Colon told him. "They are bound together that way, one fellow having his left leg fastened to his partner's right. It's a great sight to see how they blunder along, and fall all over themselves. I know some fellows who have been practicing the stunt; but even then, in the excitement they're apt to get into a terrible muss."

"Well, all that ought to keep the people in good humor while the time is passing, I should think," the stranger remarked, laughingly. "And now, would you mind telling me a little about the rules of the great race? I understand that the course covers twenty-five miles in all?"

"Yes, sir, if any contestant chooses to go over the entire distance," he was informed by the willing Semi-Colon, who kept one anxious eye on the spot where the various runners were now gathering, as though the time for starting might be drawing very close now.

"What do you mean by saying that, please? Is there any way by which they may shorten the distance?" continued the gentleman.

"That's just it, sir; at the upper end they can cut off three miles by taking a short-cut through the woods and along the border of a marsh, coming out on the other road at the toll-gate, and then turning toward home."

"I understand what you mean, and I suppose that every one will undertake that shortening of the journey?"

"Well, I hear there's some talk of a Mechanicsburg fellow who means to run it out on the road all the way," Semi-Colon told his persistent questioner.

"What reason would he have for doing so, son?"

"The old one of the hare and the tortoise, sir," the Riverport student remarked, with a shrewd look. "You see, there's always some chance that the fellows who try to make that cut-off may get confused, and lose their way. If they strike the other road below the toll-gate, why they're compelled to go all the way back so as to register."

"Register!" exclaimed the other, in a puzzled tone.

"Why, it's this way," he was informed by the willing and talkative Semi-Colon, "the committee has laid out registering stations at certain places along the course, where every runner has to sign his name in his own fist, also the exact time of his arrival; then he is at liberty to shoot off again as he pleases. One of these is just below where the cutoff begins, and another at the toll-gate on the home road."

"Oh! I begin to grasp what you mean now," the stranger in Riverport remarked, as he nodded his head. "All this is done so that there shall not be the slightest taint of unfairness or cheating about the race?"

"You better believe there won't be, sir!" declared Cornelius Shays. "Nobody will ever be able to say Riverport won on a foul, or by taking any unfair advantage of her rivals. It's going to be a clean game and a great victory!"

"When they line up, please tell me the numbers of your friends, and also those from the other schools. I happen to have a pair of field-glasses with me, and when the first runner comes in sight away up the road yonder, I may be able to return your kindness by telling you positively what his number is before you could distinguish it with the naked eye."

"There they are lining up now, Semi!" exclaimed Cissie, eagerly, and as Sid Wells was a very particular friend of hers, it can be set down as certain that her eyes picked him out of the eleven just as quickly as his sister Mame could have done.

Accordingly, as the line swayed there, with the contestants listening to the last plain instructions from the master of ceremonies, warning them of what penalties would be sure to follow any fouling in the race, Semi-Colon told the stranger in Riverport just which number represented each entry.

"The first four numbers belong to Mechanicsburg, you see, Ackers leading as One, Dolan Two, Waterman Three, and Wagner Four. Then come our fellows, with Sid Wells Five, Fred Fenton Six, Colon Seven, and Bristles Carpenter Eight. Number Nine is Collins of Paulding, with Everett Ten, and Badger Eleven. There is no Twelve, you see, sir, because Ogden is knocked out."

"Hold up now, Semi-Colon, they're going to make the start, and we don't want to keep hearing you talking forever," a boy in the second row behind called out; at which the shortened edition of the Colon family cast an aggrieved glance back that way, but nevertheless held his tongue.

"Now, watch, he's going to fire the pistol!" gasped Cissie Anderson, with her eyes fairly glued upon the line of young athletes who expected to compete for the honor of winning the great Marathon.

Then came a spiteful little crack of the pistol the starter had been elevating.

"They're off!" shrieked hundreds of voices, and a tremendous billow of cheers rang out, to send the eleven runners on their way with a firm determination lodged in each and every breast to strain himself to the utmost in order to be the fortunate winner.

Up the road they went at a furious speed, bunched together in the beginning, yet with several already showing signs of breaking away, and taking the lead.

CHAPTER XXIII

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.