CHAPTER XXI

WHAT HAPPENED TO BONES

Crack!

It seemed to the mass of spectators, craning their necks to see what took place, as though that whole line of lithe runners sprang forward as one.

Every fellow doubtless had his favorite way of waiting for the signal; though a quick start is of far less importance in a long run of ten miles than when the race is a short dash. Some crouched in all sorts of weird attitudes, doubtless assumed for effect; but several simply stood with the body bent for the plunge.

“They’re off!” shrieked hundreds of voices, as the nine boys were seen to speed away like the wind.

Eager eyes followed their every move, for everything depended on the result of this race; that is, with Bellport and Columbia. If Clifford won, why the other two schools would of course be simply tied for honors; and must have another test at some later date. This would be a bad thing all around, since the tension under which the pupils would continue to labor must affect their ability to pass the annual examinations with credit.

Many became anxious because the new wonder from Clifford, Larry Parker, had shot into the lead, and seemed capable of increasing the distance between himself and his competitors at will.

“It’s a walkaway!” whooped the Clifford boys; for if they could only pull off the most important event of the great day, that victory would go far toward healing the wounds caused by the poor showing of their athletes in other contests.

But very few Columbia fellows were anxious at this early stage in the race. They knew only too well that ten miles was a long distance to cover, and all sorts of things could happen before the goal was in sight.

“Frank and Lanky and Bones make a team that is simply unbeatable!” they continued to say, one to another, as the last of the nine runners vanished from view up the road in the distance.

“Yes,” others would add, “don’t we know the tactics of Frank Allen to a dot? You never would catch him letting himself out in the start of a grilling ten-mile run, like that new fellow does. He works up to it by degrees, and the result is at the last quarter he feels fresh, while the sprinter is all in. And the other fellows have been ordered to do the same as Frank. Just wait! The one that shouts last, shouts loudest. We’re holding our wind for the end!”

As time would hang heavy while the runners were away, and in order to amuse the great crowd, the management had arranged to have several spirited contests for additional prizes. But although these were full of go and spirit, and evoked considerable enthusiasm when decided, it was plain that the throng thought only of the runners coursing over the country roads, and who in good time would begin to show up.

The course was in the form of a great loop, though both the start and the wind-up of the race followed a single track for half a mile. And when the returning runners struck this neck of the bottle on the return trip, the discharge of a small cannon would announce that the home stretch had been entered, when everyone was supposed to exert himself to the limit of endurance.

But as our interest lies almost entirely with the runners, it is only right that we should follow them in their long race.

Frank and Lanky had managed to keep pretty well together during the first few miles. Their position was something like midway; for while there were several of the contestants ahead of them, others were in the rear.

Bones had been unable to restrain his eagerness, and chased after the two leaders--Parker for Clifford, and Coddling for Bellport. Just back of the other two Columbia entries ran Wentworth, that sturdy Clifford fellow, who had always worked so hard on diamond and gridiron for the honor of his school. Then, not far back of him came Mallory and Keating, two new Bellport “wonders,” who failed in the pinch to get even a showing. Far in the rear trailed Atkins, the third Clifford contestant, who seemed either gone “stale” from overtraining, or else was having trouble with his shoes, for he had stopped twice to do something.

That was the way the runners were spread out when the three-mile mark was passed. Now and then Frank could catch a glimpse of those who were ahead. He wanted to make sure Parker did not gain such a tremendous lead that he could not be overhauled later on.

Lanky was fretting some, as usual. He seemed like a mettlesome horse chafing because of the restraining bit.

“Frank, say the word, and let’s pick up a bit!” he complained.

“Just a little, then,” was the reply the other made.

The fewer words that passed between them the better, for breath was valuable. And it was more to quiet Lanky than because he believed there was as yet any need of shortening the distance between the leaders and themselves, that Frank gave in so readily.

Two of the racers seemed to be running neck and neck. They bore the Clifford and Columbia colors, which would indicate that Bones must have made a grand spurt, and overtaken the leader. Perhaps he would not rest content with that, but try to pass Larry Parker before the five-mile mark had been reached.

Already the pace had become so grinding that several at the tail-end of the procession had dropped out. Atkins had given up, and Keating was seen wobbling when a stretch of straight road allowed Frank to look back. The other fellows were still booming steadily along, grimly hoping that if they kept within striking distance, fortune might favor them by some accident to the leaders, when they might jump in and win.

All at once, as Frank, side by side with tall Lanky, broke around a bend of the road, they discovered a lone figure seated by the wayside, and evidently nursing a sprained ankle.

Frank saw with more or less dismay that the figure wore the well-known Columbia colors. He knew to a certainty then that it must be their chum, Bones Shadduck, who had met with an accident.

And it was perhaps not strange that just then Frank should remember what he had said to Lanky as a warning, with regard to Larry Parker, in case he ever found himself in a position to pass the new Clifford wonder.

“It’s Bones!” Frank snapped out between his teeth; for it is no easy thing for a fellow who has been running speedily over four miles to talk while continuing to rush on.

“Oh! poor old Bones, he’s in the soup!” grunted Lanky; and it could be seen that he was genuinely sorry to know the third Columbia contestant had been thrown out of the race by an accident.

“Looks like he’d sprained his ankle!” remarked Frank, as they bore down on the spot where Bones sat, hugging his left leg with both hands.

He looked up as they approached. The expression of intense pain on his face gave way momentarily to one of concern. It was the school spirit conquering mere physical distress.

He made quick motions with his hand, at the same time shouting ere they had gained a point abreast of where he lay:

“Go on! Don’t you dare stop a second for me! I’m all right! Sprained my ankle in the queerest way ever, just when I was passing Parker. Stone must have rolled out from under his foot, and right in my way! It made me stumble, and down I came ker-flop! Go on! Beat ’em both out! You can do it! Columbia forever! Oh!”

The last was an exclamation of acute pain. Evidently the patriotic Bones, in endeavoring to wave his hand above his head as he cheered, had given his sprained ankle a new wrench, causing him to nearly shriek aloud.

Frank was almost tempted to stop then and there; but he knew that a sprain, while painful enough, was not dangerous. And one of the fellows far in the rear, who had no chance whatever to win the race, would undoubtedly give poor old Bones a helping hand to some nearby house where he could get a rig to carry him home.

At the same time, upon hearing those significant words uttered by the injured Columbia student, he and Lanky exchanged looks.

It seemed almost impossible that even a tricky fellow, such as Larry Parker appeared to be, could manipulate things so that he might throw a competitor out of the race in this remarkable way. And yet if it were really an accident, then Frank would be forced to believe that Parker must have been born under a lucky star indeed.

“S’pose he did the trick, Frank?” asked Lanky, showing that he too was wrestling over the possibility of such a thing.

“Not unless he’d practiced it a hundred times,” replied Frank. “But it shows you what might happen when you’re trying to get ahead of Parker. Look out for him, and give him a wide berth, Lanky, when you pass him!”

“Huh! how about you?” grunted the other.

“Same here, if I get the chance,” was all Frank said in reply.

Then they lapsed into utter silence again. Talking might be all very well when out for a spin, just to get exercise; but it is the height of folly when pushing along at full speed in a race, with over five miles still to be run.

They had picked up some on the leaders. Parker and Coddling were not so very far ahead now. Most of the time they could see the two boys, and were thus able to gauge the distance separating them. Lanky showed an inclination to cut down the gap still more, and Frank had to humor him a little; for he saw that his chum was able to make a burst of speed that would overcome anything possible from that pair in the van, when the right time arrived.

Now and then people along the road cheered them; but none of these shouts gave the young Columbia athletes one-half the inspiration that the agonized cry of the injured Bones did, when he urged them to leave him there, and hurry on to win the grand race, for the honor of Columbia.

Now the five-mile mark had been turned, and they were once more circling, with the intention of heading for home.

It was time, Lanky undoubtedly thought, that something were done to oust those two persistent runners from their hold of first and second place. And as for Frank, he knew that the impetuous one could not be much longer held in leash.