CHAPTER XXII

COLUMBIA’S LAST CHANCE

On the run out they had been heading almost due west, with the sun shining directly in their eyes. Now that the turn had been made, they had it easier; for they were no longer half blinded by that glare.

The railroad was not so very far off but that a train passing at one place, the passengers leaned out of the windows waving hankerchiefs, and shouting words of cheer. For everybody loves a boy athlete, and seems to be drawn to utter strangers, when coming upon them unexpectedly.

Frank had already made up his mind on several matters. One was that he did not feel his best somehow, on this important day; and that if it all depended on him, there was a strong possibility that either Clifford or Bellport would land the prize, and carry off that gold watch.

This might have worried him considerably at another time, but it did not now; for he had been keeping a watchful eye on his running mate, and realized that Lanky was in fit shape for the greatest effort of his life.

Barring accidents, Frank really believed the long-legged fellow could overtake the leaders inside of a quarter of a mile, no matter how desperately they strove to maintain their present advantage.

He was content that it should be so. And in times to come he would never envy Lanky that splendid timepiece, which was to be the reward of his pluck and running ability.

Still, he deemed it wise to hold back as much as he could, and not allow this impetuous comrade his head. Letting the two who led the run set the pace, was the wisest thing that could be done. They were apt to vie with each other in little spurts that were calculated to exhaust their vim; while those behind could continue to push steadily along in a grinding, irresistible way, always keeping a certain amount of reserve speed on tap for an emergency.

It was about this time that the runners entered upon the gloomiest part of the entire course. Frank remembered the stretch of dense woods full well. He had even hunted for gray squirrels here, more than a few times; though as a rule the boys of Columbia seldom came this way, when the river offered them such a field for most of their sports, summer and winter.

The trees were of unusual size, and grew so thickly that there was always an aspect of gloom hanging over the district. It had rather a bad name, too, on account of a peddler having met with his death here years back; and though the authorities had done their duty as well as possible, the tramp who undoubtedly was responsible for the forest tragedy had never been apprehended.

Still, there did not seem to be any chance for even a schemer such as Frank believed Larry Parker to be to play any trick upon his opponents. He could not slacken his own pace; and it was altogether unlikely that he would influence any Clifford comrade to lie in wait, so as to trip the runners, or in some other way bring them to a stop.

Besides, just then Parker was in the lead, and could not know what a surprise was in store for him when Lanky Wallace broke loose. He seemed to have only the wily Bellport runner, Coddling, to fear. And that fellow was too smart, Frank believed, to give his rival any chance to come in contact with him.

Four miles more to run!

How slowly time seemed to pass! Why, it was as though an age had elapsed since the pistol cracked that sent the contestants flying like the wind on their way.

“Can’t we go a _little_ faster, Frank?” Lanky asked, as they struck the big woods; and the look he turned on his chum was more expressive than even his words.

Frank shook his head in the negative. Knowing the impulsive nature of the tall Columbia student, Roderick Seymour in the beginning had given Lanky to understand that he must govern his actions by those of Frank Allen. If the other gave him the word to let himself out at any time, then he could start on his own responsibility. For it was understood before the race started, that the contestants of each school could assist one another by advice, or in any other legitimate way, while endeavoring to land the prize.

A minute later Lanky suddenly cried out; and it gave Frank a shock, for he instantly conceived the thought that his running mate must have wrenched an ankle, and that would put him out of the running.

“What is it?” he gasped.

“Look ahead, at the side of the road!” answered the other, between his set teeth.

Frank did so, and immediately echoed Lanky’s cry.

“Another fellow put out of the race, just like Bones was!” he exclaimed, feeling that this time it certainly could not have been an accident that had disabled the second rival of Larry Parker.

But the sharp eyes of Lanky had made an additional discovery. It was not any too bright there under those great trees; but Lanky was noted for his keen eyesight.

“It isn’t Coddling at all!” he called out, as he ran on.

“That’s a fact; because he’s dressed in regular clothes; but it’s a boy, and he acts like he was suffering like anything!” Frank went on, slackening his pace just a little as they drew nearer the recumbent figure.

Just then the boy who had been lying there like one nearly dead, heard the sound of their voices, likely enough; at any rate, he lifted his head, and seeing them, made a desperate effort to scramble to his feet.

The first thing Frank saw was that one of his legs seemed utterly helpless. Then he felt a thrill of horror, for he discovered that blood was trickling down, as though the wound might be most severe.

“Wow! it’s Bill Klemm!” burst from Lanky, who had been staring at the pained face of the boy.

The fellow immediately stretched out both hands toward the runners, and called to them in a weak voice that quite wrung Frank’s heart.

“Fellers, get help fur me, quick! I’ve nigh bled to death. Fell out of a high tree, and broke my leg, I ’spect. Oh! the bone come through, and it keeps on bleedin’ to beat the band! Please don’t leave me like them other fellers did. I’ll die, sure I will. Oh! it’s terrible, the pain! Frank, Lanky, help me!”

The two long-distance runners stopped short. The lure of that golden prize was for the moment utterly forgotten by both of them. Here was a boy whom they had never liked, and who was known as the latest scapegrace of the town. Even then he was hiding from justice, fearing punishment because of that fire at the high-school building, which was laid at his door.

But for all that he was one of their schoolmates. They had played with him from time to time in the past. And there could be no doubt in the world but that poor Bill Klemm was suffering dreadfully; there was no make-believe about that expression of pain on his dirty face.

“We must help him, Frank!” said Lanky, firmly.

He wanted to win that race above all things. Glory and victory, together with that fine prize, had been ever before his mind. Then there was his promise to Dora that he would do his very level best to bring the Columbia colors in ahead of all competitors.

But above all else Lanky had a heart. He could not pass by, as evidently Parker and Coddling had done, without extending even a word of sympathy to the stricken bad boy of Columbia.

Frank had to do some pretty tall thinking just then. He would not desert Bill, but was there any necessity for both of them to give up the run?

He could hardly believe that Coddling, at any rate, would have been quite so cold-hearted. Perhaps he had not understood what it really meant. He may even have suspected that some wily Columbia student, hoping to delay the leaders, had gotten himself up in this fashion to play the injured act. All sorts of expedients had been practiced in former long runs, to break in upon the winning spell of the leaders; and clever Coddling was alive to such tricks.

But with Frank and Lanky there could be no such excuse for wantonly deserting the boy who begged for their help. They could see for themselves that he was in a serious condition; and that unless someone stood by him, to assist in stopping that flow of blood, Bill might even die.

Frank knew that his work was cut out for him. He did not relinquish the last hope of being in the run to the finish without a sigh; for there was always some expectation that Columbia might have to look to him for victory, should Lanky fail in the pinch.

But he sturdily put the clamps on when he felt this spirit trying to choke the generous impulses of his heart.

[Illustration: “GO ON, I TELL YOU, LANKY, YOU MUST WIN THIS RACE!”

_Boys of Columbia High in Track Athletics._ _Page 205._]

Lanky must go on, and do his level best for Old Columbia; leaving to him the less pleasant duty of caring for the injured Bill Klemm.

“I’ll look after him, Lanky; you keep right along, and beat them out! Hear?” he exclaimed, turning on his chum.

Lanky shook his head in the negative.

“You go, and let me stay, Frank!” he said, crushing down the feeling of rebellion because so miserable a specimen as Bill Klemm, of all Columbia boys, should interfere with the successful carrying-out of their part in the race.

“I’ll not stir from this spot until I’ve seen Bill taken in charge,” was the way Frank spoke. “And it’s silly to think that both of us must stay. There will be others along after a minute or two, and they can help me. Go on, I tell you, Lanky. You _must_ win this race. Think of Dora; and the proud colors of Columbia that will be trailed in the dust if you fail them. My duty is here; yours to beat out those two runners ahead. Now you’re off!”

Frank actually turned Lanky around, and gave him a shove. The tall boy glared once over his shoulder, and gave his chum a last look, in which affection mingled with the stern resolve that filled his soul.

Then he was away like the wind. Around the bend beyond he flashed as might a departing sunbeam; and Frank Allen, as he turned once more toward the injured boy, was saying gladly to himself:

“Lanky will do it! he’s keyed up to making a record run; and he’ll just pass the other fellows like they were standing still!”