CHAPTER XXIII

THE END OF THE LONG RUN

“Where are Asa Barnes and Wat Kline?”

Frank asked the question as he was bending down over the wounded boy, making a rude tourniquet, with which to stop the flow of blood, by compressing the leg above the broken part.

He put this question from a double motive; being curious to know why Bill’s cronies had not attempted to assist him in his trouble; and also to keep the mind of the wounded boy off his pain as much as he could.

“The skunks deserted me at the last!” grumbled Bill, gasping with the agony he was doubtless enduring.

“Do you mean they ran away, and left you like this?” demanded the amateur surgeon, twisting the stick he had inserted in the handkerchief that was already knotted around the leg.

“Naw, they never knowed anything about me bein’ hurt,” whimpered Bill, and then he gave a little snort, going on: “Ouch! that hurts like all get out, Frank! Let up on a feller a little, can’t you? I know I ain’t always treated you white; but sure you wouldn’t take it out on me, now I’m down!”

“You don’t understand, Bill,” Frank replied, giving even a firmer twist to the handkerchief by means of the grip he maintained on the stick which was passed through the upper part; “I’m trying to press down on the artery, and stop the flow of blood. It may hurt some; but be a man and bear it. I’m doing all I can to save your very life, Bill.”

The wretched Bill began to cry, and Frank hardly knew what he could do, since he had his hands full with holding that knotted handkerchief, and the stick with which he had turned it again and again, until the knot pressed down exactly on the artery under the knee, and stopped the blood from flowing.

Just then a runner came along. It was Wentworth, of course. And he gave signs of meaning to stop to ask what it all meant.

Frank knew that possibly this runner might have a ghost of a show to come in either first, or second. Those further back would be out of the running by the time they arrived here; and he could depend on one of them to assist him.

So he waved his hand to Wentworth, and called out:

“Go on! Don’t stop for a second, Wentworth! You’ve still got some show! One of our Columbia boys here has been hurt. I’ll stop Mallory or Keating when they come on, to help me get him out of this before he bleeds to death. Get along with you now, Wentworth. Take the will for the deed! Your school wants you to make a try for that prize!”

Thus urged, Wentworth did push right along, though be it said to his honor that he gave evidences of reluctance in so leaving Frank. He must have seen from the appearance of the wounded boy that it was a serious matter.

“Oh! why did you let him go on?” complained Bill, who was getting a trifle light-headed, the result of the pain and excitement combined. “Looks like you just wanted me to die right here, Frank Allen.”

“There are two other fellows coming along soon, and they’ll stop to help us,” Frank tried to console him by saying. “Yes, I can see one right now, and he’ll sure be here in a minute, Bill. Just keep up your pluck a little while more. It’s going to be all right; and you’ll pull through, never fear.”

But poor Bill was almost in a state of collapse by the time Mallory reached the spot. Frank did not know this boy, for he was a newcomer in Bellport. But he had a good face; and sure enough, as soon as he understood what the matter was, he evinced a perfect readiness to stand by.

“My chance for making that prize has gone anyway, Allen,” he said, with a sigh of keen disappointment. “I worked too hard the last week, and you can see I’ve just gone stale. Can’t get any speed out of my legs, no matter how I try. So I call quits right here, and stay with you to help get this poor chap to a doctor.”

“Doctor, yes, that’s what I need, boys!” muttered Bill, weakly.

“Here comes Keating along,” Mallory continued presently; “and he’s pretty well winded, too; so I reckon he’ll hold over, and give us a hand. That’s better than coming in at the tail-end of the procession, anyhow. People’ll say you might ’a’ had a _little_ chance, only that duty held you on the road. Hi! Keating, we want you here!”

The runner was not averse to stopping, for his wind seemed about gone. Indeed, he was even then possibly debating whether he wanted to keep up the hopeless race, or head for Bellport on a walk, to strike the trolley line further down the road.

“What’s all this mean?” he asked, in a gasp, as he came up.

“A fellow has been badly hurt, and we’ve got to get him to town,” Mallory explained.

“If one of you could keep hold of this stick, and not let up on the pressure a little bit, I’d try and find a farm somewhere near, where I could borrow a horse and wagon, to carry him back to town,” Frank remarked just then, knowing that it was their only chance.

“Sure, we’ll stick by you, Allen!” was the ready response of Keating, who proved to be a pretty fine sort of a fellow. “Skip out, and get back as soon as you can. I’d like to pike on to the grounds, and see who won the race before all the crowd gets away. But we’ll wait, no matter how long you take, Allen.”

“Oh! rats! what have we got to lose?” replied the other, laughingly. “We’re long since out of the swim, anyhow. But I say, Allen, where’d you learn how to put on a tourniquet so well? My dad’s the new doctor in Bellport, and I wager he’d say he couldn’t have done it better himself, in an emergency. If this fellow gets through alive, he’ll owe a heap to you, believe me.”

But Frank did not wait to listen to any words of praise. He was on the run even as Keating spoke in this strain. For he had remembered that when hunting squirrels in these woods, he had come on a little farm that was almost lost among the tall timber; and secured a most refreshing drink of buttermilk from a pleasant woman who seemed to be running the place.

It was to look for this that he now set out. And he was cudgeling his brains as hard as he could while hastening away, trying to figure out just how he could best reach this hidden farm. A mistake might lose him much time; and if the life of the wounded boy was to be saved, they must surely get him to the doctor as speedily as possible.

Fortunately Frank was a boy who noticed everything; and once he had visited a place, he could find his way there again because of this habit of observation. So now he called things to mind, and remembered how he had passed that crooked tree that made him laugh because of its queer shape, just after he came out of the lane that led direct to the hidden farm.

And so he found what he sought, and turning in, sped lightly along, rapidly nearing the farm. The only thing that worried him now was the possibility of the occupants being away; for nearly everybody around Columbia for twenty miles had in some way heard of the great athletic contests, and doubtless made it a point to be present on this eventful day.

If that happened to be the case, and he could find a spare horse, as well as any sort of vehicle, Frank was resolved to appropriate them without any compunction. When a human life depends on rapid action, it is no time to stand on ceremony; and he felt sure he could depend on that cheery little woman of the farm to applaud his action.

Sure enough, there was no one home at that hour. Chickens were in evidence; a litter of pigs grunted near the barn; several sheep were cropping the grass in a nearby pasture; just beyond a group of gentle-eyed cows looked curiously at him as he came hastily up, and called out.

But the house was closed, and the door locked!

Frank ran straight out to the barn and stables. Here he found an old horse, and a wagon that would serve his purpose. Managing to hitch the animal between the shafts after some fashion, Frank threw armfuls of sweet smelling hay into the bed of the vehicle, upon which the wounded boy could lie.

Then he was off, using the whip on the old animal in a fashion that doubtless astonished Dobbin not a little. But the beast kicked up his heels, and went on a gallop down the lane until the road was reached.

So, before a great while had elapsed, Frank was back again with the boys who were bending over poor Bill, dressed only in their running togs as they were. With as much tenderness as possible they lifted the wounded lad, and deposited him in the wagon. He cried out with the agony several times, though they tried to be very careful.

Frank drove the old horse, while the other two sat alongside Bill, and endeavored to cheer him up; though the boy began to close his eyes, and seemed as though he might be faint with what he had gone through.

While the road was good Frank hurried the animal as much as he dared. And since they must pass the athletic grounds on their way to Columbia, he would not have been human had he not listened, with his heart seemingly in his mouth, to catch the tenor of the exultant shouts that were being raised by the departing hosts of spectators.

They were streaming in various directions, in knots and crowds, and the greatest enthusiasm seemed to abound; as though the finish of the long run might have been very dramatic.

Borne on the late afternoon breeze came the familiar chorus of voices that the efficient cheer captain, Herman Hooker, led with such powerful effect.

The sound thrilled Frank Allen as nothing else could have done. He found himself involuntarily joining in with that never-to-be-forgotten rallying cry that had so often aroused himself and his mates to undreamed-of endeavors on the field of strife:

“Ho! ho! ho! hi! hi! hi! _veni! vidi! vici!_ We came, we saw, we conquered! Columbia! ’Rah!”

That told the story! The departing hosts seemed to be all Columbia people, judging from the shouts that arose. Then Lanky--good, reliable old Lanky--had passed both Parker and Coddling in the race, and landed the colors of his school across the tape, winner of the long run!

And Frank felt content that it was so.