"Course it doesn't matter if we let it be known we were set upon, only we mustn't say we suspect any particular boys," Colon went on to remark, with a little confusion that told Fred he must have already been telling something about the encounter, though not mentioning names.

"Call that settled, then," Bristles added, "but it's too bad, when you had the case framed up against Cooney for fair and keeps. He'd have found himself the most unpopular fellow in Riverport, that's, right."

"The main thing with me," Fred explained, "was the hope that when everybody got to pointing the finger of scorn at Cooney, he'd feel so mean and small that, not wanting to stand for all the abuse alone, he'd up and confess that it was Buck who had started the racket. But as our plans have missed fire, we'll have to forget all about it. We've got our hands full as it is with this race, and getting ready to do our level best to win."

"I think I see Sid coming," Colon told them just then, and as he had an advantage over the rest by reason of his long neck, nobody disputed his word.

"We haven't forgotten anything, I hope?" Bristles observed, as they arose to their feet, and began to stretch themselves, boy fashion.

Fred carried a little pouch at his side that he did not believe would interfere at all with his running, though of course even this would be discarded when the great Marathon test was on. In this he carried matches, a small but reliable compass, and a few simple remedies that might come in handy in case any of them happened to be seized with colic or cramps from drinking water when overheated.

"Nothing that I know of, Bristles," Fred announced, as he touched this small pouch which, in the woods among old hunters would probably be called a "ditty-bag," and contain all manner of little odds and ends likely to be needed from time to time.

Sid was now running. The mere fact that he might be a little behind time would hardly seem to be sufficient excuse for his starting off in this way. Fred eyed the newcomer as he approached them. He fancied that Sid was bringing news of some kind.

Sid was breathing a little fast. That was to be expected in the start, though when he got his "second wind" he would very likely be good for a long, hard run.

"Give me five minutes, fellows, to rest up in, so we can all start even," Sid went on to say, "and besides, I've got something to tell you."

All of them dropped down again on the fresh green grass that the recent warm weather had caused to sprout forth luxuriantly in places.

"We're listening," Bristles told him, placing the cup of a hand back of his ear, as though he wanted to make sure of not losing a single word, while Colon assumed an eager attitude, with his eyes glued on Sid's flushed face.

"None of you happened to go down-town this morning, I reckon?" was the first thing Sid said, and as three heads were vehemently shaken in the negative, he continued, "Well, then it'll give you something of a surprise to know that it's happened again."

"Not a fire in the high school?" exclaimed Colon, for a serious event of this kind had taken place in the near past, that had created something of a panic in Riverport.

Sid shook his head in the negative.

"This was a robbery," he went on to say, in a way that gave the other three a severe shock; "just as when old Periwinkle was robbed. This time it was Mrs. Merriweather, the rich widow, who owns so many houses, and gets her rents in on the first. Somebody broke in there, and she never knew till this morning that her desk had been pried open, and three hundred dollars taken!"



CHAPTER XVIII

CAUGHT BY THE STORM

"That settles it, boys!" said Fred, compressing his lips.

"Some more of Corny's smart work, I guess you mean?" ventured Bristles.

"Well, we happen to know he was in town again yesterday afternoon, and putting things together, it looks bad for Corny," Fred explained.

"And I take it you mean to do what you said," Colon remarked; "that is, you promised us if there was another robbery, and that man was seen around, you'd tell everything to Chief Sutton and let him start a hunt to find Corny? Have I got it straight, Fred?"

"You certainly have, Colon, and that ought to be attended to before we start out on our run," Fred continued.

"Sure thing, because when a fellow has broken open a house and taken as much as three hundred dollars in cash, he's likely to get busy right away, and hide somewhere. That other time it was in a cave, and now Corny may have another secret den. It'll be up to the Chief to locate him."

"But I say, Fred, I hope now this won't interfere any with our plans to-day?" expostulated Bristles, while both Sid and Colon immediately looked anxious.

"Only to hold us back ten minutes or so," Fred told them.

"You won't bother going to town, and seeing the Chief personally, will you, Fred, when we've got a 'phone handy right here?" demanded the Carpenter boy, starting in the direction of the front gate close by. The others followed.

"I could answer all the questions he'll want to ask, over the wire just as well as if I were down at headquarters," Fred announced, at which an expression of relief was seen to sweep over three eager faces.

Fortunately the head of the local force was at his desk, engaged in his customary morning duties. Fred lost no time in getting down to facts, and from what the other boys, listening close by, heard him say, his astonishing communication must have created quite a lively panic at headquarters.

For some time after telling what they had learned when passing through that particular stretch of woods the week before, Fred was kept busy answering questions. He explained just why they had seen fit not to mention the matter before, and the reason that ban of secrecy was now removed.

When finally Fred hung up the receiver, and turned around with a smile on his face, as though perfectly satisfied with what he had done, not more than ten minutes had elapsed since their entering the house.

"Thank goodness that business is over with," he remarked, "and now it's up to the police to find the thief,—-if they can."

"Huh! my opinion is that this same Corny is a heap too smart to be nabbed by a country cop," asserted Colon, and Chief Sutton, who was a very consequential little officer, would have felt terribly hurt could he have heard the disdainful laugh that went around at these scornful words.

"But let's be making a start!" begged Colon, anxious to be up and doing, for he had told the others he felt like a wild colt that morning, being fairly crazy to get to running.

In five minutes they were far beyond the town limits, running two and two along the road, and taking things fairly easily in the start.

A wise athlete never pushes a willing horse to begin with. After getting well warmed up, it is safe to increase the pace, always holding in the very best for the emergency that is apt to come in every race, some time or other.

Several miles were soon put behind them. Fred and Colon led, with the other two at their heels, and all running easily. Indeed, though it is not considered the best thing to do when running, the two leaders occasionally exchanged a few words, cutting their sentences down to as brief a span as possible. As a rule they maintained silence, each having his teeth set, and breathing through his nose as much as he possibly could.

These lads had learned all the known rules affecting long distance running, and they had also found more or less benefit from practicing them. Time did not enter into their calculations on this occasion, to any great extent at least. Of course they sprinted occasionally, and the minutes were noted at such times in an effort to learn a little about the probable period between certain points, where they figured on making their gains.

Possibly of the four Bristles showed more signs of being pressed than any of them. He had always been a short distance runner, like Felix Wagner of Mechanicsburg, but this year both boys hoped to break into the long distance class. Neither Bristles nor Sid happened to be built just right for such a task. On the other hand, Colon was long and rangy, and capable of tremendous speed, while Fred had the staying qualities so necessary in Marathon runners.

As a rule it will be found that the best long distance runners are the stocky, small men, like the wonderful Englishman, Shrubb, who astonished everybody in our own country by his great record some years back. While hardly reckoned small, Fred Fenton was in just that same class, for his muscles were as hard as they could possibly be, and he always kept himself in prime condition for work.

When, after a certain length of time, the four boys arrived at the birch trees by which Fred had marked the place where they could turn into the woods in attempting that short-cut, they had seen no other competitor on the road. No doubt at some time during the day all of those who meant to take part in the great run expected to cover the whole course, so as to get familiar with its peculiarities, but Fred and his mates were just as well pleased not to run across any of them thus early in the morning.

"Now, here's where we want to keep our eyes about us," remarked Fred, "so as to know the trail by heart. All of us but Sid have already been across to the other road, but on that account don't think you know it all. Observe everything around, and make a mental map of the course. It'll be a great help, I tell you."

"Point out the blazes you were speaking about, so I can watch for them," Sid asked them, as they stood there in a bunch, breathing hard, and cooling off, for it had been a warm run, and the atmosphere felt unusually heavy.

"There's one good thing," Fred went on to say, "we don't have to pay any attention to the other side of the trail. What I mean by that is this: lots of fellows can take notice of how a trail looks, and think they've got it down pat in their minds, but let them start back over it, and the landmarks will never be the same, so it's the easiest thing going to get lost on the return trip, where the blazes you made fail to show. It happens that we have to pass through here only one way."

"Great Caesar! wasn't that a growl of thunder?" cried Colon in dismay.

"Nothing more nor less than that," replied Fred, "and if thunder stands for anything, we're going to get that rain after all."

"Shucks! why couldn't the measly old storm have held off till we reached home?" Bristles wanted to know. "Here we are more'n ten miles away from town, and dressed in the airiest duds going. If we get soaked, we'll be shivering like fun."

"What's the answer, Fred? Tell us your opinion, and whether we'd better turn back, or try to push on through this neck of woodland and marsh?" When he put this question, Colon betrayed a trace of uneasiness, for the prospect was not a very pleasant one, no matter how they looked at it.

"There's no use turning back," the leader explained, "because the nearest house would be several miles away. I don't know just how it might be if we kept along the road here. But there's that tollgate and shanty on the other road; if we could only make that, we'd find shelter."

"Move we try," snapped Bristles, who was for action all the time, and liked to settle questions as Alexander is said to have cut the Gordian knot, decisive work, rather than sitting down to unravel problems.

There being not a single dissenting voice raised, the proposition was declared carried, and with that the four runners plunged immediately into the heavy undergrowth alongside the road.

Fred used his eyes and his memory to advantage. He knew that it would not do to make any mistake, and be lost in that jungle. With a storm coming on, the fierceness of which none of them could more than guess, the one thing they must make sure of above all others was to stick to the trail through thick and thin.

"Say, it's beginning to rain!" called out Bristles, from the far rear, Sid being just in front of him, and Colon back of the leader's heels.

"What makes you say that?" asked Colon, who did not like to be told of so disagreeable a fact.

"Felt a drop on my face," Bristles explained, "and you could too, if you tried. There! that was another! It is starting in, boys, believe me!"

"He's right about that," Fred called back over his shoulder.

They could run only a small fraction of the time while threading the winding trail through the woods, so that hurrying was utterly out of the question. Thunder had been heard several additional times, and it seemed to be coming closer, if its increasing rumble counted for anything.

The drops began to fall faster and faster, and it became evident that in a few minutes they could expect a downpour.

"One good thing," said the cheerful Sid, "we won't be apt to ruin our best Sunday go-to-meeting glad rags by getting them soaked."

"Good for you, Sid!" called out Fred, "always seeing the silver lining of the cloud, no matter how dark it grows. Whew! that was close by," he added, as a loud crash of thunder sounded.

The rain fell in sheets for a short time; then the thunder died away, though there was no let-up to the fall of water.

"I think we're close to that poor farm," was the announcement Fred made, as he noticed several landmarks that he remembered well.

"Bless you, Fred, for saying that!" cried Colon, "because I'm shivering as if I'd drop to pieces. What do I see over there on the left right now?"

"It's the old rookery of a barn!" Fred told him. "Come on, we'll crawl in, for it's perfectly safe, now that the lightning has gone. By bunching together under the hay, we'll warm each other, more or less, while we wait for the rain to stop."

They saw no sign of anyone around, and as their necessity was very great, the four thinly clad and shivering runners crept under the hay, where they huddled together as Fred had advised.



CHAPTER XIX

THE BOY IN THE HAYMOW

"This is a whole lot better than out there in the downpour," Colon was heard to say, after they had been cowering in the hay for a short time, keeping as close to one another as they could so as to gain additional warmth.

"I should say it was," acknowledged Sid, "and Bristles here is a regular toaster in the bargain. He's as snug and warm as a stove. I'd like to come over and bunk with you, Bristles, some of the coldest winter nights."

"Any boy ought to be warm that's got a decent amount of flesh on him!" declared the one in question; "now, here's Colon who's so thin he hardly throws a shadow at noon; you couldn't expect him to do anything but shake."

"I'd hate to try to sleep in this old place nights," observed Colon, who had been thinking of other things, it seemed, than warmth. "Chances are she's plum full of rats and mice. If you listen real hard, you'll hear 'em carrying on right now, squealin' and squawkin' like."

Accordingly all of them now turned their attention to listening, this avowal on the part of Colon having aroused their curiosity.

"There!" cried the tall boy triumphantly, "didn't you get it that time; and wasn't that a plain rat gurgle, though? They c'n make the queerest noises, seems like, when they want to."

Fred started to move.

"That was no rat, boys," he remarked, in a tone of conviction.

"Wasn't, eh?" exclaimed Colon; "then what'd you call it, Fred?"

"A groan!" replied the other, immediately, at which the others began to sit up, and in various ways denote newly aroused interest.

"A groan, Fred!" echoed Sid.

"Do you mean a human groan?" demanded Bristles.

"There it is again," Fred told them; "if you pay attention, you'll soon say what I do—-that it is a human groan."

"But whoever would be grunting like that in this old rookery, I'd like to know?" Bristles continued as though unable to fully grasp the idea.

"For my part," said Fred, bluntly, "I can't explain it. How about you, Colon?"

"Yes, how is that, Colon?" Bristles hastened to add, as if to lend weight to the sudden demand.

"Me? What should I know about a groan, except that I happened to be the first one to notice the same, and thought it was rats fighting?" Colon expostulated.

"Well, for one thing," Fred told him, "we happen to know that some time ago you had a strong notion you could throw your voice, like the fellow on the stage who makes the dummies in the trunk talk, and say funny things. And it struck me that perhaps you might be trying it out on the dog, meaning your good and faithful chums."

That aroused Colon as few other things might have done.

"Give you my word of honor, Fred, I never thought of such a thing," he said, in the most tragic of ways. "You c'n put your ear close to my mouth, and wait till it sounds again, when you'll find I haven't got any hand in that grunting. Maybe it's a poor pig that's half drowned by the rain coming into its pen near by."

"I know how hogs grunt," Fred told him, "and it wasn't along that line at all. This must be a human being in pain!"

"Whew! if we don't just strike queer happenings wherever we go!" declared Bristles, though from his wide-awake manner it was evident that he did not feel at all averse to these lively episodes coming right along, but rather enjoyed the excitement they brought in their train.

"We ought to do something, oughtn't we, Fred?" asked Sid. "If it did turn out there was a sick man in this old shook, and we learned later that he'd died for want of a little attention, we'd feel mighty sorry."

"First of all, back out, everybody," said Fred. "Then once clear of the mow, we can talk it over, and lay some sort of plan. Push along there, Bristles, you're blocking the line of retreat."

Of course Bristles would not stand for this, and so he began to back out, following the line of least resistance, which in this case was the tunnel by means of which they had crept under the haymow.

Once free and clear, the four runners clustered together, and proceeded to listen attentively again, almost holding their breath in the effort to locate the sound that had startled them so.

"There it is, boys!" exclaimed Fred.

"And louder than before," added Colon, "though that may be caused by our coming out from under the hay."

"No, we're certainly closer to it than before," Fred affirmed, "and that proves it to be over this way."

He started slowly forward. The others followed, it is true, but strangely enough not one of them seemed overly anxious to outdistance Fred, and occupy the position of leader.

It quickly became patent that Fred was right when he said the sound came from that end of the old barn, because, as they continued to advance slowly they could hear it louder and louder. The rain had dropped to a mere drizzle, showing that the storm was about to cease shortly, possibly with the same speed that had marked its opening. As the big drops ceased pattering like hail on the roof, sending many a little rivulet through the holes, they could hear much more easily.

"I see something, Fred!" whispered Colon, in a hoarse tone.

He pointed with a trembling finger as he spoke, and directed by this sign-post all of the other boys were able to distinguish an object that seemed to be extended on the hay.

"Looks like a man or a boy!" gasped Bristles.

"I think it is a well-grown boy!" Fred declared. "And now let's find out what ails him, that he keeps on groaning like that."

He held back no longer, but made straight for the object that had caught their attention. As they came up, all of them could see plainly enough that it was a human being, a fairly well-grown boy, who was lying there on his face.

With every breath he seemed to groan, more or less, and occasionally this would rise to a louder key. This latter was the sound that had reached them while they were under the haymow.

Now Fred was bending over the recumbent figure. Gently but firmly he started to turn it over, when a yell broke out.

"My leg! Oh! my leg's broke all to splinters!" they heard the unknown shriek. Then he seemed to shut his teeth hard together, as though determined that not another cry should leave his lips if he died for it.

Fred had always taken more or less interest in matters pertaining to surgery, at least as far as it is desirable that a boy should dabble in such things. He had borrowed many books from Dr. Temple, and on two occasions had set a broken arm in a fashion that won him words of praise from the physician.

"Let me take a look at your leg, please," he said, soothingly, as he bent down over the half-grown boy, who might be the hand about the poor farm, for he looked thin, and illy nourished, as far as Fred could see at a glance. "Perhaps I can be of some assistance to you, poor fellow. I know a little about setting bones, and such things. And we promise to stay with you, and do what we can to help."

He proceeded to make an examination without any delay or squeamishness. The result was that he discovered a serious fracture of both bones of the leg. Fortunately the break was some inches above the ankle, and if properly attended to, would not result in any permanent injury.

Fred did all that was possible under such conditions, while his three chums hovered near, ready to lend a hand whenever he asked it. The injured boy cried out and moaned a number of times during the time Fred was working, but after Fred had made the rudest kind of a splint, and wrapped the leg with some rags torn from an old linen fly-net that was hanging from a hook near by, the wounded lad admitted that he felt a "heap better."

For the first time Fred began to take notice of him other than as a patient. He found that the boy kept his head lowered, as though endeavoring to avoid curious eyes, and Fred wondered why this should be so, when they had certainly proven themselves to be very good friends of his.

The mystery was, however, soon explained, when Colon was heard to give utterance to a sudden exclamation, and cry out:

"Why, what's this? I've sure met this chap before, or my name isn't Colon. It's Tom Flanders, don't you see, Bristles? He's been gone from home a long while now, and his folks didn't know what'd come of him, and to think that he's been working on this measly little old farm in the bush here all the time."

Fred became intensely interested in his patient. He had not happened to know the Tom Flanders mentioned, but then he had heard more or less about him. It was easy enough now to know why the other was so embarrassed. He had been hiding from everybody, no doubt working here under another name, and hearing not a word as to how affairs in Riverport were progressing.

"Are you Tom Flanders?" he asked the other, quickly.

The wounded boy had turned white and then red several times under the flow of fear, distress and other emotions. He now looked into Fred's eyes boldly.

"I s'pose it ain't no use in denyin' that same, because Bristles Carpenter and Colon here know me," he went on to say, doggedly, after drawing a long breath. "Might as well own up anyway, 'cause I reckon I'm goin' to die. They can't send a dying boy to the Reform School, can they?"

"Have you been working here at this place ever since you disappeared from Riverport?" asked Bristles.

"Jest about all the time, and gettin' nigh starved in the bargain, 'case they ain't got enough here to feed us," the boy replied, dejectedly.

"First of all," said Fred, "get that idea out of your head that you're going to die, just because of a plain fractured leg. In a month from now you'll be walking around again, and before three months are gone, you wouldn't know anything had ever happened to you."

"That's right kind o' you to say such nice things, mister," Tom Flanders muttered, "but a feller that's headed straight for the Reform School ain't carin' much whether he lives or dies."

Fred looked around at his three chums.

"We'd better tell him, hadn't we?" he asked, in a whisper.

"Sure, the poor fellow's suffered enough as it is, I reckon," Bristles replied.

"Just what I say too," added Colon.

"So go ahead, Fred, and open his eyes. I only hope it'll be a lesson he'll never forget, and start him along a different road after this," Sid gave as his opinion.

"Look here, Tom," began Fred, "you've been hiding-out for weeks now, and all the time believing that they'd send you to the electric chair or the Reform School at any rate, just because you deliberately shoved that little Willie Brandon into the river, and it looked as if he had been drowned. But Tom, they worked over him long enough to bring him back to life again. You ran away before anyone could tell you, and your folks have been nearly crazy trying to find you. Tom, you can come home again, and nobody's going to punish you. It's all right, Tom, and we'll see that you get to where your folks can have you, before to-night!"

The wretched boy looked at Fred for a full minute as though he could hardly believe the glad tidings; then he began to cry like a baby.



CHAPTER XX

WHEN THE CIRCUS CAME TO RIVERPORT

"You'll go home if we can get you there, won't you, Tom?" asked Fred, after a little time had clasped, and the poor fellow on the hay seemed better able to reply, having mastered his emotions.

"I'd be a fool not to say yes!" he exclaimed, eagerly. "'Specially when you tell me my folks they want me home again. I've lived a dog's life ever since I run away. Hain't never dared to ask about news from Riverport, 'case I reckoned Chief Sutton he must be alookin' everywhere for me. I'll go home, and thank you, fellers; you jest better b'lieve I will!"

That settled one thing; Fred knew he could not expect to finish that run. Indeed, the roads were not in the best of condition after the storm for anything like comfort, and perhaps it might be just as well for them all to give up trying to foot it along the rest of the course.

Having hastily considered this matter, he broached the subject to the others.

"Let's look at the thing, boys," he began, as they gathered around him, knowing that a plan of campaign was being considered. "What we wanted most of all was to get familiar with this cut-off up here."

"No trouble about the rest of the route," ventured Colon, "because it's going to be along the open roads, and every fellow can get it down pat from studying the map they've posted. But this cut-off is left blank."

"Meaning that you can go all the way around, making three miles, or else take your chance in cutting across country," Bristles added.

"Well, my plan is something like this," continued Fred. "Let's pick out the first good afternoon next week, get a car from somewhere, if we can borrow one, and run up here. Then we can cross over to the toll-gate, and back again. That ought to fix things so we'll never miss the way when the big date comes along."

"Hear! hear!" cried Bristles.

"We like your plan, Fred," replied Sid, "and for one I'm ready to call this run off. The weather is against us, and we'd have a high old time splattering through the mud for about thirteen miles."

"Besides," added Colon, "we think we ought to be along when you take Tom Flanders home to his folks. I happen to know how bad they've felt about his being gone!"

That seemed to settle the matter in so far as continuing the trial spin went. Fred was not sorry, because he felt that he would enjoy having his cheery chums along with him.

"Then the next question is, how we're going to get home?" and he turned to the injured boy, to say; "You haven't told us just how you came to break your leg, Tom, and why you didn't manage to crawl to the house so as to get help?"

"I knowed the old man an' his wife they was all away to-day, that's why," was the reply Tom made; "an' as for my accident, it happened so quick I couldn't hardly tell about it. Reckon I ketched my foot in some loose board up in that leetle loft, where I was adoin' somethin'. Fust thing I knowed I felt myself flyin' every which way, over the edge, and kim down on the ground, with my leg doubled under me. Then I jest seen things aswimmin' all around me. Guess I fainted, for next thing was when I kim to, an' found myself groanin' bad. When I moved ever so little it nigh made me jest scream."

"How long do you suppose you've been lying here?" asked Bristles, softly, for he had been much affected by what he saw and heard.

"Mebbe hours, for all I know, Bristles. They went off jest after daylight, meanin' to take the load to Peyton, where they deals in the grocery line. Wouldn't let me do it, 'case they meant to buy the old woman a 'frock, you see. Is it near night time, now, Bristles?"

"Oh! no, the morning isn't more than half over, Tom," replied Bristles. "But how about some sort of rig we could borrow, to give you a lift to Riverport? Have the old couple taken the only outfit along. Tom?"

"I hear a horse munching hay over there somewhere," announced Colon.

"Yes, there is a critter in here," Tom admitted, with the nearest approach to a smile that had thus far come upon his wan and pain-racked face; "and under the shed stands what you might call a wagon, if you shut your eyes, an' didn't care much what you was asayin'. If old Dominick didn't keel over, and kick the bucket on the way, he might pull us ten miles or so; always providin' you give him some oats before you started him, and then kept temptin' him on the road with more of the same."

Bristles gave a shout.

"Oh! we'll fix old Dominick, never you fear, Tom. I'll look up the oats right away, and let him get busy, while the rest of you pull that wagon out of the shed, and find something in the way of harness. We don't care a red cent for looks, as long as we get there. The end justifies the means. You remember we learned that lots of times at school. Get a move on, boys; everyone to his duty!"

Thus inspired, and spurred on, the others hastened to do their part. Two of them hunted until they found the lean-to, under which a ramshackle wagon stood that excited the laughter of Colon.

"If Bristles thought the vehicle that little girl had along with her in Riverport was a terror, what'll he ever say to this?" he remarked, after he had doubled up several times in explosive merriment. "Now, if the hoss is anything like what Tom says, I c'n see what a sensation we'll kick up when we strike town. Why, they'll ring the fire bells, and get the chemical engine out to parade after us. Guess they'll think the circus has struck Riverport early this year."

Meanwhile Bristles had succeeded in discovering a small amount of oats in a bin, and he emptied a generous lot of these in the trough of the antiquated looking horse. The animal had started whinnying the instant he heard the boy moving over in that corner, where he must have known the grain was kept, though he seldom had more than a handful at a time.

It was a whole hour before they managed to get the rig fixed up. Indeed, only by the united efforts of all the boys was the bony horse dragged away from his feed trough, where he had kept munching the oats delightedly.

Then they hunted up all the old horse blankets, and empty gunny-sacks they could find about the place, and made a soft bed in the wagon. A stretcher was also improvised from some boards, and when four of them took hold they managed to carry poor Tom to the nearby vehicle, and deposit him on the sacks.

Being guided by directions which Tom gave them, they found how a road wound through the woods to the road, striking the main thoroughfare just above where they had come out on their previous trip, and with the toll-gate in sight.

"Here's where we gain something, boys," Fred told them, "and this Good Samaritan job may count in our favor next week when we make that run."

Fred had been thoughtful enough to write a little note, addressed to the owner of the wretched outfit, whose name it seemed was Ezekial Parsons. In it he explained just how they happened to find poor Tom, and that they had borrowed the rig to get him to his home, where he could have proper care.

He had also promised that the horse and wagon should be returned in due time, and hinted that his father and mother might be expected to run up and make the acquaintance of the old couple who had been so kind to Tom, although not really able to keep a hand about the place.

The man at the toll-gate stared, as well he might, when that antiquated rig came in sight, with the four boys partly bundled in faded horse blankets and gunny-sacks. The weather had not yet cleared, and the air was chilly for fellows as devoid of clothing as runners always are.

When he heard about the accident that had happened to Tom, he was loud in his praise of the action of the boys in giving up their trial spin just to get the injured boy home.

"If I had a hoss myself, I'd gladly loan him to you, boys," he told them.

"Oh! never fear but we'll be able to get there before sun-down," laughingly declared Fred, while Bristles ran around in front, and held the measure of oats close to the nose of the horse, starting him to snorting wildly, and taking a step forward in the effort to obtain the feed, kept so tantalizingly just beyond his reach.

Bristles continued backing away, and always keeping just so far in front, so that the horse was impelled to move along quite briskly. If he lagged at any time the measure was moved closer, and once Bristles even let him thrust his nose into it.

On the wagon the boys had a very merry time of it, singing, and laughing at the actions of the poor old horse.

"Please don't excite him too much, Bristles," begged Sid, "for he's likely to strain so he'll smash this beautiful harness all to flinders."

So they kept up the work, Bristles and Colon between them dancing on ahead, and tempting the animal between the shafts to renewed exertions. With that measure of oats held within smelling distance of his nose he kept plodding steadily along, and mile after mile was placed in their rear.

Once they halted, and watered old Dominick at a wayside spring, besides letting him have a delightful five-minute communion with the oat crop. Then the forward movement was begun, again, and the boy who held the measure of oats continued to dance just ahead of the deluded Dominick.

It was about two o'clock on that Saturday afternoon when a great commotion broke out in the outskirts of Riverport. Boys and girls flocked to the spot, and loud cheers rent the air. Indeed, plenty of people actually made sure that the circus must have arrived ahead of time, and as this was an event in which every citizen was supposed to be interested, since he would be compelled to take his youngsters to the show, plenty of men were in the throng that gathered.

Dogs barked, chickens set up a cackling and crowing, and there was a perfect Bedlam of sounds along the main street. Down this came that wonderful vehicle with sundry creaks and dismal groanings, as though threatening to break down at any minute. Ahead strode a boy in running costume, tempting the tired old horse to walk along by holding a peck measure under his nose, and occasionally just letting him snap up a few of the oats.

Three other fellows sat in the wagon some of them trying to keep warm by covering themselves with gunny-sacks, and all laughing, and joining in the cheers of the crowd.

Of course everybody thought it was only a boyish prank, but when they saw the old wagon draw up in front of the Flanders home, and then those four boys start to gently lift a figure out from the bed of the vehicle, the noise ceased as if by magic.

"Why, it's sure enough Tom Flanders come back home, after his folks had given him up for lost!" one good woman told a new arrival. "They do say Fred and the running boys found him up-country, where he'd broke his leg. Poor fellow, he looks that peaked and pale I reckon he's had a terrible time. And see how his maw hangs over him, like she was the happiest woman in all Riverport this day. And we all hope that Tom'll turn over a new leaf after this, and make his folks proud of him. But wasn't it fine of Fred and his friends to bring him home that way?"

And certainly, when those four lads witnessed the wild delight of that mother and father at having their only son restored to them again, as well as noted how the erring boy cried when he allowed himself to be carried into the house, none of them had the slightest reason to regret that circumstances had caused them to take refuge from the storm in that old barn standing near the trail through the woods.



CHAPTER XXI

THE GREATEST OF DAYS

When the day set for the great Marathon race came around, everybody in Riverport agreed that the weather clerk had certainly outdone himself in order to give the runners an ideal occasion. There was not a cloud in the sky. Then, while the air was sparkling and inclined to be cool, the breeze was not so strong that it would make running difficult.

Early in the day crowds began to arrive from the two neighboring towns. They came in all manner of conveyances, from farm wagons to the finest of automobiles. Music could be heard in the air, for the Riverport Brass Band had decided to honor the great occasion by playing at intervals all day long.

Ample preparations had been made for seeing the grand finish, which, as with the start, was to take place on the great level commons bordering the town, and alongside of which the main road ran.

Here a grand stand had been erected for the use of the honored guests from Mechanicsburg and Paulding, as well as several other smaller places, each of which was also sending its quota of eager eyed strong-lunged boys to root for their favorite team.

The race was scheduled to start at exactly one o'clock. This had been settled on as the best hour, since it would allow everybody who expected to be present to reach town, and also give the runners plenty of time to cover the course.

No doubt that morning dragged along worse than any boy in Riverport had ever known time to drag before. They wandered back and forth in droves, all excited, and anxious to hear the latest reports concerning the condition of those who were expected to compete.

Several startling rumors were circulated. One was to the effect that Colon had been taken with cholera morbus in the night, and was a complete wreck that morning, which would eliminate him from the race. Another went on to tell how Fred Fenton had cut his foot, when chopping wood just to keep himself in condition, and it would be utterly out of the question for him to enter the competition.

These things gave the loyal rooters for Riverport a terrible shock, and messengers were instantly dispatched to the homes of the two heroes to ascertain whether there could be any truth in the wild rumors. When they came back and reported that both Fred and Colon were in the pink of condition, and simply taking things easy so as not to tire themselves out before the time, the shouts that arose caused people to rush to their doors and windows, wondering if the race had been prematurely started.

Still the crowds kept pouring into Riverport, until the streets became fairly congested with the throngs. Business, except for feeding this vast multitude, and selling them little flags and buttons, seemed to be absolutely suspended, so that many stores were shut up at noon, not to be opened again until the question of supremacy had been fully settled.

Fred had not forgotten to get that forlorn rig back to the owners, and in so doing he had had occasion to make the acquaintance of the old couple. His father and mother drove up that very Sunday afternoon, and from what Fred heard them say after returning, he felt sure that things were going to improve very much with the Parsons. Mrs. Fenton expected to get a number of her friends interested in some fancy work she had examined, and there were numerous other ways by means of which the couple could be assisted without allowing them to feel that they were objects of charity to the community.

Of course the four boys had managed to secure a car, by means of which they ran up on Wednesday afternoon after school hours. There was time enough before the shadows began to gather for them to go over the cut-off several times. They examined every foot of the way, and just as Fred had said, it was found that by following the obscure road that led from the Parsons farm to the main highway above the toll-gate, they could save at least seven precious minutes.

This was bound to be of considerable importance to them, provided none of their rivals from the other towns discovered the same thing, for of course it was expected that nearly every contestant would take advantage of the cut-off. Indeed, very likely all of them had been prowling around before now, the idea being to become familiar with the ground.

Fred had called the others up over the wire about the middle of the morning, and what Colon called a "grand powwow" was held at his house. Sid, Bristles and Colon gathered there to talk matters over with Fred, and learn if any new development had taken place which might prove important in the result.

Of course, after the start it was supposed that every contestant would run his own course, and hence Fred believed it to be good policy that the Riverport contestants should be in full sympathy with the plan of campaign.

Some of the other high school boys, particularly chums like Brad Morton, who had expected to be in the race until he sprained his ankle and had to give up all hope of competing, Dave Hanshaw, Semi-Colon, Corney Shays, and Dick Hendricks, hung around the Fenton house, hoping to get an occasional glimpse of their representatives, who, they knew, were in consultation.

At half-past eleven Fred gave his three friends a little lunch, but he had exercised great care with regard to the character of the food, which his mother prepared with her own hands. It was calculated to give them endurance without any bad after effect.

"We're all invited over to Sid's house for dinner to-night, remember," Fred told them, as they sat around the table, with the rest of the family waiting on them just as though they might already be looked upon in the light of heroes, "and let's hope we'll have a jollification there, with the prize for winning the Marathon in the safe keeping of good old Riverport High for this year."

"So long as we win, and fairly at that," said Sid, "none of us cares very much who crosses the line first, though of course everyone hopes to have that great honor. But from what I know of this bunch, there isn't a single fellow present who would hesitate to eliminate himself, if by doing so he could advance the interests of the school!"

"Hear! hear!" cried Colon, "that's our sentiment, every time, Sid. Riverport High first, and self next in this sort of rivalry. And believe me, we're going to keep that Marathon prize right here in town this year."



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.



CHAPTER XXIV

WHEN DUTY CALLED

"Oh! please don't strike him any more!"

That was what Fred heard in the shrill voice of Sadie Ludson, and every word seemed to be filled with frantic fear. One look had told the Marathon runner why the girl betrayed such terror. She was clinging desperately to the uplifted arm of a hulking man, who clutched a stick in his hand. This he had undoubtedly been bringing down with more or less force upon the writhing figure he held with his other hand, and which Fred immediately recognized as the unfortunate boy Sam Ludson.

Of course he did not need to be told that the man must be Corny Ludson, the uncle and self-styled guardian of the two wretched children. From his appearance it looked as though Corny might have been indulging a little too freely in strong drink. This probably had the effect of dulling his wits, and making him more of a brute than he might be when in his proper senses.

At any rate he was engaged in whipping poor Sam to his heart's content, possibly for some slight infraction of the law he chose to lay down for the guidance of the pair over whom he had control.

The girl tried her best to keep the angry man from continuing his rain of blows. He growled at her and shook her hand off, after which he proceeded to use the rod of correction again.

Fred could hear the writhing boy groan, and cry out, in spite of all his efforts to keep from giving tongue. The girl continued sobbing, and vainly trying to prevent further punishment. Even as Fred came in sight of the scene the infuriated man, as if bothered by the way she interfered with his wretched work, gave her a fling that sent the girl headlong to the ground.

When she struggled to her knees, she was holding a hand to her head, as though she had hurt it by rough contact with the stones.

Fred Fenton's blood fairly boiled. He forgot all about the fact that he was engaged in a great Marathon race, and that his school looked to him to do everything that was honorable in order to win the victory.

The sight of that great brute abusing these two children whom a misfortune had placed in his power was too much for him to stand. No matter if a dozen races had to be forfeited, Fred could never run past, and feel that he had done right.

None of the actors in the thrilling little drama had so far discovered him, for he had come pattering softly along the road. He immediately turned aside, and leaped straight for the spot, meaning to hurl himself on the man, and endeavor to overcome him. The fact that Corny had been drinking, and seemed a bit unsteady on his feet, was likely to aid Fred, he believed. It would have been all the same had other conditions prevailed, for the boy was fully aroused.

Although the girl had been crying so frantically, it had not been in hopes of anyone hearing and coming to the rescue. She was simply trying to influence the man to forego his use of that stick, with which he had amused himself, making cruel welts upon the tender flesh of the struggling and helpless boy.

Fred rushed upon Corny like a young whirlwind. The girl was the first to notice his coming, and she could not help giving a cry of delight. This it turned out was the worst thing that could have happened, for it must have reached the ear of the man, warning him in time to turn and see Fred.

The runner had gone too far now to hesitate, and so he continued his forward progress. He sprang straight at Corny, and received a half-hearted blow from the other, who was really too much surprised at sight of the boy to get himself in full readiness.

They clinched, and struggled desperately. The man was of course much the stronger of the two, but his condition took away considerable of this advantage, so that after all the match was not so unequal.

Fred knew that his best chance was simply to push the other back by the sheer weight of his attack, in the hope that Corny might catch his heel in some upturned root, and measure his length on the ground.

The boy had been released, of course, for Corny needed both hands with which to defend himself. Immediately the girl threw a protecting arm around her gasping brother, and the pair crouched close by, watching with startled eyes as the terrible struggle went on.

As it began to look as though their young champion might fail in his attempt to subdue the ogre, the girl, who apparently had more spirit than her brother, crept out and tried the best she could to offer Fred a stout stick which she had picked up from the ground.

Desperately as he fought, Fred was himself beginning to believe that he might not be able alone and unaided to subdue the other, who was really next door to a giant in size. In his proper senses Corny Ludson would undoubtedly have been equal to several boys like Fred, but he had put himself in the power of a master inclined to weaken his resources.

Failing to run across a friendly projecting root that would do the business for the clumsy feet of the struggling man, Fred began to believe he would be compelled to accept the stick which Sadie was holding out, and use it on the other's head.

As he fought, Corny was wild with rage, and uttering all sorts of ugly threats as to what he would visit upon the head of this rash boy who had attacked him. It was plainly evident that the man was in a dangerous mood. This told Fred he would be justified in doing almost anything, in order to save those children, not to speak of himself.

In the struggle he had not come off without several knocks himself, and there was always a chance that the man might succeed in clutching him by the throat. The consequences of such a happening appalled Fred, and, resolved to end the battle once and for all, he watched his opportunity, and the next time they whirled close to the crouching figure of little Sadie, he snatched the stick out of her hand.

It took all of his nerve to be able to actually strike the man on the head. Indeed, the act sent a cold chill all through him, for never before in all his life could Fred remember of having struck anyone with a club.

Though the blow was hardly more than a severe tap, it crumpled Corny up, all the same. Fred felt him become immediately limp in his grasp, and as he drew back the man fell to the ground in a dazed condition.

"Good shot!" exclaimed a well-known voice close by, and Colon came limping up.

At sight of his chum Fred uttered an exclamation of dismay.

"Oh! I'm sorry I did it;" he declared; "if I'd only known you were so near by, I'd have held out a little longer, and that's right, Colon."

"Well, that would only have made me do the little act then," said the other with a grin, "and p'raps I'd have tapped him harder than you did. I guess his head's all fuddled anyway, and that just finished the mix-up."

He turned to look at the boy and girl, who were again clasped in each other's arms.

"I reckon now these must be Sam and Sadie, aren't they, Fred?" Colon went on to say, though besides being lame he was also rather short of wind, truth to tell. "I know the man all right, to be that ugly Corny. And what was he doing to make you jump him, Fred?"

"Beating the boy while the girl tried to hold his hand," the other replied as he frowned down upon the prostrate bully. "When he flung her to the ground, it was the last straw for me, and—-well, you saw what happened."

"He'd been drinking pretty heavily, hadn't he?" Colon continued, "but able to put up a stiff fight for all that. Well, you got the better of him, Fred, and this ought to wind up his treating these children as he does. You know the police are looking out for him right now. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if they could tell us all about the doings of Corny, and whether he did those jobs of robbery."

He limped toward the boy and girl, and as before it was little Sadie who spoke up without hesitation, to say:

"He is our uncle, and he treats us very bad. Yes, and he takes things that belong to other people. We know because we've watched him counting the money, and he always gets mad when he sees us looking on. He had some papers in a tin box too; they are in his pocket right now. Oh! we hope you can take us away from him, for he beats us cruelly."

"There, didn't I tell you so, Fred?" exclaimed Colon, triumphantly, "and between us now, we've got to fix it so this old scoundrel doesn't get a chance to beat Sam again, or rob another farmhouse. I'll manage to fix him up, somehow or other, and stay here to watch him. You go on and win this race for Riverport, Fred."

"But how about you, Colon?" Fred hastened to say, between his set teeth; "I'm sure you've set your heart on coming in ahead of the string, just as much as anyone."

Colon shook his head sadly.

"The game's all up with me, Fred!" he exclaimed, hurriedly; "I must have run a measly thorn in my foot just about the time I heard you scrapping with that man. Didn't you notice how I had to limp? Why, I couldn't keep up the pace for three miles more. No, you've just got to leave me to take care of this scamp. I saw some wood choppers coming through the Woods back there, and can call them up after you go."

"But I hate to do it, Colon; it's a terrible disappointment to you," Fred told him, knowing the other as he did.

"Forget all about me, and think only of winning that prize for Riverport High!" the tall chum exclaimed, and then actually pushing Fred away from him, he continued, "Now be off with you, Fred, and please, oh! please beat that Mechanicsburg Wonder over the line!"

Fred saw that there was nothing else he could do. The boy and girl were safe, and Colon had commenced making ready to tie the man's hands behind his back with a stout red bandanna handkerchief he carried. Then, too, Colon had seen several husky wood-choppers nearby, who could be depended upon to lend a helping hand.

Just as Colon had said, there was indeed need of haste. All these happenings had consumed more or less time, and possibly Ackers would have registered at the toll-gate station before Fred, reached there. So waving his hand to his chum in farewell, Fred shot away down the road, running with the speed of the wind.

Colon looked after him with a smile on his face. If he felt a keen regret that misfortune had tossed him out of the great race, he certainly failed to show it.

"I surely believe Fred will come in first, if anybody can beat that Wonder they boast so much about," he was telling himself, as he worked with the make-shift bonds.

Then as he caught sight of moving figures back among the trees, Colon shouted until the three woodchoppers came hurrying up. It did not take him long to let them know that if they helped get the man, now coming back to his senses, to Riverport, it would be the best day's work they had done that year.

And on seeing how happy Sam and his sister looked at the prospect of being forever relieved from the brutal guardian who had made life so terrible for them, Colon must have realized that there may be compensations, even for a fellow who has been cheated out of his chance to win a Marathon race.



CHAPTER XXV

THE VICTORY—-CONCLUSION

"Oh! there's the cannon! A runner must be in sight!"

When that great assemblage heard the deep boom of the big gun belonging to the local artillery company, every eye was instantly focussed on the bend of the road half a mile away. Yes, a runner had suddenly turned the corner, and was heading in a direct line for the finish!

He ran in a wobbly fashion, as though utterly fatigued, a fact that was apparent to everyone. They could hear the far-off howls of those who had waited up the track to welcome the runners. A crowd followed his progress, but was wisely prevented from breaking in upon the roadway, so that those in the grandstand were enabled to see all that went on.

"Oh! who is it?" cried Cissie Anderson shrilly, as she stood up, everyone being on tiptoe with excitement.

"Fred Fenton!" shouted Cornelius Shays, apparently taking it for granted that their favorite athlete would be the first to come in.

"No! no, it can't be Fred, because he was Number Six, and that seems more like a Seven!" another boy shouted; at which Flo Temple turned really pale with bitter disappointment, for she had hoped it would be Fred.

"Colon! Hurrah for Colon!" whooped several enthusiastic Riverport rooters.

"Look again, and perhaps you won't crow so loud!" the saucy girl from Mechanicsburg exclaimed, her eyes dancing with eagerness. "I've got pretty good sight, and that looks like a Figure One to me. Besides, I ought to know how Billie Ackers runs, for he happens to be my own brother!"

The stranger in town had raised his field-glasses meanwhile, and he hastened to remark, turning sideways toward Flo Temple and Cissie:

"Yes, that is a Figure One, most assuredly!"

As though the adherents of the up-river school had discovered this gratifying truth for themselves, wild cheers now began to be heard, coupled with the Mechanicsburg favorite school song, sung by a glee club that suddenly sprang into view, waving flags, and throwing up their hats in enthusiasm.

"It's the Mechanicsburg Wonder!"

"We told you he had their measure taken, didn't we?" shouted Sherley, the football quarterback.

Boom!

"Another runner has just turned the bend, and see him gaining on Ackers, would you? Why, what's this I see—-that number looks like Eleven, and didn't Badger of the Pauldings carry that? Will you see him tearing off the space on your tired-out Wonder? It's good-night to Ackers, Mechanicsburg!"

"That may be, but where do you fellows here in Riverport come in?" shrilled the girl from up river whose brother was plainly being beaten.

Boom!

"Oh! there's a third runner in sight, and just see how he is tearing along like a scared wolf. We ought to know that style, Riverport, and nobody but Fred Fenton could show such terrific speed at the close of a twenty-five mile race. That's because he pays more attention to condition than speed!"

"Will he overtake the other runners before they get to the goal?" shrieked an almost crazy rooter, as he stood on his seat, and waved both arms wildly again and again.

Thousands of anxious eyes watched the approaching figures of the three contestants. It was still an open question who would come in ahead. The Wonder was evidently at almost his last gasp, while Badger, the Paulding runner, could hardly be said to show much better form, for he too wobbled constantly from side to side, as though kept going only by sheer grit.

Fred, coming strong from the rear, was speedily overtaking them both. When Badger, looking over his shoulder, saw this, he started a feeble little spurt, but it excited only derisive whoops from the frenzied crowd.

"No use, Badger, you've shot your bolt! Give way to a better man!" shouted the captain of the Riverport cheer squad through his megaphone.

"And look at the poor old riddled Wonder wobble, would you? There, if he hasn't taken a header in the bargain! It's all up, boys, all over but the shouting!"

"Oh! the poor fellow has gone down in a heap!" gasped Flo Temple, as Ackers after stumbling fell to his knees in his weakness.

"Look at him trying to get up, but he can't do it!" cried Cornelius Shays. "The tape is only thirty feet away, and Ackers is trying to crawl there on his hands and knees. Now Fred is on him, and has passed to the front, with poor Ackers rolling over like a log in a dead faint!"

Such a tumult of wild shouting as broke out when Fred Fenton, pale of face, and bearing the marks of his hard run in the agonized expression of his face, staggered past the judges, and fell into the arms of several friends who were anticipating some such collapse at the end of the fiercely contested Marathon.

Nor were the plucky Ackers and Badger forgotten by either friends or rivals in the many wild cheers that followed.

"Where's Colon?" a dozen people were asking anxiously, for a strange rumor had flashed around through the great crowd, to the effect that because the second favorite had not shown up at all, he had fallen and broken his ankle.

Fred quickly set these stories at rest by telling just what did detain Colon, and how having been injured by running a thorn in his foot, he had decided to stay there by the two children to watch the man who had been caught beating the boy.

Later on, of course, all of those who had been left up in the woods arrived in town, having been met on the way by Chief Sutton in a car, and given a lift. Colon saw to it that the three woodchoppers were well paid for their part in the affair.

Fred walked home with Flo Temple that evening, not a particle spoiled, she really believed, on account of all the praise showered upon him by the pleased partisans of Riverport High.

Other rivalries would likely have to be settled between these neighboring towns, with their lively high schools, but it would be a long time before the assembled crowds could ever experience such tremendous excitement as came about when Fred Fenton caught up with Badger and the Mechanicsburg Wonder on the home-stretch of the twenty-five mile Marathon, and managed to win by a scant fifteen feet.

Corny Ludson being taken in charge by the police was in due time placed on trial charged with serious offenses. There was no difficulty in proving him guilty of both robberies, and of course he received a long sentence, which would keep him from preying on the public, or annoying the children left in his charge by an unsuspicious brother.

Upon investigation by Judge Wallace it was found that while he had really been the legally appointed guardian of his nephew and niece, and had squandered all the spare money he could get his hands on, there was quite a snug amount in securities that he could not touch.

This would be ample to provide Sam and Sadie with all necessary comforts while they went to school, and grew up. They were speedily placed in a comfortable home with an old couple who would take the part of parents to them, and it may be easily understood how from that time on both of them rested in the belief that there was no fellow in all Riverport quite the equal of Fred Fenton, because he had had so much to do with bringing them their present happiness.

They do say that Flo Temple inclines the same way, for she and Fred continue to be good friends, and are seen together at all the dances, and other entertainments.

The End