FRED WAS APPARENTLY IN NO GREAT DISTRESS.
Fred Fenton on the Track        Page 197

Fred Fenton
on the Track

Or

The Athletes of Riverport School

BY

ALLEN CHAPMAN

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE I. The Cross Country Runners 1 II. A Strange Sound from a Well 9 III. Out of the Depths 17 IV. Fred Gets a Shock 25 V. How Good Sprang from Evil 32 VI. The News Corney Brought 40 VII. Where is Colon? 49 VIII. A Clue in the Ditch 58 IX. The Covered Wagon 66 X. The Ambush 75 XI. The Haunted Mill 83 XII. A Broken Door 92 XIII. How Gabe Made Good 100 XIV. Practice for the Race 109 XV. The Accident 117 XVI. A Gloomy Prospect 126 XVII. an Unexpected Ally 134 XVIII. Forced to Lend a Hand 142 XIX. Glorious News 150 XX. A Welcome Guest 158 XXI. The Athletic Meet 167 XXII. Fred on the Track 174 XXIII. A Close Count 182 XXIV. The Lone Runner 191 XXV. The Alaska Claim 200

[1]

FRED FENTON
ON THE TRACK

CHAPTER I

THE CROSS-COUNTRY RUNNERS

“I see you’re limping again, Fred.”

“That’s right, Bristles. I stubbed my toe at
the very start of this cross-country run, and that
lost me all chance of coming in ahead. That’s
why I fell back, and have been loafing for a
stretch.”

“And let me catch up with you; eh? Well, I
reckon long-legged Colon will have a cinch in
this race, Fred.”

“Seems that way. He can get over ground
for a certain time like a deer, you know.”

“Huh! more like a kangaroo, I call it; because
it always seems to me he takes big jumps
every chance he gets.”

Both boys laughed heartily at the picture
drawn by Andy Carpenter, who was known all
through the country around the town of Riverport
as “Bristles,” on account of the odd way
in which his heavy hair stood up.

His companion, Fred Fenton, had assumed[2]
a leading place in school athletic sports since coming
to the town on the Mohunk something like
a year previous to the early Fall day when we
meet them taking part in this cross-country run.

That Fred was a pretty fine fellow, as boys
go, nearly everybody seemed agreed. He was
modest, and yet could stand up for his rights
when imposed upon; and at the same time he
was always ready to lend a helping hand to a
companion in trouble.

Fred had himself occasion to know what it
meant to lie awake nights, and wonder if fortune
would ever take a turn for the better. His
father had been left a valuable property away
up in Alaska, by a brother who had died; but
there was a lot of red tape connected with the
settlement; and a powerful syndicate of capitalists
had an eye on the mine, which was really
essential to their interests, as it rounded out
property they already owned.

A certain man, Hiram Masterson by name,
who had been in Alaska for years, and who had
come back to the States to visit an uncle, Sparks
Lemington, living in Riverport, had at first been
inclined to side with the syndicate. Later on he
changed his mind, and determined to give evidence
for the Fentons which would, in all probability,
cause the claim to be handed over to them.

How this change came about in the mind of[3]
Hiram Masterson, through an obligation which
he found himself under to Fred Fenton, has already
been told at length in the first volume of
this series, called: “Fred Fenton, the Pitcher;
Or, The Rivals of Riverport School.”

Then it turned out that Hiram suddenly and
mysteriously disappeared; and those who were
so deeply interested in his remaining in Riverport
learned that he had really been carried off by
agents of the rich association of mine owners,
of whom Sparks Lemington was one. How the
search for the missing witness was carried on,
as well as an account of interesting matters connected
with the football struggles in the three
towns bordering the Mohunk, will be found in
the second book in the series, entitled “Fred
Fenton in the Line; Or, The Football Boys of
Riverport School.”

Once again when hope ran high in the breasts
of the Fentons they were doomed to disappointment,
and long waiting. A brief letter was received
from Hiram, written from Hong Kong,
telling them that he was on the way home by
slow stages, and would doubtless appear under
another name, to avoid recognition by his uncle,
Sparks Lemington. What new expectations this
letter raised in the humble Fenton home; together
with the story of the boat races on the
Mohunk, has been related at length in the third[4]
volume, just preceding this, and issued under the
name of “Fred Fenton on the Crew; Or, The
Young Oarsman of Riverport School.”

But now several months had passed, and as
yet Hiram had not come. This was telling
heavily on Fred, who counted the days as they
dragged past, and kept wondering if, after all,
the missing witness had died abroad, and they
would never get the benefit of his evidence.

He knew his father was once more falling
back into his old condition of mental distress,
and he saw the lines gather on the usually smooth
forehead of his mother. But Fred was by nature
a light-hearted lad, who tried to look on the
brighter side of things. He put these dismal
thoughts resolutely aside as much as he could and
took his part in the various pleasures that the
young people of the town enjoyed.

Those who were at his side in all sorts of
athletic rivalries never suspected that the boy
often worried. And even pretty Flo Temple,
the doctor’s daughter, whom Fred always took
to picnics, and on boat rides on moonlight nights,
as well as to singing school and choir meetings, if
she thought him a trifle more serious than seemed
necessary, did not know what an effort it required
for Fred to hide his anxieties.

Of course both Bristles and Fred were in running
costume, in that they wore as scanty an out[5]fit
of clothes as possible. They were jogging
along leisurely, and this allowed plenty of time
for talk between them.

Bristles was one of Fred’s best chums. Not a
great while back he had fallen into what he called
a “peck of trouble, with the pot boiling over,”
and Fred had been of great help to him. In fact,
had it not been for him the mystery of who was
taking some of Miss Muster’s opals might never
have been cleared up; and the elderly spinster,
who was Bristles’ mother’s aunt, must have always
believed that her grand-nephew was the
guilty one.

But Fred had proved otherwise. He had even
been smart enough to have the rich old maid on
the spot when Gabe Larkins, the butcher’s hired
boy, was secreting his last bit of plunder. In her
gratitude at finding that the culprit was not her
own nephew, Miss Muster had even forgiven
Gabe, who had promised to turn over a new leaf.

Somehow the thoughts of Bristles seemed to
go back to several things which had happened
to himself and Fred not a great while previous.

“That was a great time we had, Fred,” he
went on to say, as they fell into a walk, with a
hill to climb; “I mean when we worked in double
harness, and ran up against so many queer adventures
last summer, in boat-racing time. Remember
how we managed to rescue little Billy[6]
Lemington when he fell out of his brother’s
canoe; and how he begged us not to tell a single
soul, because his father would whip him for disobeying?”

“Do you think Buck ever knew the truth of
that canoe business?” remarked Fred. “I recollect
your telling me he accused you of taking his
canoe, and using it, because some fellow saw us
putting it back in the place he kept it, and reported
to Buck. And he was some mad, too,
threatening all sorts of things if ever we touched
his boat again.”

“Say, d’ye know, between you and me and the
henhouse, Fred, I don’t believe he’s ever heard
the truth about that little affair to this day!”
exclaimed Bristles, earnestly. “Want to know
why I say that, do you? Well, just yesterday he
threw it at me. We were with some fellows on
the school campus, when the talk turned to canoes,
and I happened to say I knew mighty little
about the cranky things, as I’d had no experience
in one.”

“Oh! I can see how ready Buck would be to
take advantage of that opening, and give you
one of his sneering stabs with his tongue,” observed
Fred, quickly.

“Just what he did, Fred,” asserted the other,
frowning; “he turned on me like a flash, and
remarked that he guessed I forgot a certain[7]
occasion when I had enjoyed one canoe ride, anyhow,
if it was in a stolen boat. I came mighty
near telling the whole thing, how we had saved
his little brother from drowning, or at least how
you had, while I helped get you both ashore.
But I stopped myself just in time, and let it
pass by.”

“Well,” Fred went on to say, looking around
at the dusty road they had just reached; “here’s
where we draw in close again to Riverport, to
strike off again on the second leg of the run after
we pass the Hitchen hotel at the crossroads. I
suppose I ought not to keep on, with my toe
hurting as it does; but you know I just hate to
give up anything I start. Perhaps I’ll be game
enough to hold out to the end; and, besides, the
pain seems to be passing off lately. I could even
sprint a little, if I had to.”

“Too late now to dream of heading off Colon,
who has kept on the jump right along, while we
took things easy. But I always like to be with
you, Fred. You’re a cheery sort of a feller, you
know; and I feel better every time I chat with
you.”

Poor Fred,—who was secretly nursing deep
anxiety to his heart, not willing to confide in even
his best friends, lest in some way Squire Lemington
get wind of the fact that they had heard from
Hiram Masterson,—winced, and then smiled.[8]
Well, if he could put on a cheerful front, in spite
of all that tried to weigh his spirits down, so
much the better.

“We must turn at the crossroads, Bristles,”
he remarked. “The course heads into the northwest
from there, up to Afton’s pond; then due
east two miles to Watch Hill; where we turn
again and follow the turnpike home again.”

“Oh! I guess I can stand for it, if you keep me
company all the way, Fred; though I never was
built for a runner, I reckon. But listen to all that
shouting; would you? Some feller is excited, it
sounds like. There, just what I expected was the
matter; there’s a horse taken the bit between his
teeth, and is running away. I can see a boy
sprinting after him, and that’s his voice we get.
Now, I wonder what it’s up to us to do; step
aside and let the runaway nag pass by; or try
something to stop him? What say, Fred; can
we block the road, and make him hold up, without
taking too much risk?”[9]

CHAPTER II

A STRANGE SOUND FROM A WELL

“Hi! there! Stop that horse! Head him
off!”

The excited boy who was chasing wildly along
in the rear of the runaway shouted these words
as he waved his arms to the two lads coming so
suddenly on the scene.

“Why, it’s Gabe Larkins, as sure as you live!”
ejaculated Bristles, recognizing the boy who
drove the butcher’s cart, and who had been concerned
in the affair of Miss Muster’s vanishing
opals.

“Never mind who the boy is!” Fred called
out; “if we want to head that runaway off we’ve
got to be moving. Stand over there, wave your
arms and shout ‘Whoa!’ as loud as you can.
I’ll try to cover this side of the road and do the
same. The beast has just taken a notion to bolt
home, that’s all, and isn’t badly frightened. We
may be able to stop him right here.”

“How far do we go, Fred?” cried Bristles,[10]
who was always ready and willing to do his share
of any exciting business.

“Be careful, and keep ready to jump aside if
he refuses to let up on his speed, Bristles.”

“All right; I’m on, Fred!” And with that
Bristles started to make as great and hostile a
demonstration with arms and voice as he was
capable of exhibiting.

His chum was doing likewise; so that between
them they seemed to entirely block the road.
The runaway horse was, as Fred had said, not
worked up to the frantic stage where nothing
would stay his progress. Indeed, seeing that
these determined figures in running costume acted
as though they meant to keep him from passing,
the beast gradually slackened his pace.

The butcher’s cart came to a standstill not
twenty feet away from the boys; and the animal
even started to back up into a fence corner, when
the driver arrived on the scene, and took hold of
the trailing lines. After that he soon gained
the mastery over the horse.

“Got the slip on you that time, did he, Gabe?”
remarked Fred, pleasantly; for he had been given
to understand by Miss Muster, who was keeping
track of the boy, that Gabe Larkins was doing
what he could to make good; and Fred believed
in extending a helping hand to every fellow who
wanted to better his ways.[11]

“Oh! he’s a slick one, I tell you, fellers!” declared
the panting and angered boy, as he reined
in the animal that had given him such a scare
and a race. “Nine times out of ten I tie him
when I go to deliver meat. He knows when I
forget, and this is the fourth time he’s run away
on me. Smashed a wheel once, and nigh ’bout
scraped all the paint off’n one side of the pesky
cart another time. Old Bangs says as how he
means to fire me if it ever happens again.”

“Well, we’re right glad, then, Gabe, that
we’ve been able to keep you from losing your
job,” Fred went on to say. “But that horse has
a trick of going off if he isn’t tied. I’ve heard
about him before, and the trouble he gave the
boy who was ahead of you. If I was driving
him I’d never leave him unfastened.”

“And I ain’t a-goin’ to no more, you just make
sure of that!” Gabe declared, as no doubt he had
done after every previous accident, only to grow
careless again. “But it was nice in you fellers
to shoo him that way. I sure thought he’d run
right over you, but he didn’t. Must ‘a knowed
from the way you talked to him you didn’t mean
to hurt him any.”

“Well, we must be going on, Gabe, as we’re
in the cross-country run,” said Bristles, who had
been trying to study the face of the butcher’s
boy.[12]

“Say, I’d like to be along with you, sure I
would,” remarked Gabe, wistfully. “Used to
be some runner myself; but don’t get no chanct
nowadays. But I reckon it’s all right, ’cause she
says I’m a-doin’ fine. Mebbe some day I can
have a little fun like the rest of the fellers. I’m
a heap ‘bliged to both of you for holdin’ up
the hoss. G’lang, Rube!”

Swish! came the whip down on the withers of
the late frisky runaway, and Gabe went helter-skelter
down the road, headed for his next stopping
place.

During the late summer the public spirited
citizens of Riverport, led by Judge Colon, had
started to raise funds in order to equip a much
needed gymnasium with the latest appliances required
by those who would train their muscles,
and make themselves healthier by judicious exercise.

Mechanicsburg, up the river three miles, had
done that for her school; and Riverport was
trying to at least equal the generous spirit of
the business men of the other town.

“Oh! the gym’s just booming right along,” declared
Bristles, enthusiastically. “You know
they’ve already got a long lease on the big rink
where they used to have roller skating years ago.
A cinder path has been laid around the whole
of the circuit, equal to any outdoor track going.[13]
Great times we’re going to have this winter, I
tell you, Fred!”

“And, Bristles, how about the money for all
the outfit—punching bags, parallel bars, boxing
gloves, basketball stuff, and all the other things
needed in an up-to-date gym?”

“Heard last night,” said the other, joyfully,
“that it had all been subscribed, and the order
sent on. We’ll soon be in the swim for keeps.
But, while the good weather lasts let’s keep outdoors.
We can practice all sorts of stunts, so as
to be ready to contest with those Mechanicsburg
boys in an athletic meet. Great times ahead of us
yet, old fellow! Hope we manage to snatch
some of the prizes away from our old rivals;
though they say it’s just wonderful how clever
they’re sprinting and jumping up-river.”

“We heard that sort of talk about football,
and then when the boat race was planned didn’t
they say Mechanicsburg had a crew that was just
a wonder?” Fred remarked, with a pleasant and
cheery laugh.

“You’re right, they did, Fred; and yet we
licked the spots out of ’em both times. And
we can do it some more, if we keep on practicing
our stunts as Brad wants us to. Ten to one now
they haven’t got as fast a sprinter as our long legged
Colon in their whole school. And when
it comes to long-distance racing they’ll have to[14]
look pretty far to find anybody who can hold
out like Fred Fenton.”

“Oh! let up on that kind of talk, Bristles;
perhaps I might hold up my end of the log; and
again there’s a chance they’ve got a better man
up there. I remember some of their fellows
got around the bases like fun; and could carry
the ball across the gridiron once they got hold
of it. You never can tell what the best runner
might be up against in a long race. Look at me
to-day, stubbing my toe at the start; if this had
been the big occasion that would have put me out
of the procession in a hurry.”

“Let’s start on a little sprint again, now that
we’re getting close to the cross-road tavern. I
can see it yonder through the trees. Old Adam
will think we’re handicap runners, catching up
on the leaders. Here we go, Fred!”

Reaching the tavern at the spot where the
roads crossed, they halted to get a cool drink,
and ask a few questions. Somehow they saw
nothing of any of the other runners, though the
proprietor of the place told them several had
come and gone. They found the names of
Colon, Dave Hendricks and Corney Shays on
the official pad that had been left at this important
point, in order that each contestant might
place his signature on it when he arrived, proving[15]
that he had fully covered the requirements of
the run.

Once more the two lads started on their way
at a good pace, since their short rest had refreshed
them considerably.

“Look at the gray squirrel!” exclaimed
Bristles, who was beginning to get winded after
a mile of this jogging work, because he had
not yet learned never to open his mouth while
running, if it could be avoided.

“He’s laying in his store of shagbark hickories
for the winter,” declared Fred; “and you
better believe he picks only the good ones. I
never yet found a bad nut in any store laid away
by a squirrel. They know what’s juicy and sweet,
all right.”

“Hold on!” said Bristles, coming to a stop.

“What’s the matter now; hear any more runaways?”
asked Fred, laughing; but at the same
time coming to a walk in order to accommodate
his panting chum.

“No, but there’s an old farmhouse through
the trees there, and I can see a fine well. Makes
me feel dry again just to glimpse it. Come on,
let’s have a drink,” and Bristles led the way between
the trees toward the lonely looking place.

“A queer spot, Fred,” he remarked. “Looks
like it’s deserted; and yet there’s smoke coming[16]
out of the chimney; and I saw a pig run around
the corner of that little stable. Here’s our well;
draw a bucket while I get my wind. Oh! did
you hear that, Fred? It sounded just for all the
world like a groan; and, as sure as anything, it
came right out of this same well!”[17]

CHAPTER III

OUT OF THE DEPTHS

The two boys turned to look at one another;
and if they showed signs of alarm it was hardly
to be wondered at.

“Oh! there it is again, Fred!” whispered
Bristles, as a second sound, that was certainly
very like a groan, came from the well.

Fred caught his breath. It was an unpleasant
experience, to be sure; and might have tried the
nerves of much older persons than two half-grown
lads; but, after all, why should they be
afraid?

“Somebody may have fallen down the well,
and can’t get out again,” Fred remarked, with
just the least tremor to his usually steady voice.

“Say, that’s so,” Bristles hastened to admit,
as he cast a quick glance at the almost ropeless
wooden windlass; “don’t you see the bucket’s
away down? Whoever it is, Fred, they just can’t
climb up again. It takes you to get on the inside
track of things, Fred.”

“If that’s so, it might account for the fact[18]
that nobody seems to be around the place,” Fred
went on to say.

“P’raps an old man lives here all alone, and
he tripped over these stones when he went to lift
the bucket of water out, and fell in himself.
Gee! Fred, then it’s up to us to get him out!”

The other stepped directly up to the edge of
the old well. He saw that the coping was uneven,
some of the stones being loose. It looked
very much as if what Bristles had suggested
might be the truth, and that some person, when
striving to raise a heavy bucket, had lost his
balance, slipped on the treacherous footing, and
toppled into the well.

And, even as Fred Fenton bent down, he was
thrilled to hear a third groan come out of the
depths. Nevertheless, instead of starting back,
he bent over further, as though hoping to look
down and discover the truth.

“Can you see him?” asked Bristles, very
white in the face, but bent on sticking it out as
long as his chum did.

“Sorry to say I can’t,” replied the other,
calmly now, and with an air of business about
him that inspired Bristles to conquer his own
weakness. “My eyes have been so used to the
sun that it looks as black as a pocket down in
this well. But perhaps he might answer a call.”

“Give the poor fellow a hail, then, Fred,[19]
please. Just think how he must have suffered,
hollering all this time, with nobody to help him
out,” and Bristles, who really had a very tender
heart himself, leaned over the curbing of the well.

“Be careful not to push one of these big stones
in, or you’ll finish the poor fellow,” warned
Fred; and then bending low he called out very
loudly: “Hello! down there! We want to help
you get out. Are you badly hurt?”

“Oh! I don’t know, but I’m so cold. Please
hurry, or I’ll die!” came in a faint voice from
far below.

“Good gracious!” gasped Bristles; “did you
hear that, Fred?”

“I certainly did,” replied the other.

“But—the voice; it was a woman’s or a
girl’s!” continued the amazed Bristles.

“Just what I thought; and that makes it all
the more necessary that something be done in a
hurry to get her out. That rope looks pretty
sound; doesn’t it, Bristles?”

“What do you mean to do now, Fred; go
down there?” and the boy shuddered as he
looked at the gaping hole.

“Somebody’s got to, and what’s the matter
with my doing it?” Fred demanded. “I’ll tell
you what to do while I’m sliding down the rope;
just carefully take away all these loose stones,
so none of ’em can drop on top of me. And,[20]
Bristles, when I give the word, buckle down to
turn that windlass for all you’re worth!”

“I’ll do it, Fred. Gosh! if it don’t take you
to think of things that wouldn’t come to me in
a thousand years. Say, he’s gone, as quick as
that! I guess I’ll get busy with these stones.”

Fred was indeed already slipping carefully
down the rope. He believed it was fairly new,
and could easily sustain the weight of himself,
and another as well, if only the stout Bristles
could turn the handle of the windlass long
enough to bring them to the top.

Once below the region of sunlight his eyes began
to grow more accustomed to the surrounding
gloom. He could make out the rough stones all
about him that went to form the well itself.

Then he stopped, wondering if he must not
be pretty nearly down to the water. The rope
still went on, and he could hear what seemed
like heavy breathing not far away.

Bristles was working like a beaver above, taking
away the loose stones, but exercising great
care so that not even a bit of loose earth, or
mortar, should fall down the shaft to alarm his
chum.

“Hello! where are you, below?”

“Close by you now. Oh! do you think you
can get me up again, mister?” came in a quavering
voice.[21]

Fred let himself slip down a little further,
inch by inch as it were. He was afraid of striking
the one who must be clinging to the rope
below, undoubtedly chilled to the bone, and sick
with fear.

Even at that moment the boy was filled with
amazement, and could not imagine how a girl
could have gotten into such a strange situation.
But his first duty was to get her out.

Ten seconds later and he could feel her beside
him.

“Don’t be afraid, we’ll get you on dry land in
a jiffy,” he said, as cheerfully as possible. “Can
you hold on to the rope if my friend turns the
windlass? I’ll do all I can to help you. If only
the bucket could be used for you to stand on!
It’s the only way to work it, I guess.”

“Yes, yes, anything you say, I’ll do, mister.
Oh! what if they have hurt him, and me such a
coward as to run away like I did and hide. But
pop made me, he just said I must. He’ll tell
you that same, mister, if so be he’s alive yet.”

The girl said this in broken sentences. She
was almost in a state of complete collapse, and
Fred knew that unless he hurried to get her up
where she could obtain warmth, she would be a
dead weight on his hands.

“Hello! Bristles!” he called out.

“Yes; what d’ye want, Fred? Shall I begin[22]
to wind up?” came from above, accompanied by
the musical clank of the iron brake falling over
the cogs that were intended to hold it firmly,
and prevent a slip, should the one at the handle
let go suddenly.

“Go slow, Bristles, and stop when you hear
me shout!”

“O. K. Fred; slow she is! Are you coming
now?”

Fred had felt the rope slip through his hands
inch by inch. He was feeling with his dangling
feet for the bucket, and presently discovered it.

“Hold on till I tilt the bucket, and empty out
the water; we have to use it to stand on as you
pull us up!” he shouted.

With more or less difficulty he managed to
accomplish this task. It would relieve Bristles
considerably; and even as it was, the straining
boy up there would have a tremendous task
ahead of him, raising two persons at a time.

Fred threw his arm around the girl, whom
he could just dimly make out. She clung wildly
to him, as though realizing that all her hopes of
getting out of this strange prison rested in the
boy who had come down the rope so daringly.

“Now once again, old fellow, and do your
level best!” Fred sang out.

So they went up, foot by foot. He held the
girl in a tight clasp, and kept hoping the rope[23]
would not break, or any other accident happen.
Bristles was tugging wildly away at the handle
of the windlass, doubtless with his teeth set hard
together, and every muscle of his body in play.

Now they were close to the top, and Fred
called out, to caution his chum to slacken his
violent efforts.

So once again Fred’s eyes came above the
curbing of the old well, and he found Bristles,
panting for breath, but eager to assist still further
in the work of rescue.

“Reach down,” Fred said, quietly, wishing to
calm the other; “and get your arms around her,
if you can; then lift for all you’re worth! She
isn’t heavy, only her clothes are soaked with
water. There you are, and well done, old
chap!”

Bristles had actually plucked the girl from the
grasp of the boy who had to cling to the rope
with one hand; she was already placed upon the
ground, while he turned to assist Fred, starting
to climb out unaided.

But the girl had not fainted, as Fred suspected.
She was now on her knees, and trying to get upon
her feet.

“Oh! what can have happened to him?” she
muttered.

“Who is it you are talking about?” asked
Bristles.[24]

“My poor sick father,” she replied. “They
came in on us, and made me get a meal. Then
they began to hunt all over the house for money,
just as if we ever had any such thing hidden.
Oh! the terrible threats they made; father was
afraid for me, and ordered me to watch out for
the first chance to run away, to go to the nearest
neighbor for help; but he lives two miles away.
I was afraid to leave the place, because I thought
they might set the house on fire. So I tried to
hide just below the curbing of the well; but the
brake wasn’t set, and I went down with the
bucket. I might have drowned, only I held on
all these hours, hoping and fearing. Oh! I
wonder if he is still alive!”

“Who was it came and did these things?”
asked Fred, indignantly.

“Three tramps; and they were bad men, too,”
she replied, starting toward the old farmhouse,
where the door stood open. A few whiffs of
smoke curled up from the chimney, yet there was
no sign of life.

And, wondering what they would find there,
the two boys strode along beside her, ready to
catch her should she show signs of falling. But
a great hope seemed to sustain the girl they had
rescued from the well.[25]

CHAPTER IV

FRED GETS A SHOCK

“Shall we follow, Fred?” asked Bristles, a
little dubiously it must be confessed.

The girl had darted eagerly through the open
doorway.

“That’s the program,” replied the leading
boy; and with these words he immediately
crossed the doorsill.

The interior of the cottage was not any too
well lighted, for the shades of the windows were
partly down. Fred saw at a glance, however,
that a hurried and thorough search had been
made by the three tramps, when they thought to
find something of value in the lonely farmhouse.

All manner of articles had been thrown recklessly
about, drawers emptied, and even chairs
overturned as they sought to turn up the edges
of the scanty carpet, under the old belief that
family treasures are generally secreted either
there or between the mattresses of the bed.

Voices in an adjoining room gave Fred a reassuring
sensation. Then the sick man had not[26]
passed away, as his daughter seemed to have
feared; for while one of the voices was undoubtedly
that of the girl, the other belonged to a
man. It was weak and complaining, however,
as might be expected, under the circumstances.

So Fred, again followed by Bristles, lost no
time in passing through the first room, and entering
the adjoining one. A glance showed him a
bed upon which a thin-faced man was lying. The
girl was gently stroking his forehead with considerable
affection, murmuring endearing terms.

At the entrance of the two boys, however, the
sick man started half up in bed. He stared at
them in utter amazement, nor could Fred blame
him. After the experience through which he had
recently passed, the sick man must almost believe
he was losing his senses, to see two lads in running
costume burst in upon him.

“What! who are these, daughter?” he exclaimed.
“I sent you for help, to get our German
neighbor, Johann Swain, and you come back
after all these hours bringing freaks from a
circus. But at least they do not look as bad as
those terrible tramps.”

Bristles laughed outright at this.

“I hope not, sir,” he could not help saying,
before Fred could utter a word; “you see, we’re
only a couple of boys from Riverport, engaged
in a cross-country run; and we’re mightily glad[27]
to be on hand in time to help you and—your
girl.”

“But what makes your dress so wet, child;
and you are shivering like a leaf? Don’t tell
me that you fell into the river?” the sick man
asked, turning his attention upon his daughter
once more, now that he realized there was
nothing to be feared from the two strangers.

“No,” she replied, soothingly; “when you
sent me away I could not leave you alone with
those dreadful men; so, meaning to hide just below
the curbing of the well, I took hold of the
rope; but the windlass was free, and I fell in.”

“And you have been there all this time!”
cried the man, reproachfully; “while I lay here,
recovering my strength, and expecting you to
come every minute with help. Oh! if I had but
heard you call, nothing could have prevented me
from crawling out to rescue you, child. And
did these boys get you out?”

“Yes, and we owe them more than we can
ever pay, father,” she replied, warmly; “for I
could not have held on much longer; and the
water was deep enough to drown a helpless
girl.”

“Oh! Sarah, child! what a blessing that they
came!” exclaimed the man, thrusting a weak
and trembling hand out, first toward Fred, whom
he saw was wet, and somehow guessed must have[28]
borne the brunt of the rescue; and then repeating
the act with regard to Bristles.

The sick man asked Fred a number of questions.
As a rule these concerned his daughter,
and in what condition they had found the poor
girl at the bottom of the well; but he also
seemed anxious as to whether they had seen anything
of the three tramps.

“One of them was terribly enraged when
they failed to find even a dollar for their pains,
and I assured him I did not have such a thing
to my name,” the aged man said, almost pathetically,
Fred thought. “He would have struck
me with the poker, as he threatened to do, only
his companions held his arm. I have been in
mortal fear that he might return.”

“No danger of that sir,” Fred went on to
say; and already in his mind he was determined
that some of the good people of Riverport
should quickly know about the sick man and his
devoted daughter, who lived in such a lonely
place, and were almost at the point of starvation.

“I used to have a man who worked on shares
with me,” the other continued, as though he
thought some explanation was due to account for
the situation; “but he changed his mind suddenly
this summer past, and left me alone. I might
have managed, only for this sickness. Sarah has
tried to do everything, but, poor child, she was[29]
unable to take care of me and the farm too. So
it has come to this, and my heart is nearly broken
worrying about her.”

“Never mind, it will be all right, sir,” Fred
continued to assure him. “We are from Riverport,
and we know a lot of good people there
who will be only too glad to do everything they
can for you. It is not charity, you see, but just
what one neighbor ought to be ready to do for
another.”

For his years, Fred was wise; he realized that
this man undoubtedly had more or less pride,
and might hesitate to accept assistance when he
had no means of returning favors.

To his surprise the other started, and looked
keenly at him.

“Riverport, you say, young man?” he muttered.
“I don’t seem to know you. Might I
ask your name, please?”

“Fred Fenton, sir. But as we only came to
the place a year ago last spring, of course you
wouldn’t be apt to know me.”

“No, I haven’t been in Riverport for quite a
number of years. We do what little trading we
have in Grafton, which is just as near, though
not so large a town. But you spoke of interesting
some people in our condition. For her sake
I would even sink my pride and accept their help.
But you must make me one promise, boy!”[30]

“As many as you like, sir; what might this
particular one be?” asked Fred, cheerfully.

“Don’t, under any circumstances, let Sparks
Lemington have anything to do with the assistance
you bring me; or I would utterly refuse to
touch the slightest thing, even if we both starved
for it!” was the astonishing reply of the sick
man, as a look of anger showed in his face, and
he shut his jaws hard.

Evidently, then, he had some good cause for
detesting the rich and unscrupulous Squire Lemington.
Well, Fred found reason to believe there
were a good many others besides this farmer
who felt the same.

“Oh! Fred, come out here!” called Bristles,
just then, before Fred could ask any further questions.

Believing that his chum might be having some
difficulty in finding things, and wanted help, Fred
hurried into the adjoining room, which was the
kitchen. There was also a dining room next,
which they had entered first, and apparently a
couple of sleeping rooms up stairs, for the girl
had gone above.

Bristles was busily engaged. He had succeeded
in getting a fire started, and was rummaging
through a cupboard, looking for eatables.
Accustomed to seeing a well stocked larder in
his own home, Bristles was shocked at the lack[31]
of everything a hungry boy would think ought
to be found in a kitchen pantry.

“Shucks, Fred,” he remarked, in a low voice,
for the door between the rooms was open a
trifle. “There isn’t enough stuff here to feed a
canary bird, let alone two human beings. Why,
whatever do they live on? They must be as
poor as Job’s turkey. I can’t just place that man,
somehow; seems as if I must have known him
once; but he’s changed a heap. Help me skirmish
around for some grub; won’t you?”

Fred was perfectly willing, and proceeded to
search until he had discovered part of a loaf of
home-made bread, and the coffee that was so necessary
to warm the poor girl. There was a
strip of bacon a few inches thick, some flour,
grits—and these were about all.

Just then Bristles came over to where he was
putting the coffee in the pot.

“I’ve just remembered who that sick man is,
Fred!” he said, in a low tone, but with a vein of
satisfaction in it, for he had been racking his
memory all the while.

“Who is he, then?” Fred asked, a bit eagerly.

“Why,” Bristles went on, “you see, his name
is Masterson!”[32]

CHAPTER V

HOW GOOD SPRANG FROM EVIL

“Masterson, did you say, Bristles?” Fred
asked, hurriedly, as he closed the communicating
door between the two rooms, and came back to the
side of his chum.

“Yep, that’s it,” replied the other, briskly,
proud of having solved what promised to be a
puzzle. “He used to live in Riverport years
ago, when I was a kid; he and his girl Sarah.”

“Is he any relation to Squire Lemington, do
you know?” asked Fred.

“Sure, that’s a fact, he is; a nephew, I reckon,”
answered Bristles, thoughtfully. “I
remember there was some sort of talk about this
Arnold Masterson; I kind of think he got in a
fuss with the Squire, and there was a lawsuit.
But shucks, that don’t matter to us, Fred, not a
whit. These people are up against it, hard as
nails, and we’ve just got to do something for ’em
when we get back.”

“That’s right, we will,” asserted Fred.

He was thinking hard as he said this. Was[33]
it not a strange thing that he should in this way
place another Masterson under heavy obligations?
He had done Hiram a good turn that won
the gratitude of the man from Alaska; and now
here it was a brother and a niece who had cause
for thanking him.

Perhaps there was something more than accident
in this. If Hiram ever did return, which
Fred was almost ready to doubt, he would be apt
to hear about what had happened at the lonely
farmhouse; and if he cared at all for his folks,
his debt must be doubled by the kind deed of the
Fenton boy.

“And believe me,” Bristles went on, not
noticing the way Fred was pondering over the
intelligence he had just communicated; “we just
can’t get busy collecting some grub for this poor
family any too soon. Why, they’re cleaned out,
that’s what! Never knew anybody could live
from hand to mouth like this. Why couldn’t
they get that German farmer, who lives a mile or
two away, to haul some stuff from Grafton, if
the girl couldn’t walk there?”

“You forget that the man said he didn’t have
even a dollar, when those tramps threatened to
torture him, to make him tell where he had his
treasure; and Bristles, it takes cold cash to buy
things these days. Old Dog Trust is dead, the
merchants say. But hurry that coffee along.[34]
Hello! here’s a part of a can of condensed milk,
and some sugar. That’s good!”

Fred went into the other room about that time;
for hearing voices, he imagined the girl must
have put on some dry clothes hurriedly, and once
more descended to be with her sick father.

She looked better, Fred thought, and there was
even a slight color in her cheeks. He was afraid,
however, of what the long exposure might bring,
and determined that Doctor Temple must hear of
the case. A little care right then might be the
means of warding off a severe illness.

“Please go in the kitchen, and stand near the
stove all you can, miss,” he said.

“But I am not cold any longer,” she replied,
giving him a smile that told of the gratitude in
her heart.

“You need all the warmth you can get,” he insisted.
“As soon as the coffee is ready, you must
swallow a cup or two of it, piping hot. And I
think it would do your father good, too.”

Accordingly, as there seemed to be a vein of
authority in his voice, the girl complied. She
found that the coffee was already beginning to
simmer, and send out a fragrant smell; for
Bristles had made a furious fire, regardless of
consequences.

“Hope I don’t burn your house down, Sarah,”
he said. “Excuse me, but I used to know you a[35]
long time ago, when you lived in Riverport. My
name is Bris—that is, at home they call me Andy
Carpenter.”

“Oh! I do remember you now,” she replied,
quickly; “but it is so long ago. Father never
mentions Riverport any more; he seems to hate
the name. I think some one wronged him there,
and it must have been my uncle, because every
time I happened to speak of him, he would grow
angry, and finally told me never to mention that
name again. But you have made this coffee very
strong, Andy.”

“Fred told me to; he said you both needed it,”
answered the boy. “And I wouldn’t worry if I
was you, because I used up all there is. We’re
going to see that more comes along this way, and
that before night.”

“Oh! it makes me feel ashamed to think that
we are going to be objects of charity,” the girl
commenced to say, when Bristles stopped her.

“Now, that isn’t it at all, Sarah!” he declared,
with vehemence; “your pa is a sick man, and unless
he gets a doctor soon you may lose him. So
I’d just pocket that pride of yours, and let the
neighbors do what they want. And if you’ve
been fleeced by that shark of a Squire Lemington,
why, there are a lot of others in the same
fix. I’d like to see them run him out of town;
but he owns a heap of property around River[36]port,
and that would be hard to do, I suppose.
Say, don’t that coffee smell good though; you
know the kind to get, seems like.”

“Johann Swain brought that over the last time
he came,” she replied, somewhat confused on
account of having to make the confession that
they were already indebted to another for favors.

When the coffee was done Fred came out and
secured a cup of it for the sick man; while Sarah
sat down at the kitchen table to drink her portion.
Bristles was almost famishing for a taste,
but he would not have accepted the first drop, had
it smelled twice as good.

After making the two as comfortable as possible,
the two boys once more prepared to start on
their run toward home. Of course they must expect
to come in the very last of all, owing to all
these delays; but it was little they cared.

“Expect company before long,” sang out
Bristles, as, having shaken hands with the sick
man and Sarah, they turned to wave farewell to
the girl, standing in the open door, and with something
approaching a smile on her wan face.

Fred made a proposition before they had gone
more than fifty yards.

“What’s the use of our finishing, Bristles?”
he remarked. “We’re hopelessly beaten right
now. Suppose we head for home, and get busy
going around to speak to a few of our friends[37]
about these people here. I want Doc. Temple to
come out; and I know Flo will insist on it when
she hears about that poor girl.”

“Three to one she comes with him; and that
the buggy is crammed full of all the good things
they’ve got at home,” asserted Bristles; “because
there never was a girl with a bigger heart
than Flo.”

Fred was of the same opinion himself, though
he only nodded, and smiled.

“You see your father, and then drop in to
talk it over with several others,” he went on to
say. “Leave Judge Colon for me. I want to
ask him a few questions about what happened
between Arnold Masterson and his rich uncle, to
make Sarah’s father hate him so, and avoid
Riverport in the bargain.”

When they arrived home the boys quickly
changed their clothes, and then started in to tell
the story of their recent remarkable experience.
Fred, first of all, enlisted the good will of his own
mother, who hurried over to another neighbor
to start the ball rolling, with the idea of having
a wagon with supplies sent out to the Masterson
farm that very afternoon.

His visit to the Temple home was a pleasant
affair with Fred. Just as he had expected, Flo
was immediately concerned about the family, and
asked numerous questions while they were wait[38]ing
for the genial old doctor to come in at noon
from his morning round of sick calls.

Then the doctor drove up, and as soon as he
entered the house heard Fred’s amazing story.
He was quite concerned about it.

“Of course I’ll go out there the first thing
after lunch, and bring them both through, if I
can,” he declared, just as Fred had expected
would be the case. “Those tramps ought to be
followed up, and caged; they’re getting bolder
every day. I expect that some fine morning we’ll
find our bank broken open, or else somebody
kidnapped, and held for a ransom.”

“And I’m going along with you, daddy,” said
Miss Temple, with an air that announced the fact
that she usually had her own way with her parent.

“Did you know this Arnold Masterson, sir;
and is he a nephew of the Squire?” asked the
boy.

“Yes, to both of your questions, Fred,” replied
the doctor. “Years back there was a
quarrel between them, and a lawsuit that went
against Arnold, who disappeared soon afterward.
I did not know he still lived within five
miles of Riverport, because he is never seen on
the streets here. But he was an honest man,
which is more than some people think can be
said of his rich uncle.”

That was all Fred wanted to know, and he[39]
took his departure, well satisfied with the way
fortune had treated him that morning.

Later on he heard that the people of Riverport
had carried enough supplies out to the Masterson
farm to last until Christmas. And Doctor
Temple reported that not only would Sarah
escape any ill results from her experience in the
cold waters of the well, but the sick man was going
to come around, in time, all right.[40]

CHAPTER VI

THE NEWS CORNEY BROUGHT

The big roller-skating rink had been turned
into a splendid gymnasium for the boys and girls
of Riverport school; for certain days were to be
set aside when the latter should have their turn
at basketball and kindred athletic exercises, calculated
to make them healthier, and better fitted
for their studies.

The headmaster of the school, Professor
Brierley, was very much delighted with the way
things had gone. He was an advocate of all
healthful sports, when not carried to excess. And
this spirit which had been awakened in Riverport,
was bound, he believed, to make for the betterment
of the town in every way.

“Perhaps there’ll be less work for Dr.
Temple,” he remarked, at a meeting of the best
citizens, when the gymnasium was handed over
to the school trustees; “because there’ll be far
less sickness among our young people. Though
possibly a few accidents, as the result of in[41]discretion
in exercising too violently, may make
amends to our physicians.”

Meanwhile the young athletes belonging to
Riverport school had been as busy as the proverbial
bee. Saturdays were devoted to all sorts of
work, each class being represented by aspiring
claimants for honors.

And when the really deserving ones had finally
been selected to do their best for the honor of
the school, everyone watched their work with
pride, and the hope that they might make the
highest pole vault, the longest running jump, the
quickest time in the hundred yards, quarter-mile,
half mile and five mile races known to amateur
athletic meets in that part of the country at least.

Merchants talked with their customers about
the coming tournament; and the mildest looking
women, whom no one would suspect of knowing
the least thing about such affairs, surprised others
with their store of knowledge.

The bookstore in town where sporting goods
were kept did a land-office business during those
days, and had to duplicate their orders to wholesalers
frequently.

Stout business men were buying exercisers to
fasten to the bathroom doors; or perhaps dumb-bells
and Indian clubs, calculated to take off a
certain number of pounds of fat. Others boasted
of how deftly they were beginning to hit the[42]
punching bag; and how much enjoyment the exercise,
followed by a cold shower bath, gave them.

Representatives from Mechanicsburg, who
wandered down to get a few points that might be
calculated to give their athletes renewed confidence,
took back tales of the spirit that had swept
over the other town on the Mohunk.

And they even said that Paulding was striving
with might and main to get in line with the other
two places. Her boys expressed a hope that
when the favors were handed around, steady old
Paulding might not be left entirely out of the running.
There were even broad hints that some
people were going to get the surprise of their
lives when the great day arrived. Paulding always
had been a difficult crowd to beat, and
would never confess to defeat until the last word
had been said.

It was the day just preceding that on which the
athletic meet was slated to be held. As before,
luck seemed to dwell with Riverport, since the
drawing of lots decided that the tournament must
be held on her grounds, outside of town. And
it seemed about right that this should be the case,
since Riverport lay between her two rivals on
the Mohunk, one being three, the other seven
miles away.

Nothing else was talked of those days, after
school, but the proposed meet. On the field it[43]self
there gathered crowds of boys and girls who
hovered in groups while the various candidates
went through their work; and either praised, or
criticised; for it is always easy to do the latter.

So on this morning of the day preceding the
great event, whenever boys ran across each other
on the street, it was always with questions concerning
the condition of those upon whom Riverport
depended to win the most points in the
tournament. At no time in the past had the state
of health of these lads interested more than a
very small portion of the community. Now
everybody heaved a sigh of satisfaction upon
learning that Colon was said to be in better trim
than ever before in all his life, or that Sid Wells,
Fred Fenton and Bristles Carpenter were just
feeling “fine.”

Whenever one of those who were expected to
take part made his appearance on the street he
had a regular following, all hanging on every
word he spoke, “just as if he might be an
oracle,” as Bristles humorously remarked.

“Wait till Sunday morning, and then see if
some balloons haven’t busted,” he went on to remark,
as several fellows gathered around him
that bright autumn morning, when there had
been a sharp tang of frost in the air; “a lot of
us will fail to score a beat, and then see how[44]
quick they drop us. Some will even be cruel
enough to say they always knew that Bristles
Carpenter was a big fake; and that when it came
right down to business he never was able to hold
up his end; and they never could see why the
committee put him on the roll of would-be
heroes.”

“Sure! and the next day it rained!” called
back little Semi-Colon, whose size debarred him
from taking any part in the athletic contests, a fact
he deplored many times, for he had the spirit of
a warrior in his small body.

“Anyhow, Sunday will be a good day to rest,
and stay indoors, to avoid all the cruel things
that will be fired at a fellow Monday,” grinned
Bristles.

“Say, don’t talk like that, old man,” remarked
another of the group; “seems like you
might be getting all ready for a funeral. I don’t
like it. Better do some boasting, and give us a
chance to feel we’re going to carry Mechanicsburg
right off her feet.”

“Oh! I’m only taking out a little extra insurance,
that’s all,” remarked Bristles. “They all
do it, you know. Never knew a feller to get
licked but he began to explain how it happened;
and tell how if his foot had been all right, or that
stitch in his side hadn’t caught him, he’d have
swept up the ground with all his rivals. I’m[45]
wondering what I’d better mention right now as
troubling me.”

“But you just said you felt as fit as a fiddle?”
protested Semi-Colon.

“So I do,” answered Bristles; “but that don’t
matter. A feller may feel fit, and yet have a sore
toe; can’t he? But, boys, if I get beaten you’re
not going to hear me put up a whine. It’ll only
be because the other feller is the better man.”

“Bully for you, Bristles;” remarked a tall
student, vigorously; “I always knew you’d stand
up and be counted. And just you make up your
mind you’re going to bring home the bacon. We
want every point we can get, to beat Mechanicsburg
out.”

“Nobody seems to take poor old Paulding seriously,”
remarked Fred, who was one of the
noisy, enthusiastic group on the way to the recreation
field for a spell of warming up exercise;
for school had been dismissed on Thursday afternoon,
giving this Friday preceding the meet as
a holiday for the scholars, owing to the great interest
taken in the affair, the trustees said, and
also the fact that the other towns had decided
upon the same thing.

“Well, you never can tell,” declared Dick
Hendricks, who had come up just in time to catch
the last remark. “I’ve got private information
from below, and let me warn every fellow not[46]
to be cocksure about Paulding. That fellow
they’ve got coaching them is no slouch. He
was a college grad. just the same as our Mr.
Shays; and they say he coached Princeton for
several years, away back.”

“Oh! he’s an old man, and a back number,”
observed Bristles, contemptuously. “I heard he
hasn’t kept up with the procession, and that his
methods are altogether slow compared with the
more modern ones.”

“Well, I believe in never underestimating an
enemy,” Fred went on; “and if all of us feel
that we’ve got to do our level best in order to
win, even against Paulding, that ends the matter.”

“Who’s seen Colon this morning?” asked
Dick Hendricks.

“Not me,” replied Bristles, “and it’s kind of
queer too, because he said he’d drop in for me
at eight this morning, and now it’s half-past.
Reckon he forgot, and went on with another
bunch. There’s always a lot of boys trailing after
Colon nowadays, you know. They just hang
around his door, his mother told mine only yesterday,
like a pack of hounds, calling for him
to show himself.”

“Well, I guess Colon is the best card in our
pack,” declared Fred, stoutly. “You see, he’s
slated to run in all the shorter sprints, and we
expect him to leave the other fellows at the post,[47]
for he’s as fleet as a deer—Bristles says kangaroo,
because of that queer jump he has. They
haven’t got a ghost of a show in any race Colon
takes part in; and I guess they know it up at Mechanicsburg.”

“I was talking with a boy from there the other
day,” spoke up the tall student. “I think he was
sent down here as a sort of spy, to see just what
we were doing, and get tabs on our men. He
owned up to me that if Colon could do that well
in a regular race it would be a procession, because
nobody could head him. They’d just run on in
the hope he might be taken with cramps, or something.”

“Who’s that hollering back there; looks like
Corney Shays?” remarked Semi-Colon just then,
so sharply that the entire group paused to look
back.

“It is Corney, late as usual, and with his nerve
along; because he wants us all to stop and wait
for him,” declared Dick Hendricks. “Come
along boys, and let him catch up if he can.”

“But he acts mighty queer,” said Fred.

“You’re right he does,” added Bristles, taking
the alarm at once. “Look at him waving his
arms. Say, fellers, something’s gone wrong, bet
you a cooky. I just feel it in my bones. Oh!
what if Colon’s been taken sick right now the day
before?”[48]

They stood there, silent and expectant, until
the running Corney had drawn near.

“What ails you, Corney?” demanded Dick.

“It’s Colon!” gasped the other, almost out of
breath, and much excited in the bargain, they
could see, for his eyes seemed ready to pop out
of his head.

“Don’t tell us he’s sick!” cried Bristles, in
real horror.

“Disappeared—never slept in his bed last
night, his ma says! Gone in the queerest way
ever, and just when Riverport depended on him
to win the prize to-morrow!” was what the almost
breathless Corney gasped.[49]

CHAPTER VII

WHERE IS COLON?

“Oh! what d’ye think of that, now?” cried
Bristles.

“How could Colon ever do it; and all Riverport
depending on him so?” exclaimed the tall
student, Henry Clifford by name, who was always
deeply interested in the field sports of his mates,
though too delicate himself to take any part in
them.

“Why, what d’ye think he’s done?” demanded
Bristles, aggressively, turning on him.

“Perhaps he just got so nervous over this
business that he couldn’t stand the push, and
thought he’d better skip out,” replied the other,
weakly.

“Rats! tell that to your grandmother, will you,
Clifford!” burst out Semi-Colon, quick to rally
to the defense of his cousin. “Nobody ever
knew him to flinch when it came to the test; ain’t
that so, fellers?”

“Sure it is,” cried Bristles, sturdily; “and
when I saw him last night he was just feeling as[50]
if he had a walkover ahead. No, if Colon has
disappeared there’s some other reason besides
a sudden fear of being beaten. He never went
of his own account.”

“Tell us some more about it, Corney,” said
Fred, himself considerably shaken by the stunning
news brought by the runner.

Corney had by now succeeded in regaining his
breath.

“Well, he’s gone, that’s a dead sure thing,” he
began. “I went around to his house to get him
to come. Found several other fellows sitting there
on the bank outside the fence. They didn’t have
the nerve to go in and ask for Colon, you see.
But I walked up to the door, and knocked. Mrs.
Colon came out, and smiled to see the mob there,
like she might be feeling proud that her boy was
so well thought of.”

“Oh! cut it short!” growled Dick Hendricks.
“Get down to facts. What did she say?”

“That she was letting Chris sleep longer this
morning, because he was working so hard these
days; but would go and wake him up. A minute
later I heard her call out, and then I ran in, fearing
that something had happened to our chum.
She was there in his room, wringing her hands,
and carryin’ on like everything. Then I saw that
the bed hadn’t been slept in. Fellers, it gave me
a cold creep, because you see, I just knew some[51]thing
terrible must have happened to poor old
Colon.”

Fred tried to keep his head about him in this
trying moment. He knew that this peculiar disappearance
of Colon could not be an accident;
nor had the long-legged sprinter gone away of
his own accord. There must be more about the
matter than appeared on the surface.

“One thing I think we can be sure of, right at
the start,” he remarked, seriously; and it was
wonderful how eagerly the others listened to
what he was about to say, as if they had more
than ordinary confidence in Fred Fenton’s judgment.

“What is that, Fred?” asked Dick Hendricks.

“Colon never went off willingly,” the other declared.

“Sure he didn’t; but who could have done it,
Fred?” demanded Bristles, clenching his fists aggressively,
and looking ready for a fight, if only
he knew on whom to vent his anger.

“That’s where we’re all up a tree, and we’d
better turn back right now,” Fred declared.
“No use practicing this morning, with Colon lost
to us. Who’d have any heart to do his best?”

“Just what I was going to say, boys,” spoke
up Corney. “Come along back to his home with
me. There’s getting to be the biggest excitement
in old Riverport that you ever heard tell of.[52]
Even when I chased after you they were running
about in the streets, talkin’ about the latest sensation.
Women was gatherin’ in knots on the
corners, and discussin’ it from all sides. They
had sent for the chief of our police force, and
I saw him headin’ that way as I came along, with
a whole mob of the fellers at his heels.”

“Whew! ain’t this a stunner, though?” gasped
the tall student, hurrying to keep up with the excited
little bunch of schoolboys as they headed
back toward the town.

Just as Corney had declared, they found the
place buzzing with excitement. All thought of
business seemed to have been utterly abandoned
for the time being; and merchants, as well as
clerks, gathered outside the stores, engaged in discussing
the news that had burst upon them.

Fred, Bristles and the rest were soon at Colon’s
home.

“Gee! look at the crowd; would you?” ejaculated
Corney, as they came in sight of some
scores of men, women and the younger element,
who jostled each other in front of the house.
“Ain’t it funny how a thing like this spreads?
Talk to me about wildfire—excitin’ news has got
it beat a mile. Why, they’re still comin’ in flocks
and droves. The whole town will be around here
before long.”

“Can you blame them?” remarked Dick[53]
Hendricks; “look at us right now, heading for the
hub of the wheel for all we’re worth. But there’s
one of the constables keeping ’em out of the gate.
Wonder if he’ll let us in?”

“He’s just got to,” said Corney. “I’ll tell
him Mrs. Colon sent me out to get the whole
bunch, and he’ll pass us all right.”

Several did get in with the bold Corney,
among them Fred and Bristles; but the main part
of the group had to content themselves with kicking
their heels against the fence, and waiting to
get any additional news when their comrades
came out.

Inside they found Judge Colon, looking very
much flushed. The missing boy was his nephew,
and he was taking more than usual interest in the
matter.

Just now he seemed to be trying to comfort
the alarmed mother, who, being a widow, with
her only boy taken away in this mysterious manner,
was much in need of sympathy and advice.

“Depend upon it, Matilda,” the judge was saying;
“it will prove to be only some wild prank on
the part of his mates; Christopher will turn up
presently, safe and sound. You say he went out
last night; do you happen to know where?”

“He was over to my house, Judge,” spoke up
Bristles, boldly, wishing to give all the information
in his power.[54]

“Ah! yes, it’s you, Andrew, is it?” the gentleman
remarked, looking around. “And about
what time did he start away for home, may I
ask?”

“It couldn’t have been much after ten, sir,” replied
the other. “We were playing cribbage, and
he got the odd game. Yes, I remember, now, he
said his mother would be in bed anyway when he
got home.”

“And I did retire about nine, as I usually do,”
remarked Mrs. Colon, upon whose face the marks
of tears could be plainly seen. “I didn’t hear
Christopher come in, because I slept unusually
well the early part of the night. Then came that
cruel shock this morning, when I saw his bed all
made up, and knew he hadn’t come home at all.”

“You went to the door with him; didn’t you,
Andrew?” the judge went on, with the persistence
a lawyer might be expected to show
when he had a willing witness on the stand, and
was bent on getting every fact, however slight,
from him.

“Yes, sir, I even went out to our gate; and we
stood there for nearly five minutes, I guess, talkin’
about athletic matters. Then he said good-night,
and walked down the road. There was a
moon in the west, and I could see Colon swinging
along in that sturdy way he has. Then I
turned around and went up to bed.”[55]

“When you stood there at the gate did anybody
pass by?” asked the judge.

“No sir, not a living soul,” responded Bristles,
after a few seconds of thought.

“And you didn’t hear any suspicious sounds,
like boys laughing partly under their breath; did
you, Andrew?”

“Not a chuckle, sir,” replied the other. “It
was just a fine night, I noticed, and looked like
we’d have good weather right along for the meet.
But if you think there are any fellers in this town
mean enough to kidnap Colon, just to give us a
black eye to-morrow, I must say I can’t understand
it, sir.”

“Well, I believe I have known of a certain lot
of young fellows who happen to hold forth around
Riverport, and who would not be above doing a
thing like that, given just half a cause,” the judge
replied, meaningly; and every one knew whom he
had in mind, for their thoughts immediately flew
to Buck Lemington and his cronies.

“But perhaps it wasn’t any prank of boys at
all,” Bristles went on, eagerly; “Colon said the
night was so bright he had half a notion to take
a two mile dash out over the Grafton road, just
to wind up his big day. I advised him not to think
of it, but he only laughed. But he’s awful set
in his ways, sir, once he makes up his mind.”

“He said that; did he?” asked the judge, ap[56]parently
thinking that there might be something
worth while taking note of in this latest assertion.

“Yes, sir, he certainly did,” the boy answered.
“Colon’s a queer fish anyhow, and does heaps of
things nobody else’d ever think of. Now, what if
he did start on that run; why, something might
have happened to him—perhaps he tripped, and
fell, and broke a leg, so he couldn’t even crawl
home.”

The mother started to cry again as she pictured
her boy suffering all through the night as
Bristles described so recklessly. And so the
judge moved aside with several of the boys, the
better to talk unheard by Colon’s mother.

“Things are beginning to take on shape, I see,”
he remarked, grimly. “Possibly the boy did foolishly
start on that late run by moonlight, and met
with trouble. Some people with whom I talked
on the way here were of the opinion he had been
kidnapped by tramps, and was being held for a
ransom, just as if this might be Sicily or Greece.”

“I don’t think that way, Judge Colon,” said
Fred, speaking for the first time.

“I’m pleased to hear that you have another
idea, my boy; let us know its nature,” said the
lawyer, who had always been favorably impressed
with the sterling worth of Mr. Fenton’s son, and
now hoped he had struck on a plausible explanation
of the odd mystery.[57]

“My idea is,” Fred began, modestly, yet
firmly, “that Colon has been abducted by some
of those Mechanicsburg fellows, who know they
haven’t a ghost of a chance to win the three
shorter running events on the schedule, with him
in line. They’ve got a college man for a coach,
you see, sir, and like as not he’s been telling them
of the tricks that are played among all the big
universities; so they’ve just thought to spoil our
game for us by holding our best man a prisoner
till after the meet.”[58]

CHAPTER VIII

A CLUE IN THE DITCH

Judge Colon looked keenly at Fred as he
made this suggestion.

“I don’t suppose now, my boy,” the gentleman
remarked, “you have any reason to suppose that
what you say is the actual fact; that is, proof
positive?”

“No sir, I haven’t,” replied Fred. “It is only
an idea that came into my mind.”

“Based upon what, might I ask?” the judge
continued.

“Well, I’ve known that a good many Mechanicsburg
boys have been down here lately,
curious to see what sort of a showing Riverport
would make in the meet.”

“Yes, quite natural that they should want to
know; because these must be anxious and trying
times for the young people of the three towns,”
the judge remarked.

“And,” Fred went on, “of course they’ve
heard a lot about our sprinter; for Riverport boys
are like all other boys, and like to brag, especially[59]
when they’ve really got a phenomenon of a runner,
like our Colon, to boast about.”

The judge smiled at that; for was not that
same wonder a member of his family—a Colon?

“And you think then, Fred, some of those up-river
boys, convinced that if Christopher ran in
the meet he would easily capture all the prizes
in his class, made up their minds that something
must be done to prevent such a wholesale delivery?
You suspect, Fred, that they got up a
bold little scheme to actually abduct the boy on
one of the two nights preceding the tournament?”

“Do you believe it impossible, Judge?” asked
the boy, quickly.

“Well, to be frank with you, I don’t,” answered
the gentleman, gravely. “Indeed, while
my knowledge of boy nature is not so extensive
as that of some persons, I’ve got one myself who
can think up more schemes in a minute than I
could solve in an hour. And, Fred, I should be
pleased if your supposition turned out to be true.
It would at least relieve my mind with regard
to graver things; however unpleasant the absence
of Christopher might prove to the school that believes
in him.”

“But he may be found in time!” declared
Corney Shays, who had listened to all this talk
with bated breath, and wide open eyes.[60]

“He will, if a pack of hounds like the boys of
Riverport school are worth their salt!” avowed
Bristles.

“That has the right sort of ring to it,” remarked
the judge, with kindling eyes. “And in
order to induce men, as well as boys, to take part
in the hunt for your missing comrade, I’m going
to offer a reward of one hundred dollars for his
return inside of twenty-four hours, uninjured.
I’ll have half a dozen cards posted in the public
places of the town, so that every person will know
of my offer.”

“Hurrah for the judge!” burst out the impetuous
Corney.

“Then the sooner we get to work, fellows,”
said Fred, impressively, “the better.”

“Yes, spread the news as fast as you can,”
observed the judge; “tell it to that crowd of boys
outside the fence, and get them to scatter with it
all over town. Scour the whole territory, looking
in every barn and woodshed to see whether
they may have kept him a prisoner there. Boys
sometimes can be more or less thoughtless, and
even cruel when engaged in what they term sport.
As the old saying has it, ‘this is often fun for the
boy, but death to the frog.’ Be off, boys; and
success to you!”

Apparently the judge was not quite so much
concerned as before Fred had made his sugges[61]tion.
The unpleasant idea of lawless tramps having
caught Colon, to hold him for ransom, had
begun to lose plausibility in the mind of the reasoning
lawyer.

“Come along, fellows!” cried Bristles, who
scented the pleasures of action, with something of
the delight that an old war-horse does the smoke
of battle.

They hurried out of the house, leaving to the
judge the task of explaining to Mrs. Colon how
the situation had improved.

There was an immediate scattering of the
clans. Boys ran this way and that, telling the astonishing
news to every one they met. Housewives
stood in doorways and anxiously inquired
as to the very latest theory to account for the
mysterious disappearance of a Riverport lad.
Such a thing had never happened before, save
when little Rupert Whiting wandered off in search
of butterflies, and was found two days later, living
on the blueberries that grew so abundantly
in the woods.

And when the latest suggestion, connected with
the boys of Mechanicsburg, began to be current
it created no end of unfavorable comment.

Meanwhile Fred and several of his chums had
started in to see what they could do toward finding
Colon. As usual they looked to Fred to do
pretty much all the planning. Somehow, in times[62]
like this, when boys are called upon to meet a
sudden emergency, they naturally turn toward
the strongest spirit. In this case it happened to
be Fred.

“Now, in the beginning, fellows,” he remarked,
when he found that only Corney, Sid
Wells, Bristles, and Semi-Colon were gathered
around him; “we’ve got to go into this thing with
some show of system.”

“That’s right,” admitted Corney.

“Too many already just prancing around,” observed
Bristles, scornfully; “up one road, and
down another, peekin’ into barns, and asking questions
of every farmer around. All that’s what we
call ‘wasted endeavor,’ at school. Fred, system
is the thing. But just where do we make a proper
start, so as to cover the field, and not go over
the same ground twice?”

“That’s just it,” replied the other; “we want
to map out our course beforehand, and then stick
to it. Now, to begin with, Bristles, let’s decide
which way Colon would have gone from your
house, if he had really made up his mind that he
must have a last two mile practice spin before he
went home, and to bed.”

“Say, I can tell you that right off the reel,” declared
Bristles, officiously.

“Then get busy,” remarked Corney.

“Why, you see,” said Bristles, “when he[63]
talked of doing that little stunt, he said he’d a
good notion to run up to the graveyard and back,
which would make an even two miles.”

“But you didn’t say anything about that before?”
Fred objected.

“Clean slipped my mind,” his chum admitted,
frankly; “fact is, I never thought it made the
least difference what Colon said. The main thing
seemed to be he was gone, like the ground had
opened and swallowed him. But if he took that
run, Fred, make up your mind it was up there.”

Corney gave a little whistle.

“Gee! the loneliest old road inside of ten
miles around Riverport, too. I guess old Colon
must have been wanting to give them fellers the
best chance ever. If he’d been offered a prize to
accommodate ’em, he couldn’t have hit the bulls-eye
better.”

“Then that’s the road we want to take,” said
Fred, decisively. “Don’t mention it to anybody,
but come along. Somebody who knows all the
quirks of that road better than I do, lead off.
And every fellow keep on the lookout, right and
left, for signs.”

So they hurried away toward the house where
the Carpenters lived.

Bristles showed them just where he stood when,
in the moonlight, he saw the last of his tall chum,
turning to wave a hand at him.[64]

With that they started off. Little talking was
indulged in, for all of them understood that they
had a serious matter on their hands. With Colon
gone, their hopes of landing a majority of the
prizes offered for the various events of the athletic
meet would begin to grow dim indeed. It
would take the heart out of other contestants on
the part of Riverport, and in all probability accomplish
just the end those who had abducted
Colon had in view.

After they had passed along for some little distance,
eagerly scanning every object in sight, their
hopes fell a trifle. Boylike, they had imagined
that as soon as they started out upon this
promising theory they would find plenty of evidence
calculated to prove its truth.

“Ain’t seen a sign of him yet!” grumbled
Corney; “and we’re nigh half-way to the old
graveyard, too.”

“Wait!” said Fred, as he suddenly drew up,
and the others followed suit; though none of them
could imagine what had caused their leader to
stop his quick walk.

“Seen something; have you, Fred?” asked
Bristles, eagerly.

“Why, I was wondering,” Fred remarked,
quietly, and with a twinkle in his eye, “if they
grew things like that around here on bushes, instead
of blueberries!”[65]

He pointed down as he spoke. Alongside the
road at this point lay a ditch that was a couple
of feet lower than the surface of the pike.
Straggly bushes partly over-ran the watercourse;
and caught on the twigs of these was some sort
of object that had attracted the attention of the
observant boy.

“Say, it’s a cap!” ejaculated Corney.

“And a good cap, too; not an old cast-off
thing!” Sid declared.

“Hold on, let me take it up out of there with
this stick,” said Fred. “No use getting our feet
wet; and besides, it’s easier this way.”

So saying, while the others clustered around,
he reached down, and deftly thrusting the end of
the stick under the cap, drew it to him.

Immediately Bristles uttered a loud cry of astonishment,
not unmixed with joy.

“You recognize the cap, then; do you?” asked
Fred.

“Sure thing,” answered Bristles, promptly.
“It’s Colon’s cap.”[66]

CHAPTER IX

THE COVERED WAGON

“What makes you so sure it belonged to
him?” Fred asked.

“Oh! I know it as well as I do my own cap,”
replied Bristles. “It’s a queer mixture, you
can see; and here’s the place where Colon shot
that arrow through it one day, when he asked
me to throw it up in the air for him.”

“And I ought to know it too, Fred,” remarked
the short legged cousin of the missing boy. “Because
I bought it for Chris. You see, I lost his
other for him, and I had to spend some of my
hard-earned cash to get him a new one. I found
that at Snyder’s Emporium; and I thought he’d
kick like fun because it was so odd; but say, he
just thought it the best thing ever! That’s
Colon’s headgear, all right.”

“Then we’ll consider that point settled,” Fred
went on to say. “The next thing on the program
to decide is, how does it happen to be lying here
in this ditch? As I remember it, there wasn’t
much of a wind last night when I went to bed,[67]
and it doesn’t seem then that it could have blown
off his head when he was running.”

“There wasn’t a ripple in the leaves of the
trees,” declared Bristles.

“And if it did blow off, wouldn’t he have stopped
to look for it in the moonlight?” remarked
Sid Wells.

“Colon is too careful of his things not to make
a hunt for his cap,” came from Semi-Colon, who
ought to know if any one did, about the peculiarities
of his own cousin.

“Well, the cap was here,” Fred said; “and
we found it; now why was it lying in the ditch as
if it had been thrown there, or knocked off in a
scuffle?”

“Wow! now perhaps we ain’t gettin’ down to
brass tacks!” ejaculated Bristles.

Fred bent over to examine the road, along the
edge of the ditch.

“Looks like somethin’ might have been going
on here,” Corney suggested.

“You’re right,” Sid added, excitedly. “Why,
anybody with one eye could see there’d been a
scramble around here. Look at the scrapings
in the dust; would you? just like a pack of fellows
had set on one; and the bunch were jumping
around him, trying to get away, and the others
holding on. Fred, here’s where it must have happened,
sure!”[68]

“I think so myself,” returned the leader of the
five boys, gravely surveying the tell-tale marks in
the dust of the road.

“Eureka! ain’t we the handy boys, though, to
get on the track of the kidnappers so quick?” exclaimed
Bristles, proudly.

“Go slow,” advised Fred; “we’ve only made a
start as yet. Even if it happened here we don’t
know who jumped on Colon, and captured him.
It might have been those Mechanicsburg fellows;
or the three tramps who searched the Masterson
farmhouse; and then again, why, perhaps some
of our own Riverport boys may have been having
a little fun, as they would call it, giving the rest
of us a bad scare, just to have the laugh on
us.”

“Say, do you think Buck Lemington and his
bunch would get down as low as that?” demanded
Bristles.

“I didn’t mention his name,” replied Fred;
“but you all knew what was on my mind. Well,
from what I’ve seen of Buck, it strikes me he’d
never stop one minute if the idea once came into
his mind. Perhaps some of you noticed that he
wasn’t running around like the rest of the fellows.
Buck was watching the row, and I thought once
I saw him grin as if he might be enjoying something.”

“And Fred,” spoke up Corney just then, “you[69]
just ought to have seen the ugly look he gave you
when you happened to pass. Buck’s never gotten
over it because when you dropped into Riverport
his star began to set. It’s been going lower all
the time, and he keeps nursing his ugly feeling
for you. Some fine day he means to get you when
you’re not thinking, and even up all scores. Look
out for him, Fred.”

“I used to think Buck hated me about as bad
as he could anybody,” remarked Sid; “but lately
I’ve changed my mind. I never gave him one-half
the cause to feel ugly that Fred has.”

“You don’t say,” remarked the one mentioned,
looking surprised; “what have I done to Buck
that is so dreadful? I’ve tried to mind my own
business, and never went out of my way a single
step to bother with him.”

“But it just happened,” ventured Sid, “that
your way was Buck’s own road in some cases.
Now, time was, and every fellow here will bear
me out in what I say, when Buck used to take
a certain pretty girl to lots of places. They squabbled
more or less; but Buck wouldn’t allow any
other fellow to be Flo’s escort. All that is
changed these days. She cuts him dead; and
every time she turns him down he grins and grits
his teeth, and I reckon thinks of you kindly—not.”

“Oh! well, that’s ancient history,” remarked[70]
Fred, smiling. “And it cuts no figure in what
we’re trying to find out now. If Colon was waylaid
here, and made a prisoner, how can we discover
who did the job?”

As he spoke he once more threw himself down
on hands and knees as if bent upon closely examining
the dusty road.

“I can see a plain footprint here, that has a
mark I’d know again,” he presently exclaimed.
“Do any of you happen to know whether Colon
is wearing a shoe with plain patch on the
sole running diagonally across about half way
down?”

Bristles spoke up immediately.

“He wasn’t last night, and that’s a cinch. Because
he had on his running shoes, and they were
new this season. I know, for he showed me where
he meant to have a little extra sewing done on
each shoe to-day, for fear something might happen
in the races, and he has only the one pair. I
handled both, and the soles didn’t have a sign of
a patch, Fred.”

“Then that settles one thing,” remarked the
other; “we’ve got a clue to the first of his enemies,
whoever he proves to be. And wherever we go
we’ll keep a sharp lookout for that shoe with the
patch on the sole. Get down here, fellows, and
take the measure of it right now.”

While they were doing this Fred was looking[71]
around; and no sooner had his four chums regained
their feet than he was ready with a new
proposition.

“There’s a house over yonder,” he said; “now,
it’s possible we might learn something if we
asked questions. No harm trying it, anyway, so
come along, boys.”

A woman stood in the doorway. She seemed
to be a farmer’s wife, and she had been watching
the actions of the five boys, puzzled to account
for their queer behavior.

Thinking that the quickest way to enlist her
sympathy would be to relate what a peculiar thing
had happened on the preceding night, Fred
politely accosted her, and as quickly as he could
find words to do so, told the story of Colon’s
vanishing.

“Now, you see, ma’am,” he went on, after he
had aroused her interest in this way, “we’ve reason
to believe that they jumped on our chum right
over where you noticed us examining the ground.
And seeing you standing here, with your house so
near the place, I thought that perhaps you might
have heard something last night.”

“Well, that’s just what I did,” the farmer’s
wife replied, thrilling the boys who had clustered
around the doorway where she stood.

“Do you happen to know about what time it
might have been?” asked Fred.[72]

“Along about half after ten, I should say,” she
answered.

Fred looked at his chums, inquiringly.

“Just to the dot,” declared Bristles, “Mebbe
you remember that I said it was some time after
ten when Colon broke away. Then we stood
talkin’ at the gate a little bit; and when he got
this far on his mile dash up to the graveyard, it
must have been close to the half hour. That tallies
fine, Fred.”

“What was it you heard, ma’am?” Fred continued,
after the talkative Bristles had had his
say, and subsided again.

“Why, I’d gone to bed long before. My man
is as deaf as a post, and never hears a thing. I
thought I caught a shout, like a boy whooping.
We’ve got a few trees of fine Baldwin apples back
here, and twice now, boys from Riverport have
raided the orchard; so I’m on the watch to fire
a gun out of the window to give ’em a scare.”

“And you thought they were in your trees
again; did you?” asked Fred, when the woman
paused.

“That’s what struck me at first,” she went on;
“but as soon as I got up I knew better; because
all the noise came from up the road there. I
stayed by the window listening and heard a lot of
shouting. Then it was all still, and pretty soon
a covered wagon went past the house.”[73]

“Which way; toward Riverport or in the other
direction?” Fred inquired.

“Oh!” the woman replied, “it was going up
toward the graveyard; but then I didn’t think that
so strange, because I’ve seen that same limpy
white horse, and the covered wagon, go by here
lots of times for years now.”

“That is, you knew it, and could even tell it in
the moonlight?” the boy asked.

“It belongs to old Toby Scroggins,” she replied.
“The hoss limps, and you can always
hear Toby saying ‘gad-up! gad-up!’ every ten
feet, right along.”

“I know him, and what she says is so,” remarked
Sid. “Why, years ago he had the same
old crowbait of a horse, and the boys mocked him
when he’d keep using the whip, and telling the
beast to get along.”

“Did you hear Toby talking to his limping
nag last night, ma’am?” asked Fred.

“Why, lands! no, I didn’t, now you mention
it,” she answered; “but then sometimes he goes
to sleep on his wagon, returning from market,
where he buys corn for his hogs, ‘stead of raisin’
it like the rest of us. And he lives a long way
up the road, you see.”

Fred turned upon his companions.

“What do you think, fellows,” he asked;
“was that wagon filled with corn last night, or[74]
had it a lot of boys under the cover when it passed
here, one of them being our missing chum,
Colon?”

“I reckon you’ve struck pay dirt, Fred,” declared
Corney.

“My opinion too!” echoed Semi-Colon.

“Count me in on that, and make it unanimous!”
Bristles remarked.

“And what about you, Sid?” asked Fred, turning
on his nearest chum.

“H’m! I not only agree to all you say, Fred,
but I reckon I know right now where they’ve got
Colon shut up. He’s in the haunted mill, boys!”[75]

CHAPTER X

THE AMBUSH

Several of the other boys had uttered exclamations
when Sid made this statement. Fred,
however, did not seem to be very much impressed.

“A haunted mill!” he repeated; “that’s something
new to me. I thought I’d heard about
everything queer around Riverport; but I didn’t
know you had ghosts hanging out here. Where’s
it at, Sid; and why do you call it haunted?”

“Oh! I’d almost forgotten all about that
place,” the other replied; “you see none of the
boys ever go up any more to the mill-pond swimming,
since Dub Jasper from over in Mechanicsburg
way, got caught in that sucker hole, and
near drowned. Folks said it was too dangerous
for us there. But I thought I’d told you about
the old mill, and how it hadn’t been used for years
now.”

“But is it haunted; did anybody ever see a
ghost there?” asked Fred, determined to get at
the truth.

“Shucks! no,” Bristles broke in with; “the[76]
boys just started to call it that because it looks
so gloomy like, standin’ there deserted. We used
to play around it. I’ve slid over on the big wheel
myself, lots of times, and gone all the way around,
under water as well. But I guess there’s no real
ghost about it, Fred.”

“All the same,” continued Sid, “it would make
a great place to keep a fellow so nobody could
find him. I understand that the owner closed it
up, boarded the windows, and locked the doors,
after we quit going there.”

“How far away is it from here?” Fred next
inquired.

“All of three miles, I should say,” the woman
remarked; for she had been listening to what the
boys were saying, with more or less interest.

“And about as far from Mechanicsburg,” Sid
went on. “You see, it’s on a road that runs into
this some ways up. And old Toby, he lives about
half a mile further on. Now, I wonder how they
ever got his limpy horse? Perhaps they hired
it for the time; or else just sneaked it out of his
barn, to come down here with.”

“Just now,” remarked Fred, “we don’t care
much about how they did it. What we want to
do is to start right off, and get up there to that
same region of the mill. Are you good for the
hike, fellows?”

“Are we?” echoed Bristles; “why, if you say[77]
the word we’ll give you a run for your money,
Fred, and put you in practice for to-morrow.”

“Let’s start right now,” suggested Corney.

When the second mile had been covered, Semi-Colon
was gasping for breath, but sticking to it
gamely. He was a most persistent little fellow,
and had always played a good game of ball, despite
his lack of stature.

Fred eased up a bit. There was no great
need for haste, after all. The day was before
them, and they must by now be getting up in the
region where the mill spoken of was to be found.

He kept a bright lookout ahead, but trees concealed
much of the view, so that he could hardly
have made any discovery. Besides, upon asking
Sid, he learned that the deserted mill was not upon
this road at all; but down a private lane, that was
almost wholly overgrown with briars and bushes,
not having been used for teams in nearly twenty
years.

They had met very few persons on the road—a
haywagon headed for Riverport to supply some
of the local demand; a farmer making his way
slowly homeward after an early visit to the market
with produce—these two going in opposite directions
made up about the sum total.

In these days it had become such a common
sight to meet groups of boys clad in running togs,
and sprinting along the country roads, that neither[78]
driver paid much attention to the bunch that loped
easily onward.

“There’s where the Mechanicsburg road joins
this one,” Sid had said, as they passed the junction
point; but there was no reason why they
should stop; though Fred did find himself wondering
whether, if he examined the ground very
carefully around on that other turnpike, he would
discover such a thing as a footprint, with the
sole patched.

“If it was done by Mechanicsburg fellows,”
he remarked, “I reckon they’d have come out
here then, and gone along the road to borrow
Toby’s white horse with the covered wagon. It
must have been that last which drew them; because,
you see, they could hide inside, and nobody
would think they were carrying off a fellow.”

“We’re getting pretty close now, Fred,” remarked
Sid; “suppose you slacken up, and give
Semi-Colon a chance to get his wind. He’s nearly
done for.”

“Ain’t neither!” snapped the game little fellow,
stubbornly; “c’d keep it up—all morning—if
I—had to.”

But Fred immediately stopped running, falling
back into a walk. He was looking ahead
along the road.

“There’s a boy just passing that opening
yonder, and coming this way,” he remarked; “and[79]
strikes me he doesn’t look like a regular buck-wheat
farmer’s boy.”

“Where?” demanded Sid, eagerly, and immediately
adding; “Ginger! if it ain’t that
Wagner, the Mechanicsburg fellow who always
puts up such a stiff fight in baseball, football and
the rowing contest. Now whatever in the wide
world d’ye think he can be doing here, three
miles and more from home?”

“Oh!” said Fred, drily, “perhaps they’ve
heard the news up there, and some of their boys
have started out to see about earning that hundred
dollars reward. It might have been telephoned
up, you know.”

“But all the same you don’t believe that,
Fred!” Corney exclaimed.

“It looks mighty suspicious, in my eyes, with
that deserted mill so near by, and us believin’
they’ve got our chum held up there,” Bristles remarked,
mysteriously.

“I don’t think he saw us, do you, Fred?”
asked Sid.

“To tell the truth I don’t; because he seemed
to be looking the other way,” answered the one
spoken to. “And perhaps it might be just as
well for us, boys, to make ourselves scarce right
now. Here’s some bushes where we can hide.”

“What do you mean to do, Fred; jump out and
grab Wagner, and make him own up?” de[80]manded
Corney, as the five boys started to conceal
themselves back of the bush patch.

“Well, we ought to know what he’s doing over
here, and right now of all times. You said we
were close to the old lane that leads to the mill,
didn’t you, Sid?” asked Fred.

“It lies just a stone’s throw further along the
road than the spot where you saw Wagner
through that opening in the trees,” the other remarked.

“H’st! he’s a-comin’, fellers; you want to lie
low, and stop gabblin’,” warned Bristles, who happened
to have chosen a position where he had
a clearer view along the road than his mates.

So they relapsed into silence, waiting for the
other boy to get opposite, when it was expected
that Fred would give a signal for them to spring
out and surround Wagner.

They could hear him whistling, as if perfectly
care-free. Fred was reminded of Gabe Larkins,
the butcher’s boy, who used to have such a tremendous
whistle, as though by this means he
would defy anyone to even suspect that he could
be guilty of wrong doing.

Another thing Fred noticed, as he peered out
at the advancing boy; Wagner was not in running
costume, which would go to prove that a desire
to practice could hardly have taken him away over
here, three miles from home.[81]

It looked suspicious, to say the least. Bristles
was moving uneasily, as though he began to fear
that Fred might want to let the other pass by;
such a course would be very unpleasant to Bristles,
impatient of restraint. He hoped that they would
make a prisoner of the boy from Mechanicsburg,
and force him by dire threats to confess to what
he and his comrades had done with the crack
Riverport sprinter, Colon.

Wagner, besides being the captain of the athletic
track team that expected to compete with the
other schools, happened to be the best short distance
runner in Mechanicsburg. Thus it would
be most of all to his interest to have Colon fail
to take part in the meet. Fred bore this in mind
when trying to figure out whether the problem
could be solved in this way.

Meanwhile Wagner came on, still whistling
merrily. He did not look like a guilty conspirator,
Fred thought; but then it is not always safe
to figure on appearances in such a matter.

Now the boy was almost directly opposite the
place where Fred and his four chums lay concealed.
If they expected to surround him, there
was no more time to be lost.

“Hello! Wagner!”

With the words Fred jumped out from the
sheltering bushes. The others were just as spry,
and almost before Wagner knew it they had[82]
formed a complete cordon around him. Had he
thought of running, it was now too late, for retreat
was cut off. But Wagner just stood there
and stared at them, his face showing signs of
either real or cleverly assumed wonder.[83]

CHAPTER XI

THE HAUNTED MILL

“Well, this is a surprise!” remarked Felix
Wagner, as he continued to stare at the five Riverport
fellows who had leaped out so suddenly from
the brush alongside the road, and completely surrounded
him.

Fred was keeping his eyes on the other’s face.
He had expected to see Felix appear confused;
but, strange to say, he was nothing of the sort.

“You just believe me, it is a surprise, all
right!” exclaimed Bristles, half elevating one of
his clenched hands menacingly.

Wagner observed the threatening gesture. He
looked from Bristles to the rest of the group by
which he was encircled. Then a grim smile broke
over his face.

“Hello!” he said, briskly; “seems to be catching
don’t it? Our new doctor over in Mechanicsburg
says one disease can be cured by a dose of
the same sort of trouble. He’s different from the
old fashioned kind of doctors. I heard about
what happened to your friend, Colon; a man in[84]
a car that I knew, stopped me about a mile up
the road and asked me if I’d seen anything of
him. Then he told me about how he had disappeared
in the queerest way ever. And now it
looks like you wanted to put me in the cooler, so
there wouldn’t be any sprinting at all to-morrow.
Well, you’ve got me, boys. Now, what do you
want?”

“Sounds pretty nice, Felix, but it won’t wash,”
grunted Corney, shaking his head as if to indicate
that he did not believe one word of what he
heard.

“Own up, Wagner, that it was all your doings!”
said Sid, coaxingly.

“Yes, what have you done with my cousin?
It’ll go easier with you if you turn in and help
us find him!” exclaimed little Semi-Colon.

Fred said nothing. He was still watching the
varied emotions that fairly flew across the expressive
face of Felix Wagner. Gradually he found
himself believing more than ever that the Mechanicsburg
fellow was innocent. What he had
seen of Felix in the various games played between
the boys of the rival schools had inclined him to
look on the other as a pretty decent sort of chap.

“Well, I declare, is that what ails you?”
burst out Wagner, presently, as he looked around
the circle of angry faces.

“Just what it is,” replied Sid.[85]

“We’ve traced you all the way up here, and
we’re bound to rescue our chum, or know the
reason why,” Bristles declared.

“You thought that old covered wagon of
Toby’s, and his limping white horse, would be a
smart dodge; but we found you out,” Corney
threw at the boy at bay.

Then the comical side of the affair seemed to
strike Wagner. He threw back his head and
laughed heartily.

“Oh! yes, it looks funny to you, perhaps!”
cried little Semi-Colon; “but just think of what
his poor mother suffered when she went into his
room this morning, and found that Colon hadn’t
slept in his bed all night, and that he couldn’t be
found anywhere. Now, laugh again, hang you!”

Wagner instantly sobered up.

“I don’t blame you one little bit for feeling
sore at me, if you think I had any hand in such
a low-down business,” he said, earnestly. “Why,
I can prove it by Mr. Ketcham, the gentleman
in the car I told you about, who gave me the news,
that I was hot under the collar, and said, over
and over again, that it was a mighty small way
to win games.”

“Oh! you said that, did you, Felix?” mumbled
Bristles, eyeing the other suspiciously; for he was
slow to change his mind, once it was set on a
thing.[86]

“More than that,” continued Wagner, stoutly;
“I told him plainly, and he’s on the committee
of arrangements for your town too, that I’d never
run in a race when my worst rival had been
spirited away just to throw the game, either to us
or Paulding.”

“Gee! that sounds straight!” muttered Sid.

“Stop and think a minute, Sid Wells,” the accused
lad went on; “you’ve known me a long time,
and we’ve been rivals from the days when we
were knee high to grasshoppers; but did you ever
know me to attempt a dirty trick? Haven’t I
always played the game for all it was worth, but
square through and through?”

“That’s right, Felix, you have,” assented Sid,
heartily.

Even Bristles found himself compelled to nod
his head, as if ready to say the same thing if
asked.

“All right then,” Wagner went on, “I give
you fellows my sacred word of honor that I never
dreamed such a thing had been thought of or attempted,
until Mr. Ketcham told me, a little while
ago.”

“But what are you doing away out here,
Wagner?” asked Corney.

“Not taking a practice spin, because you
haven’t got on your running clothes,” Semi-Colon
declared, meaningly.[87]

“Sure I haven’t, because I promised my
mother I’d only run this afternoon. She’s afraid
I’m going it too strong, and that I’ll break down
under the strain to-morrow. And besides, I’m in
apple-pie shape for the race right now. As to
my being here, why I went over early this morning
to Tenafly with my father’s lawyer, Mr.
Goodenough, to attend to some business for my
dad. Ask him if it isn’t so?”

“Oh! was that it?” remarked Bristles; “why,
didn’t he go himself, Felix; tell us that?”

“We had to have the doctor over last night
to see dad; he had another attack of lumbago, and
can’t move this morning. And, as this matter
had to be looked into to-day, he asked me to go
with his lawyer, and bring back the papers. I’ve
got ’em right here.”

Wagner flourished some legal-looking documents
as he said this. They settled the matter,
so far as Fred was concerned.

“Wagner, you’ll have to excuse the way we
jumped out on you,” he said, smilingly. “You
couldn’t blame us. We’ve tracked that covered
wagon right up here. We happen to know that
it belonged to Farmer Toby; and a woman heard
the struggle on the road when Colon was
captured. And you see, some of the boys are
dead sure our chum is being kept hidden in what
they call the old haunted mill, right beyond us.”[88]

“Whew!” ejaculated Felix, apparently now
deeply interested. “Where could a better hiding
place be found for keeping a fellow, I’d like
to know? And boys, if you’re going to rescue
Colon, count me in the game. Now don’t say a
word, because I won’t take no for an answer.”

“That’s mighty nice of you, Wagner,” said
Sid, thrusting out his hand with his usual impulsiveness;
“but perhaps you’d better think
twice before you make up your mind to join in
with us.”

“Say, why should I hold back?” demanded the
other, aggressively; “I don’t think I’m any more
of a coward than the rest of the bunch. Here,
let me get a club, like the one Bristles Carpenter
has.”

“But hold on, Felix; perhaps you might not
like to use it?” suggested Fred.

“Think so?” cried the other; “then you’ve
got another guess coming, Fenton. Just why
mightn’t I want to get in a few whacks at the
cowardly curs that kidnapped Chris Colon?”

“Well, they might turn out to be some of your
best chums,” replied Fred.

“Wantin’ to do you what they thought a good
turn,” added Corney.

“By cutting out the fellow you had to fear
most of all, my cousin Chris,” Semi-Colon continued.[89]

“Oh! that’s the way the land lies, does it!”
observed Wagner, grimly. “You believe this
job was the work of Mechanicsburg boys; do
you? Well, I think differently, that’s all. But
if it turned out to be my best chum I’d just as
lief thump him as not. I’d be ashamed to own
a chum who would be guilty of such a trick. I’d
never look at a prize won under such conditions,
without turning red, and feeling foolish.”

“But see here, how’d you get over to Tenafly,
Wagner; and why didn’t you go back the
same way?” demanded Bristles.

“We went over on the seven-ten train this
morning. The agent will tell you so, for he sold
us tickets, and was chatting with both of us. Mr.
Goodenough met a friend over there who invited
him to stay to dinner. So I said, rather than
wait until noon, I’d just pump it on foot for home.
I thought it might be a good way to tune up for
the afternoon whirl, without breaking my word to
mother. That’s all.”

“And it’s enough,” said Fred. “Fall in,
Wagner, and come along with us. We might be
glad to have another fellow along, if it happens
that after all tramps carried Colon off, as some
people say.”

“All right, fellows, I’m with you,” remarked
Felix. “And I declare, if here isn’t just the
stick I’m looking for, sound enough to send in[90]
a home run with. Must have been waiting for
me.”

With these words Wagner joined the little
group that hurried along the road. As they
reached a certain place Sid, who was in the lead,
suddenly turned aside. It was what had once
been a serviceable lane, but which was now overgrown
with weeds and underbrush.

“Wait a minute,” Fred remarked, in a low
voice.

They saw him looking closely at the ground,
and almost immediately he raised a smiling face
toward the balance of the group.

“We made a center-shot when we guessed
about this old mill, boys,” he observed, nodding;
“because here are the plain tracks of a wagon;
it came in lately too, and went out again. The
tracks show that it was here since that last little
shower, which was two nights back. Now for
the mill, Sid.”

Gripping their cudgels tightly in their hands;
and with compressed lips, as well as determined-looking
faces, the little bunch of boys followed
the sunken lane as it left the main road, and ran
into a wilderness of woodland.

Then suddenly they realized that there was a
musical sound of dripping water close by. It
seemed to thrill every nerve, and make six boyish
hearts beat at a double pace.[91]

Two minutes later, on emerging from the
tangle, they saw the ruined old mill before them.
And it certainly did look just as “spooky” as
Sid had declared, when he suggested that they
might find their missing comrade hidden there.[92]

CHAPTER XII

A BROKEN DOOR

Fred took charge of the combined forces.
Somehow the others appeared to look to him to
do this.

“Seems to be all boarded up across the windows,”
he remarked.

“I told you I’d heard the owner did that a
long time ago,” said Sid, at his elbow.

“And the doors look like they might be locked
tight, too,” Fred continued.

“Oh! we can bust one in; that’s easy,”
chuckled Bristles, who was always ready to proceed
to extreme methods; where Fred might
think to try strategy, he would attempt force.

“But they must have found some way to get
in; and unless we made sure to guard that point,
they’d have a way to escape handy,” the leader
went on.

“Say, wouldn’t that be hard luck, though?”
Corney exclaimed; “for us to rush in one door,
and have the bunch of kidnappers pop out another.”[93]

“I’d be half sick if I didn’t get a chance to see
who they are,” ventured little Semi-Colon.

“And me, if I lost a splendid opportunity to
use this lovely club,” Bristles remarked, swinging
the article in question around his head, until
it fairly whistled through the air.

“Is there any hole they might get out of,
Sid?” asked Fred.

“Well,” replied the other, speedily; “if I was
in there, and heard some hot-headed fellows
banging on the door with all sorts of clubs, I
think I’d make a break for the old wheel, and
take my chances climbing down. If one of the
rotten paddles broke, it’d mean a ducking in the
pond below; but I’d risk that.”

“All right,” Fred said, quickly; “we’ll try to
stop up that leak, Corney.”

“That’s me,” replied the other, stepping out
of the line.

“You and Semi-Colon guard the wheel; and
if anybody tries to escape that way, I don’t need
to tell you what to do.”

“And we’ll do it, all right; won’t we, Semi?”
Corney boasted, immediately swinging around,
and heading toward the spot where the moss-covered
wheel of the deserted mill could be seen,
with little streams of water trickling over it from
the broken sluiceway above.

“The rest of us will tackle one of the doors,[94]
and break it in, if it’s fast,” Fred went on to say.

“And don’t let’s be all day about it, either,”
remarked the impatient Bristles, who was fretting
all the while because he could not be doing
something.

“Come on!” said Fred.

He headed straight for the nearest door as he
spoke, with three anxious followers at his heels.
Felix Wagner was looking particularly well
pleased. He had not anticipated such a treat
when deciding to walk all the way back from
Tenafly that morning. And he felt that things
were all coming in his direction at a furious
rate.

“Fast; eh, Fred?” asked Sid, as he saw the
other make a vain attempt to open the door of
the mill; through which doubtless the office had
been reached in times past, when the neighboring
farmers all came here daily to have their grist
ground, and to carry home their flour.

“It sure is; I can’t seem to budge it,” came
the reply.

“Wonder if they went in here?” hazarded
Bristles, himself giving a fierce though ineffective
push.

“We can settle that easy enough,” remarked
Fred; “by seeing if there are any signs of new
footprints here before this door.”

“Well, you do take the cake thinkin’ up[95]
things,” muttered Bristles, as he dropped down
to examine the soil.

“They’re here, all right, Fred!” he announced
quickly, in a thrilling whisper.

“Perhaps you even see that shoe print that
shows the patch?” asked Fred.

“Right you are,” Bristles immediately announced;
“just what you told us to watch for.
Boys, we’ve tracked the abductors of our chum
to their lair; and now to smash in the door, and
jump ’em!”

“But however in the wide world do you think
they got in here, if the old door is locked?”
demanded Wagner, curiously, and wondering if
Fred could give an answer to that question as
easily as he seemed to solve other mysteries.

“I think a key has been used here lately,”
replied the other. “I can see marks around the
keyhole to tell that. Chances are, they had one
made to fit the door. A smart fellow could take
an impression of the lock with wax, or something,
and a locksmith would make him a key that would
answer.

“But, perhaps, if two or three of us could get
our shoulders against the old thing we might
manage to force it. The chances are it’s pretty
punk, being so old; and the lock must be rusty,
too.”

“Then let’s make a try; and me to be one of[96]
the pushers,” Bristles said, as he began to get his
sturdy frame locked in an attitude where he could
exert the most force.

Fred and Wagner took their places alongside,
managing to crowd in; while even Sid put his
stick against the upper part of the door, as though
meaning to add to the united pressure as well as
he could.

“Ready?” asked Fred.

“Yep!” came from Bristles; while Felix
grunted his assent.

“Then all together, now!” exclaimed the
leader.

“She moved then, Fred!” gasped the pleased
Bristles.

“Once more, fellows, and all together, give it
to her!” Fred continued; and the three exerted
themselves to their utmost to break the door’s
fastenings, or hinges, by a combination of their
strength, which was considerable.

“Listen to her squeak, would you?” called out
Bristles. “Again, fellows, for the honor of old
Riverport! Together with a will!”

“Yo-heave-o!” cried Wagner, for the time
being willing to be classed as one of the Riverport
crowd, since he was working hand in glove
with them.

The door cracked more than ever under this
strain.

“She’s giving way!” declared Bristles.[97]
“We’re doing the business all right, boys!”

“Keep moving!” called out Sid, encouragingly,
and wishing one of the workers might
back out, so that he could find a chance to exercise
his muscles on the job.

One, two, three more tremendous pushes and
there was a crash as the door gave way before
the united efforts of the three determined lads.
Either the rusty lock had been unable to hold out
longer, or else the hinges were in a state of complete
collapse.

Indeed, so suddenly did the result occur that
Bristles was unable to keep on his feet. His
support being withdrawn, he went plunging headlong
with the falling door.

“Ouch!” they heard him cry out, as he struggled
there on the floor amid a whirl of dust.

“Are you hurt?” asked Fred, anxiously; for
the other had come down pretty hard.

“N-no, not much, I guess,” Bristles replied, as
he began to struggle once more to his feet, aided
by Fred’s ready hand; but as the breath had been
pretty well knocked out of him by the concussion,
Bristles, for once, lacked words to explain his
feelings.

The balance seemed to be waiting for the dust
to settle, or their companion to get possession of
his war-club again, before advancing into the
mill.

“Let me head the crowd, Fred, because I know[98]
every inch of the place,” Sid insisted, as he pushed
through the now open door.

“Wait, and let’s give a call,” suggested Felix.
“If Colon’s in here he might be up in the loft,
or down in the pit, goodness knows where. Tune
up, fellows, and see what’s what!”

They all shouted together, and the result was
such a medley of sounds that it was doubtful if
even their chum could have recognized familiar
voices among the lot making up the chorus.

“I heard something like a cry!” declared Sid,
immediately after the echo of their shout had
died away in the empty mill.

“You’re right,” added Wagner, “for I caught
the same thing. And, Sid, I reckon it came from
off yonder in the machinery room, where we used
to play, long ago, you remember.”

“It’s mighty dingy in here,” complained Bristles,
finding his voice again.

Indeed, the interior of the deserted mill did
look as though it might harbor all sorts of strange
things, such as bats and owls, that could find a
way in and out through broken window panes, or
holes in the siding. And Bristles, to tell the
truth, although he would never have admitted the
fact to one of his chums, did secretly feel just a
little belief in supernatural things. A graveyard
was a place nothing could tempt him to visit after
dark, at least alone.[99]

Fred waited no longer. He had managed to
get his bearings now, and believed he could find
his way about, though after coming from the
brightness of the sunshine outside, one’s eyes had
to get accustomed to the half-gloom of the cob-web-festooned
mill interior.

“Come on!” he simply said, as he started
quickly for the door leading out of the office
into the main part of the mill.

And even while he was thus moving, he, too,
caught a plain, unmistakable movement beyond,
that told of the mill being occupied by others
besides themselves. In this anxious, yet determined,
frame of mind, then, Fred Fenton led his
three chums past the portal of the door, and into
the mill proper.[100]

CHAPTER XIII

HOW GABE MADE GOOD

“Good gracious!” Sid Wells called out

The boys had pushed into the main part of the
mill, with their nerves all on edge, and their muscles
set in readiness for a struggle. Whether
they would meet the three tramps who were creating
no end of excitement around the vicinity by
their bold robbery of hen-roosts, and even houses;
or some desperate boys ready to fight when caught
in a trap, none of them knew.

They expected trouble of some sort, at least;
Bristles was even counting on it, and would be
very much disappointed if it failed to come to
pass.

But instead of a group of lads at bay, and ready
to give as good as they received, they discovered
what seemed to be just two figures on the floor
of the mill. One of these jumped up, and faced
them defiantly, whirling a piece of flooring in a
circle above his head.

“Keep back, you!” he cried, hoarsely.

“Why, if it ain’t Gabe Larkins!” exclaimed[101]
the astounded Bristles, as he managed to get a
look at the face of the other.

Fred was himself astonished, for he had recognized
the butcher’s boy about the same time
Bristles did. Gabe here, and apparently concerned
in this abduction of Colon! It raised up
a host of wild conjectures. Could he be in the
pay of those reckless Mechanicsburg fellows; or
possibly connected with Buck Lemington’s crowd?
Even a more sensational theory flashed through
Fred’s mind, connected with the men who were
looked upon as thieves. Was Gabe in league with
these desperate persons?

“Down him!” exclaimed Bristles, making a
forward move, as though ready to throw himself
upon the taller boy without regard for what
would follow when Gabe brought that piece of
floor board into play.

The rest were starting to follow his example,
as it seemed to be the only proper course, when
to their astonishment there was a movement to
the figure lying on the floor, a kicking of a pair
of long legs; and immediately the well known
voice of their chum, Colon, sounded:

“Hold up, boys, don’t tackle Gabe; I tell you
he’s done me a good turn!”

Of course, at that, even the impulsive Bristles
held his hand. Perhaps he was not wholly sorry
to declare a temporary truce, pending negotia[102]tions
for surrender; because that board had an
ugly look, and Gabe was waving it back and forth
just as some players do their bat when waiting
to gauge the delivery of a new pitcher.

“Oh! it’s you, fellers, eh?” Gabe remarked,
as, bending forward, he peered at the newcomers
who had broken in upon him so suddenly; “call
it off, and we’ll say quits. I haven’t got any fuss
with you.”

He thereupon threw the piece of board down,
as though that finished the matter, so far as he
was concerned.

“Got a knife, somebody?” sang out the
struggling Colon, who was trying to gain a sitting
position, but seemed unable to control his
limbs. “They got me spliced up tight as anything
here; and Gabe he didn’t have anything to
cut me loose with, so he was chawing the knots
to beat the band when you showed up. We
thought it was them fellers come back, and it
gave us both a little scare.”

Fred was already at the side of the bound boy.
He always kept the blades of his knife as keen
as possible; and once he found where to cut it did
not take him long to set Colon free from the
pieces of old rope with which the unfortunate
youth was bound.

“Ow! it pinches like hot cakes!” grunted the
late prisoner, as he was helped to his feet, and[103]
doubtless found part of his limbs benumbed or
“asleep,” as boys say.

“Tell us first of all, Colon, did they hurt you
so you can’t run to-morrow?” demanded Bristles,
angrily.

“Oh! I reckon it isn’t nothin’ much,” came
the reassuring reply. “Give a feller a little
chance to limber up; won’t you? I’ll feel all right
in a short time. But it was sure a rough deal for
me, and some surprise too, let me tell you, fellers.
I never had the least bit of idea they’d
jump out on me like they did; and would you believe
me, the whole bunch had red handkerchiefs
over their faces, so I couldn’t tell who they might
be.”

“But you heard ’em talk; sure you must; and
recognized ’em by their voices?” declared
Bristles, eagerly.

But Colon shook his head in the negative.

“They were cunning about that, too,” he declared;
“and when they talked any, it was so low
I just couldn’t get on to who they were.”

“But how about Gabe here, looks funny to see
him around. Haven’t been delivering meat to
anybody away up here; have you?” asked Sid,
with a strong vein of suspicion in his voice.

“Why, he told me the boss had sent him up
here to get a calf that a farmer had for sale,” remarked
Colon, who was limping around, and ex[104]ercising
both arms and legs so as to bring about
a return of circulation in his veins.

“A calf!” echoed Bristles; “well, what next, I
wonder? But then they say a poor excuse is
better than none.”

“Hold on,” interrupted Felix Wagner; “you
fellows looked at me like nothing’d convince you
I didn’t have a hand in this business. But you
found out that the talk I gave you was straight,
after all. Say, perhaps what he tells is all to the
good, too. Didn’t Colon say the fellow was trying
to set him free by gnawing at the knots, because
he didn’t have a knife along? Suppose you
ask him some more questions, Fred.”

“Just what I meant to do, Felix,” returned the
other; “because, for my part, I believe every
word Gabe has said,” and turning on the butcher’s
boy, he continued:

“Where did you leave your cart, Gabe; for
you must have had it along if you expected to take
the calf back with you?”

“It’s over at the farmer’s right now,” replied
the other, frankly. “They said he was in Tenafly,
and wouldn’t be back short of a hour or more.
And as my boss told me not to come home without
the veal, I tied up the hoss. Used to come
over here to the old place when I was a kid, along
with the rest, but I ain’t never been up here for
years now. Thought, seein’ I was so clost, I’d[105]
just take a walk over to find out how she looked,
to pass the time away.”

“Oh! I see,” Fred broke in; “and when you
got here you heard somebody calling inside the
mill, did you?”

“I heard a queer sound, more like a groan
than anything else,” admitted the boy.

“That was me, all right,” chuckled Colon.
“Yelled till I got tired, and I was so husky I just
couldn’t let out another peep. And as I kept on
tryin’ to slip an arm out, I reckon I did some
gruntin’. I was mad all through; because, you
see, I’d guessed what it was all about, and that
they didn’t want me to run to-morrow.”

“Say, when you heard that groan, didn’t you
feel like skipping out?” asked Bristles, with a
vein of secret admiration in his voice now.

“Me? Well, I guess not,” replied the other,
pugnaciously. “I just reckoned there was somebody
inside there that was sick; and when I
couldn’t open any door, I crawled up the wheel,
and slid in through the hole, just like we used to
do long ago, Sid Wells, when we came up here to
swim and fish.”

“That’s all there is to it,” declared Colon. “I
heard somebody coming along, and called out, so
he found me lying here, tied up like a turkey
used to be when they cooked him on the old time
spit. And while Gabe chawed away at the knots[106]
we did some chinning, believe me. But boys, I’m
right glad to see you. What’s the latest news
from home?”

“Why, the whole town’s in an uproar about the
way you went off without so much as saying good-bye,”
Bristles said; which of course, caused Colon
to chuckle; for any boy would feel good to know
that, for once, his worth was appreciated.

Possibly some of those same good people who
were now so much concerned about his welfare
had many times in the past referred to him as
“that long-legged imp who ought to be taught
better manners at home;” for Colon as a younger
boy had been rather inclined to be saucy.

Hearing the sound of voices, Corney and Semi-Colon
had by now entered the mill, and were
working the arm of their newly-found chum like a
pump handle.

“But one thing makes me sore,” said Bristles;
“and that is, we don’t know any more’n we did
before who did this business. They were boys,
you said, Colon; but how can we tell whether they
hailed from Riverport or Mechanicsburg?”

“I give you my word——” began Felix
Wagner; when Colon interrupted him.

“Say, there might be a way to tell,” he remarked,
jubilantly.

“As how?” demanded the eager Bristles.

“Why, you see, when they jumped me I gave[107]
’em all I knew how, and kicked and hit as hard
as I could,” the tall boy went on.

“Think you marked any of ’em for keeps,
Colon?” asked Bristles, feverishly.

“I’m dead sure,” Colon continued; “that once
I landed a straight from the shoulder jab square
in the eye of a feller; because I heard him yell
out like it hurt. And say, perhaps if you look
around, you might find somebody with a black and
blue eye.”

Bristles gave a whoop that echoed through the
dusty, cobwebbed mill.

“You got him, all right, sure you did, Colon!”
he cried. “And it was a peach of a hit, too. It
was Buck and his crowd that played this mean
trick on you. How do I know? Why right now
one of his fellers, Oscar Jones, is nursing a
bruised left eye. Heard him tellin’ how he got
up last night, thinkin’ he heard the fire bell ring,
and run plumb into the corner of the bureau. Oh!
there ain’t any more suspicion restin’ on your
team-mates, Felix. We all ask you to forget it.”

“And let’s be getting out of this, boys,” Colon
spoke up. “I’ve seen all I ever want to of the
old mill. Never catch me coming up here again,
I tell you.”

And so they trooped out into the cheery October
sunlight. The broken door was propped up
the best they could manage. No one was caring[108]
much, anyway. They had accomplished their
main object in the morning jaunt; Colon had been
found, and he declared that he was as fit as ever
to run, despite his long condition of helplessness,
and his hungry state. What more could they
ask?

And as Gabe, the butcher’s boy, made a move
as if to leave them at the end of the winding,
overgrown lane, Fred insisted on every fellow
shaking his hand heartily.

“You’ve sure made good, Gabe,” declared
Bristles, remembering what he had thought of the
other when his aunt’s opals were taken by the
thoughtless butcher’s boy; “and I’m proud to
shake hands with you.”[109]

CHAPTER XIV

PRACTICE FOR THE RACE

“About time you started on your five mile run,
isn’t it, Fred? Because the afternoon’s slipping
away,” said Dick Hanshaw, as he came over to
the little group of boys who were chatting on the
green of the field, which later on would be the
scene of the gathering crowds coming to witness
the athletic meet of the three rival schools.

Dozens of the lads were in their “working
togs,” as they called them. Indeed, all around
was a scene of great activity. Men were hammering
away at a tremendous rate, putting up the last
series of raised seats intended to accommodate
the spectators on the next day, many of whom
would be willing to pay for good seats. And here
and there, all over the field, boys were running,
jumping, vaulting with poles, and doing all sorts
of stunts connected with athletics.

Colon had not come out at all. It had been decided
that after his adventure he must take more
rest, in order to be fit for the events of the morrow.
He was at home, playing dominoes with one[110]
of his chums. Others came and went as though
he might be holding a reception. And the news
concerning his condition was eagerly sought with
the appearance of every new bunch of schoolboys
arriving on the field.

Fred was in his usual running costume, for he
meant to make a last try to beat his record, so as
to know how he would stand when the final test
came. There was a string of good fellows ranged
against him in that five mile race; and Fred did
not pretend to be without doubts concerning his
ability to head the procession.

“I was just thinking that myself, Dick,” he replied
as he stooped down to tie his shoes over
again, in preparation for a start. “The four
entries from Riverport are getting impatient to
start; but Brad is holding back for some reason
or other.”

“Here he comes this way now, and perhaps
we’ll know what it means,” remarked Dick; who
had intended to be one of the long distance squad
himself, but straining a tendon in his foot that
very morning had made him give up the idea.

Brad Morton came bustling along. Fred saw
that he looked worried, and wondered what could
have gone wrong now. With Colon safe it did
not seem as if anybody connected with the Riverport
school should be anxious.

“Do we start soon, Brad?” he asked, as the[111]
captain of the track team reached convenient talking
distance.

“The rest do; but the committee have decided
to make a change about your running, Fred,”
were the surprising words he heard.

“Oh! that’s all right,” Fred replied, smiling;
“I’m ready to give up to some better man, if
that’s what you mean.”

“What?” gasped Dick Hendricks.

“Oh! rats!” cried Brad. “There’s no better
man in this matter at all, Fred. Fact is, you’re
the only one in our string who stands a good
chance of beating that speedy Boggs in to-morrow’s
race. I’ve heard some talk among a lot
of Mechanicsburg fellows. They’re trying to get
a line on your kind of running, Fred; which shows
that they know right well you’re the only one they
need fear.”

“Oh! well, they’ve seen me run lots of times
when we played baseball and fought it out on the
gridiron,” remarked Fred, naturally flushing a
little under the kind words of praise.

“Yes, that’s so; but it’s got out that you’ve
picked up a new kink in the way of getting over
ground. They kept harping on that all the time.
And I got the notion they’ve some of their crowd
posted along the course to-day to take notes and
compare time, so they can spot what you do. If
you’ve got a weak point, climbing hills for in[112]stance,
they’ll report, and that’s where Boggs will
pass you.”

“Well, you’ve got something up your sleeve,
Brad, when you tell me this; so out with it,” Fred
observed, reading the other’s face cleverly.

“It’s this,” the track captain went on; “when
the rest of the string start you drop out, and disappear
like fog. Then they’ll have their trouble
for their pains.”

“That sounds nice, but tell me where does my
needed exercise come in?” remarked Fred; “and
I’d like to get a line myself on what I can do.”

“See here, don’t you know of some other five
mile course you could take on the sly, without anybody
being the wiser for it?” asked Brad.

“Why, yes, I do, only it happens to be a harder
run all told, than the course mapped out by the
committee,” replied Fred, promptly.

“That oughtn’t to make much difference,” the
other went on, with a sigh of relief; “you’ll know
right well that if you can make it in the same time
you’ve done the regular course, it’ll be all the
better.”

“Is this really necessary, Brad?” asked Dick;
“lots of us expected to get a line on Fred ourselves;
and if he sneaks off unbeknown, how’re we
going to know what to expect to-morrow?”

“We talked it over, and that’s what we settled
on,” came the reply. “So just hold your horses,[113]
Dick, till to-morrow. Fred’s going to show you
something then that he’s keeping up his sleeve.
You mark me.”

“Don’t take any stock in what Brad says,” declared
Fred. “I haven’t anything so wonderful,
only a little notion that came to me, and which I
really believe does help me get over the ground
a little bit faster, with less fatigue. But wait
and see what to-morrow brings along. Now,
Brad, suppose you arrange things so that I can
be close to those bushes over yonder when the
pistol sounds for the start. Once I get in there,
I’ll drop down, and let the rest pass me. After
that I’ll find a way to leave without being seen;
and start off on my own hook over another five
mile course.”

“And Fred, when you come back, go straight
home without showing up here. I’ll let it be
known that by my orders you didn’t start in the
regular run, for reasons that were sufficient for
the committee to give the order; and that you
went off on a little turn of your own.”

“Say, I can see the face of the fellow who
comes in ahead, and learns that nothing’s been
seen of Fred Fenton,” remarked Dick, with a
wide smile. “Won’t he be just patting himself
on the back as a world-beater though, up to the
time he learns Fred never started at all!”

With the crack of the pistol the long line of[114]
young athletes surged forward, amid loud cries
from the crowd that had gathered to witness the
start. Many eyed Fred hopefully; for the word
had gone around that upon him Riverport must
depend to wrest victory from the grasp of that
tall runner, Boggs, who was said to be a tremendous
“stayer,” and as speedy almost as Colon
himself.

Fred was following out his little scheme for
vanishing. He struck the edge of the bush patch,
and was on the extreme end of the line, so that he
believed he could drop out of the race, and no
one be the wiser. By the time the runners reached
the road over which they were to go for two and
a half miles, they would be so far away from the
crowd that no one could be certain which runner
might be Fred, and whether he was pace-maker
to the squad or not.

It all worked like a charm too. Fred watched
his chance, and falling back, so that he had nobody
behind him, suddenly dropped down flat.
Shortly after, he started to crawl to one side.
Here he was able to take advantage of some
trees; and one way or another managed to get out
of range of the vision of those on the field.

After that, chuckling at the success of his little
plan, Fred started for the place which was to be
the beginning of his five mile run. It was some
distance from the athletic field; and would take[115]
him in an entirely different direction from that
covered by the balance of the contestants.

It surely did take him over peculiar territory.
Now he was following a fair kind of a country
road; presently he cut across a stretch of woodland,
jumping fallen trees, and vaulting stone
fences with all the vigor of healthy youth.

Two miles, and Fred felt satisfied that he was
doing uncommonly well. He believed that his
muscles had never before responded so splendidly
to his demands. When he reached that two mile
mark, made by himself when he used to modestly
practice in private, not wishing to be watched, because
he was not known as a runner in those days,
Fred believed he had his best time shortened more
than a few seconds. And that over rough ground,
such as he would find in no part of the regular
race.

Now he had reached the worst part of all, and
which he wished he were well over with. This
was an old limestone quarry, that had not been
worked for years. There were pits scattered here
and there, some of them partly concealed by the
friendly bushes that grew here and there to the
edge.

Fred knew he must be careful until he had
placed this region behind. Once before he had
come close to slipping down into one of those deep
holes, from which he understood the limestone[116]
had been taken, as it was found in spots. He did
not want to be caught napping a second time.

“To have Colon missing was bad enough,” he
said to himself, as he jumped nimbly to the right,
and then to the left, in order to avoid suspicious
spots; “but if I disappeared, and couldn’t be
found, I just guess the whole town would take a
fit. But I’ll take mighty good care it doesn’t happen.
Whew, come near doing it right then, on the
left. I must sheer off more the other way!”

And then, ten seconds later, as he thought he
saw a break in the bushes that seemed to mark
one of the treacherous holes, Fred sprang to the
right, to find his feet passing through blank space,
and his body shooting downward.

After all his precautions, he had made a mistake,
and had plunged into one of the numerous
pits with which the level track of the old quarry
was spotted.[117]

CHAPTER XV

THE ACCIDENT

When Fred felt himself falling he immediately
relaxed every muscle in his body. That is a trick
known to athletes the world over. The ordinary
person would on the contrary contract his muscles;
so that on striking he must suffer violently in consequence.
A baby will frequently fall several
stories, and seem to have received no injury at all,
where a grown man would have been killed. The
secret is in its unconsciousness of peril, and consequently
it lands like a bag of salt, instead of a
hard rock.

It seemed as though he must have dropped
many feet before Fred struck bottom. He lay
there a few seconds, wondering whether he had
really sustained any damage.

“Might as well know the worst,” he finally
muttered, struggling to his knees, and finally to
his feet; when he stretched his arms, bent his
body, and then gave a little chuckle.

“Well, talk about your luck,” he remarked to
himself; “if this don’t just beat all. Don’t believe
I’ve so much as strained the tendon of a[118]
finger. And yet it must have been a twelve or
fifteen foot drop. Whew!”

He turned his gaze upward. There was the
mouth of the pit plainly seen, for the blue October
sky lay beyond. He could also make out where he
had torn through the weeds and green brush that
had so artfully hidden the mouth of the hole from
even his watchful eyes.

“Well,” he continued to remark; “this is a
fine business, I must say. It ends my time-taking
for to-day, sure. Even if I manage to crawl
up out of here, enough of my precious minutes
will have gone glimmering to upset all my calculations.
But I’m not out of the scrape yet. Now
to see about that same climb.”

Up to the time he set to work with this object
in view, Fred had not the least idea he would find
it a very difficult job. He was soon undeceived
in that particular.

“Say, the sides of this pit are as hard as flint,
and slippery as glass. I don’t seem able to dig my
toes in worth a cent,” he presently remarked,
stopping to get his breath after a violent exertion,
which had netted no result in progress.

For the first time Fred began to feel a trifle
bothered. He had escaped injury in a way that
seemed little short of miraculous; but if he had
to stay there all night it would prove no joke.

He made another desperate effort to climb the[119]
straight wall, selecting a spot that seemed to offer
more advantages than the rest.

Five minutes later he had to confess himself
worsted in the attempt. Somehow he could not
make the least impression on the rocky wall. If
he did manage to get several feet up, it was only
to lose his slight grip, and fall back again.

While he was once more recovering his wind,
Fred began to take stock of the situation, to see
where he stood.

“If I only had a good knife now,” he told himself,
“perhaps I might manage to dig toe-holds in
the old wall; but since a fellow doesn’t carry
such a thing in his running togs, here I am left
high and dry. And I declare, it feels rather chilly
already down here, with next to nothing on. I
wonder if I can stand a night of it. Not much
chance of me taking part in that road race tomorrow.
Well, this has got past the joke stage,
for a fact!”

It certainly had. He no longer laughed when
he fell back after losing his grip on some slight
projection in the wall. It was getting more serious
all the time; and the longer Fred considered
the matter, the worse his plight became.

He had taken a course that was really next to
unknown to any of his chums. They would not
be able to guess where to look for him, even if
he did happen to be missed.[120]

“And just to think,” he went on bitterly, as he
exercised his arms to keep his chilling blood in
circulation, “Brad even had to tell me not to show
up again on the field after I’d made my five miles.
So not a fellow will miss me. At home perhaps
they’ll just believe I’ve stopped with Sid, as I often do.
They may even go to bed with the idea
that I’ll be along later. Wow! that would mean
all night for me in this miserable hole.”

How about morning, when Riverport would
awaken to the fact that for the second time one
of their promising young school athletes had
mysteriously disappeared?

“Say, won’t there be some high jinks though?”
Fred exclaimed, for, somehow, it did not seem
quite so lonely when he could hear the sound of
his own voice. “I can just shut my eyes, and see
the whole place boiling like a kettle, with the fellows
running back and forth, and everybody just
wild. I wonder now, will they give Buck the
credit of this business, too? It seems to be pretty
well known that he is suspected of being at the
head of the crowd that carried Colon off. Well,
for once then, Buck will be unjustly accused. But
I guess they’ll make life miserable for him.”

The thought of the bully being treated to a ride
on a fence rail with his legs tied underneath, amid
a jeering mob of Riverport schoolboys, amused
Fred for just about a minute.[121]

Then the necessity of trying to think up some
plan by which he might escape from the pit caused
him to put Buck out of his mind.

The boys had always said that Fred was the
most ingenious fellow they had ever known. He
could invent schemes that often made some of the
duller-witted chaps fairly gasp, and declare he
must be a wizard.

If ever he had need of that faculty it was now.
If wishing could give him a pair of wings, or bring
a convenient rope into his hands, the other end
of which was tied to a neighboring tree, Fred was
ready to devote himself heart and soul to the task.

Outside of his short running trunks, a light,
close-fitting shirt, and the socks and running shoes
which were on his feet, Fred did not have another
particle of clothing along. He was bareheaded.
Without even a bit of string, a pocket knife, or
even a match on his person, what chance then did
he have to escape from that lime quarry pit?

And it was very damp there in the bargain.
Water oozed across one corner of the hole. If he
had to stay there twelve hours, the chances were
he would take a severe cold that might prove serious.

Really, the more he looked the situation in the
face the more it appalled him. Try as he might
he could think of no new plan that gave the slightest
promise of results. If he kept on endeavoring[122]
to climb that slippery wall until he fell utterly exhausted,
what would that avail him? Better to go
slow and reserve at least a small portion of his
energies, in case, later on, he did think up some
scheme that had a faint show of success.

How about shouting for help? Colon had
tried that game, and it had not worked, simply because
there happened to be no one near the old
mill at the time. Later on, however, his simple
groans and grunts attracted the attention of the
prowling Gabe, and led to what would have been
his rescue, even had not Fred and the others arrived
on the scene.

But here, in this quarry where no one ever
came, so far as he knew, what chance was there
of his shouts being heard? Fred thought about
one in a thousand. Still, there was no choice for
him. And perhaps that one little chance might
pan out; he had known of stranger things happening,
in his own experience.

So he lifted up his voice and called:

“Help! help! Oh! help!”

It was a cry that must thrill anyone who heard
it, welling up out of that deep pit. Waiting a
minute or more, Fred started in again, and
shouted louder than ever.

Listening, he could hear the afternoon breeze
sighing among the branches of the trees that grew
almost over the gap in the quarry. Even that[123]
died out, as if it meant to pass with the day, which
must now be very near its close.

It seemed so utterly foolish to waste his breath
in this vain calling that Fred changed his plans
for a short time, and once more tried to scale the
straight wall.

This time he succeeded in making about four
feet, and then had a tumble that quite jarred him.

“That ought to let me know, all right, that I’ll
never make the top in a year of Sundays, as
Corney always says,” he remarked, rubbing his
elbow where he had barked it on a stone, so that
it smarted.

To amuse himself while he tried to think up
some new scheme, Fred fell to shouting again.
He had a good, strong voice, but down in that
confined space it seemed muffled, and he would
never have recognized it himself.

Once he stopped and listened eagerly, his heart
jumping with sudden hope. Oh! was it possible
that he had really caught what seemed to be a
distant voice calling?

If only it might not be some scolding bluejay;
or perhaps a gossipy crow, perched on a neighboring
dead tree.

It did not come again; and so Fred hurriedly
started to shout once more, straining his lungs in
order to make the sound carry further. So much
depended on help coming to him before the night[124]
set in. If he had to spend many hours there he
might suffer in the form of rheumatism for a long
time afterwards, on account of the exposure in
such a damp and cold place.

Then he stopped to listen again, holding his
very breath in suspense. What a thrill it gave
him when he distinctly heard some one bawl out:

“Hello! yourself! Where under the sun are
you; and what’s the matter?”

That was no crow or bluejay, he knew for a
certainty; and accordingly Fred made haste to answer:

“I’m down in one of the lime pits here. Can’t
get out. Please come and give me a hand. This
way! I’ll keep calling to guide you; but don’t leave
me whatever you do.”

Every few seconds thereafter he would give
a shout, to be answered by the unknown, who was
evidently getting warmer and warmer on the
scent. Never could Fred remember when a
human voice had sounded so sweet to him; simply
because it meant rescue and safety, and a chance
to run in the great race upon which his heart was
set.

Now he could actually hear the other moving
above, and so he gave a last little whoop. The
bushes were thrust aside as he called; “down here;
I see you;” and then a human head was thrust
into view. And Fred felt a chill that was not in[125]duced
by the dampness of the lime pit, when he
made out that face in the light of the setting sun.
For he found himself staring at the grinning
countenance of the last person in all the world
he would have hoped to see—Buck Lemington![126]

CHAPTER XVI

A GLOOMY PROSPECT

“So, it’s you yelping for help, eh?”

Buck was looking more or less surprised even
when making this remark. Fred had an idea he
could see something like growing satisfaction, almost
glee, creeping over the face of the other.
The prospect evidently began to please Buck.

“Yes, it’s me,” the boy below replied, trying
hard to appear to look at it all in the light of a
huge joke, just as he might, had it been Sid Wells
or Bristles Carpenter who had discovered his
ridiculous plight.

“Huh! and however did you come in this old
limestone pit?” demanded Buck.

“Well, to tell you the truth, Buck,” he said, in
a conciliatory tone; “Brad Morton, as track
captain, ordered me to slip out of the bunch he
sent over the regular roads laid out for the race.
He wanted me to take the last five mile run in
secret, you see; and long ago I had this little[127]
course mapped out, when I used to practice without
anybody knowing I could run fairly well.”

“Oh! you don’t say?” sneered Buck. “And
what was his reason, d’ye know?”

Fred knew that it was best to be frank with the
other, who really had him so absolutely in his
power. He would confide wholly in Buck, come
what might.

“Well, I didn’t take much stock in the thing
myself, but Brad insisted, and as he was the
captain of the team, I had to do what he said, you
see, Buck. He had been told that Mechanicsburg
had spies posted all along the course, to time the
runners, and get points on their weak places. And
somehow Brad got the idea in his head that they
were more anxious to watch me run than any of
the others. So he thought he’d surprise them by
having me disappear, and get my practice alone.”

Buck laughed at that, and it was a very disagreeable
laugh, too.

“My! what an important person you’ve become,
Fred Fenton,” he observed, with the sneer
more marked in his voice than ever. “Have to
have a private course of your own because your
running is attracting so much attention! No
wonder your head has begun to swell. No wonder
you look down on small worms, who only run up
against hard knocks whenever they try to even up
the score.”[128]

“But you’re going to help me out of this, I
hope, Buck?” Fred went on, pleasantly, almost
pleadingly, for he had much at stake.

“Oh! am I? You don’t say!” mocked the
other. “Now, how d’ye suppose I c’n reach down
seven feet or more, and give you the friendly
hand? Think my arms stretch that far? Perhaps,
now, you imagine I’ll just drop in like the
poor old goat did in the fable, to let the smart
fox jump up on his back, and then out? If you
do you’ve got another guess coming; see?”

“But there’s an easy way to do it, Buck; and
because Riverport needs every little help she can
get to win out to-morrow, I’m going to ask you
to do it for me.”

“Sounds big; don’t it?” the other went on, in
his sneering way. “You’re the Great Muck-a-muck,
and will carry off the prize for the long distance
run, I suppose you mean? Well, with the
great luck you have, perhaps you will—if you’re
there when the pistol cracks for the start. Now,
go on and tell me what you mean, and how could
I get you out of this hole—if I took the notion to
try?”

“I suppose you’ve got your knife with you,
Buck?” Fred went on.

“That’s where you’ve got another guess coming,
Fenton; fact is, I broke the last blade in it
yesterday, and threw it away,” Buck answered.[129]

“Well, then, that seems to make it harder to
carry out my plan,” Fred remarked, disappointment
in his tone.

“Wait,” said Buck; “perhaps, after all, I
might get a knife from the feller along with me,
here.”

He disappeared, and Fred, straining his ears,
could hear him talking in a low tone with some one
else. He was filled with a deep curiosity to know
whatever brought Buck Lemington here to the
old limestone quarry; just as the day was passing.
The last thing Fred had heard in connection with
Buck was the fact that his suspected connection
with the desperate attempt to spoil the calculations
of Riverport school with regard to winning
the laurels of the athletic meet by kidnapping their
best sprinter, Colon, had met with universal condemnation
among the good people of the town.
There was even talk of a committee going to
complain to his father.

Perhaps Buck had in some way gotten wind of
that expected coming of the townspeople, and he
might even now be on his way to some haven of
refuge, to remain practically in hiding until the
storm blew over.

A minute later, and once again the face of the
grinning bully protruded beyond the edge of the
pit above.

“I’ve got the knife all right, Fenton,” he ob[130]served,
curiously; “now, what d’ye expect me to
do with it? A knife alone won’t pull you up; and
I reckon clotheslines don’t grow around this
region.”

“No, but I think there’s a fine stout vine close
to your hand, Buck; and if you’d be so kind as to
cut that off, and let one end of it down to me, with
only a little help I’d be out of this hole in a jiffy—and
mighty thankful in the bargain.”

“Well now, that is a bright idea,” remarked
Buck, with exasperating slowness; “they always
said you had a brain in your head, Fenton. It’s
a good, strong vine too, and even a sharp knife
hacks into it pretty hard. Oh! no doubt about it
holding a fellow of your nimbleness, when you
manage to get a grip on the same!”

Fred did not exactly like the way he said this.
Somehow he seemed to feel that the other was
working himself up into a condition where he
would finally refuse to lend a helping hand to his
old-time rival, now that the only chance for Fred
to get free seemed to rest with Buck.

As he cut away, the bully continued to talk.
He was evidently enjoying the unique situation
keenly.

“Reckon you’d feel some chilly if you had to
stay in that damp hole all night; eh, Fenton?” he
went on.

“I sure would,” replied Fred, trying to give a[131]
little laugh; “and it was mighty lucky for me that
you and your friend happened along here just at
such a time. Now, I wouldn’t have supposed that
anybody would come this way in a year; and when
I hollered for help I didn’t think there was a
chance in a thousand anybody’d hear.”

“Well, you’d win, because it was a chance in a
thousand, Fenton,” Buck went on to say, as he
whittled away at the trailing vine. “Fact is, the
people down in Riverport sent a committee of old
fogies up to my governor to complain. Said I’d
been guilty of a bad piece of business; that I’d
engineered the scheme for carrying Colon off to
that mill, and leaving him there, so’s to knock
Riverport’s chances to-morrow. Perhaps you
heard something about that, Fenton?”

“Oh! I believe one of the boys did mention that
there was some talk about it being done; but
honestly now, Buck, I didn’t know they had gone
over to your house to interview your father,”
Fred answered, candidly enough.

“Well, they did, all right,” growled the other,
cutting more furiously, as his feelings began to
work upon him. “And when the old man called
me in, I saw he was some mad. Reckon he’d had
bad news just about then, because I saw a letter
with a foreign postmark on it, lying open on his
desk; and I know the signs of a storm under our
roof.”[132]

He paused to give a last cut, and the vine came
free; then he began to slice off a few trailing side
roots, so as to make a pretty fair rope out of it.
After which he started to speak again.

“He was awful mad, Fenton, I give you my
word. Never saw him in such a temper. And
the way he hauled me over the coals was scandalous,
too. Said he’d think up what he’d have to
do with me for punishment, over night. Also said
everything was going crooked with him at once.
Well, I just made up my mind I wouldn’t stay
around home, any longer; but skip out till the
breeze blew over. And I also thought up a bully
good scheme to bring the old man to terms.
Huh! you ain’t the only one that’s got brains,
Fenton, if you do think so.”

Again he paused, as if to give emphasis to his
words. Fred was waiting anxiously, to learn
what Buck had decided to do. If only he would
lower that vine, he felt sure he could pull himself
out in ten seconds.

“I happened to remember that we had a relative
somewhere up in this region; and so I just
made up my mind to disappear for a little while
myself. It’s in the air you see, even you’ve got
the fever. And I’d play a winning card on the
governor by taking with me something he set considerable
store on. A day or two’d bring him to
terms; and I reckoned he’d promise to let up on[133]
me, in order to get back—there, how d’ye think
that’ll answer, Fenton?”

He held up the stout vine. Fred could see it
plainly, for the bright sky was beyond. It seemed
to be at least ten feet in length, and as thick as
one’s wrist.

“That ought to do the trick finely, Buck,” he
remarked, pleasantly, just as if he did not have the
slightest doubt in the world but that the other
fully intended pulling him out of the hole.

“Do you think you can hold on?” asked Buck,
beginning to lower away with tantalizing slowness,
as though he enjoyed keeping Fred on the
anxious seat.

“Sure I can, once I get a good grip. Just a foot
or so more, Buck, and then I will be able to reach
it. And let me tell you, it’s good of you to help
a fellow like this. They’ll say so in town when
they hear about it, Buck.”

“Think so, do you?” went on the other, as he
suddenly allowed the vine to drop until it touched
the hands extended, when it was instantly withdrawn
again.

“Oh! don’t you wish you could grab it,
Fenton?” mocked the grinning bully.[134]

CHAPTER XVII

AN UNEXPECTED ALLY

Fred felt a bitter sense of disappointment when
he found that the bully did not have the slightest
intention of helping him get out of the limestone
pit. When Buck snatched the vine away, he understood
plainly enough that all of his slow work
in cutting the trailer had been a farce. The cunning
bully had done it just to work up his old-time
rival with false hopes.

“You don’t seem so mighty glad to get a helping
hand, Fenton?” sneered Buck, as he failed to
get a “rise” to repeated false casts.

“I’d take it quick enough, if I thought you
meant to help me out, Buck,” Fred observed,
grimly.

“Well, I like that, now,” tormented the other.
“Here, look at me borrowin’ a knife, and going
to all that trouble to trim that vine off; and now
he just throws it up to me that he don’t put any
faith in me. Seems like they all look on poor old
Buck Lemington with suspicion. Everything that
goes crooked in the old village they blame on him,[135]
too. It’s a shame, that’s what; and d’ye know,
Fred Fenton, I somehow feel like you’re to blame
for most of my troubles.”

“I don’t see how you make that out, Buck,”
remarked Fred.

“Up to the time you blew in here things sorter
worked pretty nice with me. The fellers never
gave me much trouble; and Flo Temple, she used
to be glad to have me take her to places. But all
that changed when Fred Fenton struck town.
Since then I’ve had the toughest luck ever. And
sure, I just ought to love you for all you done for
me; but I don’t happen to be built that way; see?”

Fred made no answer. What was the use of
his appealing to a fellow who had hardened his
heart to every decent feeling? Plainly Buck only
talked for the sake of hearing his enemy plead;
and Fred was determined he would not lower himself
any more, to ask favors of this vindictive boy.

“Now, I didn’t have anything to do with you
getting caught in such a pretty trap, and you
know it just as well as I do, Fenton. If they say
so in town, you’d better set ’em straight. There
are a few things happens that Buck Lemington
ain’t responsible for, and this here’s one of the
same.”

He waited, as if expecting a reply, but Fred
had his lips grimly set, and would not utter one
word; so presently Buck went on:[136]

“Now, seein’ that I didn’t do you this sweet
trick, I’m not responsible if you stay there all
night; am I? Think I want to take the chances
of bein’ pulled in, when you try to climb out?
Huh! bad enough for one to be in that lovely trap,
without a second guy dropping over. Guess not.
I’ll just be goin’ on my way. If I happen to run
across any of the boys, which ain’t likely, I might
whisper to ’em that their new chum, Fred Fenton,
wants help the worst kind.”

He actually threw the vine into the hole, as
though to show that his mind was made up. Fred
lost all hope. He must face the unpleasant prospect
of remaining all night in that cold place,
shivering, as drowsiness threatened to overtake
him, and trying to keep warm by exercising every
little while.

He shivered now at the very prospect. However
would he pass that terribly long night,
when minutes would drag, and seem to be
hours?

“Here, keep back, you!” Buck suddenly
roared; and Fred started, although he immediately
realized that the other must be addressing
his remark to the comrade he had spoken of
as having accompanied him. “Want to slip, and
drop down into the old hole along with this silly?
And then I’d just have to get him out, before he’d
let me save you. Keep back, I tell you!”[137]

“Buck, you’ll be sorry you did this,” Fred
broke his silence to make one last appeal, though
he was determined not to demean himself, and
“crawl” as Buck himself would call it.

“Hey! what’s this? Are you really threatenin’
me?” demanded the other, hotly.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Fred answered.
“What I wanted to say, was that you’d be sorry
later on you didn’t try to pull me out. You see I
haven’t hardly any clothes on; and it’s cold and
damp down here. Chances are, that if I stay
here through the whole night I’ll get my death
of cold.”

“Well, what’s that to me?” said the other,
gruffly; though Fred thought he saw him hesitate
a little, as if appalled at the prospect. “I didn’t
throw you down there, did I? Can’t shove any
of that blame on me, eh? If I hadn’t just happened
to stroll this way, I’d never even knowed
you was in such a fix.”

“But you do know it,” said Fred, “and everybody
will say it was up to you to help me out, after
you found me here. That makes you responsible,
Buck, in the eye of the law. I’ve
heard Judge Colon say as much. A knowledge
of the fact makes you a party to it, he told a man
he was talking to. I’m going to ask you once
more to take hold of this vine when I hold it up,
and let me pull myself out.”[138]

He did raise the rope substitute, but Buck declined
to accept his end of it.

“I don’t see why I ought to give you a hand,
Fenton,” he remarked, coldly. “I’ve stood a lot
from you, and as I said before, since you came
to town things have all gone wrong with me, so
I never do have a good time any more. I blame
you for it. Yes, and right now it’s you more’n
any other feller that’s got me kicked out of my
own home.”

“Now I don’t understand what you mean
there, Buck?” remonstrated Fred, still holding
the end of the vine upward invitingly, though
with small hope that the other would take hold.

“All right, I’ll just tell you, then,” Buck replied,
almost savagely. “Who led the party
that found Colon? You did. Who found a
track of a shoe, with a patch across the sole, on
the spot where Colon said he was nabbed by a
bunch of fellers with red cloth over part of their
faces? Why, Freddy again, to be sure. And
hang it all, my shoe did have just such a patch!
That’s what they told my dad; and brought it
all home to me.”

Fred was silent again. He saw that things
were working against him once more. If Buck
felt this way about it, all his endeavors to induce
the other to lend his aid were bound to be useless.[139]

“Now, here’s a right fine chance for me to get
even with you, Fenton, without taking any risk
myself; because I didn’t have anything to do with
knocking you into this hole. You took care of
that part yourself; and let me tell you now, you
did me the greatest favor in the world when you
slipped, and dropped through these bushes and
weeds into the pit.”

“Buck! oh, Buck!” said a trembling voice
from somewhere back of the bully.

“You dry up!” exclaimed Buck. “You’ve
got no say in this game, let me tell you! Good-bye,
Fenton; I reckon I’ll be going now. Hope
you can keep exercisin’ right hearty all through
the night; it’ll be some chilly if you let up, I’d
think. And if I happen to see any of your chums,
an’ they ask questions, why, I might let ’em know
I heard somebody yelping away up this way—thought
it was kids playin’, but it might be you
calling for help.”

“Then you’re going to desert me; are you,
Buck?” asked Fred, beginning to himself feel
angry at the base intentions of the other.

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” jeered Buck;
“I’m just mindin’ my own business, you see.
Not long ago you told me never to poke my nose
in your affairs again. I ain’t a-goin’ to; I’m
follerin’ out your own instructions, Fenton. Nobody
c’n blame me for doin’ that; can they?”[140]

“But you mustn’t leave him there, brother
Buck!” cried a voice at that juncture, and Fred
suddenly realized that the partner of the bully’s
flight, and through whom he hoped to bring his
angry father to terms, was little Billy, his
younger brother, for whom it was said Buck
felt more affection than he did for any other person
on the face of the earth.

“Well,” Buck went on to say, “I’m going to
do that same, no matter what you or anybody
else says; and so you’d just better be getting
along out of this, Billy. It ain’t none of your
business what happens to Fred Fenton, I guess.”

“But it is some of my business,” insisted the
smaller boy, who had by degrees pushed his way
forward, in spite of his big brother’s warning,
until Fred could see his head projecting beyond
the rim of the pit.

“What’s Fred Fenton to you?” demanded
Buck, savagely.

“He’s my friend, that’s what!” declared Billy
stoutly.

“Oh! you want to make a friend out of the
worst enemy your own brother’s got; do you?”
the bully sneered. “Well, why shouldn’t I leave
him here to suck his thumb all night, tell me
that?”

“Because it’d be wicked,” cried the excited
boy. “Because if it hadn’t ‘a been for Fred[141]
Fenton you wouldn’t be havin’ no brother Billy
right now!”

“What d’ye mean, Billy?” roared the astonished
bully.

“Remember when your canoe got home without
you goin’ for it, Buck? That was the time.
It throwed me out in the middle of the river, and
I’d ‘a drownded sure, only Fred, he swum out
and saved me. And that’s why I say you ain’t
goin’ to leave him here to freeze and shiver all
night. ‘Cause he’s my friend, that’s why!”

And Buck Lemington knelt there, for the minute
unable to utter a single word, so great was
his amazement.[142]

CHAPTER XVIII

FORCED TO LEND A HAND

“Is that right, Fenton?” the bully finally demanded,
turning to look at the dimly seen face
of the boy deep down in the hole. “Did you
haul my brother out of the Mohunk waters?”

“That’s just what happened, Buck,” Fred replied,
a warm feeling once more taking possession
of his heart; for somehow he seemed to know
that the coming of this unlooked-for ally would
turn the scales in his favor; and, after all, he
would not have to spend a horrible night in that
damp hole.

“Don’t seem likely you’d do such a thing, and
never throw it up at me some time, when I was
naggin’ you,” went on the other, doubtfully.

“Oh! I felt like doing that same more’n a
few times, believe me,” said Fred.

“Then why didn’t you?” asked Buck.

“He didn’t just because I asked him as a
favor to me not to say a word to a single soul,”
broke in the eager Billy, just then. “You know,
Buck, father told me he’d whip me if ever he[143]
heard of my tryin’ that cranky canoe of yours.
And I was afraid he’d do it, too, if he heard how
near I was to bein’ drownded.”

“Well, that sure just gets me!” muttered
Buck, who found it hard to understand how a
fellow could hide his light under a bushel, and
not “blow his own horn,” when he had jumped
into the river, and pulled out a drowning boy.
“Say, is that so too, Fenton; did you keep mum
just because Billy here asked you to?”

“That was the only reason,” replied Fred;
“but you must give some of the credit to Bristles
Carpenter, who couldn’t swim much then; but
he waded in, and helped to get us ashore. And
he pulled the canoe in, too. Then we took it
down to the place you keep it; while Billy played
by himself in the warm sun till his clothes got
dry; didn’t you, Billy?”

“Just what I did,” said the small boy, cheerfully.
“And not a person ever knowed I’d been
in the water. Oh! I’ve always thought it was
mighty nice in Fred; and it used to make me feel
so bad when I heard you talkin’ about him the
way you did, Buck. More’n a few times I just
wanted to tell you all about it, to show you he
couldn’t be the mean boy you said; but I dassent;
I was scared you’d think you had to tell father on
me.”

As he knelt there Buck was fighting an inward[144]
battle; and the enemy with which he grappled
was his own baser nature. Fred did not have a
single fear as to how it was bound to come out.
He knew that Buck could not deny the obligation
that had been so unexpectedly forced upon him.

Then Buck suddenly reached down. He had
made up his mind, and was even then groping for
the end of the vine which Fred was reaching up
to him.

Once he got this firmly in his hands, he simply
said:

“Now, climb away, Fenton!”

Fred waited for no second invitation. He
was not foolish enough to decline a favor that
came within reach. Possibly Buck’s new resolution
might cool off more or less, if given time;
and Fred dared not take the risk.

So he immediately began the task of drawing
himself up the short distance that lay between
his eager hands and the rim of the pit.

And Buck, having braced himself firmly, with
his foot against a solid spur of rock, held
through the trying ordeal. Fred in a short time
was clambering over the brink, delighted beyond
measure at the chance to once more find himself
on the outside of that miserable hole.

He had hardly half raised himself to his
knees, when he felt a warm little hand clasp his,
while the voice of Billy sounded in his ears.[145]

“Oh! ain’t I glad I was along with brother
Buck right now, Fred,” the boy cried; “I’m
afraid he’d a left you there if he’d been alone.
But then, you see, Buck never knowed what a
good friend you’d been to me that time. And it
was mighty kind of you never to peach on me.
But I guess you’n Buck ain’t a-goin’ to be fightin’
each other after this. You had ought to be
friends right along.”

Fred looked at the bully. He even half thrust
out a hand, as though to signify that he was ready
to bridge the chasm that had always existed between
them, if the other would come the rest of
the way to meet him.

But Buck obstinately kept his hand down at
his side. He was not going to forget all his
troubles of the past, many of which he believed
he could lay at the door of the boy who had refused
to knuckle down to him, as most of the
Riverport lads had done in the past.

But Fred was not caring in the least. Things
had worked almost like a miracle in his favor.
That these two, perhaps heading across lots for
the humble home of Arnold Masterson, to hide
from the wrath of the Squire, should happen
within earshot of his cries for help, was in the
nature of a chance in a thousand.

“You won’t shake hands, Buck, and be
friends, then?” Fred asked.[146]

“What, me?” exclaimed the other, once more
showing signs of anger, and drawing Billy away
from Fred as if the sight of them close together
was unpleasant to him; “not in a thousand
years. That would mean I’d have to
knuckle down, and crawl before the mighty Fred
Fenton, like some of the other ninnies do. You
go your way, and I’ll go mine. We’ve always
been enemies, and that’s what we’ll be to the end
of the chapter.”

The old vindictive part in Buck’s nature had
apparently still a firm grip on him. Fred no
longer offered his hand. If the other chose to
call it square, he must be satisfied, and accept
things as they came.

“All the same,” he said, positively; “I’m
obliged to you, Buck, for helping me out.
You’ve saved me from a bad time. And I’m going
to tell about it too, whether you want me to
or not. Some of the good people in Riverport
will believe they’ve been wrong when they
thought you wouldn’t lift a hand to do a single
decent thing.”

“Oh! rats, don’t give me any of that sort of
taffy, Fenton!” exclaimed the other in a disgusted
voice. “And I’ll see to it that they don’t
believe I’m working the reformed son racket,
either. I did this—well—just because I had to,[147]
that’s all, and not because I wanted to. If Billy
hadn’t been along, and told what he did, you’d
‘a spent your night in that hole, for all of me;
understand?”

“Well, just as you will, Buck. Have it as
you want. Billy, I’m obliged to you for standing
up for me like you did. It was a lucky day
for me, as well as for you, when I chanced to
get you out of the Mohunk.”

“Oh! come along, Billy,” Buck called out,
pulling at the sleeve of his younger brother;
“we’ve got no more time to waste here, jawing.
Right now I’m some twisted in my bearings, and
we might have a tough time gettin’ to that farmhouse.”

Fred took it for granted that Buck was heading
in a roundabout way for the home of Arnold
Masterson; the same place where he and Bristles
had saved Sarah, the sick farmer’s daughter,
from the well, into which she had fallen when
trying to hide from the three rough tramps.

He was on the point of directing Buck, so that
the other might reach his destination, when something
within seemed to bid him hold his tongue.
Arnold Masterson was not friendly with his rich
uncle, Squire Lemington. He had been worsted
by the latter in some land deal, and would not
even come to Riverport to trade. Perhaps Buck[148]
knew something about this, and it may have influenced
him when running away from home,
with Billy in his company.

He saw the two go off, Buck talking in low
tones to his brother. Once Billy insisted on turning,
and waving his hand toward Fred; though
Buck immediately gave him a rough whirl, as
though to make him understand that he would
not allow of any more friendly feelings between
his younger brother and the fellow he chose to
look upon as his worst enemy.

“Well, it’s too bad Buck feels that way,” Fred
said to himself, as he turned his back on the hole
that had given him such an unpleasant half hour.
“But just as he says, the score is even now, and
the slate cleaned off. We can start fresh; and
chances are, he’ll find a way of trying to get a
dig at me before many suns. But I’m lucky to
get out of that scrape as I did. Whew! what if
I just had to stay there? Makes me shiver to
think of it.”

He started on a run, to get up a circulation;
for, despite all his labor while in the pit, his
blood seemed to have become fairly chilled.

At first he thought he would head straight
home, as he was only a couple of miles or so
away from Riverport. Then suddenly he found
his thoughts going out in the direction of Arnold
Masterson and his daughter, Sarah. He had not[149]
been to see them for several days now, since the
man was able to leave his bed and hobble about
the house, in fact.

A sudden notion to drop in on them, and explain
about Buck’s coming, seized upon Fred,
though he never was able to tell why he should
give way to such a strange resolution. But
changing his course he headed toward the
Masterson farm.[150]

CHAPTER XIX

GLORIOUS NEWS

The more Fred thought of it the stronger became
his conviction that Buck and Billy would be
a long time in finding the lonely Masterson farmhouse,
that was off the main road.

They had left him going in a direction that
was really at right angles to the shortest way
there. But then possibly Buck knew of another
route. And after all it was none of his business.

Evening had now settled down in earnest.
There would be a moon later; but darkness was
beginning to shut out the last expiring gleams of
daylight.

Fred was feeling pretty “chipper” as he himself
expressed it. So far as he could ascertain no
serious result had accompanied his fall into that
hole, and the exposure that followed the mishap.

His muscles having come back to their old condition,
he was running as easily as ever before;
and he believed himself to be in splendid condition.[151]

This sudden determination to drop in on
Arnold Masterson and his daughter was going
to take him a considerable distance out of his
way; but what are a few miles to an aspiring
young athlete, in training for a hard road race
on the morrow? It would really do him good to
have the exercise, he believed.

Fred had managed to have a good talk with
the Mastersons the last time he was over. He
had taken both father and daughter into his confidence,
and told them how Squire Lemington, in
connection with the powerful syndicate, was
trying to swindle his folks out of the rich Alaska
claim, which they truly believed belonged to
them, and not to the capitalists.

Of course Fred had met with ready sympathy
from the occupants of the Arnold Masterson
house. They themselves had suffered too recently
from the grasping methods of the old Squire not
to sympathize with new victims.

And Fred had a double object in telling the
story of the missing witness, whose evidence, if
it could ever be procured, would settle the lawsuit
in favor of the Fentons and against Squire
Lemington.

Somehow, he believed that if Hiram Masterson
did manage to make his way back to the
neighborhood of Riverport, bent on righting a
great wrong, as he had written in that strange[152]
note from Hong Kong, he would be apt to hunt
up his brother, whom he had evidently not seen
on his last visit.

Now he was at the cross-roads tavern, known
as Hitchen’s, and running easily. He did not
neglect to follow out the instructions which he
had received from the old college graduate and
coach, Mr. Shays, about breathing through his
nose, and holding himself fairly erect. Only in
the mad dash of the last stretch could a well
trained athlete be forgiven for neglecting these
precautions; since so much depends on their being
constantly employed in order to insure staying
qualities.

Presently Fred found himself in familiar
regions. He vividly remembered the cross-country
run, when he and Bristles came upon the
well under the apple tree, and were startled at
sounds of groans issuing forth from that place.

Now he could just make it out in the gathering
gloom; but really he gave it only a passing
glance, for his attention was directed toward the
farmhouse, where in a lower window he could
see a lamp burning.

Fred did not mean to be inquisitive, and would
not have thought of going a foot out of his way
in order to peer in at that window; but as he had
to pass it by on his way to the door, he naturally
glanced in.[153]

Then he stopped to look again. Evidently the
Mastersons had company, for there were three
at the supper table, upon which a bountiful array
of enticingly cooked food could be seen; for the
good people of Riverport had brought out
enough provisions to last them half way through
the coming winter.

This might make some difference with Fred’s
plans.

“Perhaps I ought not to break in on them
if they have company,” he was saying to himself,
as he continued to look through the window.
“But I’ve come so far now, I kind of hate to
give over the idea of saying something to Mr.
Masterson. Perhaps he’ll come to the door if I
knock. I could tell him about Buck, to begin
with; and might get a chance to speak of his
letting us know if anything happened that he
thought would interest the Fenton family. Yes,
I’ll try it.”

Before turning away he took another passing
glance at the stranger, who seemed to be an
elderly man with gray hair and a beard of the
same color. Whatever he was saying, both Mr.
Masterson and Sarah seemed to be hanging on
his words as if they were deeply interested.

Fred gave a sigh. He was secretly disappointed,
to tell the truth. Perhaps he had
conceived a faint expectation that something[154]
about the man might seem familiar; for he had
not forgotten how the returned Alaska miner,
Hiram Masterson, had looked when he rode
about in Squire Lemington’s carriage. But there
was not the least resemblance so far as he could
note between this elderly person and the gay-looking
young miner.

“I was foolish to ever think that,” Fred said
to himself, as he again started in the direction
of the farmhouse door.

In this mood, then he reached the door, and
knocked. The sound echoed through the house,
for Fred had laid his knuckles rather heavily on
the upper panel of the double Dutch door.

He heard a scuffling sound, to indicate that
chairs had been hurriedly pushed back.
Apparently, then, his knock had created something
of a little panic within, though Fred could
hardly understand why that should be so.

After waiting a reasonable time, without either
Sarah or her father coming to the door, Fred
again gave a knock.

“Mr. Masterson!” Fred called out, in the
hope that his voice might happen to be recognized,
so as to allay their fears.

Then he saw that someone was coming in answer
to his second summons. Under the door
appeared a thin thread of light. This announced
that the door between had been opened,[155]
and a lamp was being carried into the front
room.

Fred wondered just at that moment whether
it would be Sarah or her father who might open
the door. He knew Mr. Masterson was recovering
his strength; but still he must be more
or less weak, after a spell of sickness. And in
that event Sarah was apt to be the one to come.

Well, he would ask to see her father then, so
as to get a few minutes conversation with the
other. Sarah would be surprised to see him, of
course, at this queer hour, and in his running
costume.

Fred almost wished now he had changed his
mind, and turned away before giving that knock.
But it was too late. He could hear someone
drawing back the bolt by which the door was
fastened. The Mastersons had gone through
one unpleasant experience, and they did not want
another, if such a small thing as a new bolt on the
door would ward it off.

Now the door had begun to open, and Fred
allowed a smile to come upon his face in anticipation
of the look of surprise he felt sure would
welcome him.

As it happened, however, the surprise was
pretty much the other way. The door suddenly
flew open, at least the upper half of it did, and
Arnold Masterson thrust the muzzle of a double-[156]barrel
shotgun through the opening, at the same
time exclaiming:

“Now be off with you, or I’ll give you a dose
of buck shot that you won’t like!”

He had just managed to say this when he
stared at the figure standing there. Of course
Fred had been startled when so suddenly confronted
by the armed and angry farmer; but he
immediately recovered.

“Hold on, Mr. Masterson, don’t you know
me? It’s Fred Fenton!” he exclaimed.

The farmer seemed too surprised for words.
But he did hasten to unfasten the remaining part
of the Dutch door, and seize hold of the boy by
the short sleeve of his running tunic.

“Fred Fenton, of all things, and right now
too, when we were just talking about your folks.
Come in, my boy, come in. This is a piece of
great luck now. Whatever brings you away up
here just at the time we wanted to see you most?
Great news for you, Fred! He’s come home
again, and is right in there. Sarah wanted him
to hide, because she thought it was one of my
uncle’s spies hanging around; but I said no, that
they’d never believe it was him, not in a year of
Sundays.”

“Who?” gasped Fred, feeling weak; but with
a great expectation that caused him to tremble
all over.[157]

The farmer patted him on the back as he went
on to say, joyfully:

“It’s my brother Hiram, come back to right
the wrong he helped do your people; and defy
Uncle Sparks to his face. This is going to be a
happy night for you, Fred; a happy night, my
boy!”[158]

CHAPTER XX

A WELCOME GUEST

“Hiram come back!”

That was about all Fred could say. After all
these dreary months, with hope so long deferred,
it was hard to understand that the splendid news
could be true. Oh! what joy it would bring in his
home, when he arrived to tell the story! In
imagination even at that first moment, Fred
could see the tired face of his mother light up
with thankfulness; and his father taking her in
his arms, to shelter her head on his broad
shoulder.

For the return of Hiram meant that the truth
must be told about that false claim the powerful
syndicate had put in for the property left to Mr.
Fenton by his brother Fred, up in Alaska; and
which had seemed so necessary to the working
of the mines really owned by the big company
that they had been willing to do almost anything
to get possession of the same.

“Yes, that’s him in yonder; but nobody’d
ever know it, he’s got himself up so smart,” the[159]
farmer said, proudly, as he closed and bolted the
doors again, ere leading the way into the other
room.

Fred saw the supposed old man stare hard at
him as he followed Mr. Masterson into the
room; but of course Sarah immediately recognized
him.

“Why, I declare if it isn’t Fred Fenton himself;
and he’s been practicing for the road race
to-morrow!” she exclaimed. “You remember,
Uncle, I was telling you he meant to take part in
it. Do you know who this is, Fred? Has father
told you?”

“Yes, and I’m mighty glad to see him here,”
said Fred, as he accepted the brown and calloused
hand which the man, who had been kidnapped by
orders of the combine, thrust out toward him,
to wince under the hearty pressure on his fingers.

“I tell you, Fred,” remarked Hiram, with a
broad smile, “I’m just as glad to be here again,
after all I’ve gone through with, as you can be
to see me. They certainly did keep me hustling,
from one captain to another. I’ve been in the
harbors of half the countries of the world, I
reckon, since they took me away.”

“And you see,” spoke up Sarah, eager to have
a hand in the telling; “The captains of the different
boats that were in the pay of this big com[160]pany
had the word passed along to them. They
gave it out that he was weak in his head. So
whenever Uncle tried to tell his story, the sailors
used to pretend to be interested, but wink at each
other, as if to say: ‘there he goes ranting about
being carried off, just like the captain said he
would.’ So he never could get to mail a letter
till in Hong Kong, when he managed to escape.
Even then they chased him; and he says he only
got away in the end by jumping into the bay, and
pretending to stay under the water.”

“But couldn’t you manage to escape when the
ship put in at some port?” Fred asked, being
very curious.

“They always looked out for that,” replied
Hiram, with a sad shake of his head. “Sometimes
I was accused of starting a mutiny, and
put in irons, as well as shut up in the lazerette.
More’n a few times they gave me a dose that
took away my senses, and I didn’t know even my
name until we’d made the open sea again. It
was all managed in the smartest way you ever
heard about; and I’m shaking hands with myself
right now to know that in the end I managed to
upset their plans.”

Fred suddenly remembered something that
Buck had let fall when speaking about the conditions
existing at his home.

“I guess someone must have been sending[161]
word to Mr. Lemington about your getting
away,” he remarked.

“What makes you say that?” asked Hiram,
looking uneasy.

Fred, in as few words as possible related
what had happened up in the deserted limestone
quarry, when Buck and his little brother Billy
found him caught in a trap.

“He said his father was already in a bad
humor,” Fred went on, “and that he must have
had news that upset him; because there was an
open letter that had a foreign stamp on it, on
the library table. Perhaps that letter was from
Hong Kong or somewhere else, and told the delayed
story of your escape.”

“Now that sounds reasonable, Hiram,” remarked
the farmer; “and if Sparks Lemington
knows you’re on your way home, to upset all his
nice calculations, p’raps he might even have this
house watched so as to get you again before you
did any damage, by swearing to your story before
Judge Colon and witnesses.”

“And I believe Buck is leading his little
brother right here now,” Fred went on to remark.
“He wants to give his father a scare by
having Billy gone, and expects in that way he may
escape punishment for his tricks. You know they
think a heap of little Billy over there.”

“And only for you he might have been[162]
drowned,” said Sarah. “Seems to me you do
nothing else but go around, helping get unlucky
people out of trouble. I was telling Uncle what
you did for me.”

“And he’ll never have cause to regret it,
mark my words,” said Hiram, resolutely. “I’ve
come back to let light in on them rascally land
pirates’ doings. Soon’s they learn that I’ve
sworn to my story before the judge, you’ll see
how quick they’ll open up communications with
your dad, and be offerin’ him a tremendous sum
to sell out; because they just need that property
the worst you ever saw.”

“But if Buck comes here he might smell a rat,
and let his father know,” remarked Arnold
Masterson, nervously. “It’s bad enough to be
worrying about tramps, without expecting to
have your house raided by spies in the pay of a
combine of shrewd business men. I’ve got a
good notion to make out nobody’s at home, if
the boys get here. Then they’d just have to move
on, and find another place to stay.”

“I rather think they’d camp out in your barn
then, Mr. Masterson,” remarked Fred.

“What makes you think that?” asked the
farmer, looking keenly at the boy.

“Well,” Fred continued, “in the first place,
little Billy will be so tired out after his long
tramp, he never could get any further. Then[163]
Buck wants to hide for a while, and he’ll make
up his mind that if you are gone away, you’ll be
back to-morrow morning. Why, he’s that bold,
he might try to break in, if he thinks the house
is empty.”

“I tell you what we’d better do,” said Hiram,
who had evidently been doing considerable deep
thinking meanwhile.

“As what?” questioned his brother.

“Let the boys come on in when they get here;
they won’t find anybody besides you and Sarah
home,” the returned wanderer declared, smiling
broadly.

“Where will you be, Uncle Hiram; asleep in
the hay out in the barn?” asked the girl.

“Me? Not much,” returned the other. “Because
I’m of a mind to go home with Fred here,
and have the whole thing over with this same
night.”

“Oh! I wish you would; but it’s a pretty long
walk for you, to Riverport,” declared the boy,
with considerable enthusiasm.

“Oh! as to that, I reckon brother Arnold
here knows of a farmer not a great ways off, he
could send a note to by you and me,” Hiram went
on to say; “I’ve got plenty of hard cash in my
jeans, and we’ll hire the rig to take us to Riverport.
Perhaps we might let him think, you see,
that Fred got hurt running, and ought to be taken[164]
back home in a buggy. How about it, Arnold?”

“A pretty good scheme, I must say,” replied
the other. “Did you have enough supper,
Hiram; and are you ready to take the bull by
the horns right now?”

“Strike while the iron is hot; that’s always
been my motto,” replied the returned miner, as
he reached for his slouch hat; and took up the
overcoat he had worn, which had a high collar
that could be used to muffle his face if necessary.

“And as the night air is sharp and frosty, I’ll
lend Fred some clothes to keep him warm,” said
the farmer.

In ten minutes all this was done, and Fred led
the way along the road in the direction he supposed
Buck and his little brother would come.
He was listening all the while, even while conversing
with Hiram in low tones. Presently,
when they had gone about half a mile, he heard
the growling voice of Buck Lemington not far
away.

“Keep a-goin’ Billy; we’re not far away from
there now; and I guess they won’t refuse to let
us in, and give us some grub. Here, take hold
of my hand, and I’ll help you along all I can.
It was mighty nice for you to come with me,
Billy, and I won’t forget it; because I never saw
the governor so mad before, never!”

So while Fred and Hiram hid in the bushes,[165]
the two figures passed by. Fred realized that if
there was one spark of good left in the bully of
Riverport, it consisted in his affection for that
smaller brother.

Soon afterward they came to the farm where
the horse and buggy were to be secured. There
was no trouble whatever.

“This is something like,” remarked Hiram,
gleefully, as they sped over the road in the direction
of the town, the lights of which could be
seen glimmering in the distance, whenever the
travelers happened to be crossing a rise.

No doubt Fred was the happiest fellow in all
Riverport when he finally drove up in front of
his humble home, and, with Hiram, jumped
out.

As he looked in through the window he could
see his father and mother, and his three small
sisters, Josie, Rebecca and Ruth, all seated at
the supper table, with one chair vacant.

Fred opened the door and walked in. All of
them looked up, to smile at seeing how strange
the boy appeared in the odd garments loaned by
the farmer.

“Father, and mother,” said Fred, trying to
control his shaky voice; “I’ve brought you company.”
Then he closed the door, walked over,
and pulled down the shades, and turning again
went on to say: “Here’s somebody who’s come[166]
from the other side of the world to see you all.
Yes, mother, it’s Hiram, and he’s bound that this
very night will see his sworn testimony taken by
Judge Colon in the presence of reliable witnesses,
so that the great Alaska claim will be settled for
good. Hurrah!”[167]

CHAPTER XXI

THE ATHLETIC MEET

“This beats any crowd ever seen along the
Mohunk!”

That seemed to be the opinion of almost everybody,
as they looked at the densely packed grandstand,
at the throng in the extra tiers of seats
raised to accommodate those who would pay a
bonus in order to insure comfort; and finally the
thousands who crowded the spaces back of the
protecting ropes, all along the oval running track
that, twice around, made exactly a quarter of a
mile.

It was a glorious October day; in fact many
declared that “the clerk of the weather had
given Riverport the glad hand this time, for
sure,” since not a cloud broke the blue dome
overhead, and the sun was just pleasantly warm.

In the grandstand a group of girls and boys
belonging to Riverport had gathered early,
having seats adjacent. And how merrily the
tongues did clatter as Cissy Anderson called attention
to the clever way in which Sid Wells
carried himself, which remark would of course[168]
reach the boy’s ears in good time, as his sister,
Mame, who felt almost like crying because she
could not be in line with these bold athletes, was
present, and heard everything.

Flo Temple cast admiring eyes toward the spot
where Fred, clad in his running trunks and sleeveless
white shirt, talked with the track captain,
Brad Morton. For deep down in her girlish
heart, Flo felt certain that ere the day had come
to a close Fred was sure to win new glory for
Riverport school.

The arrangements for the athletic meet had
been carefully worked out. In the first place
there was a Director of the games, in whose
hands every important question was placed for
disposal. A gentleman residing in Paulding of
late, who had gained considerable fame himself
as an athlete in college, had been chosen director.
His name was De Camp, and he was
said to be a member of the wonderful family
who have figured so prominently in college
athletics in the past.

Then there was a referee, really the most important
of all officers, whose decision was to
settle every close match. The starter was to
have charge of each competition, measuring distances
accurately, so that there should be no
reason for dissatisfaction. A number of gentlemen
had been asked to serve as inspectors, to[169]
assist the referee, especially in the running
matches, and the five mile road competition in
particular, being stationed at certain points along
the course to observe how the numerous contestants
behaved, and penalize those who broke
the rules.

Of course there were the usual official scorers,
timers, three judges for finishes, and an equal
number for the field events. These judges were
to measure each performance, and give to the
scorer the exact distance covered. According to
the rules they had no power to disqualify or
penalize a contestant; but they could make alterations
in the program, so as to excuse a contestant
from his field event in order to appear in
his track contest, and allow him to take his
missing turn after he had had a reasonable rest.

The hour had now come for the first event on
the long program to be carried out, and the
field was cleared of all persons, whether contestants
or their admiring clusters of friends,
who had gathered to give a last good word.

When the master of ceremonies stepped out,
the waves of sound gradually died away.

“Silence! silence! let Mr. De Camp talk!”
was heard here and there; and even the most
gossipy girls dared not exchange words after
that.

The director, in a few happily chosen remarks,[170]
told of the great benefit to be derived from school
athletics, when properly conducted. He also declared
that the right sort of friendly competition
or rivalry between neighboring schools, bent
upon excelling in various channels of athletics,
was calculated to inspire a proper ambition to
win. And above all, he observed that in such
friendly contests the best of good will should
prevail, so that the vanquished might feel the
sting of defeat as little as possible.

“Be true sportsmen, boys,” he finished by saying;
“remember in the flush of your victory that
there is another fellow who was just as eager to
win as you were, who is feeding on the husks of
defeat. Give him a hearty cheer for his pluck.
It can only add to your own glory, and speaks
well for your heart. That is all I want to say.
The announcer will now tell you the character of
the first competition.”

Mechanicsburg showed up in a formidable
way early in the program. Bristles Carpenter
for Riverport, and Ogden for Paulding, brought
out a round of applause when they cleared the
bar in the high jump; but after it had been raised
several notches above their best record, Angus
Smith, who used to play such a clever game out
in left for Mechanicsburg, easily crossed over,
amid deafening cheers.

So the first event fell to the town up the river.

“Oh! that’s only a taste!” boasted a Me[171]chanicsburg
boy, close to the bevy of now rather
subdued Riverport girls; “we’ve got plenty of
that kind. Just wait, and you’ll be greatly surprised,
girls. Mechanicsburg has been keeping
quiet; but oh! you Riverport! this is a day you’ll
never, never forget! It spells Waterloo for
yours!”

“We’ve heard that sort of talk before, Tody
Guffey,” remarked Mame Wells, defiantly; “and
when the end came where was Mechanicsburg?
Why, in the gravy, of course. We never yet
started out well. Riverport needs something to
stir her blood, in order to make her boys do their
best. Now watch, and see what happens.”

However, Mame, splendid “rooter” for the
home squad that she was, could not claim much
glory as a prophet; for the next event was also
captured by the hustling school team from the up-river
town.

It was a standing jump, and again did the long-legged
Smith show his wonderful superiority as
an athlete, by beating the best the other boys
could put up.

Of course the cheers that rose were at first
mostly those of the visitors. Visions of a grand
victory that would wipe out the string of many a
previous defeat, began to float before the minds
of those who shouted, and waved hats, flags and
scarfs. The whole assemblage seemed to be for
Mechanicsburg, in fact; but then the same thing[172]
would be apt to show when either of the other
schools made a win. At such times enthusiasm
goes wild, and those who are enjoying the contests
are ready to cheer anything, so long as they
can make a noise.

“Now we’ll see a change, I guess,” laughingly
remarked Mame, when it was announced that the
next event would be a quarter mile sprint, with
just three entries, one from each school.

“Oh! you Colon!” shouted scores of Riverport
boys as the tall athlete came forward with
his customary slouching gait, that seemed a part
of his nature; though he could straighten up
when he wanted, well enough.

They were off like rabbits as the pistol
sounded, and the greatest racket broke forth as
they went flying around the track. Colon kept
just behind the other two. He was craftily
watching their work, and coolly calculating just
when it would be necessary for him to “put his
best foot forward.”

Once they went around, with Paulding leading
slightly, but Mechanicsburg going strong, and
Riverport just “loafing in the rear,” as one of the
boys expressed it. But those who were experienced
could see that the wonderful Colon was
just toying with his rivals.

“Right now he could dig circles around them
both!” yelled little Semi-Colon, who had the[173]
utmost faith in his cousin’s ability to accomplish
every task set for him.

“Now they’re three quarters done, and at the
other end of the track;” said Flo Temple; “Oh!
please, please, don’t delay too long, Colon!”

“Let out a link, Colon!” shrieked a megaphone
holder.

“Look at him, would you; he heard you shout,
all right, Sandy!” cried one boy.

“He’s got wings! He’s sure flying!”
whooped another.

“Say jumping like a big kangaroo! Call that
running? They’ll disqualify him, you mark me,
Riverport!” shrieked a disappointed Mechanicsburg
rooter, as he saw the local sprinter shoot
past both the others as though they were standing
still; and come toward the finish.

“Riverport wins!” was the shout that arose
on all sides.

“Wait!” answered the backers of the up-river
school; “we didn’t have our best man,
Wagner, in that sprint; we’re saving him for the
next, when your wonder will be winded more or
less. And the third sprint will be a walkover.
Oh! shout while you have the chance, Riverport;
but all the same your cake is going to be dough.
We’ve taken your number, and the count is two
against one, so far. Mechanicsburg! All together
now; three more cheers, boys!”[174]

CHAPTER XXII

FRED ON THE TRACK

Fred Fenton was in the throng that welcomed
the victorious Colon. He had heard that
remark of a Mechanicsburg lad about the plan
arranged to wear Colon down by putting a fresh
man in against him with the second sprint, this
time for half a mile. And it set Fred thinking.

He had himself been entered for the second
and third sprint; but because the five mile road
race was of such vast importance, the track
captain had prevailed upon Fred not to make
either of the others, leaving them to the marvelous
Colon to take care of.

Several more events were pulled off in rapid
succession, showing how well organized the
tournament seemed to be, in the hands of competent
men. One of these happenings was a sack
race, which afforded great amusement to the
crowd, and gave Paulding her first score, to the
uproarious delight of everybody.

“Paulding can crawl to victory, anyhow!”
shouted the megaphone boy, derisively.[175]

“That’s better than crawling after getting
licked!” answered a resolute backer of the town
down the river, “that never gave up until the last
man was down.”

When the basket ball game of the girls, between
Paulding and Mechanicsburg first, and
then Riverport against the victor of the first
round, was called, everybody sat up and took
notice.

It was a spirited game, and Paulding girls
proved themselves superior to those of the rival
town, for they finally won. Then their team was
patched up with a couple to replace those who
were tired out; after which they started to show
Riverport what they knew about basketball.

And sure enough, in the end they did carry the
Paulding colors to victory; though it was a close
decision; and if the balance of the home team
could have shown the same class that little Mame
Wells put into her playing, it would have been a
walkover for Riverport.

Colon came to the scratch, smiling and confident,
when the half mile run over the track was
called. So did that fellow up the river, who had
always been such a hard player to down, when
Riverport tackled her rival in baseball, or on the
gridiron—Felix Wagner, the best all-round
athlete of which Mechanicsburg boasted.

It was seen that Colon did not mean to follow[176]
the same tactics in this sprint of the half mile.
He knew that he was up against a different sort
of man now, than in the first event of his class.
And when the three competitors passed for the
third time the grandstand, they were pretty
evenly bunched, each jealously watching lest one
of the others get an advantage.

Amid a din of cheering they reached the other
end of the track, all going strong.

“Now watch Colon hump himself!” shouted
the megaphone boy.

“There he goes! Ain’t he the kangaroo
though?” bawled another.

“But keep your eye on Wagner, will you?
He’s flying like the wind. Better believe your
wonder will have to do his prettiest right now,
with that hurricane at his heels. Go it, Felix;
you can win it! Wagner! Wagner! He’s going
to do it! Hoop-la! Me-chan-icsburg forever!”

Wagner was coming like a bird, and his flying
feet seemed hardly to touch the ground. The
Paulding contestant appeared to be so far outclassed
that some people imagined he must be
almost standing still; but he was doing his best,
poor fellow.

Apparently Colon heard the sound of Wagner
close at his shoulder as the other made a last
spurt, meaning to pass him. Colon had just one
more “kink” to let loose, and as he did so he[177]
bounded ahead, passing the string some five feet
in front of the second entry.

The roar of cheers that arose suddenly died
out.

“Look at Colon! Something happened to
him! That last spurt must have ruptured a
blood vessel! That settles the third race, because
Wagner will have it easy!”

The marshal and his many assistants had some
difficulty in keeping order while a crowd of
athletes gathered around Colon, who had fallen
headlong after breasting the tape, and lay there
on the ground.

Presently the director appeared, and waved
his hand for silence, remarking:

“I regret to say that the winner of the last
half mile sprint sprained his ankle just as he
clinched his victory, and will be utterly unable to
take part in any other contest to-day. We are
glad it is no more serious injury; and one and all
extend to him our sympathy, as well as our admiration
for the game fight he has put up!”

Brad Morton helped Colon to a seat, where
he could have his swollen ankle properly attended
to, and at the same time watch the progress
of the tournament; for Colon stubbornly
refused to let them take him home.

The face of the track captain was marked with
uneasiness. Mechanicsburg was evidently in this[178]
thing to win, and meant to make every point
count. Right then the two schools seemed to be
moving along, neck and neck, each having seven
points in their favor, with several events coming
that were altogether uncertain.

Hence, that third half mile run over the track
might eventually prove to be the turning point,
upon which final victory or defeat would hinge.

With Colon, the unbeaten sprinter, down, who
was there to take his place against that fleet-footed
Wagner, who would be fairly recovered
by the time the last sprint was called?

Rapidly did Brad run over in his mind his
available entries, and putting each in competition
with Wagner, he shook his head. Sid Wells
could not be depended on to keep his head in a
final pinch. He usually did well in the beginning
of a hot race, but when there was a call for held-back
energies, Sid could not “deliver the goods,”
as Brad knew.

Besides, there was Corney Shays, a speedy
runner for short distances, but with poor wind.
Half a mile was too much for Corney; had it
been a quarter, now, Brad would have felt
tempted to try him against Wagner.

He looked anxiously toward Fred, and the
other smiled. An odd three-legged race was taking
place at the time, each school having an
entry; and amid uproarious shouts the contestants[179]
were falling down, getting mixed in their
partners, and exciting all sorts of comments.

“I’m willing to make the try if you say so,
Brad,” Fred remarked, for he could easily read
what was in the mind of the anxious Brad.

“If only I was sure that it wouldn’t interfere
with your work in the five mile run, I’d be
tempted to let you go into it,” the track captain
declared; “but you know that short Marathon
has been thought so important that it was given
three points, to one for all other events. We’ve
just got to win that, or we’re gone. Do you
really and truly think you could stand both,
Fred?”

“I sure do,” replied the other, confidently;
“and besides, you can get the field judges to put
the five mile off until the very last, so as to give
me time to recover. Nobody can object to that.”

“How about having the third sprint moved
up in line; that would widen the gap between
your two entries, Fred?” remarked Brad, the
gloom beginning to leave his face, as he saw a
way out of the trouble.

“Never do in the wide world,” replied Fred;
“because that would shorten Wagner’s time for
recovery after his last race. And lots of fellows
would say it was done purposely to give us
a winning chance. No, my plan is the better,
Brad.”[180]

Other events were being run off in succession.
The shot-put came to Riverport, Dave Hanshaw
proving himself superior at this sort of game to
any of those entered in competition. Jumping
the hurdles went to the steady-pulling up-river
town. And when the third sprint was called,
once again were Mechanicsburg and Riverport
tied for points.

When Fred toed the scratch alongside Felix
Wagner and the new Paulding sprinter, he did
not underestimate either of his antagonists. And
after they were off like greyhounds let free from
the leash, he adopted the tactics that had won so
handily for Colon in the first race, lagging just
behind the others, and observing how they ran,
while making the circuit of the track three times.

Thus he knew to a fraction just what resources
Wagner had left when the critical stage was
reached for the final spurt. Felix was already
beginning to feel his previous race. That heart-breaking
finish against Colon had told on him
more than he had expected it would. And Fred
believed he would have no great difficulty in displacing
him, when the time came.

On the way to the finish all of them increased
their already fast pace, until they were fairly
skimming along the level track as though they
had wings. But Fred proved to have considerably
more reserve powers than either of his[181]
competitors. Well had he gauged the distance;
and when just about one hundred yards from the
finish he was seen to pass both Wagner and the
Paulding runner, coming in an easy winner, amid
the terrific cheers of the excited throng, everybody
being upon his or her feet, waving flags,
hats, handkerchiefs, and shouting themselves
fairly hoarse to indicate what they thought of the
clever tactics of the Riverport boy.

And when the pleased Brad clapped Fred on
the back he remarked:

“Elegantly done, my boy; only I do hope it
won’t tell on you in the biggest event of the
meet; the five mile run. For they’re pressing
us hard, and we’ll need every one of those three
points, Fred; remember that!”[182]

CHAPTER XXIII

A CLOSE COUNT

“You’re doing yourself proud to-day, Fred,”
remarked Bristles Carpenter, as he dropped
down beside the other, who had donned his
sweater-jacket, so that he might not take cold,
and thus stiffen his muscles before being called
upon to toe the mark again, toward the end of the
meet, for the road race.

“Well, I feel just like a bird, and that’s a fact,
Bristles,” replied Fred, as he turned smilingly
upon his chum. “Everything seems to be coming
my way, outside of this athletic meet, you
know.”

“I heard Colon tell how you and your father
came over to his uncle’s last night, bringing a
stranger along with you; and that he turned out
to be the witness you’ve been looking for so long—Hiram
Masterson. Say, that was the name of
that farmer and his girl we helped that time;
wasn’t it, Fred?”

“Sure,” answered the other, for he felt that[183]
so faithful a friend as Bristles ought to be taken
into his confidence, now that all danger was over.
“He and Hiram are brothers, and both of ’em
are nephews of Squire Lemington.”

“And by the way, I don’t see Buck’s face
around; what d’ye reckon happened to him to
keep him away, when he’s so set on athletics?”

So Fred, seeing his chance, explained in a few
sentences all that had happened on the preceding
afternoon. Great was the astonishment of
Bristles.

“Talk to me about luck, there never was anything
to equal yours, Fred!” he declared, as he
shook hands warmly. “And so Hiram gave all
his evidence under oath, and in the presence of
witnesses, so there’s no chance of his being
kidnapped again, I guess. That’ll knock the old
syndicate silly; eh?”

“It has already, they tell me,” Fred went on,
composedly. “Word must have been sent to
Squire Lemington, for early this morning he was
down at the telegraph office wiring his chief, and
getting an answer. My father has received a
message from the Squire saying that he and the
president of the big company would be glad to
make an appointment with him, for the purpose
of talking over business matters. And he also
said that he felt sure they could come to some
agreement that would be satisfactory to both[184]
sides, and so avoid the expense and delay of a
lawsuit.”

“Bully! bully, all around; that must mean a
hundred thousand or two for your folks. But I
hope you keep your eye out for that tricky Squire,
Fred. If there’s any loop-hole for treachery
he’ll find it, mark me.”

“Oh! we’re in the hands of Judge Colon now;
and you can catch a weasel asleep sooner than he
could be found napping. Rest easy, Bristles, the
game’s already won, and the fun over, all but
the shouting.”

“Isn’t it great, though? And all these months
you’ve been going around with a cheery smile on
your face, Fred, when you carried a heavy load
of worry. You don’t care if I mention these
things to my folks; do you?”

“Not a bit of it,” answered the other, briskly.
“We’ve had to keep things quiet long enough;
and now that the tide’s turned our way we want
everybody to know the facts. Tell it as often as
you please; only don’t be too personal about the
share Squire Lemington had in the carrying off of
Hiram. We’ve got no actual proof, you know,
about that.”

“There goes our Dave at it again, throwing
the discus,” remarked Bristles; “it’s a dead sure
thing we win this event. And if I hadn’t fallen
down in my turn, Riverport would be just two[185]
points more ahead of her closest rivals. But I’m
going to take up training next time. I’ve learned
my weak point, and I hope to cure it.”

“There’s a happy boy, if there’s one here,”
said Fred, nodding his head in the direction of a
rather sturdily-set young chap, who stood watching
the throwing of the weight; and whose presence
in running trunks and sleeveless shirt announced
that he expected to make one of the
races.

“Why, it’s Gabe Larkins, for a fact; I didn’t
know he was in this thing at all,” Bristles
ventured.

“Yes, you may remember that he used to say
he was fond of all outdoor sports; but never had
time to take part in them,” Fred went on to remark.
“Well, Brad found that he was a clever
runner, and he coaxed him to practice a little on
the sly. He used to be a Riverport schoolboy,
you see, before he was taken out to go to work;
so he was eligible for entry. And I really believe
he’s going to prove a valuable find yet.”

“Talking about training, I heard Mr. De
Camp say he didn’t believe in too much of that
sort of thing for boys,” Bristles volunteered.

“Yes, I heard him say that, and he explained
it too,” Fred went on with. “You see, a boy is
in the process of the making. He can stand just
so much, and if he exceeds his powers he may[186]
work irreparable ruin to his system. He said
that a boy ought never to be trained as grown
athletes are. His training ought to be just play.
He must be shown how to do things properly,
and then allowed to go about it in his own way.
Give him an example of how the thing should be
done, and then let him play his own game.”

A wild burst of cheering stopped their conference,
and Bristles jumped up to ascertain what
caused it.

“Of course Dave just beat his own high water
mark,” he called out; “and neither of the others
is in the same class, just what I said would happen.
Another point for us. But the next lot
look dangerous, I’m afraid.”

They proved to be more than that, for two
points went to the up-river town as the wrestling
match, and the three-standing jump contest were
decided in their favor by the impartial judges.
As yet there had not been heard the least
criticism of the way these gentlemen conducted
their part of the affair. While in several close
decisions there may have been many disappointed
lads, still it was fully believed that the judges
were working squarely to give each contestant a
fair deal, and favor no one at the expense of
others.

A comical potato race next sent the crowds into
convulsions of laughter. And of course Paulding[187]
had to win that. How the others did rub it into
the advocates of the down-river school; but they
only grinned, and accepted the gibes with becoming
modesty.

“Oh! we’re strong on all the games that go
to make up the real thing,” one of the baseball
squad remarked, grinning amiably at the chaff of
his friends. “You see, potatoes go to make up
life for a big part of the human race; and we’re
after ’em, good and hard. And our girls are
helping us out handsomely. We take off our hats
to the fair sex. Paulding is all right, if a little
slow sometimes.”

In that spirit the various contests were being
carried out. Small danger of any serious trouble
arising between the three schools when their
young people showed such true sportsmanlike
qualities in their competitions, keen-set though
they were to win a victory.

The afternoon was wearing on, and the enthusiasm
did not seem to wane in the slightest
degree. True, a lot of the boys were getting
quite hoarse from constant shouting; but others
took up the refrain, while they contented themselves
with making frantic gestures, and throwing
up cushions, hats, and canes whenever they felt
the spirit to create a disturbance rioting within
them.

Brad Morton kept hovering near Fred as the[188]
contest went on, and it began to look more and
more like a tie between the two schools, when the
great and concluding five mile road race was
called.

He asked many times how Fred felt, and if
there was anything like rubbing down he needed,
in order to limber up some muscle that might not
feel just right.

“Not a thing, Brad,” the other remarked,
waving his hand toward the grandstand as he saw
Flo Temple flaunting her flag at him meaningly.
“I tell you I never felt in better trim than I do
right now—as fine as silk. And unless something
unexpected happens to me on the road, I’m going
to bring those three tallies home for Riverport,
or know the reason why. After all that’s
happened lately to make me happy, I just don’t
see how I could lose. Quit worrying, Brad.”

And under this inspiring kind of talk the track
captain did brace up, so that he even allowed a
smile to creep over his grim face.

“Well, you’re the one to give a fellow tone,
and make him feel good, Fred,” he remarked.
“I reckon you feel confident without being too
sure; and that’s the way a fellow competing
against others ought to feel. He’s just got to
believe in himself up to the last second; and in
lots of cases that same confidence wins out. But
I wish you hadn’t had to take part in that half-[189]mile
sprint. It might have done something that
you’ll find out after you get well into the long
race.”

“Oh! let up, won’t you, Brad?” urged Fred.
“I tell you I’m in perfect condition. And I’ll
prove it pretty soon, you see; for it’s getting near
the time for my run right now.”

Throughout the grandstand they were already
talking of that long five mile run, which
was bound to excite more interest than any other
event of this glorious day of sports.

“They say Fenton strained a tendon in his
foot, and limps already,” one of the up-river fellows
remarked, with a wink toward his comrades;
for he knew how quickly Mame Wells
would take up cudgels for her colors.

“Oh! he has; eh?” she exclaimed derisively;
“very well, Mort Cambridge, just you step out
and tell your runners they’d better be straining
some of their tendons, because they’ll need everything
that Fred Fenton’s got, if they want to be
in sight when he comes romping home. A
strained tendon, humph! Look at him walking
across the field right now; did you ever see anybody
have a more springy step than that? Isn’t
it so, Flo?” and there was a shout, as the
doctor’s daughter, with a flushed face but
with sparkling eyes, nodded her head defiantly.[190]

“How does the score stand?” asked someone,
breathlessly.

“Eleven for Mechanicsburg, to thirteen for
Riverport, and five for Paulding.”

“And only the road race left on the calendar,
which counts three points. Then it will settle the
championship; for the side that comes in ahead
there will win in number of points, Mechanicsburg
just nosing over, while we’d have five to the
good.”

“And here’s the director going to announce
the race, while the other man will name all the
contestants entered to take part. My! what a
big bunch there are; and how exciting it promises
to be. But I’m pinning my faith on Fred Fenton
to win.”

And pretty Flo Temple gave the speaker a
grateful look, because he voiced her sentiments
exactly.[191]

CHAPTER XXIV

THE LONE RUNNER

“They’re off!” was the cry.

With the crack of the pistol the long string
of runners left the line. Most of them had
been crouching in some favorite attitude that allowed
a quick start.

The course was to take them from the field
over to the road, and then along this for exactly
two and a half miles, until a turning point was
reached, when the return trip would begin.

Inspectors were stationed at various distances
along the course; and judges stood guard at the
turning stake, to make sure that every contestant
went the full limit before heading for
home.

In the three schools there were eleven contestants
in all—four for Riverport, the same
number for her up-river rival, and three belonging
to Paulding. Each boy had a large
number fastened on his back and chest, so that[192]
he could be plainly recognized by this for some
little distance.

Fred was Number Seven, while the crack long-distance
runner of Mechanicsburg, the wonderful
Boggs, had been given Number One. And there
were many persons who believed firmly that the
race was destined to be between these two boys,
champions of their respective schools.

In such a long race the interest does not get
fully awakened until several miles have been
passed over. And in order that those on the
athletic field might not be wholly without some
shreds of information while the runners were far
away, the managers had influenced some of the
boys to arrange a code of signals, to be worked
by operators at the other end of the two and
a half mile turn.

There was a hill in plain sight of both beginning
and turn. On this a pine tree had been
stripped of its branches; and a clothes line
stretched to a pulley near its top. When the
first runner turned the half-way stake a boy right
on the ground would wave a certain flag, so that
the lads up on the hill could see it.

On their part they were to run up a flag of
a similar color to tell the waiting throng which
school was in the lead at the half-way post.
Then, when a second contestant came along, his
advent would also be recorded.[193]

Red meant that Mechanicsburg was in the
lead; blue that Riverport had the advantage;
while green stood for Paulding.

There was a cluster of runners well up in the
lead when they began to vanish from the view of
the spectators. Then the others were strung
out; until last of all a Riverport fellow jogged
along, as though he saw no reason for haste so
early in the game.

Still, there could be no telling just where that
same laggard might be when the runners turned
and headed for the home stake. He might be
playing the waiting game that so often proves
fruitful in such races.

While the contestants were out of sight the
crowd enjoyed itself by sending all sorts of shouts
back and forth. Sometimes loud outbursts of
laughter greeted some happy remark from a
bright schoolboy or girl.

“Ought to be seeing something right soon
now,” remarked one of the crowd, as he looked
anxiously toward the signal station on the top
of the hill two miles away.

“That’s right.”

“I’ve been timing ’em,” said another; “and
you’re just right; they ought to be about there
by now.”

“Hi! look! there goes a flag up the mast!”
shrieked a voice.[194]

“It’s green too!” howled a frantic Paulding
backer.

“Oh! come off! can’t you tell a red flag when
you see it? Mechanicsburg’s turned the half-way
stake in the lead! Didn’t we say Boggs was
there with the goods?”

“And a yard wide too!”

“There goes a second flag up, showing that he
isn’t far ahead, anyway!”

“What’s that color? The sun hurts my eyes,
and I can’t just make it out?”

“Green! Green! This time you can’t say it
isn’t! Hurrah! Paulding is close on the heels of
the leader. The great Boggs may trip up yet,
boys.”

“Oh! where is your great wonder, Riverport?
What’s happened to Fred Fenton, do you suppose?”

“There he goes around the stake now; and
the three leaders are pretty well bunched. It
looks like anybody’s battle yet, fellows. And may
the best man win!”

It was true that the blue flag had followed
close upon the green one; indeed, there was not
a minute’s difference between the entire three,
showing that some of the runners must have
kept very close to each other during the first
half of the race.

But now would come the supreme test. Every[195]body
seemed to draw a long breath, as they kept
their eyes on that point of the distant road where
the first runner would make his appearance, turn
aside, and head across the field for the final
tapeline.

“Isn’t it just too exciting for anything, Flo?”
asked Mame Wells, putting her arm around her
chum, whom she found actually quivering with
nervous hope and fear.

“Don’t speak to me, Mame; I just can’t bear
to listen,” replied the other. “I’m waiting to
see who comes in sight first, and hoping I won’t
be disappointed. Be still, please, and let me
alone.”

Indeed, by degrees, all noise seemed to be dying
out. A strange silence fell upon the vast
throng. Thousands of eyes were fastened upon
that clump of trees, back of which they had seen
the last runner vanish some time before. Here
the leader would presently show up; and they
had not the slightest way of knowing whether it
would be Boggs, Fenton, or Collins from Paulding.

Much could have happened since the three
leaders turned the stake. Another runner might
have advanced from behind, and taken the head
of the procession. Some of those in the big road
race were really unknown quantities; and among
these was Gabe Larkins, for no one had ever[196]
really seen him run, the Riverport lad who
lagged behind in the start.

Seconds seemed minutes, and these latter
hours, as they waited for what was to come. It
was hard to believe that somewhere behind that
screen a crowd of boys were speeding along at
their level best, seeking to win honors for the
school of their choice.

Several false alarms were given, as is usually
the case, when some nervous persons think they
can see a moving object.

But finally a tremendous shout arose, that
gained volume with each passing second. Everybody
joined in that welcoming roar, regardless
of who the leader might turn out to be.

“Here they come!”

A lone runner had suddenly burst out from
behind the trees, and was heading for the field,
passing swiftly over the ground, and with an
easy, though powerful, foot movement, that
quite won the hearts of all those present who
had in days past been more or less interested in
college athletics.

“It’s Boggs!” shrieked one.

“Yes, I can see his number plain, and it’s One,
all right. Oh! you dandy, how you do cover the
ground, though! Nobody ever saw such running;
and he’s got the rest beat a mile. Why,
look, not a single one in sight yet, and Boggs,[197]
he’s nearly a third of the way here from the
turn in the course.”

Almost sick at heart, and with trembling hands
pretty Flo Temple managed to raise the field
glasses she had with her. She really hated to
level them just to see the face of the winning
Boggs.

Instantly she uttered a loud shriek.

“Oh! you’re all wrong!” she cried. “It isn’t
Boggs at all! Instead of Number One, that is
Number Seven!”

“It’s Fred Fenton!” whooped the fellow with
the megaphone, so that everybody was able to
hear.

“Fenton wins! Hurrah for Fred!”

Brad Morton, the track captain, caught hold
of Bristles, and the two of them danced around,
hugging each other as though they had really
taken leave of their senses.

“Fenton! Oh! where is Boggs? Fenton!
Riverport wins the championship!”

So the shouts were going around, and the
frantic lads leaped and waltzed about.

Meanwhile the lone runner was swiftly approaching.
They could all see now that it was
Seven upon his chest, which at first had been mistaken
for the One. Fred was apparently in no
great distress. He seemed able to continue for
another round, had such a thing been necessary.[198]

Only once he turned to glance over his
shoulder. This was when, arriving close enough
to the outskirts of the crowd to hear some of the
loud talk, he caught a cry that the nearest of his
competitors had been sighted. And Fred could
well afford to smile when he saw that Boggs was
not in it at all, for the second runner was Number
Eleven, which stood for Gabe Larkins.
He was coming furiously, and had he been better
coached at the start he might have even given the
winner a run for the goal.

The crowd thronged over the field as soon as
Fred breasted the tape, and was declared the
winner of the long distance event.

And with the words of the director still fresh
in their minds the victors made sure to rally
around the cheer captain, and send out a roar
again and again for the plucky fight made by
Mechanicsburg and Paulding. Such things go
far toward softening the pangs of bitter defeat,
and draw late rivals closer together in the bonds
of good fellowship.

But although everybody was showering Fred
Fenton with praises for his wonderful home-coming,
and thanking him times over because he
had made it possible for Riverport to win the
victory over both her competitors; he counted
none of these things as worth one half as much
as that walk home, after he had dressed, in the[199]
company with Flo Temple; and to see the proud
way in which she took possession of him, as
though, in wearing the little bud she had given
him, he had really been running that fine race
for her, rather than the school to which they
both belonged.[200]

CHAPTER XXV

THE ALASKA CLAIM

After all the excitement attending the great
athletic tournament, Riverport took the rest
those who lived within her borders really needed.
School duties had been somewhat neglected while
there was so much going on; and Professor
Brierley saw to it that the brakes were put on,
and the sport element eliminated for the time
being.

And yet he knew that the new spirit of athletic
training in schools was really working wonders
among those who had heretofore been sadly
backward about strengthening their lungs, and
developing their systems along proper lines.

The governing committee were so well
pleased with the many advantages which they
had reaped from the tournament, that it was
unanimously decided to repeat it every Fall.
And during the winter season the new gymnasiums,
with their modern apparatus for developing
chests, strengthening muscles, and encour[201]aging
weakly boys and girls to become strong
and healthy, would supply all the exercise
needed.

Fred Fenton, of course, became the idol of his
set. He was a clear-headed boy, it happened,
and he discouraged all this sort of hero worship
possible; making light of what he had done, and
declaring that when the next took place Gabe
Larkins was going to carry off every running
prize.

Fred was at any rate the happiest boy in Riverport;
and he believed he had ample reason for
declaring himself such.

In the first place the Alaska claim had been
finally settled, and to the complete satisfaction of
the Fenton family. Under the wise guidance
and counsel of Judge Colon, affairs had been so
managed that the head of the powerful syndicate,
accompanied by Squire Lemington, had several
meetings with Mr. Fenton. The upshot of the
whole matter was that an offer being finally
made, and refused, a second was presented that
enlarged the sum first mentioned. That was also
turned down by the sagacious judge, who had
received pointers from Hiram concerning the
necessity of the syndicate possessing the disputed
claim. In the end an agreement was
struck, the whole large sum paid over, and the
transfer of all claims made.[202]

Just what that amount was few people ever
knew. Some said it must have been as high as
three hundred thousand dollars; others declared
it was only a single hundred thousand; but the
chances are it came midway between the two extremes.

No matter what the sum, wisely invested as it
was by the new owner, it placed the Fenton
family beyond the reach of want as long as they
lived.

Fred could now dream his dreams of some time
going to college, when he had arrived at the topmost
round of the ladder as represented in the
Riverport school course. And there were a host
of other things that seemed much closer to his
hand now than they had ever been before.

As they had become dearly attached to their
little cottage home, the Fentons, instead of moving
into a larger and more comfortable house,
simply purchased the one they lived in. After
certain improvements had been completed they
had as fine a house as any one in all Riverport,
and with a location on the bank of the pretty
Mohunk second to none.

Hiram was uneasy away from the mining
camps, and after a while said good-bye to his
Riverport friends. He had made over to his
brother Arnold certain property he had accumulated;
so that both Sarah and her father felt that[203]
they would never again experience the pinch of
poverty.

These two friends of Fred were always delighted
whenever he and any of his chums took
a notion to run up, and pay them a little visit.
And many times did the girl speak of that dreadful
day when her calls from the bottom of the
well reached the ears of the cross-country runners,
bringing aid to herself and her sick parent.
They would never forget what Fred and Bristles
had done for them.

Gabe Larkins was a different boy from what
he had been in the past. Everybody thought well
of him now; and his mother, no longer fearing
that the change in his character indicated a fatal
sickness, became very proud of her boy. And
Gabe has a good word to say for Fred Fenton,
and Bristles Carpenter as well; for he knows just
how much those two boys had to do with influencing
Miss Muster to forgive his taking of
her opals, before he saw the new light.

For several days Buck Lemington was not
seen about Riverport. Only a few knew that he
was up at Arnold Masterson’s farm, really in
hiding until his father’s wrath blew over; and
that he had taken his little brother along in order
to the better bring the “governor” to terms.

When the Alaska claims business had been
finally adjusted in a satisfactory manner, and[204]
Squire Lemington could once more remember
that he had not seen either of his boys for some
days, he became quite alarmed. And it was at
this time that the artful Buck sent a note by a
special messenger, offering to bring Billy home
if his father would forget all about the punishment
he had threatened.

Of course he won his point, and in a short
time was just the same bully about Riverport as
of yore; because it is next to impossible for such
a fellow to reform.

Of course while Winter held the country
round about the three river towns in its grasp,
the frozen waters of the pretty Mohunk
furnished plenty of sport, both vigorous and
healthful.

And it goes without saying that the intense
rivalry existing between the schools kept pace
with the seasons. There were skating matches,
challenges between the proud owners of new
bobsleds, and even class spreads, with possibly a
dance in some distant barn, to which the girls were
conveyed by their attendants in all manner of
sleighs, and with an elderly lady to add dignity to
occasion.

In all of these events we may be sure that Fred
Fenton took his part with the same manly spirit
that, as has been shown in these stories of the
school struggles, actuated his behavior at all
times.[205]

He was not always victor, and more than once
tasted the sting of defeat; but Fred could give
and take; and he knew that others deserved to
win as well as he did himself. But he was satisfied
to enjoy the keen rivalry that accompanies
clean sport, and the very first to give the winner a
shout of congratulation.

In the early Spring some of the boys made
their way up to the haunted mill; for they remembered
that the pond used to hold some gamey
bass in those days of old when they regularly
played around that section.

They found that during a winter’s storm the
old building had finally yielded to the war of the
elements. It was lying in ruins; and thus another
old landmark disappeared from the region
of the Mohunk.

Colon recalled his strange experience at the
time he was kidnapped, and carried away to the
old mill by several disguised boys. Of course
every one knew now that these fellows had been
Buck and several of his cronies; and that their
object had been simply a desire to cripple the
Riverport athletic track team, because the committee
had concluded that none of them was a fit
subject for entry.

And they had come very nearly doing it too.
Only for the energy which Fred Fenton had
shown in following up the slender clues left behind,
Colon might have been detained there, his[206]
whereabouts unknown, until the meet was a thing
of the past, and the victory gone to Mechanicsburg.

Judge Colon was as good as his word, and,
even though the kidnapping had been only a boyish
prank, he said Fred and the others had done
such good work, that the reward of one hundred
dollars he offered should go to them. They took
it, turning it into an athletic fund, so that after
all the taking away of Colon resulted in some
good.

While this story finishes the present series of
tales devoted to the school life and athletic doings
of Fred Fenton, it is possible that the
reader may once more be given the pleasure and
privilege of meeting Fred and his friends in some
other future field of spirited rivalry. But at any
rate it is a satisfaction to all of us, who have
been more or less interested in his fortunes, that
the last glimpse we have of Fred he seems to be
enjoying the friendship of nearly every one of
his comrades, boys and girls alike; and bids fair
to hold their regard to the end of his term at
Riverport school.

THE END

The Tom Fairfield
Series

By Allen Chapman

Tom Fairfield is a typical American lad, full of life
and energy, a boy who believes in doing things. To know
Tom is to love him.

Tom Fairfield’s Schooldays or The Chums of Elmwood Hall Tells of how Tom started for school, of the mystery surrounding one of the Hall seniors, and of how the hero went to the rescue. The first book in a line that is bound to become decidedly popular.

The Darewell Chums Series

By Allen Chapman

A BRIGHT, lively story for boys, telling of the doings of four chums, at school
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FROM a country town the scene is changed to a great city. One of the chums
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The Darewell Chums in the Woods Or, Frank Roscoe’s Secret THE boys had planned for a grand outing when something happened of which none of them had dreamed. They thought one of their number had done a great wrong—at least it looked so. But they could not really believe the accusations made, so they set to work to help Frank all they could. All went camping some miles from home, and when not hunting and fishing spent their time in learning the truth of what had occurred.

A TALE of the Great Lakes. The boys run across some Canadian smugglers
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HERE is a lively tale of ice and snow, of jolly good times in a winter camp,
hunting and trapping, and of taking it easy around a roaring campfire.

Boys of Pluck Series

By Allen Chapman

The Young Express Agent Or, Bart Stirling’s Road Success BART’S father was the express agent in a country town. When an explosion of fireworks rendered him unfit for work, the boy took it upon himself to run the express office. The tale gives a good idea of the express business in general.

THIS tale will appear strongly to all lads who wish to know how a newspaper
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HERE we have a story covering an absolutely new field—that of the mail-order
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THIS relates the ups and downs of a young storekeeper. He has some keen
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THE young land agent had several rivals, and they did all possible to bring
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cleared up his mother’s claim to some valuable real estate.

The Saddle Boys Series

By Captain James Carson

All lads who love life in the open air and a good steed,
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The Saddle Boys of the Rockies or Lost on Thunder Mountain Telling how the lads started out to solve the mystery of a great noise in the mountains—how they got lost—and of the things they discovered.

The Speedwell Boys
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By Roy Rockwood

All boys who love to be on the go will welcome the
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well worth knowing.

The Speedwell Boys on Motor Cycles or The Mystery of a Great Conflagration The lads were poor, but they did a rich man a great service and he presented them with their motor cycles. What a great fire led to is exceedingly well told.

The Dave Dashaway
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By Roy Rockwood

Never was there a more clever young aviator than
Dave Dashaway, and all up-to-date lads will surely wish
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Dave Dashaway the Young Aviator or In the Clouds for Fame and Fortune This initial volume tells how the hero ran away from his miserly guardian, fell in with a successful airman, and became a young aviator of note.