CHAPTER I
JACK WINS A RACE
"Now, then, are you all ready?"
"I'm as ready as I ever shall be," answered Jack Ranger, in reply to thequestion from Sam Chalmers. "Let her go!"
"Wait a minute," cried Dock Snaith. "I want to put a little more oil onmy oarlocks."
"Oh, you're always fussing about something, Dock," said Sam. "It looksas if you didn't want to go into this race after all your boasting."
"That's what it does," came from Nat Anderson.
"Hu! Think I can't beat Jack Ranger?" replied Dock with a sneer as hebegan putting more oil on the oarlock sockets. "I could beat him rowingwith one hand."
"Get out!" cried Sam. "You've got a swelled head, Dock."
"I have, eh?"
"Now are you ready?" asked Sam again, as he stepped forward and raisedthe pistol, ready to fire the starting shot in a small race betweenJack Ranger, one of the best-liked students at Washington Hall, and DockSnaith, a bullying sort of chap, but who, in spite of his rather meanways, had some friends.
"I guess I'm all ready now," replied Dock, as he got on the center ofthe seat and adjusted the oars.
"Better send for your secretary to make sure," said Nat Anderson, and atthis there was a laugh from the students who had gathered to see thecontest. "Rusticating rowlocks, but you're slow!"
"You mind your own business, Anderson," came from the bully, "or I'llmake you."
"It'll take more than you to make me," responded Nat boldly, for morethan once he had come into conflict with Snaith and did not fear him.
"It will, eh? Well, if I can get out of this boat----"
"Aw, go on! Row if you're going to!" exclaimed Sam. "Think I haven'tanything to do except stay here and start this race? You challengedJack, now go ahead and beat him--if you can."
"Yes, come on," added Jack, a tall, good-looking, bronzed youth, who saton the seat in the small boat, impatiently moving the oars slowly to andfro.
"Oh, I'll beat you," said the bully confidently. "You can give the wordwhenever you're ready, Chalmers."
"Ah! that's awfully kind of you, really it is," said Jack in a high,falsetto voice, which produced another laugh.
Dock Snaith scowled at Jack, but said nothing. There was a moment'sdelay, while Sam looked down the course to see if all was clear onRudmore Lake, where the contest was taking place.
"I'm going to fire!" cried Sam.
The two contestants gripped their oars a little more firmly, they leanedforward, ready to plunge them into the water and pull a heavy stroke atthe sound of the pistol. Their eyes were bright with anticipation, andtheir muscles tense.
Crack! There was a puff of white smoke, a little sliver of flame, hardlynoticeable in the bright October sunlight; then came a splash in thewater as the broad blades were dipped in, and the race was on.
"Jack's got the lead! Jack's ahead!" cried the friends of our hero, asthey ran along the shore of the lake.
"Dock is only tiring him out," added the adherents of the school bully."He'll come in strong at the finish."
"He will if he doesn't tire out," was Nat Anderson's opinion. "Docksmokes too many cigarettes to be a good oarsman."
"I suppose you think Ranger will have it all his own way?" spoke PudArmstrong, a crony of Snaith.
"Not necessarily," was Nat's answer as he jogged along. "But I thinkhe's the better rower."
"We'll see," sneered Pud.
"Yes, we'll see," admitted Nat.
The two contestants were now rowing steadily. They had a little over amile to go to reach the Point, as it was called; that being the usuallimit of impromptu racing events.
The contest between Jack Ranger and Dock Snaith was the result of anargument on oarsmanship, which had taken place in the school gym thenight before. It was shortly after the opening of the term at WashingtonHall, and in addition to football, which would soon be in full sway,there was rowing to occupy the attention of the students, for the lake,on the shores of which the academy was situated, was well adapted foraquatic sports.
The talk had turned on who were the best individual oarsmen in theschool, and Jack Ranger's friends lost no time in mentioning him as thechampion, for more than once he had demonstrated that in a single shell,or a large, eight-oared one, he could pull a winning stroke.
Dock Snaith's admirers were not slow in advocating his powers, and thebully, not at all backward to boast of his own abilities, had challengedJack to a small race the next day. Jack had consented, and the contestwas now under way.
"Jack's going to walk right away from him," said Dick Balmore, otherwiseknown as "Bony," from the manner in which his inner skeleton was visiblethrough his skin, and from a habit he had of cracking his knuckles.
"Don't be too sure," cautioned Sam. "Snaith has lots of muscle. Our onlyhope is that he won't last. His wind isn't very good, and Jack has sethim a fast clip."
"Go on, Dock," cried Pud Armstrong. "Go on! You can do him easy!"
Dock nodded, the boats both being so close to shore that ordinaryconversation could easily be heard.
"That's the stuff, Jack!" cried Nat Anderson. "Keep it up!"
Jack had increased his stroke two or three more per minute, and Dockfound it necessary to do likewise, in order not to get too far behind.He was letting his rival set the pace, and so far had been contentmerely to trail along, with the sharp bow of his frail craft lapping thestern of Jack's a few feet.
"Dock's holding back for the finish," remarked Pud as he raced along,and in passing Nat he dug his elbow into the side of Jack's chum.
"Well, if he is, that's no reason why you should try to puncture myinner tubes," expostulated Nat. "I'll pitch you into the lake if you dothat again."
"Aw, you're getting mad 'cause Jack's going to lose," sneered Pud.
"That's what he is," added Glen Forker, another crony of the bully.
"Am I? Just wait," was all Nat answered as he rubbed his ribs."Slithering side saddles! but you gave me a dig!"
The contestants were now rowing more rapidly, and the students on shore,who were following the race, had to increase their pace to keep up tothem.
"Hit it up a little, Jack!" called Sam. "You've got him breathing hard."
"He has--not! I'm--I'm all right," answered Dock from his boat, and veryfoolishly, too, for he was getting winded, and he needed to save all hisbreath, and not waste it in talking. Besides, the halting manner inwhich he answered showed his condition. Sam noticed it at once.
"You've got him! You've got him, Jack!" he cried exultantly. "Go on! Rowhard!"
"Say, that ain't fair!" cried Pud Armstrong.
"What isn't?" asked Sam.
"Telling Jack like that. Let him find out about Dock."
"I guess I know what's fair," replied Sam with a withering look. "I'llcall all I want to, and don't you interfere with me, or it won't behealthy for you."
Pud subsided. Sam Chalmers was the foremost authority, among thestudents, on everything connected with games and sports, for he playedon the football eleven, on the nine, and was a general leader.
"You'd better hit it up a bit, Dock," was Glen Forker's advice to hiscrony, as he saw Jack's lead increasing. "Beat him good and proper."
"He'll have to get up earlier in the morning if he wants to do that,"commented Bony Balmore, as he cracked his big knuckles in hisexcitement.
And it was high time for Dock to do some rowing. Jack had not beenunaware of his rival's difficulty, and deciding that the best way to winthe race would be to make a spurt and tire him out before the finish, he"hit up a faster clip," the broad blades of the oars dipping into thewater, coming out and going in again with scarcely a ripple.
"There he goes! There he goes!" cried Sam. "That's the ticket, Jack!"
"Go on! Go on!" yelled Nat.
"Get right after him, Dock," advised Pud.
"You can beat him! Do it!" cried Glen.
But it was easier said than done. Jack was rowing his best, and whenour hero did that it
was "going some," as Sam used to say. He had openedup quite a stretch of water between his boat and Dock's, and the bully,with a quick glance over his shoulder, seeing this, resolved to close itup and then pass his rival. There was less than a quarter of a mile tothe finish, and he must needs row hard if he was to win.
Dock bent to the task. He was a powerfully built lad, and had he been ingood condition there is no question but what he could have beaten Jack.But cigarette-smoking, an occasional bottle of beer, late hours and toomuch rich food had made him fat, and anything but an ideal athlete.
Still he had plenty of "row" left in him yet, as he demonstrated a fewseconds later, when by increasing not only the number of his strokes perminute, but also putting more power into them, he crept up on Jack,until he was even with him.
Jack rowed the same rate he had settled on to pull until he was within ashort distance of the finish. He was saving himself for a spurt.
Suddenly Dock's boat crept a little past Jack's.
"There he goes! There he goes!" cried Pud, capering about on the bank indelight. "What did I tell you?"
"He'll win easy," was Glen's opinion.
"It isn't over yet," remarked Nat quietly, but he glanced anxiously atSam, who shook his head in a reassuring manner.
Dock began to increase his lead. Jack looked over his shoulder for oneglance at his rival's boat. The two were now rowing well and swiftly.
"Go on, Jack! Go on! Go on!" begged Bony, cracking his eight fingers andtwo thumbs in rapid succession, like a battery of popguns. "Don't lethim beat you!"
Dock was now a boat's length ahead, and rowing well, but a criticalobserver could notice that his breathing distressed him.
"Now's your chance, Jack!" yelled Sam.
But Jack did not need any one to tell him. Another glance over hisshoulder at his rival showed him that the time had come to make thespurt. He leaned forward, took a firmer grip on the ash handles, andthen gave such an exhibition of rowing as was seldom seen at WashingtonHall.
Dock saw his enemy coming, and tried to stave off defeat, but it was nouse. He was completely fagged out. Jack went right past him, "as if Dockwas standing still," was the way Sam expressed it.
"Go on! Go on!" screamed Pud. "You've got to row, Dock!"
But Dock could not imitate the pace that Jack had set. He tried, but theeffort was saddening. He splashed, and the oars all but slipped fromhis hands. His heart was fluttering like that of a wounded bird.
"You've got him! You've got him, Jack!" yelled Nat; and, sure enough,Jack Ranger had.
On and on he rowed, increasing every second the open water between hisboat and his rival's, until he shot past the Point, a winner by severallengths.
"That's the way to do it!"
"I knew he'd win!"
"Three cheers for Jack Ranger!"
These, and other cries of victory, greeted our hero's ears as he allowedhis oars to rest on the water flat, while he recovered his wind afterthe heart-breaking finish.
"Well, Dock could beat him if he was in training," said Pud doggedly.
"That's what he could," echoed Glen.
"Not in a thousand years!" was Nat's positive assertion.
The boys crowded to the float that marked the finish of the course. Jackreached it first, and stepped out of his shell, being greeted by hisfriends. Then Dock rowed slowly up. His distress showed plainly in hispuffy, white face.
He got out clumsily, and staggered as he clambered upon the float.
"Hard luck, old man," said Jack good-humoredly.
"I don't want your sympathy!" snapped Dock. "I'll row you again, andI'll beat you!"
Jack had held out his hand, but the bully ignored it. He turned aside,and whether the float tilted, or whether Snaith tottered because of acramp in his leg, was never known, but he staggered for a moment, triedunsuccessfully to recover his balance, and then plunged into the lake atone of the deepest spots, right off the float.
Jack Ranger's Gun Club; Or, From Schoolroom to Camp and Trail Page 2