Dick Randall, the Young Athlete

by William Osborn Stoddard

  CHAPTER IX

  FOUL PLAY

  It was nearing sunset on Friday, the fourteenth of June; thePentathlon was scheduled for ten o'clock on the following day. DickRandall, dressed in his street clothes, but with his spiked shoes onhis feet, stood, hammer in hand, listening to McDonald's final wordsof explanation and advice. McDonald's protege, Joe, the little FrenchCanadian, lay stretched on the grass, near the edge of the field,looking on.

  It was a bright, clear evening, and the sun, now almost level with thehorizon, smote blindingly across the field. McDonald shifted hisposition to escape its glare. "Now then, Dick," he said, "just onemore try, to be sure we've got it. That's all I'm going to let youtake. We'll run no risk of damaging that ankle of yours again."

  "Oh, the ankle's all right," Dick answered. "I honestly couldn't feelin better shape. And you don't know what a load it takes off my mindto have the hammer coming right at last. It makes me feel as if Ireally had something of a show."

  McDonald nodded. "Of course, you have a show," he answered. "Now takeyour try, and remember the two things I've been telling you! Pull awayfrom it, all the time, as if you were hauling tug-of-war on a rope;and don't start to turn too quick. But when you do start, spin fast,and the rest will come by itself. And if you don't throw within tenfeet of Dave Ellis to-morrow, I'm a liar."

  Dick took his stand within the circle, and made ready for his trial.After weeks of disappointment, there had finally come a day when thewhole theory of the double turn had worked itself out satisfactorilyin his brain, and had remained there, so that for the past fortnighthe had kept his form, and had steadily increased the distance of histhrows. Yet McDonald, although a great believer in light work before acompetition, knew from experience how easily the knack with the hammermay be lost, and while he had made Dick stop his running and jumping,he had kept him at light practice with the weight, taking half a dozenthrows a day, until his pupil had acquired a method that was almostmechanical in its certainty. Now he found little to criticize as Dickspun around quickly and smoothly, keeping well within the circle, andsending the missile far down the field. He nodded approval. "Allright," he called, "that's enough. We'll stop right there. Let's putthe tape on it."

  While they were measuring, Joe, from his position near the fence,happened to glance into the woods beyond the field, and having lookedonce, he seemed to take no further interest in the hammer throwers,but lay still, and without appearing to do so, kept a watchful eye onthe spot of light which had gleamed from the branches of the big oaktree on the border of the wood. The last rays of the sunset streamedgloriously across the field; in answer, flash after flash camesparkling from the oak; and then the sun dipped behind the hills, andthe soft shadow of the twilight crept downward toward the town.

  Dick and McDonald, talking earnestly together, started to leave thefield. At the corner of the wood, Dick turned, gazing out at thedarkening west. "Fine day to-morrow, I guess, all right," he said.

  "Yes," McDonald assented, "it looks like it. And we're going to haveyou in shape to do a good performance, Dick. Wait till you've eatenthe steak I've got for you. That's going to put the muscle on. It'llmean a foot in the hammer, I know."

  Dick laughed. "Well, you were good to invite me to stay," he answered."I told Mr. Fenton we had a few last things to talk over, and that I'dcome back after supper. And he said that would be all right. Now,about that high jump--"

  They walked on toward the cottage. As they passed the angle of thewoods, Joe, who had been walking along behind them, hurried up toMcDonald, spoke a few quick words to him in an undertone, and dartedaway among the trees. Dick looked after him in surprise. "What'sstruck the kid?" he asked.

  McDonald shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know myself," he answered, "hetakes queer notions sometimes. Something, he said, about a big bird ina tree. But he's all right. He's a smart youngster, and he knows thewoods like a book. He'll be back by supper-time."

  They walked on again, still discussing the all-absorbing topic of themorrow's meet. In the meantime, Joe's little figure was flittingonward through the woods, slipping silently from tree to tree, fromtime to time stopping to listen, until finally, ahead of him, he heardthe murmur of voices. Dropping quickly on his hands and knees, hecrept forward through the underbrush. Then, reaching the edge of alittle clearing, he peered cautiously through the bushes, and sawbefore him the figures of two men, standing talking together in thefading light. One of them was slight and dark, and fashionablydressed, and as Joe saw the pair of field-glasses slung over hisshoulder, his eyes gleamed, and he gave a quick little nod to himself,as if now sure of something which he had only suspected before. Theother man was short, broad, powerful, his thick chest and long armssuggesting a strength far above the average. It was he who wasspeaking, and Joe strained his ears to listen to every word.

  "I don't like it," he was saying; "the whole thing's too big a risk.You're safe, I guess, if you play it straight. Ellis is going to win."

  "No, he isn't going to win," the dapper young man replied. "I'veclimbed that cursed tree every afternoon for the last week, and I knowhow far Randall's getting that hammer, and I tell you again that,barring accidents, he's going to lick Ellis on the show-down. It willbe close, but Randall wins."

  His companion grunted. "Humph," he said, "this Dave Ellis must be abeaut. He makes you lots of bother. First he loses two hundred to youat poker, and then he cries baby, and says he can't pay, and then heputs you on to this athletic business, to get square, and now at thelast minute, when your money's on, it turns out you've backed thewrong man. Don't blame you for being a little worked up. That comesclose to being what I should call a pretty raw deal."

  "No," the younger man answered, "hardly that. Ellis meant all right.He thought he could win. He thinks now he can win. But he can't. I'msure of it. Because, as long as I've got five hundred dollars on him,I've taken pains to find out how things stand. He can beat Johnson,all right, but he can't beat Randall. The men I got my money up with,were pretty wise guys--they had the tip from McDonald, I believe.Anyway, it's too late to hedge, and so--I wrote you. And, as I tellyou, it's a hundred dollars in your pocket, and as easy as breakingsticks. So don't go back on me now."

  The older man appeared to hesitate. "I don't like it much," he saidagain, then added, "When do you mean to pull it off?"

  "Right away," answered the other. "I meant to do it later to-night,but now I find he's going to stop at McDonald's for supper, and thenwalk back. It's a straight road, and a lonely one. There's a patch ofwoods about half-way home. It's easy. We've got the team. And there'sno harm done to any one. You're the gainer, and so am I, and so isyoung Dave. The whole thing's no more than a joke, except that itmeans five hundred dollars to me, and five hundred dollars is money,these times. So let's get going."

  Still his companion hesitated. "Here's two things I want to know," hesaid at length; "first, where do I take him?"

  "Smith's old barn," answered the other promptly; "pleasant and retiredhealth resort. No bad neighbors. Quiet and peaceful. Keep him tillabout noon to-morrow, and then let him stray back any way you please.Oh, the thing's a cinch. I almost hate to do it. It's too easy. But,as I say, I need the money."

  "Oh, yes, it's all a cinch," grumbled the older man, "where I do thework, and you do the heavy looking on. It's always easy for the fellowthat's superintending. But now look here. Here's question number two.Suppose Randall doesn't show up to-morrow, at ten o'clock, whathappens then? Won't they postpone the whole darn business? I'm notgoing to live in Smith's old barn for ever, you know. I'm not asstrong for this rest-cure idea as you seem to think I am. I like someaction for mine."

  His companion smiled. "You don't seem to give me any credit forworking out this scheme," he complained. "I thought of the chance oftheir postponing it, the first thing, so I asked a lot of innocentquestions of Dave, and found out there wasn't any danger in thatdirection. They make a lot of fuss over this athletic business, you
know, just as if it really amounted to something. And one of the'points of honor,' as Dave calls 'em, is never to postpone. Kind of'play or pay' idea. They've had a base-ball game in a rainstorm, and afoot-ball game in a blizzard, and once they tried to row a boat racein half a gale of wind, and swamped all three shells. Oh, no, ifRandall isn't there, they'll go ahead without him; that's all there isto that. He can explain afterward, but it's going to sound so fishy,they'll think he's lying. It isn't bad, really, the whole plan. Hullo,what's that?"

  At the edge of the clearing, a twig snapped sharply. Joe, in hiseagerness to hear all that was being said, had crept nearer andnearer, and now the accident nearly betrayed him. Both men listenedintently, and Joe hugged the ground, hardly daring to breathe. "Guess'twasn't anything," said the older man, at last. "Don't believe thesewoods is very densely populated. Well, let's get out. We want to be intime," and a moment later Joe heard their footsteps growing fainterand fainter in the distance.

  For an instant or two, he thought hard. He did not understand all thathe had heard, but the main points in the scheme were clear enough tohis mind. He must warn Dick at once, before it was too late. Andrising to his feet, he started to run. Yet his very haste proved hisundoing. It had grown dark. The woods, even by daylight, were hard totraverse; and now, in his hurry and excitement, he momentarily boreaway too far to the right, and missed his way. Then, striving to makeup for lost time, he became more and more confused; and finally,catching his foot in a clinging vine, at the top of a little ravine,he pitched forward, half fell, half rolled, down the slope, struck hishead violently against some hard substance at the bottom, and laystill, his face upturned to the sky, over his forehead a littletrickling stream of blood.

  An hour later, Dick came out of McDonald's cottage. "Well, we've goteverything straight now," he said, "and you'll be there tomorrow.Hopevale Oval, ten o'clock sharp."

  McDonald nodded. "I'll be there," he answered, "and remember my words,Dick; you're going to win. Good night, and good luck."

  He watched Randall's form vanish in the darkness; then turned his facetoward the wood. "Oh, Joe," he called, "supper's ready," and thenagain, more loudly, "Oh, Joe," but no answer came back to him, andwith a puzzled look on his face, he reentered the cottage.

  Dick walked leisurely along through the gloom of the summer night. Hefelt happy, knowing that he was in the very pink of condition, and nowthat his chance to do something for the school had really come, he wasdetermined to meet the crisis as gamely and as resolutely as hisclassmates on the crew had done. Far away, in the distance, the lightsof the school shone out across the fields. He gave a sigh ofanticipation, feeling alive in every nerve and muscle; fit to dobattle for his very life.

  Half-way home, he entered the patch of woods which bordered the road,for some little distance, on either hand. And then suddenly he gave astart of surprise, for midway through the thicket, a dark figureloomed up ahead of him, advancing through the gloom. In spite ofhimself, Dick felt a thrill of uneasiness, but the stranger hailed himcordially enough. "Beg pardon," he said, "but have you a match aboutyou? My pipe's gone out."

  Dick moved to one side, to let the man pass, his muscles on the alertto make a dash for liberty, if the need should come. "Sorry," heanswered, "I don't carry 'em--"

  He got no further. Suddenly, even as he became conscious that the manwas still advancing, a brawny arm was thrown about his neck frombehind; his head was jerked violently backward; he choked and gaspedfor breath; and then, before he could struggle or utter a cry, he wasgagged, bound, and lying helpless as a log, was borne swiftly awaydown the road.

  The following morning, at seven o'clock, Mr. Fenton heard a hurriedknock at his study door. "Come in," he called, and Harry Allen hastilyentered, his face pale. "Mr. Fenton," he said, "here's trouble. I justwent into Dick Randall's room, and he's not there. His bed hasn't beenslept in. What do you suppose can have happened to him?"

  Mr. Fenton looked at him in surprise. "I can't imagine, Harry," hereplied. "He told me, yesterday, he would take supper with McDonald,and come home shortly afterward. He might have stayed there overnight,I suppose. Still, that's not like Randall. He would have telephoned mefrom the village, I think. It seems curious, doesn't it? I'll send toMcDonald's at once, and we'll see. Will you ask Peter to slip the mareinto the buggy, please; and you go with him, Harry, and show him theway? I don't doubt you'll find Dick there."

  It was an hour later when Allen reentered the room, the lack of goodnews showing in his face. "He wasn't there," he cried, "and what'sstranger still, McDonald wasn't there either, or the boy. What can itmean, Mr. Fenton? You don't suppose McDonald--"

  Mr. Fenton finished the sentence for him. "Would have caused Dick tovanish?" he said. "I don't know, Harry. Your guess is as good as mine.Probably it's some very simple circumstance which we're not brightenough to see. But I confess I'm puzzled. I shall go down to thevillage directly after breakfast, and see what I can discover there.But I've no doubt everything's all right. McDonald and Dick must betogether, wherever they are."

  Allen paused, with his hand on the knob of the door. "Shall I tell thefellows, sir?" he asked.

  Mr. Fenton deliberated. "I think not," he said at last. "We don't wisha tempest in a teapot. You know what the newspapers are, these days.No, I think you'd better say nothing, for the present. Perhaps Dickwill turn up at Hopevale, if he doesn't come back here before then.No, I think, on the whole, I wouldn't alarm the boys," and Allen,nodding, left the room.

  At the selfsame hour that this conversation was taking place at theschool, Dick Randall sat moodily in a chair, in what had been theharness-room of Jim Smith's big barn, now long disused, and falling todecay. The gag had been taken from his mouth, but his arms and legswere still bound. Opposite him sat his captor, the brawny thick-setman whom Joe had seen in the woods on the previous night. He hadcoaxed a fire into an unwilling start in the old, rusty stove, and waslaboring hard to produce a dish of coffee in an old tin dipper. Acouple of sandwiches lay on the floor beside him. Finally, with thefire going to his satisfaction, he turned to Dick. "Well, now," heobserved, "I call this doing pretty well. Real nice and sociable like.Two regular old pals, we're getting to be. You've promised not toholler, which is sensible, because no one would hear you if you did,so you've got your jaws free to eat; and if you'd only promise not totry to get away, I'd untie them arms of yours, and you'd be as fine asa fiddle. Come now, give me your word, and I'll cut that rope in aminute. That shows what a trust I've got in you."

  Dick made no answer. His face was drawn and anxious, there were darkcircles under his eyes; he was thinking desperately, as he had thoughtall through the long summer night. Some means of escape he mustfind--and yet--how was it possible? And then, even as he recklesslyconsidered the giving and breaking of his word, and the chance of astruggle with his jailer, the man pulled his watch from his pocket,and yawned.

  "Ten minutes past eight," he said. "Just a little longer, and themgames will be going on, over at Hopevale. Too bad you can't see 'em; Iguess they'll be a fine sight. They tell me this Dave Ellis is alikely man at all such things as that. I suppose most likely he'llbeat."

  Dick did not deign a reply. In their long, solitary sojourn together,he had become accustomed to his captor's ideas of humor. So that now,he did not even permit his eyes to meet those of his tormentor, butgazed steadily past him, toward the door of the carriage house. "Tenminutes past eight," he reflected; "it is too late--nothing could helpme now."

  And then, like lightning from a clear sky, came the climax to all thisstartling series of events. For even as he looked, slowly andcautiously he beheld the door of the harness-room slide back, and thenext instant there appeared in the doorway the figure of DuncanMcDonald, a revolver in his outstretched hand.

  The look of amazement in Dick's eyes must have warned his jailer, forhe wheeled sharply, to find himself looking into the muzzle ofMcDonald's pistol. Then came the quick command, "Hands up, lively,"and as he reluctantly obeyed, McDonald called sharpl
y, "All right,Joe. Come on. Go through his pockets, now."

  "Hands up, lively," McDonald called]

  Dick started with surprise and pity, as the little French Canadianlimped forward into the room. His face was deathly pale, and streakedand matted with blood. Yet he went resolutely at his task, and amoment later drew out from the man's pocket a big revolver, and handedit to McDonald. The latter smiled grimly. "Now cut Dick loose," hedirected, and Joe quickly obeyed. With a long sigh of relief, Randallmanaged to struggle to his feet, walking haltingly around till thethickened blood began once more to stir into life. McDonald motionedto the door. "Hurry, Dick," he said, "Joe will show you. Down thepath. I've got a team. And food, and a set of my running things.Hurry, now. I'll be with you in a minute. I'm going to keep a watch onyour friend here, till you give a yell to show you're ready to start."

  Fifteen minutes later they had left the woods and were speeding downthe road toward Hopevale. Dick's face was transfigured. With everyturn of the wheels, he was coming back to himself. A chance was lefthim after all.

  "How did it all happen, Duncan?" he asked, and hurriedly anddisjointedly McDonald told him the tale.

  "Joe saw something shining up in a tree, last night," he said;"thought it was queer. Went to investigate. Man had been up there,watching us with a field-glass. Joe stumbled on him, talking withanother fellow--this chap that had you tied up there in the barn. Joecan't tell me the whole thing, but I gather they had something in foryou, about the Pentathlon. I guess they wanted Ellis to win. So Joeheard 'em say they were going to get you, and carry you off to Smith'sold barn. He started home to put us wise, and as bad luck would haveit, he pitched down a gully, and cracked his head open. I went lookingfor him about ten o'clock, and I was in the woods all night. Neverfound him till five this morning. He'd come to, poor little rascal,and was trying to crawl home, but he was so weak he could hardly stir.But he got out his story, and you can bet I did some quick thinking.

  "First, I was going up to town, to telephone the school, and see ifyou were all right. And then I thought, if I did that, it might wastetoo much time, and if things had gone wrong, I might be too late,after all. So I went back to the house, got together my running thingsand the grub you've just been eating, and then hustled off to mynearest neighbor's, and did a little burglar act. This is his favoritecolt we're driving; I knew this fellow could eat up a dozen miles injig time, and so--I took him. The old man had gone up to town with aload of garden truck. His wife tried to stop me taking the horse, butI brandished my revolver at her, and she ran. I suppose she thought Iwas crazy, And then Joe piloted me to the barn--I'd never have foundit by myself in a hundred years--so here we are." He pulled out hiswatch. "Ten minutes of nine, and ten miles to go. We're all right ontime. But you must feel pretty stiff, Dick; I don't know whether youcan do yourself justice or not."

  Dick stretched himself. "Oh, I'm limbering up a little," he answered,"I think a good rub will help a lot. And I don't feel tired. Theexcitement, I suppose. I guess I'll last through, all right. But oh,I'm grateful to you and Joe, Duncan; thank Heaven, you came when youdid. If I'd missed the Pentathlon, I'd never have got over it in theworld."

  McDonald smiled, the smile of a man looking back over his own boyhood."We get over a lot of things, Dick, in a lifetime," he answered, "butI know just how you feel. I guess Joe did all he could to square upwith you for helping him, and I'm mighty glad we got there in time."

  CHAPTER X

  THE PENTATHLON

  Doctor Merrifield, the elderly, gray-haired principal of Hopevale,turned with a smile of satisfaction to his guest. "A record day, Mr.Graham," he said, "and a record crowd. I think we may mutuallycongratulate ourselves."

  The head master of Clinton nodded in reply. "Indeed we may, Doctor,"he answered. "Of course the fact that it's graduation week: hassomething to do with it, but even then, I have never seen a gatheringlike this, in the history of the schools."

  There was good reason for their words. Mid-June had made its mostgraceful bow to the world. A warm sun shone down over Hopevale Oval; acool breeze blew pleasantly across the field. The track itself hadnever looked so well. It had been rolled, scraped, re-rolled oncemore; the whitewashed lines had been neatly marked at start andfinish; the lanes for the hundred freshly staked out. Altogether, thetrack keeper had done his work to perfection, and a man beaten in thePentathlon, whatever other reason he might have given for his defeat,could scarcely have complained of the conditions under which he wascompeting.

  Equally good were the arrangements on the field. The high-jump pathwas hard and smooth as a floor; a new cross bar was stretched acrossthe standards; a dozen extra ones lay ready at hand, in case ofaccident to the one in use. The ring for the shot put was infirst-class shape; two shots, one iron, one lead, lay close by.Three or four hammer rings were clearly marked on the smooth,closely-cropped green turf. The most critical old-timer who ever worea shoe could not have found fault with the preparations for the meet.

  And many a man, indeed, who had been famous in his day, sat in therows of seats which surrounded the Oval, eager to see the finalcontest for the cup, whose possession meant so much to the schoolvictorious in this hard and well-fought fight. Fathers, uncles, elderbrothers, small boys looking forward to the day when they, in turn,would take their places in the family procession, and come to Clinton,Fenton or Hopevale, as the case might be; all were present in thestands. Nor was it, by any means, a gathering of men and boys alone.Mothers, aunts, sisters, most of whom knew little of athletics, andhad but the haziest idea of all that was going forward, lent, none theless, a charm of bright dresses and brighter faces, to the scene. Andthough the games were held at Hopevale, it was no mere local crowd ofspectators which had assembled to watch them. The colors of the homeschool were naturally enough in the ascendant, but train after trainhad brought its cheering followers of the two rival academies, and thered and black of Clinton, and the crimson of Fenton, vied with theHopevale blue.

  Doctor Merrifield looked across the track. "Here comes our friendFenton," he observed, "and evidently in a hurry, too."

  Mr. Fenton walked rapidly up to them, his face puzzled and anxious."Good morning, gentlemen," he said. "I find myself involved in a mostunaccountable mystery. I don't suppose either of you has heard anyword of Randall, our entry in the Pentathlon?"

  Both of his colleagues gazed at him in astonishment. "Are youserious?" said Mr. Graham, while the doctor said, "You don't mean totell us he isn't here. Why, it only lacks five minutes to ten."

  Mr. Fenton sighed. "I can't understand it," he said, "and I can't helpbeing a little bit worried. I've notified the authorities, but haven'theard a single word of him since yesterday afternoon. It's a mostextraordinary thing. And apart from my anxiety for Randall, it seemshard to say good-by to our chances for the cup. However, the fortunesof war--"

  Mr. Graham interrupted him. "Why, we don't want anything like that tohappen," he said, "we'll waive our rule, I'm sure. Won't we, Doctor?We can postpone the meet for a time."

  Mr. Fenton made an eloquent gesture toward the crowded stands. "Icouldn't ask it," he said decidedly. "You're very kind to suggest it,Graham, and I appreciate it. But if the positions were reversed, Ishouldn't expect you to ask the favor of me. It would never do tointerrupt the order of exercises, and disappoint a gathering of thissize. It would be a reflection, it seems to me, on our ability toconduct our schools. No, I thank you, but, as I said before, it's thefortune of war. Your boys must fight it out between themselves. Isuppose some day this will all be explained--"

  An outburst of Hopevale cheers broke in on him. Dave Ellis, looking inthe very top-notch of condition, was walking leisurely across thefield. A moment later, Johnson's lithe figure emerged from thedressing-room, and Clinton applauded in their turn. And then, even asthey stood listening to the tumult, they were aware of a growingconfusion at the entrance to the field, out of which presently emergedtwo rather disheveled looking figu
res, making toward the lockerbuilding at a hurried pace. At the same instant broke forth a roarfrom the Fenton section, "Randall, Randall, Randall!" and Mr. Fenton,taking an abrupt leave of his associates, started across the field, asfast as his legs could carry him. "Thank Heaven," he muttered tohimself, "nothing serious has happened to him. But what can thetrouble have been?"

  He found Randall hastily dressing. Dick looked up at him with what wasmeant for a smile. "Can't explain now, Mr. Fenton," he said hurriedly."It wasn't my fault. I'm lucky to be here. If it hadn't been forMcDonald and Joe, I shouldn't be. But I'll tell you the whole storylater. I've got just time for my rub-down now."

  For five minutes, McDonald's skilful hands worked over the stiffenedmuscles, and as Dick jogged across to the start, he felt that hisspeed and spring were in some measure returning. Yet the hundredyards was disappointing. Johnson ran first, and moved down the tracklike a race-horse, traveling in first-class form, and making thedistance in ten and three-fifths. Ellis ran second, and did elevenflat. Dick, a little unnerved by all he had been through, made a falsestart--something most unusual for him--and was set back a yard. Then,in his anxiety not to commit the same fault a second time, he got awaypoorly, and finished in the slowest time of the three--eleven andone-fifth. It was excellent scoring, for a start, and Johnson wascredited with eighty-three points, Ellis with seventy-five and Dickwith seventy-one.

  With the shot put, the lead changed. Johnson, considering his lighterweight, performed splendidly, making an even thirty-six feet. Dickfound that his stiffness did not bother him nearly so much as it haddone in the dash, and made his best put of the year, thirty-eight,nine. But Ellis surpassed himself, and on his last attempt, broke theleague record, with a drive of forty-one, two. His seventy-two pointsloomed large, by the side of Dick's sixty and Johnson's forty-seven,and the score-board showed:

  Ellis 147 Randall 131 Johnson 130

  Next, the high jump was called, and all three boys kept up the samegood work. There was small reason, indeed, why they should not havebeen at their best. School spirit was rampant; it was to watch themthat these cheering hundreds had crowded the field; every successfuljump, from the lowest height of all, was applauded to the echo. Ellis,as was expected, was the first to fail, but he managed to clear fivefeet, two, and added fifty-four points to his score. Dick, a littlehandicapped by the strain of the preceding night, could feel that hismuscles were not quite at their best, yet his long period of carefultraining had put him in good shape, and helped out by the excitementof the competition, he finally cleared five feet, eight. Johnson didan inch better, and only just displaced the bar at five feet, ten,scoring seventy-seven points to Dick's seventy-four. The threecompetitors were now practically tied, and volley after volley ofcheers rang out across the field from every section of the crowd.

  Johnson 207 Randall 205 Ellis 201

  The record was going to be broken, not by one man alone, but by allthree. So much was evident, and the crowd awaited the hurdle race withthe most eager expectancy. Dick ran first, and finished in seventeenand two-fifths; Ellis, his heavy build telling against him, in spiteof his efforts, could do no better than eighteen, two, and thenJohnson electrified the crowd by coming through, true and strong, insixteen, four. His eighty-four points put him well in the lead, whileRandall's seventy-three gave him a clear gain over Ellis, who, withfifty-eight, now brought up the rear.

  Johnson 289 Randall 278 Ellis 259

  And yet, in spite of the score, Hopevale was jubilant. For the oneremaining event was the hammer throw, where Ellis was supreme, andhere they expected to see their champion wipe out his opponents' lead,and finish a winner, with plenty to spare.

  Each contestant was allowed three throws, and on the first round itseemed as though the predictions of the home man's admirers werecoming true. Johnson threw one hundred and twenty-two feet and seveninches; and then Ellis, taking his stand confidently inside thecircle, made a beautiful effort of one hundred and fifty-nine feet.McDonald figured hastily in his score book, and came up to Randall."Don't be scared, Dick," he said, "one hundred and forty-five feet,and you'll still be ahead of him. And that's only a practice throw foryou now."

  Dick nodded. And yet, although he kept his own counsel, he knew onlytoo well that the worry and anxiety of his long night's captivitywere at last beginning to make themselves felt. His head felt heavy;his legs weak; he doubted whether he could make the hundred andforty-five. And then, taking his turn, his worst fears were realized.He made a fair throw, indeed, staying well inside the circle, butthere was little dash behind it, and when the scorer announced, "Onehundred and thirty-eight eleven," Dick knew that Ellis was in thelead.

  In the midst of the Hopevale cheering, Johnson took his second throw,and improved on his first trial by a couple of feet. McDonald shookhis head. "He's out of it," he said. "A great little man, too, but notheavy enough for all-round work. It's you or Ellis, now, Dick. Johnsonwon't bother either of you for first."

  Dick nodded. Ellis made ready for his second throw with the greatestcare. There was little to criticize in his form. And backed by hisgreat strength, the hammer seemed scarcely more than a toy in hishands. As the missile went hurtling through the air, the cheersredoubled. Even from the spectators' seats it was easy to see that hehad bettered his previous try, and soon the scorer shouted, "Onehundred and sixty-five feet, one inch."

  McDonald whistled. "He's a good man with the weights," he admittedwith reluctance; then figured again. "Dick," he said, "you'll have toget in one good one. You've got to fetch a hundred and fifty feet, ifyou're going to win. Don't stiffen up now. Keep cool, and think it'sonly practice. You've done it for me. You can do it now."

  Dick walked forward, and picked up the hammer for his second try. Outfrom the grandstand came the Fenton cheer, and then, at the end, hisname "Randall, Randall, Randall!" thrice repeated. Where otherstimulants would have failed, this one was successful. Dick felt hismuscles grow tense as steel. He thought of Putnam, and the race on theriver. "Be game," he whispered to himself, under his breath, andstepped forward into the ring, his brain clear, his nerves undercontrol. Once, twice, thrice, he swung the hammer around, his head,and then, with splendid speed, turned and let it go. Clearly, he hadimproved on his former throw. The measurers pulled the tape tight, andthen the announcer called, "One hundred and forty-nine, three."

  McDonald calculated hurriedly; then gave a little exclamation ofastonishment. "A tie," he cried; "that puts you just even, and onemore throw apiece. Three hundred and forty-seven points each. A tie;that's what it is."

  Near Ellis' side stood a slender, dark young man, who had watchedDick's appearance on the field with an expression of utter amazement.Although the day was warm, he had worn, all through the games, a long,loose coat, of fashionable cut, and now he crowded closer to Ellis'side. "Pick it up, when I drop it, Dave," he whispered. "It's youronly show. You can't beat one hundred and sixty-five without it."

  A moment later he walked away. And Ellis, stooping, put his hand on ahammer apparently identical with the two which had been so carefullyweighed and measured before the games had begun. He held ituncertainly, as if not overjoyed at his burden. Once he turned, andlooked imploringly at the man who had spoken to him. The man frownedback at him savagely, and Ellis sighed, as if persuaded against hiswill.

  And now Johnson made his last throw. He tried desperately, andimproved his record to one hundred and thirty feet. But his chance wasgone, and he knew it, taking his defeat gamely enough, with a smileand shrug of his shoulders. He had done his best; it was not goodenough; that was all.

  "Ellis; last try," called the clerk of the course. Ellis walkedqui
ckly forward, and got into position. Dick, watching him, seemed tosee a new power and skill in the way in which his rival swung, andwhen he delivered the weight, Dick felt his heart sink like lead. Out,out, it sailed, as though it would never stop. Hopevale was cheeringitself hoarse. It looked like a record throw. And finally theannouncer, scarlet with excitement, cried, in the midst of the hushthat followed his first words, "Mr. Ellis throws one hundred andseventy-three feet, eight and a quarter inches, a new record for theleague."

  Dick turned to McDonald, but McDonald was no longer at his side. Hewas striding away down the field. The man who brought in the hammer,after each throw, was just starting back with it, when a slight,dapper fellow accosted him. "I'll carry that in for you," he saidpleasantly, "I'm going that way," and the man, thanking him, gladlyenough relinquished his burden.

  Face to face came the kind-hearted stranger and Duncan McDonald.McDonald reached out his hand. "I'll thank you for a look at thatweapon," he said grimly.

  The stranger looked at him blankly. "What do you mean?" he asked.

  McDonald grasped the wire handle. "Just exactly what I say," herejoined. "You're a wise guy, Alec, but you're up against it thistime. Hand over now; I haven't forgotten old times."

  The young man forced a smile, and then, as McDonald wrenched thehammer from his grasp, he turned and made off across the field,swearing fluently under his breath.

  McDonald hurried back to where the judges were standing, arriving justas Dick was making ready for his last try. "One minute, gentlemen," hecalled; "I wish to protest Mr. Ellis' throw, and the hammer it wasmade with. I don't believe the hammer is full weight."

  The chief judge looked indignant. "Mr. McDonald," he said, "this ismost unusual. The hammers were carefully weighed before thecompetition began. And were found correct. In fact, both of them werea trifle overweight."

  "But you didn't weigh this one," McDonald insisted. "This one has beenrung in on you. I must ask you to weigh it, please."

  Somewhat grudgingly, the judge complied; then started in astonishment.He was a partisan of Hopevale, but he was an honest man, and he knewhis duty. "Mr. Announcer," he said quickly; "say at once, please, thatthere was a mistake in Mr. Ellis' last throw; that an accident to thehammer will necessitate giving him another trial." Then, turning tothe officials, he added, "This is exceedingly unfortunate, gentlemen;this hammer weighs but ten pounds and three-quarters. Does any oneknow how it got here?"

  No one answered, and Ellis stepped forward to take his last throw,this time with a hammer of correct weight. His face was troubled; hisformer confidence seemed lacking, and his try fell well short of onehundred and sixty feet. And then Dick came forward in his turn. Thecontroversy over the light hammer had given him just the rest heneeded; he made ready for his throw with the utmost coolness, and gotaway a high, clean try, that looked good all the way. There was thebeginning of a cheer and then a hush, as the announcer called, "Onehundred and fifty-two, five."

  The cheering began again, yet the result was so close that every onewaited breathlessly for the official posting of the score. A moment'sdelay, and then up it went.

  Randall 350 Ellis 347 Johnson 334

  And then came the avalanche of wildly cheering spectators. Putnam,Allen, Brewster and Lindsay were first at Dick's side, and it was ontheir shoulders that he was borne across the field, a little overcome,now that the strain was over, with everything appearing a trifledream-like and unreal, yet with three thoughts mingling delightfullyin his mind: that he had won, won in spite of obstacles, fair andclean; that the Pentathlon shield was his, and best and most gloriousof all, that the challenge cup would come to Fenton--to stay.

  Thus, through the shouting and the cheering, he was carried along intriumph, and in the midst of it all, one other thought still came tohim--the best thought, perhaps, that can ever come to a boy's mind.Hopevale Oval had vanished, and in spirit he was a thousand milesaway. "I wonder," he said to himself, with a sudden thrill ofhappiness, "I wonder what they'll say at home."

  THE END