"Goodgracious!" 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!" exclaimedthe 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 negotiations 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, anddoubtless 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 exercising 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'djust 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 knotswe 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'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 caringmuch, 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."
"Abouttime 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 oneof 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 thecaptain 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 instance, 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,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 ofyoung 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 takehim 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 limestonehad 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.
WhenFred 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 afinger. 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 thestraight 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.
"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 therebesome 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.
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 endeavoringto 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 thatdied 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 nightset 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 induced 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!
"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 littlecourse 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."
"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.
"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 observed, 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 alittle 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."
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 onme, 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.
Fredfelt 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,too. It's a shame, that's what; and d'ye know, Fred Fenton, I somehow feel like you're to blame formostof 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:
"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 justhaveto get him out, before he'd let me save you. Keep back, I tell you!"
"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."
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.
"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 heardsomebodyyelping away up this way—thought it was kids playin', but itmightbe 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?"
"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 FredFenton 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.
"Isthat 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 heheard 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 inwardbattle; 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.
"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.
"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,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 Buckknew 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 notbeen 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.