Meanwhile, in order to understand certain important events that came about, it is necessary that we follow the runners, and devote this chapter to what occurred up to the time that first fellow came lunging around the final bend, having covered the whole course up to the final lap.
For a mile or so along the road there were bunches of schoolboys and girls waiting to give some of the contestants a cheering word as they flashed past. The enthusiasts, however, would not linger long, for they likely enough wished to see the comical part of the programme carried out. Besides, once the runners had straggled past their posts the only interest remaining for them in the race was its conclusion. So they would want to get back to the grounds, and secure positions along the line to the first bend, where they could greet each contestant as he appeared, and cheer him on; for he would probably need encouragement, being near the point of exhaustion.
Hugh had figured things out exactly, and knew what he could do. He was not alarmed because several of the visiting runners led the way, and even "Just" Smith had quite a little lead over him.
Pegging along, Hugh covered mile after mile with a steadiness that he had reduced to machine-like motion. He had timed himself, and the whole course was mentally charted for his guidance. If he reached the cut-off road at a certain time he would know things were moving just as swiftly as necessary. Those boys who strained themselves in that first seven miles would be apt to rue their rashness when they began to feel their legs quiver with weakness under them, and still miles remained to be covered ere the goal came in sight. And, besides, they were sure to be in no condition for a hot final sprint, in case of keen competition.
So Hugh, having registered as required at two booths on the way, and thus learned the order in which the trio ahead of him seemed to be running, finally arrived at the sunken quarry road. He recognized the landmarks before he reached the spot; and losing not a second of time darted among the trees.
"Just" Smith was still leading him, for here and there he could distinguish the other's footprints, where the ground chanced to be a little moist. Hugh also had reason to believe that Nick Lang was coming strong not a great distance behind him. He wondered whether Nick meant to take advantage of the old quarry road as well as he and "Just" Smith, and Horatio in the bargain. For that matter Hugh did not care an iota; if Nick considered it would be to his advantage he was at liberty to benefit by this scheme of Hugh's. It was all for the glory of Scranton High; and far better that Nick won the prize, than that it should be taken by an Allandale, or a Belleville contestant—that is, if he won it honestly.
Apparently, on the face of the returns, when half of the fifteen-mile course had been run, the victory was likely to be carried off by Whipple, the fleet-winged Allandale chap who had played right field during the baseball matches; "Just" Smith; himself; or possibly Nick Lang. There was always a dim and remote possibility, however, of a dark horse forging to the front on the home stretch. This might be Horatio Juggins, or McKee, or perhaps that Belleville runner, Conway, who had looked so confident when Hugh surveyed the line of eager faces at the start.
Hugh remembered every foot of the way along that quarry road. He had a faculty for impressing features of the surrounding landscape on his mind, so that he could recall it at pleasure, just as though he held a photograph in his hand.
Now he was drawing near the quarry itself, the loneliest and most gruesome stretch of the entire cut-off; with "Just" Smith still in the lead. Hugh felt proud of his chum, and often chuckled as he contemplated the other's supreme delight in case a fickle fortune allowed him to come in ahead; for honors of this sort were a rare thing in the past of the Smith boy; and certainly he had never before been so close to reaping such a colossal prize as the winning of the Marathon would be reckoned.
Now Hugh glimpsed the quarry on one side of him. How his thoughts flew backward to marshal the strange events so recently happening there, in which he and some of his comrades had had the good fortune to participate.
Just then he heard a plain groan. It gave him a little thrill, but not because he fancied there was anything supernatural connected with the sound. Looking in the direction from whence the groan came he discovered a boy sitting on the ground, and rubbing his lower extremities vigorously.
It was "Just" Smith! Evidently something not down on the programme had happened to the boy who led the race across the quarry road. Hugh suspected treachery immediately. He turned aside, and sprang towards his chum.
"Hey! what ails you, 'Just' Smith?" he called out, wasting some of his precious breath in the bargain. "This isn't the way to win a Marathon, don't you know? What if you have barked your shin?—forget all about it, and get moving again!"
The Smith boy looked very sad, as he shook his face dolefully.
"Huh! wish I could, Hugh," he hastened to mumble, still rubbing his shin, and making faces as though it hurt him considerably. "I've tried to run, but shucks; what's the use when you can hardly limp at the best? I'm through, Hugh, sorry to say. You keep on, and bag the prize; next to winning it myself I'd love to knowyoutook it away from that Whipple chap."
"But—how did the accident happen, 'Just' Smith?" continued Hugh.
"Accident nothing!" snapped the other, between his set teeth. "It was all a set-up game to knock one of us out of the race, I tell you. If you'd been leading at the time, why, that shower of rocks must have met you."
"Rocks, did you say?" exclaimed Hugh, looking dark.
Just then the sound of footsteps was heard. A runner went past them on the full tear. It was Nick Lang, and when he turned his face toward the two on their knees the wicked look on his grinning face told more eloquently than words how his brain had been the one to hatch up this miserable trick whereby he hoped to gain an advantage over one of his schoolmates who might happen to be leading him in the race. He vanished down the road, still running strong. "Just" Smith almost howled, he was so furious.
"That's the chap who engineered this rotten game, I tell you, Hugh!" he snapped. "And chances are ten to one it was Leon Disney and that Tip Slavin who threw all those stones, and then ran away laughing, so I couldn't glimpse 'em. Say, I was struck in half a dozen places. I've got a lump on my head nearly as big as a hen's egg; and my elbow hurts like everything. I was so flustered that I must have got twisted in a vine, or else struck a root, for I fell, and barked my shin something fierce. I wanted to chase after the cowards, but knew it was silly to think of such a thing. Then I tried to keep on, but it wasn't any use, and I gave it up as a bad job. But Hugh, I hope you don't mean to let that skunk profit by his trickery. Please start off, and beat him out, if it takes a leg."
"But I hate to leave you here, 'Just' Smith, much as I'd like to chase after Nick, because now he deserves to be beaten."
"Oh! don't bother about me, Hugh. I'll try and get to the main road, even if I have tocrawl. Later on you can come back for me in some sort of rig. Whew! but I'm as mad as a hatter because I've lost my fine chance, when I was going so strong, with plenty of reserve force held back."
Hugh realized that duty called upon him to do as his chum demanded. It would be a shame if Nick Lang actually profited through such a rank act of treachery toward his fellows of Scranton High. An individual should be ready to sacrifice his school or its interests to his own personal ambition, and certainly never should it be allowed that he gain his ends through such a dastardly trick as the waylaying of another on the road, and his being assaulted, as "Just" Smith had been.
"All right, I'll do it, then!" Hugh exclaimed, with a look of sudden determination. "Expect me back later on, old fellow! Bye-bye! Don't try to do too much, and hurt yourself worse!"
With these words he sprang away. "Just" Smith gave him a parting cheer, that must have come a bit hard, owing to the pain he suffered, and also the bitter disappointment that wrung his boyish and ambitious heart.
Hugh had but one thought now, which was to speed along at such a clip as to allow him to finally overtake and pass the treacherous Nick, and leave him in the lurch. The spur of punishing the other for such dastardly conduct was apt to prove an incentive calculated to add considerably to Hugh's running.
Nick had the advantage, since he must be well on the way to the main thoroughfare by now; and once that was gained there was a clear field ahead of him. But one more registering station remained, and that was at a certain turn on the way home. Then would come the final three miles, with the pace increasing constantly, as those in the lead vied with each other to get ahead, or to retain that proud position.
Hugh quickly regained the mastery over his aroused feelings. He must stay cool and collected so as to do exactly the right thing at the right time. A little slip in the way of judgment was likely to lose him the race, for he now learned as he gained the main road, that there were not only one but two competitors ahead of him.
Yes, the fleet-footed Whipple had somehow managed to spin along over the ground, and was now not far behind Nick Lang. Possibly the fellow from Allandale had also secretly examined the course and discovered a cut-off on his own account, through means of which he anticipated gaining a great advantage over all the other runners in the Marathon.
Hugh now set out to make steady gains. He must be within a certain distance of those two fellows by the time the last stretch was reached, or else all his hope of overtaking and passing them would be lost.
He found that his powers of endurance and speed had not been misjudged, for they responded nobly when called upon for a further spurt. Now, he was greatly lessening the distance separating him from Whipple; who, in turn, seemed able to hold his own with Nick.
The latter began to show the first signs of distress when they were at the beginning of the last two miles. He looked over his shoulder, and no runner ever is guilty of such an unwise proceeding unless his heart has commenced to be filled with grave doubts as to his being a winner.
Again did Hugh notice Nick doing this, and he took fresh courage from the circumstance. Yes, and looking more closely he also saw that Nick was not running true to form any longer; he had begun to wobble more or less, as though unable to continue on in a straight line. That was another bad sign, since it causes the runner to cover unnecessary ground; and also indicates a weakening heart.
Hugh let out another burst of speed. He was closing the gap rapidly; and, apparently, Whipple also seemed to be gaining on the almost played-out Nick.
They were now within less than a mile of the finish; the last turn would soon be reached, with the gun booming out the fact of their arrival. Hugh girded his loins for a Garrison finish, and gloried in the conviction that he was in trim to do himself credit.
"It's Nick Lang, as sure as anything!" shouted a boy who happened to possess an excellent pair of field-glasses.
"Nick Lang in the lead!" howled another; "well, what do you think of that? Where, oh, where, oh, where is Hugh Morgan about this time; and 'Just' Smith in the bargain?"
"But Nick is a Scranton High boy after all, and that's a heap better than to see an Allandale fellow come in ahead!" cried another near by.
"Look! a second runner has turned the bend; and see how he is coming up on poor wobbly old Nick hand-over-fist!"
"Hello! what's this mean?" whooped a visitor exultantly. "Surely I know the second fellow's build. It's certainly our great Whipple! He's going to cop the prize, boys! Give Whipple an Allandale yell right now to encourage him!"
Even as a score of boyish throats roared in response to this entreaty a third runner was discovered rounding the bend. He appeared to be tearing along at race-horse speed, as though having a reserve stock of power upon which to call in this closing half-mile of the long race.
"Hugh Morgan!"
The words seemed to run like wildfire through the vast crowd. Everybody repeated them, some with a growing delight, others with a sense of impending disaster to the wild hopes they had been so ardently cherishing; all according to the viewpoint they held. Scranton's register was rising, while Allandale visitors began to feel something was on the verge of happening to crush the budding paean of victory that was ready to bubble from their lips.
Nick evidently knew that he had shot his bolt. He, doubtless, tried frantically to encourage his legs to move faster, but they refused to hearken to the call. Whipple was now rapidly closing the short gap existing between them. At the same time it could be seen that the Allandale runner veered a trifle, as though to give Nick a fairly wide berth when passing.
Plenty of fellows noticed this fact, nor did they wonder at it. The tricky character of Nick Lang was pretty well known, and they believed he would not hesitate about throwing himself sideways, so as to collide with Whipple when the other was in the act of passing him; although such a vindictive act could, of course, not better the position of the local runner a particle.
When Whipple actually took the lead a great roar arose from thousands of throats. Doubtless many wild-eyed Allandale enthusiasts already counted the victory as won. They could be seen commencing to throw their hats and caps into the air, boy-fashion. Others, wiser, gripped their hands, and held their breath while waiting to see the actual finish of the great race.
Of a truth Whipple was doing splendidly, there was no gainsaying that; but coming on back of him was one who appeared to be making much better time. Hugh was gaining fast, they could see. The only question that remained to be settled was whether Whipple had it in him to increase his pace sufficiently to cross the tape first; or, on the other hand, if Hugh Morgan was able to speed up still more, and close the gap.
How the shouts rang out. Everybody seemed to be cheering madly at the same time. Men stood up, and waved their arms; girls embraced each other, though not an eye was turned away from that wonderful finish of the great Marathon race.
Now, Hugh had apparently released his final effort. He was gaining faster and faster. Whipple seemed to know that he was in deadly peril. He, too, looked back over his shoulder in alarm, possibly meaning in desperation to almost burst a blood vessel if he found that his rival was about to overtake him.
That proved his eventual undoing, though the result was no longer in doubt. He lost his balance, and, being so exhausted that he could not stand longer, pitched headlong to the ground, just as the fleet Hugh jumped into the lead, raced twenty steps further, broke the extended tape, and thus won the race.
How the heavens seemed to fairly quiver with the roars that broke out! It had been a most thrilling finish for the greatest race ever run in all the country. Time might come and time might go, but never would those who had been so fortunate as to witness the conclusion of the Marathon forget the thrilling spectacle.
Hugh bore his honors meekly.
He utterly declined to let some of the Scranton fellows pick him up and bear him around on their shoulders, as they threatened to do. After the prizes had been duly awarded the assemblage broke up, and the roads leading out of Scranton were soon blocked with hundreds of vehicles of every description carrying home the visitors.
Even Allandale and Belleville had no reason to be disappointed over the general results, for their young athletes had fared very well, all things considered. Of course, most of them would rather have seen the Marathon won by a representative from their school than to "scoop in" all the other prizes grouped together; but since it had to go to Scranton, they voiced the opinion of most people when they declared they were glad Hugh Morgan had won it, and not Nick Lang.
Even though overwhelmed with congratulations on every hand, Hugh did not forget his promise to "Just" Smith. As soon as he could get into his street clothes he hunted a fellow who chanced to have his father's flivver handy, and easily won his consent to take him along the road in the direction of Belleville, in order to find poor "Just" Smith, and get him home again.
This they did without any mishap, and it may be easily understood that the disappointed boy hailed their coming with great joy. He knew all about that gruelling finish of the big race in the bargain, some of those Allandale chaps passing by in vehicles having readily informed him as to the winner, and what a tremendously thrilling sight the finish had been.
Of course, since "Just" Smith had not once glimpsed the figures of his assailants, and as conviction can hardly rest upon a burst of vindictive boyish laughter, there was no public denunciation of Nick Lang and his cronies. Everybody could give a good guess, however, as to who was guilty; and after that Nick was destined to feel himself more ostracized by his schoolmates than ever before.
The great athletic tournament had proven to be a complete success, being marred by no serious accidents, for which many a devoted mother in Scranton gave thanks that same night, even though her boy may not have won undying fame through gaining a prize. Hugh himself was more than satisfied, though he would have been almost as well pleased had it been poor "K. K.," "Just" Smith, or Horatio Juggins who had won the big race, so long as the honor of Scranton High was upheld.
That was to be the finish of the fall sports, but with winter so near at hand, and that vast field being put in order for flooding, it might readily be guessed the boys and girls of Scranton were in line for considerable more fun while Jack Frost held sway over his frozen dominions. That this supposition proved to be a correct one may be judged from the title of the fourth and following volume in this series, which can be had wherever boys' books are sold, and bearing the suggestive title of "The Chums of Scranton High at Ice Hockey; or, A Wizard on Steel Runners." Get it, if you have enjoyed reading about Hugh Morgan and his loyal comrades in this and previous books; you will find it just as deeply interesting as anything that has gone before, since the boys of Scranton enter upon a fresh line of healthy competition, this time upon the ice.