"Prescott, I wish you were old enough and big enough to be out there on our team now. When your time comes I certainly hope you'll make the eleven. Your spirit is what every high school needs."
Blushing a bit, Dick drew the score card out of his pocket. He knew the Gridley side of it by heart, already, but he wanted to read it over again. This was the line-up that he saw:
Gridley H.S. Positions Cobber SecondEvans …..left end……….PaisleyButler…..left tackle…….JordreyBeck…….left guard……..SmithBadger…..center ………..HalseyThompson…right guard…….JennisonEdgeworth..right tackle……PotterStearns….right end………AdamsWinters….quarter-back……BentleyJasper…..right half-back…HaddlestonTrent …..left half-back….DillGleason….fullback……….Strope
"Why isn't Edgeworth in center?" asked Dave, glancing down overDick's shoulder.
"Played down a bit too fine to hold center in a big game like this," Dick answered. "Edgeworth is a corking center, and I wouldn't be afraid to see him there today. But Ben Badger is every bit as good."
Coach Morton drew in his breath sharply. Referee Henderson had just signaled to Badger, acting captain for the home team, and Halsey, captain of the Cobbers, to come in for the toss. The players halted in their work to await the result of that toss.
"You call, Halsey," nodded Ben Badger.
"Up!" warned the referee, and flipped the coin.
"Tails!" sang Captain Halsey.
"Heads it is," announced Referee Henderson.
Ben Badger grinned.
"It's all startingourway," clicked Dick Prescott, in an undertone.He seemed lost in a transport of ecstasy.
"We'll kick from the north end," announced Captain Badger, promptly.
With a grunt of satisfaction, Gridley loped off for its positions.
The band broke loose in a wild hurrah of a tune. Spectators belonging to both sides took up a wild cheer until the referee raised his right hand for silence. The opposing teams were lined up.
Darting forward to center field the referee placed the ball, then ran backwards off the gridiron.
His whistle went to his lips. It was an instant of strained attention.
Trill-ll! It was not a cheer, but a subdued, breathless gasp that rose from the two camps of fans as the opposing lines rushed at each other. Dick could not help a slight groan, for Adams, of Cobber, reached the pigskin first. But Adams kicked it off over the line. Here was Gridley's prompt chance.
Evans kicked the ball from the twenty-five-yard line. It was stopped by Huddleston, who started to run with it. Luckless plan! Gridley's line came thundering down upon him almost ere Huddleston had stepped off! Bump! The combatants piled into and over each other. Huddleston was downed on his fifty-yard line. At this instant Dick bethought himself. Placing his mouth to the megaphone, he roared:
"H.S. cheer!"
It rolled out with full volume while the referee was placing the ball. By the time it died out Cobber's captain could be heard calling:
"Four—-nine—-thirty-three—-eight!"
Trill-ll!
Here, the heavier boys from Cobber began to do their fine work, and Gridley hearts sank.
Cobber made a first down on three plays. It ended in a bad fumble, however, for steady Thompson went down over the ball on the Gridley forty-five-yard line.
"H.S. cheer once more!" bellowed Dick.
The High School boys and girls answered with a will, drawing it out so long as to cause the referee to frown. When it ended Badger's signals ripped out fast and clear.
The ball came back to Quarter-back Winters. He started Gridley faces to glowing again, for Winters did one of the things that had made the team famous. This was the Gridley fake kick. With any lesser team it would have been good for twenty-five yards. Even against the big, alert fellows from Cobber that fake kick was good for eight yards. But not yet did the full effect of the move come. For Cobber was off-side and Trent burst through the line on a spurt that was good for thirty-three yards.
Two snappy line plays followed that made the Cobber boys feel the cold sweat ooze. It would have been Gridley's first down, but a little slip penalized the home players for fifteen yards.
Most of the people of Gridley back in the seats wore now standing up in their excitement. They had dreaded much from the bigger college boys, but now the spectators saw that Gridley could hold its own for strategy, ruse and speed.
Cobber lost its temper just a bit, now, before the smiling faces of these High School boys. Some rough playing followed, but the home boys kept their tempers.
Soon Ben Badger signaled another fake kick formation. That was Gridley's specialty for this game, one long planned and worked for. Quarter-back Winters again got the ball. With a handsome forward pass he made it Thompson's, and it went to the enemy's seven-yard line.
"Question—-four!" appealed Cheer-Master Prescott, through the megaphone.
Back from twenty boys on the home stand came the heavy query:
"Where's Cobber? Where's Cobber?"
From all the rest of the H.S. fans came the roaring answer:
"Lost! Suitable reward and no questions asked!"
Then the Cobber fans hurled back this hint:
"Brag's a great dog,Brag's a smart dog,Brag's a good dog, but——-Look out for the cat!"
Cobber now developed their own famous bulldog tactics. From the seven-yard line Gridley moved the ball less than two yards in three plays. Cobber got the ball, and then other things began to happen. Cobber's big fellows worried the ball back for eleven yards. Then the visitors, who carried thirty per cent. more weight, began with heavy mass plays. Gridley began to go down, to double up and collapse before that heavy, rough play, in which fatigue, not speed was the object of the opponents.
It was not scientific play, but it was grueling on the High School boys. Even confident Dick Prescott's heart began to sink. Coach Morton was breathing hard.
Unless Gridley could hold the enemy's rush back effectively enough to get the ball once more on downs, the college boys seemed likely to rush it right over the High School goal line.
Had Cobber tried any kicks, Gridley would have had the ball, and would have known what to do with it. But Captain Halsey knew that. He depended, now, wholly on heavy mass rushes and plays.
Yet the Gridley boys were by no means asleep—-or lazy.
"I won't tire our men all out in the first half," muttered Badger to himself. "But I won't let them stroll through our line."
Even the heavy Cobber men, though they advanced doggedly, did not make any too great progress.
Down at the Gridley fifteen-yard line the High School boys developed their greatest stubbornness and strength. So well did they oppose the college boys that, by preventing progress in three successive plays, the home boys again got the ball. They could not move it sufficiently far forward, however. Cobber took the ball again.
"Better let up on the cheers, don't you think, sir?" Dick inquired.
"Yes," nodded Coach Morton. "It would only worry our boys now, and they've got enough on their minds as it is."
Again Cobber took the offensive. At the next down a man had to be sent from the field, and a substitute sent out. But the casualty went to Cobber, not to the High School team. That fact gave the major part of the audience grim satisfaction.
"There they go, now!" muttered Dave Darrin, in disgust. "Nothing is going to stop the big fellows!"
"They're getting nearer our goal line," Dick admitted. "But a game is never won until it's finished. Cobber, as yet, hasn't even gotten the touchdown!"
A minute later Cobberhad. To the Gridley onlookers it sent a shock of dismay. The college men certainly had scored.
"It's Cobber's beef, not science," Dick stoutly asserted. "Our fellows play with more speed and real skill.Say—-look at that!"
For Bentley, of the college eleven, had just missed the kick from field.
Five points for the visitors! The teams swiftly changed ends and lined up. The whistle's call sent them off to the fray, for there were but three minutes left of the first half.
Cobber won the kick but didn't carry it far. Gridley got down as far as the enemy's twenty-yard line. Then the smaller High School boys were fairly pushed back into their own territory, losing twelve yards of their own side of the field.
Trill-ll! The first half was over.
"Sam, can you do better? Do you want to go back on the job?" asked Ben Badger.
"No," replied the Gridley captain. "It's been tough on us, but you've done everything that I could have done. I'm satisfied, and I believe the coach is."
"We'll ask him," proposed Badger.
Morton was hurrying toward his boys. The coach's face was impassive. For all his looks showed he might have been congratulating himself on a winning.
"No; there's no need to change captains," decided the coach. "It's like changing a horse in mid-stream. I don't see, Badger, that you're lost any tricks that Edgeworth could have made.
"What's our weak point?" asked Ben.
"There isn't much of a weak point, anywhere, as far as your play goes," Mr. Morton responded. "In many respects your play has been better than Cobber's. Weight is your poor point."
Nevertheless the coach made several suggestions in the time that was allowed him.
"Whenever you get a proper chance, Captain, and have the ball, open up the play as much as you can. Don't give Cobber a chance to bump you any when it can be avoided."
In the meantime the Cobber fans, as was their right, were hurling the most abusive cheers and taunts. Dick, as cheer-master, allowed this to pass until nearly the end of the intermission. At last he gave the sudden call through the megaphone:
"Twenty-three!"
The number sounded ominous; so did the cheer that was designated by it. The Gridley H.S. boys on the grand stand responded hardly more than half-heartedly:
_"Com-pan-nee served first!That's our steady rule!Manners the best are taughtIn Gridley school!
"But he who waits laughs best!'Tis but a distance short'Twixt laugh and weep—-Your joy'll be short!"_
"H.S. cheer!" exhorted Prescott, at once.
It came, with a more thundering volley. Yet Gridley folks stirred uneasily.
"That's what comes of putting a freshman, without judgment, on the calling job," muttered Fred Ripley sarcastically.
The whistle blew. Cobber got the ball, and kept it moving. Once there was a brief setback when Gridley got the pigskin and sought to push it back. After four yards, however, Cobber took it and moved down the field with it.
It seemed impossible to offer effective resistance to the heavy college men now.
Gridley hearts sank from sheer weight. Gridley had met more than its match!
It was almost a touchdown for Cobber when Ben Badger rallied his men enough to fight the college men back some twenty-odd yards. But then the tide turned once more, and Cobber began to fight its way back to the High School goal line.
The spectators had given up hope, all save those who sat in theCobber seats.
This was to be the first defeat of the season, and the whipping was to come from worthy foemen. Yet are home folks ever satisfied to see their own youngsters beaten?
Defeat was now conceded, however. Even Coach Morton, though his face did not betray him, had given up all hope.
Dick, however, kept calling for the cheers and yells. The student body did their best, but their spirits were low.
Once Morton turned and frowned, but Freshman Prescott did not see him. The coach feared that this jubilant racket would get on the nerves of the Gridley battlers.
"How many minutes will it take Cobber to cross our line?" murmuredDave in Dick's ear.
"They won't do it before next year," Prescott staunchly retorted.
Just then Cobber lost fifteen yards on penalty, and Gridley H.S. had the ball at the moment when it was sadly needed.
"Band, four bars of 'Hot Time in the Old Town!'" yelled Prescott through the big megaphone.
The leader's baton fell like a flash. The band itself sharing in the excitement fairly ripped the air out in gallop time.
As Ben Badger heard he straightened up for a moment, shaking his long locks in the wind. A smile crossed his face. Then he bent over the ball for the pass.
"Nine—-fourteen, eighteen—-seven!" he called.
Evans darted quickly out on his end. Quarter-back Winters moved his feet somewhat to left. Trent, left half-back, shot swiftly away to an altered position.
Captain Halsey, of the college team, saw instantly that it looked like a long pass and a sprint around Gridley's left end. A football general must change front swiftly. At the signal, Cobber disposed itself to bunch against the High School left.
The whistle blew. Winters got the ball, and made the movements for a kick. Cobber men, in the air on the jump, halted somewhat uncertainly, some of them.
It was a fake kick, and a royally good one. The ball went toStearns instead. Out around the right end dashed the little left,with Gridley support thumping over the ground to back him up.But Stearns was the best Gridley runner on the field today.Moreover, he had not been worked as hard as had Evans.
A nimble dodge, and Stearns was past the first Cobber interference.
A howl of delight went up from the home fans.
Then Cobber's secondary defense made a dash for Stearns. The latter found himself balked, so headed straight for them. Through the line he made a dash. It was too much for little Stearns. Down he went, and a groan of disappointment went up from the Gridley seats.
Yet only to one knee went the swift little end. He was up and off again like a shot. One Cobber man wheeled and would have grabbed the little right end, but there was where Frank Thompson played for all there was in him. He pitched forward, falling headlong, and Smith, of Cobber, fell over him.
It was a sprint, now! For an instant the field close to Stearns was clear of opposition.
Wild cheering broke loose. Dick Prescott fairly danced for joy.
Ah! Here came some of the belated Cobber men, supporting their fullback.
There was a heavy crash. Stearns, caught in the midst of the mixup, went down, but he covered the pigskin!
Then the linesman hurried up. The news was so good that it flew from mouth to mouth along the east side boards:
"Forty-two yards!"
Cobber's captain gasped. It had been close playing all afternoon. He had looked for nothing like this. Clearly, Gridley's fake kick tactics were all of the real thing.
For the first time Halsey and his best men felt much of their confidence ooze.
Down almost over the line, Gridley soon had the ball, while the home fans were again standing up and cheering. Then a penalty set the ball back. But Gridley soon had the ball again.
In two plays the doughty High School boys carried the pigskin eight yards. Only nine to go!
As Badger's signals rang out for the third pass, Badger's men were seen to spread. Another fake kick?
Then the ball went backward. Winters, of course, took it. Like magic, while watchful Cobber stood opened up, the Gridley line closed in again. Artful Dodger Winters still had the ball. Thompson, Edgeworth, Badger and Beck butted in solidly behind the lithe quarter-back. The rest of Gridley followed.
Cheek of cheek! The out-weighed High School boys were giving Cobber a dose of Cobber medicine. It was a mass-play—-a battering-ram assault.
And Gridley got it over! An inch past the line Winters tripped and went down, covering the ball.
Touchdown!
Five to five a tie score!
"Kick the goal!" came the hoarse appeal from the east side seats.
"Kick as you never kicked before!"
Gridley fans could fairly hear themselves shake now. Hats were off and waving. The High School girls stood up, frantically waving their crimson and gold banners.
Cool, steady, like one without nerves, Thompson went back into the field and poised himself for the kick.
At the whistle the dull thump of a boot against the pigskin was heard all over the field. The ball arched and soared. Even before it came toward earth a wild "hurrah!" went up from the east side. The ball went straight between the bars!
Score: "Six to five!"
Badger and his young reliables were quietly smiling, now. CaptainHalsey began to look glum.
"Four bars of 'Hot Time' once more!" begged Dick Prescott, in a voice that sounded as if palsy-touched.
The band blared out while the teams were changing ends.
Once more Cobber got the ball on the kick-off. A massed rush was made for Gridley's goal, but it didn't get far. With eleven minutes left to play, and a lead on the score, Badger had resolved on using up all the reserve strength, if need be. Gridley had not yet called on any substitutes, and several capable young "subs" waited just outside the lines, frantic for a call. Let Cobber be rough, if that suited the college men.
Cobber lost the ball on downs.
Then Gridley took the pigskin.
"Play for time," was Badger's signaled order.
Not much in the delay line is possible under a vigilant referee, yet all the time that strategycouldgain was taken advantage of.
Thrice the ball was fought over the center of the gridiron. Then it settled slowly toward the High School goal, making slow, stubbornly fought advances.
Three minutes left to play!
Gridley H.S. got the ball once more, under the distance rule.
Now Badger called out the same signal that had been used for that most effective fake kick.
Captain Halsey smiled as he saw the High School fighters spread out swiftly, just as they had done before.
Halsey thought he knew this time! That same old ruse of dashing around the left end; then a fake kick and a dashing race by Stearns. Halsey's swiftly telegraphed orders disposed his men to meet the former dodge more effectively.
The whistle sounded, and the ball was passed. But what Halsey didn't know was that, the second time this signal was called it meant the players were to do exactly what they seemed spreading out for.
So the ball actually went around the left end this time, Evans making the best sprint that was left in his stiffening muscles.
He covered twenty-four yards before he was brought to earth.
Here was where delay came in. While Cobber was fighting stubbornly to regain the pigskin, the whistle sounded the end of the second half.
Gridley had won from the big enemy!
Now pandemonium broke loose. Two thousand people leaped up and down, yelling themselves hoarse.
So many hats went into the air that it was a miracle if every man recovered his own headgear.
The band didn't play; the student body didn't sound a yell. What would have been the use? There was too much noise.
Dick made a bound, landing beside the band leader.
"Hustle your men, please! Get out into the field and lead our men off."
It needed quick work, for the players were already leaving the grounds. The wildest fans were getting over the lines, mingling with the late players.
But the band got there on the run. Above all the din Ben Badger was quick to realize the meaning of the new move. He caught his men back, forming them just behind the forming band. Off marched the victorious team to the air of "Hot Time!" That brought down the cheering harder than ever.
While it lasted, Dick and Dave, by frantic movements, succeeded in holding a large proportion of the student body back in their seats.
As soon as the band had reached the far end of the field, and the human racket had died down somewhat, Freshman Prescott succeeded in making himself heard:
"Now! Our final yell of victory!"
This was the High School yell, followed, instantly, by the taunting query:
"Is there any game youdoplay, Cobber?"
But there came no answer from the depths of the gloomy Cobber fans.
That closed the football season in a blaze of glory. GridleyH.S. had closed the year without a defeat.
The day after Thanksgiving football is deader than marbles. Gridley H.S. boys and girls settled down to study until the holidays came on.
The next thing of note that happened in the student world jarred the whole town. There might have been a much bigger jar, however.
Dave Darrin often worked, Saturday nights, in the express office.
One night in early December he was employed there as usual. At about nine o'clock Dick Prescott and Tom Reade dropped in.
"Pretty near through, old fellow?" Dick asked.
"I will be when the 8:50 gets in and the goods are checked up," replied Dave. "The train is a few minutes late tonight."
There being no one else at the office, except the night manager and two clerks, Dick and Reade felt that they would not be in the way if they waited for Dave.
Twenty minutes later the wagon drove up with the packages and cases that had arrived on the 8:50 train.
"You two can give a hand, if you like," invited Dave, as the packages were being passed up to the counter, checked and taken care of.
Prescott and Reade pitched in, working with a will.
"Here, don't shoot this box through as fast as you've done the others," counseled Dick, as he picked up a small box, some eighteen inches long and about a foot square at the end. "The label says, 'Extra fragile. Value two hundred and fifty dollars.'"
Dave reached out to receive it, as Dick laid it carefully on the counter.
"Packages of that value have to be handled with caution," muttered Dave. "When a fellow puts on a valuation like that, it means that he intends to make claim for any damage whatever."
"Hold on," muttered Dick, eyeing the counter. "There's something leaking from the box now."
Dave took his hands away, then bent over to have a look with Dick.
A very tiny puddle of some very thick, syrupy stuff was slowly forming on the counter.
"I wonder if the contentshavebeen damaged?" muttered Dave, uneasily. Then added, in a whisper:
"The night manager will blame us, and hold me responsible, if thereisany damage."
Both boys carefully inspected the tiny puddle for a few moments.
"Say, don't touch the box again," counseled Prescott, uneasily."Do you know what that stuff looks to me like, Dave?"
"What?"
"Do you remember the thick stuff that Dr. Thornton showed us inIV. Chemistry the other day?"
"Great Scott!" breathed Dave Darrin, anxiously. "You don't mean nitroglycerine?"
"But Ido!" Dick nodded, energetically.
"Wow! Don't stir from here. I'll call the night manager."
Night Manager Drowan came over at once, eyeing the box and the tiny pool of thick stuff.
"I never saw nitroglycerine but once," remarked Mr. Drowan, nervously. "I should say this stuff looks just like it. We won't take any chances, anyway. Dave, you go to the telephone, and notify the police. Your friends can stand guard over the box so that no one gets a chance to go near it."
But, while Dave was at the 'phone, Mr. Drowan hung over the box as though fascinated.
"It takes fire to set this stuff off, doesn't it?" he asked.
"No," Dick replied. "If it's nitroglycerine in that box, a light, sharp blow might be enough to do the trick. At least, that was about what Dr. Thornton said."
Dave came back with word that the police would send some one at once.
"They asked me whom the stuff was addressed to," Dave continued, "and I had to admit that I didn't know."
"It's addressed to Simon Tripps, to be called for. Identification by letter herewith," read Dick Prescott, from the label.
"Yes; I have the letter," nodded Mr. Drowan. "It contains the signature of the party who's to call for the box. That's all the identification that's asked."
At this moment Officer Hemingway, in plain clothes, came in, followed by a policeman in uniform.
Hemingway took a look at the stuff slowly oozing out of a corner of the box.
"My bet is nitroglycerine—-what the bank robbers call 'soup,'" declared Hemingway, almost in a whisper. "All right; we'll take it up to the station house. Then we'll send for Dr. Thornton, who is the best chemist hereabouts. As soon as we get this stuff to the station house I'll hustle back and hide against the coming of Mr. Tripps. If he comes before I get back, jump on the fellow and hold him for me, no matter what kind of a fight he puts up."
Dave gazed after the retreating figures of the policemen.
"Bright man, that Hemingway," he remarked. "If Tripps shows up, we are to jump on him and nail him—-no matter if he hauls out two six-shooter and turns 'em on us"
"We can grab any one man, and hold him," returned Dick, confidently. "All we've got to do is to get at him from all sides. See here, Dave, if a fellow comes in and tells you he's Tripps, you repeat the name as though you weren't sure. As soon as we hear the name, Tom and I can jump on him from behind, and you can sail in in front. Eh, Reade?"
"It sounds good," nodded Tom. "I'll take a chance on it, Dick, with you to engineer the job."
In ten minutes Officer Hemingway was back. He stepped into a cupboard close to the counter, prepared for the coming of Tripps.
Half an hour later the police station's officer in charge telephoned that Dr. Thornton had carefully opened the box, and had declared that it contained four pounds of nitroglycerine. Nor had Dr. Thornton taken any chances of mistake. He had taken a minute quantity of the suspected stuff out in the yard back of the station house, and had exploded it.
At a moment when the office was empty of patrons Mr. Drowan stepped into the cupboard for a moment, as though searching for something.
"How late do you stay open?" whispered Hemingway.
"Ten o'clock, usually, on Saturday nights, but we'll keep open as late as you want, officer."
"Better keep open until midnight, then."
So they did, Dick telephoning his parents at the store to explain that he was at the express office helping Dave.
Midnight came and went. A few minutes after the new day had begunHemingway came out of the cupboard.
"You may as well close up, Drowan," the plain clothes man decided."The fellow who calls himself Tripps isn't going to show up.If he had been going to claim his box he'd have been here beforethis."
"You think he got scared away?" asked the night manager.
"The fellow was probably keeping watch on this office. He saw what happened, and decided not to run his neck into a noose. You'll never have any word from Tripps."
"Isn't it just barely possible," hinted one of the clerks, "that the man wanted the stuff for some legitimate purpose?"
"A man who knows how to use nitroglycerine," retorted Hemingway, gruffly, "also knows that it's against the law to ship nitroglycerine unlabeled. He also knows that it's against the law for an express company to transport the stuff on a car that is part of a passenger train. So this fellow who calls himself Tripps is a crook. We haven't caught him, but we've stopped him from using his 'soup' the way he had intended to use it."
"Wonder what he did want to do with it?" mused Dick Prescott.
"There are any one of twenty ways in which the fellow might have used the stuff criminally," replied the plain clothes man. "Of course, for one thing, it could be used to blow open a safe with. But safecracking, nowadays, is done by ordinary robbers, and they're able to carry in a pocket or a satchel the small quantity of 'soup' that it takes to blow the lock of a safe door, or the door off the safe."
After thinking a few minutes, Hemingway went to the telephone, calling up the chief of police at the latter's home. The plain clothes man stated the case, and suggested that the story be told to "The Blade" editor for publication in the morning issue. Then, if anyone in town had any definite suspicion why so much nitroglycerine should be needed in that little city, he could communicate his suspicions or his facts to the police.
"The chief agrees to my plan," nodded Hemingway, leaving the 'phone."Me for 'The Blade' office."
"See here," begged Dick, earnestly, "if there's to be a good newspaper story in this, please let me turn it over to Len Spencer. He's one of our best newspaper men. He'll write a corking good story about this business—-and, besides, I'm under some personal obligations to him."
"So I've heard," replied the plain clothes man, with a twinkle in his eyes. Hemingway heard a good deal in his saunterings about Gridley. He had picked up the yarn about Dick & Co., Len Spencer and the "dead ones."
"So that 'The Blade' gets it, I don't care who writes the story," replied the policeman, good-humoredly.
Dick swiftly called up "The Morning Blade' office. Spencer was there, and came to the telephone.
"How's news tonight?" asked Prescott, after naming himself.
"Duller than a lecture," rejoined Len.
"Would you like a hot one for the first page?" pursued Dick.
"Would I? Would a cat lap milk, or a dog run when he had a can tied to his tail? But don't string me, Dick. There's an absolute zero on news tonight."
"Then you stay right where you are for two or three minutes," Dick begged his reporter friend. "Officer Hemingway and some others are coming down to see you. You'll want to save three or four columns, I guess."
"Oh, now, see here, Dick——-" came Reporter Spencer's voice, in expostulation.
"Straight goods," Dick assured him. "When I say that I mean it. And, this time, I not only mean it, butknowit. Wait! We'll be right down to your office."
Nor did it take Len Spencer long to realize that he had in hand the big news sensation of the hour for the people of Gridley.
Everyone in Gridley either wondered or shivered the next morning at breakfast table.
Four pounds of nitroglycerine are enough to work fearful havoc and mischief.
Monday's "Blade" contained additional light on the nitroglycerine affair—-or what passed as "light."
Len Spencer and the local police had discovered that at least three of the wealthiest men in town had received, during the last few weeks, threatening letters from cranks.
These cranks had all demanded money, under pain of severe harm if they failed to turn over the money.
It now developed that the police chief and Officer Hemingway had, some time before, arrested a nearly harmless lunatic, who, it was believed had written the letters. The man with the unbalanced mind did not appear dangerous, yet, in view of his threats, he had been quietly "railroaded" off to all asylum for the insane.
Now, the arrival of four pounds of nitroglycerine at the local express office was believed to show that the lunatic had had comrades, or else that the crazy man had been used merely as a tool.
Hemingway hurried off to the asylum, to interview the unfortunate one. All the plain clothes man succeeded in getting, however, was a rambling talk that didn't make sense.
Monday's "Blade" announced that the chief of police had been authorized to offer a reward of five hundred dollars for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the party or parties behind the criminal shipment of the giant explosive to Gridley.
Everyone believed that the frightened rich men had combined to offer the reward. Many wondered that the offered reward was not larger.
All of the student body at the High School were busy talking about the affair in the big assembly room before the session opened.
"I see where my parents have made a great mistake," sighed FrankThompson.
"How?" demanded Ben Badger.
"Instead of wasting my time at the High School they should have apprenticed me to a good journeyman detective," grumbled Thomp.
"Oh, but couldn't I use that five hundred, if only my training had fitted me for such deeds as running down a nitroglycerine peddler!"
"It isn't anything to joke about," shuddered one of the girls. "It's awful! Would four pounds of the dreadful stuff destroy the town of Gridley?"
"No," Badger informed her; "but it would be enough to blow up several wood-piles and destroy a lot of clean Monday wash."
"There you go joking again," protested the girl, and turned away.
"Oh, well," declared Fred Ripley, "we must possess ourselves with patience. We shall soon know the whole truth."
"Do you really think so?" asked Purcell.
"It's one of the surest things conceivable," railed Ripley. "That bright constellation of freshmen known under the musical title of Dick & Co. will solve the whole affair wit, in forty-eight hours. Indeed, I'm not sure but Dick & Co., even at this moment, carry the secret looked in their breasts."
Fred glanced quickly around him to see how much of a laugh this had started. To his chagrin he found his bantering had fallen flat.
"Oh, well," gaped Dowdell, gazing out of the window near which he stood, "I know one important fact about the mystery."
"What's that?" asked half a dozen quickly.
"None of the five hundred is destined to come my way.
"That jest saddens a lot of us with the same conviction," mutteredTed Butler, shaking his head.
"But this Idoknow," continued Dowdell, "if the weather continues cold there'll be some elegant skating before the week is out."
Gridley did not slumber over the nitroglycerine mystery. LenSpencer, though he could gain no actual information, managed tohave something interesting on the subject in each morning's "Blade."The people of Gridley talked of the mystery everywhere.
There was one other mild sensation this week that lasted for a part of a day. Tip Scammon came up for his trial. He pleaded guilty to the thefts from the High School locker room, and also guilty to the charge of entering the Prescott rooms in order to hide his loot in Dick's trunk. By way of leniency toward a first offender the court let Tip off with a sentence of fourteen months in the penitentiary. This sentence, by good behavior on the part of Tip, would shrink to ten months of actual imprisonment.
In every way the police and the prosecuting attorney tried to make Tip reveal the name of his confederate. But Tip, for reasons of his own, maintained absolute, dogged silence on this head, and went to the penitentiary without having named the person who met him in the alleyway that evening when Tip himself was caught.
The promise of skating was made good. Wednesday afternoon it was discovered that the ice in Gaylor's Cove was in splendid condition, and strong enough to bear.
Thursday a series of High School racing contests were planned for Saturday afternoon. There was so much money left over in the Athletics Committee's treasury that it was voted to offer a series of individual trophies for boy and girl skaters in different events.
Moreover, in these skating events members of the freshman class were to be allowed to compete.
"Now, see here, fellows," urged Dick, when he had gotten his partners aside, "some of the freshman class ought to be winners of some of the events. We want to give our class a good name. And, out of the six of us, there ought to be one winner for something. I wish you'd all do your best to get in shape. You'll all go over to the cove with me this afternoon, of course."
They did. More than a hundred of the student body, most of them boys, were on the ice that afternoon.
Some went scurrying by for all they were worth. These were training for the races.
Others gathered in the less traveled parts of the cove, which was a large one, and practiced the "fancy" feats. Tom Reade and Dan Dalzell put themselves in this class. Dick and his other partners went in for speed.
Friday afternoon there was an even larger attendance.
Gaylor's Cove was about half a mile long, with an average width of a quarter of a mile. At the middle the cove was open for a long way upon the river.
At some points on the river proper the ice was strong enough to bear. Near Gaylor's Cove, however, the river current was so swift that the river ice at this point looked thin and treacherous. No one ventured out on the ice just beyond the cove.
Friday night many a High School boy and girl studied the sky. There was no sign of storm, nor did the conditions seem to threaten a thaw. Saturday morning was cold and clear. The temperature, at noon, was just above freezing point, though not enough so to bring about a "thaw" in the ice.
By one o'clock Saturday afternoon Gaylor's Cove was a scene of great activity. Two thirds of the High School students were there, most of them on skates. There were three or four hundred other youngsters, and more than a hundred grown-ups.
"All we need is the band," laughed Dick Prescott, as he skated slowly along with Laura Bentley.
"The click-clack of the skates is enough for me," Laura replied.
"You are not down in any of the girls' contests, are you?" he asked.
"No; does that disappoint you, Dick?"
"N-no," he said, slowly. "Still, it's fine to see every event all but crowded."
"In how many events are you entered?" asked the girl.
"Only one, the freshman's mile. That will be swift work, and there are two turns, the way the course is to be laid out."
"Why didn't you enter more of the freshman events?" Laura asked.
"Well, it will take a lot of good wind to keep going at a swift pace for a mile. I want to save all my strength and wind for that one event."
"What is the prize in the freshman's mile?" asked Laura, fumbling in her muff for the card of the day's events.
"You noticed that handsome Canadian toboggan, didn't you?"
"The one with the side hand-rails?" Laura asked, looking up brightly into his face. "Yes; that ought to have been one of the prizes in the girls' events."
"Why?" queried Dick, looking a bit disconcerted.
"Why, those hand-rails are meant for timid girls to take hold of. A boy would never want a toboggan with hand-rails."
"Perhaps the fellow who's going to win the freshman's mile expects to invite some of the young ladies to go out tobogganing with him," hinted young Prescott.
"Is itfixedwho shall win that race?" demanded Laura, teasingly.
"Hardly that," Dick rejoined, dryly.
"Then how do you know the coming owner's intentions, if you don't know who is going to win the race?" Miss Bentley insisted.
"Well, you see, it's this way?" Dick admitted, "I've made up my mind to win that race."
"So you regard the race as being as good as won by yourself?" smiled the physician's daughter.
"It's one of the rules of Dick & Co.," Prescott answered, as they turned and skated slowly back toward the center of the cove, "when we go into anything we consider it as good as won from the outset."
"Well, I like that spirit," Laura admitted. "Faint heart never yet won anything but a spill."
Laura had her card out by this time, and was studying it leisurely, trusting to her companion to guide her.
"I see Fred Ripley is entered for the grand event in fancy skating," she observed.
"Yes; are you interested in him?"
Something in the directness of the question caused the girl to bite her lips.
"Now, that's hardly fair, Dick," she cried, flushing with vexation."No; the fact is, I'm hoping he'll lose."
"Why?"
"Because, Fred has never been very nice to you, Dick."
That was direct enough, and Dick flushed with pleasure.
"Thank you, Laura; that's more handsome than what I said to you."
"I accept your apology," she laughed. "Look! There goes FredRipley now! How foolish of him."
Fred was heading straight out of the cove toward the river. He was a fine skater, and now he was showing off at his best. He had adapted a "turn promenade" step from roller skating, and was whirling along, turning and half dancing as he sped along. It was a graceful, rhythmical performance. Despite the fact that young Ripley was not widely liked, his present work drew considerable applause from the spectators.
That applause acted like incense under the young man's nostrils. He determined to go farther out, maintaining his present step unbroken.
"Look out, Ripley!" warned Thomp. "The ice won't bear out there."
Fred didn't reply by as much as a look. He kept on out toward the thin ice.
Cra-a-ack! Splash! The thin ice had broken. Ripley, moving backwards, did not realize his fix until his feet; shot into the water. Down he came on his back, breaking more of the ice.
A yell, and he was gone below the surface.
And now everybody seemed shouting at once. A hundred people ran to and fro, shouting out what ought to be done.
"Get a rope! Run for a doctor! Bring fence rails! Telephone for the police!"
That's the usual way with a crowd, to think up things that others ought to do.
Dick Prescott espied Dave Darrin ahead. Dropping Laura's arm without a word, Dick skated swiftly up to Dave, called Darrin, then lightning. As he worked young Prescott shot out a few hurried orders.
Then another great cry went up. Dick Prescott was sprinting fast toward the thin ice. Close to where Fred Ripley had gone down there was another great rent in the ice.
Dick Prescott was "in the freeze," in quest of his enemy!
DICK & CO. SHOW SOME TEAM WORK
So suddenly and heavily did he break through the thin ice thatDick went underneath the surface.
"Help!" roared Fred, in a frenzy, as he came to the surface.
The skates on his feet clogged all his movements, and acted like lead.
"There's Ripley, but where's Prescott?" shouted several.
"A-a-ah!"
That last cry went up as a sound of relief, when Prescott's brown-haired pate, hatless, bobbed up close to where he had gone down.
"Good boy, Prescott!"
"Go in and get Ripley."
"Save yourself, anyway! Don't be over-foolish!"
A dozen more cries went up from cove and shore.
Yet it is doubtful if Prescott heard any of them.
In the first instant that his eyes came above the level of the water, Dick took in the details of Ripley's whereabouts.
Dick had to calculate at lightning speed.
"O Prescott," gasped Fred, when he saw his would-be rescuer, "can't you break the ice between us? I can't keep up much longer."
"Get hold of the edge of the ice, Ripley," called Dick. "Just rest lightly on it. Don't try to make it bear your weight—-it won't! It'll help hold you up, though, if you keep cool."
"Cool?" groaned Fred. "I'm freezing. In pity's name get to me quickly."
Fred was so wholly self-centered that it didn't occur to him that the freshman must be just as chilled as he himself was.
Dick's legs ached with the cold chill of the icy water. He was free of the weight of skates, however, and he trod water during the few seconds that he needed for making up his mind what it was best to do.
Much depended upon the help that those on shore gave, but Dick had left his orders with Dave Darrin, and he trusted the shore end to his capable lieutenant.
Fred, though hardly more than able to keep himself afloat, managed to reach the nearest edge of ice.
He clutched at it eagerly, then, disregarding excellent advice, he tried to climb out upon it.
There was another crash. With another yell, Ripley sank again, to the horror of those on shore.
But Prescott did not see this. The freshman, after trying to calculate the exact distance across the intervening ice, dived below the glassy surface. He was swimming, now, under the ice. As he swam the freshman kept his eyes open, swimming close to the ice, yet not touching it.
So he came up, in the open. But where was Fred?
"Ripley just sank!" came the hoarse chorus from shore and cove.
This was serious enough. He who sinks for the second time in icy waters, especially when hampered by skates, may very likely not come up again.
"It must have been about here that he went down," calculated Prescott, deliberately, as he swam through the open water. "Now, then!"
Down went Dick. To those looking on, it was heroic—-sublime?Yet it looked as though the rescuer must be dooming himself.
"One Prescott is worth a dozen Ripleys" murmured one man who, unable to swim, was obliged to stand looking uselessly on.
There were still many who were shouting confusing advice as to what others ought to do. A few were even running about trying to do something.
Dave Darrin was actually "on the job."
He had pressed Dick's other partners into service and as many of the High School boys as possible. They got off their skates in a rush.
"Tom," shouted Dave, "you and Greg get some of the fellows and rush down as many ties as you can from that pile by the railroad tracks. Dalzell, you and Harry get down at the edge of send him your way. Make a raft by laying four ties side by side, and lash the ends. Do it as quick as a flash. I'll be there by that time."
Tom and Greg quickly had a dozen men running for railroad ties, a pile of which stood less than an eighth of a mile away.
By the time that the man with ropes arrived, and two more behind him, bringing more, there were a dozen railroad ties on the ice by the outer edge of the cove. Harry Hazelton and Dan snatched short lengths of rope and knotted them around either end of the raft.
"Some of you men make another raft, just like that one!" shouted Dave, who, at the time, was busily engaged in making a noose at one end of a long coil of half-inch rope.
"Here, you two men get hold of the other end of this," orderedDave, running up with the coil of rope.
Then, hardly waiting to make sure that they had the rope, Dave turned to Harry and Dan, calling to them to help him push the raft out beyond the cove. A dozen men and boys tried to help, all at once, but Dave and Harry saw to it that no speed was lost by blundering.
The raft was not difficult to push out over the ice.
"Now, let me have it alone," shouted Dave. "The ice may break at any point beyond."
So Dave tugged and pushed, guiding the small raft before him.
Cra-ack! Dave and the raft went through the ice, but Darrin quickly climbed up astride of the ties.
Out beyond, Dick was holding up Fred Ripley, whom he had found and brought to the surface. Fred's eyes were nearly closed. After his second drop below, the Ripley lad was nearly spent.
Glancing back, Dave saw that another raft was being pushed out by the two men who held the rope that was noosed under his shoulders.
"Now, halt where you are!" Dave Darrin shouted back. "Toss me a long rope that I can throw out to Prescott!"
The rope came swirling. Dave caught it easily enough. Then, still sitting on the raft, his legs, of course, in the water, Darrin recoiled the rope.
"Can you spare a hand to catch, Dick?" shouted Dave.
"Surely!" came back the steady answer.
The coil flew out across the thin ice. One end splashed in the water. Guiding the all but helpless Fred, Dick swam to the rope's end.
Further back the two men who held to the rope connecting with Dave had seated themselves across the second raft. If the ice broke atthatpoint they would have little difficulty in making themselves safe.
"Ripley, stir yourself!" ordered Dick. "Can you take hold of this rope, and keep hold of it" Can you climb across the thin ice, holding onto the rope and being towed if the ice breaks?"
"I—-I—-I'm afraid," chattered Ripley. "You come with me!"
"It'll be a good deal easier if you can go first, and alone," spoke the freshman, rather sternly. "I think I can keep myself afloat until you get over to solid ice. Then the rope can be thrown back to me."
"I'm afraid, I tell you," insisted Fred, his teeth clicking against each other. "Can't you see that I'm all in?"
"You'll have us both all in, if you don't get some courage together," young Prescott insisted. "Come, be a man, Ripley!"
"I'm freezing to death here," moaned Ripley, closing his eyes.
Somehow—-he could never tell just how, afterwards, Dick managed to slip the rope under Fred's shoulders. With infinite effort—-for he had to keep them both afloat, the freshman double-knotted the rope.
"Come, now, you've got to help yourself across the ice, whileDave hauls on the line," urged Dick.
Fred made a motion as though to bestir himself but he did it so feebly that Prescott gave him a sharp pinch.
"Ouch!" flared Fred, now seeming to be wide awake. "Prescott, you have the upper hand here. Don't be a bully!"
"I don't want to," spoke Dick, quietly, trying to keep his own teeth from rattling. "But you've got to stir yourself, or else I must do it for you. Now, get started over the thin ice. Dave will haul. Never mind if the ice breaks under you; the rope is tied around you. You're sure to be hauled to safety if you help yourself. Now, then, Dave! Begin to haul in!"
It needed another pinch to make Fred Ripley bestir himself properly.He half whimpered in protest, but Prescott was past mindingthat.
Hardly had Ripley gotten his full weight upon the ice than it broke under him. He splashed into the water with a great howl, but alert Dave Darrin hauled in just enough of the rope. Ripley was safe, and could make the next attempt to get out on the ice.
Meanwhile, Prescott swam to another part of the ice edge. He rested his hands on that edge, not heavily, but just enough for some support. At the same time he kept his tired, aching, almost frozen legs in motion just to keep himself from growing any more numb.
Four times Fred Ripley broke through the thin ice, but each time Dave Darrin, astride the first raft, pulled in on the rope just in time.
After getting himself out of the water for the fifth time, Ripley crawled over stronger ice, and went on past the hole in which Dave sat on the raft.
Then Ripley was able to get to his feet, tottering toward the shore, shaking as though with fever and chills.
A cheer went up from those who watched. The enthusiasm would have been vastly greater had not the crowd had its eyes on Dick Prescott, who must yet be saved if aid could reach him before his numbed limbs could sustain him no longer.
"Get that rope off, Ripley," bawled Dave Darrin. "Hurry! I must throw it to Dick, or he'll go down!"
"I can't get it off," mumbled Fred, tugging vainly, almost aimlessly, as he still moved coveward.
As he was on staunch ice, now, three or four men ran toward him. One, with a sharp knife, waved the others away and quickly slashed the noose away from Fred's shoulders.
"Go on, you pup!" grumbled the man with the knife. "Now, we'll try to get help to theman!"
Fred was not too far spent to flash angrily at that taunt.
"You'd better be careful whom you speak to like that!" snarledRipley. "You're a low-bred fellow, anyway!"
But the man who had slashed the rope free didn't even hear. He had turned toward Darrin, to make sure that Dave could draw the rope toward him fast enough.
"One of you people get Ripley's skates off for him, and help him ashore," called Tom Reade.
"Why don'tyou?" some one in the crowd answered.
"Because my job," retorted Reade, "is keeping my eyes on my chum, ready to help if anything comes up that I can do."
Four or five hurried to Fred's aid. He had been walking on his skates, which, at best, is an awkward style of locomotion. Two men held him up, while two of the H.S. boys quickly took off his skates. After that Fred, leaning on one of the H.S. boys, made much quicker time to the shore.
Here a man with a sleigh waited.
"Pile him in here," directed the driver. "Dr. Gilbert has gone up to the Avery House and is getting things ready. I'll have Ripley back in a jiffy."
"Oh, that's all right," sang out a boy in the freshman class."But the main thing is to hustle back and be ready to take DickPrescott."
"And I'll pray all through the round trip that you may get Prescott back to shore alive," fervently replied the driver, as he brought the whip down across the horse's back.
Dave Darrin, too, was chilled. That was why, when he had drawn all the rope in and had coiled it, he made a throw that fell short.
"Courage, Dick, old fellow," he shouted. "I'll get it to you, in a jiffy."
Nervously, quickly, Dave hauled in the rope. He coiled rapidly, yet with care.
"Now, may Heaven give me the strength to throw this coil far enough to do the trick!" prayed Dave Darrin, as he made the second cast.
There was frenzy behind that throw. Hurrah! There was four feet of rope to spare as it splashed into the open part where Dick still hung, though he was fast weakening.
"There's a noose on the end—-I fixed it, Dick! Get it over your head and under your shoulders!" bawled Dave Darrin.
It was only the coolness of a last desperate hope that enabled the freshman to adjust the noose sufficiently.
"All r-r-r-i-ight!" he called, unable to make any further effort to stop the rattling of his teeth.
"Come on, then!" cheered Dave.
It was team play between two freshmen, but it was worked out. Dick, after a while, reached solid ice. Tom Reade and Dan Dalzell risked themselves a good deal in going far out to meet him. But they got their leader and rushed him toward the cove.
Soon a dozen H.S. boys were running around Dick. Some of them had him upon their shoulders; others were trying to help.
As they rushed him across the cove to the sleigh that had just arrived, the cheering was deafening.
Others in the crowd had already run up along the road, which was lined as Dick and Darrin were driven along as fast as the horse could go. Tom Reade stood on the runners behind. As soon as the door of the hotel was reached, Reade aided the driver in rushing the boys inside.
Even here the cheering followed them in volleys.
"Come on—-into a cold room with you, at first," ordered Dr. Gilbert, appearing, while a dozen H.S. boys came in his wake. "You don't want to get near a fire yet. Strip them, both, lads, and rub them down for all you're worth. Don't mind peeling a little skin off!"
Dick and Dave were rushed into a room. With so many hands to help, they were soon stripped. Then rough Turkish towels were plied upon them until even their skins began to show the red of blood and life.
"Now, wrap blankets about them, and bring them into a warm room," ordered the doctor.
As they entered the other room they espied Fred Ripley, already seated in an arm-chair by the stove, a bowl of something hot in one hand.
The driver of the sleigh now came in.
"You lads will want something warm and dry to put on," he declared. "Give me your orders. The distance isn't far. I'll drive to your homes and get the clothes and things that you want."
"No, thank you," returned Ripley, stiffly. "I've already had a telephone message sent, and my father's auto will bring out what I need."
"But you youngsters will want something?" asked the driver, turning to the plucky freshmen.
Dick and Dave stated their requests, Prescott adding:
"But please be sure to make our parents understand that we're safe. We don't want them seared to death."
Fred Ripley took a long swallow of the steaming stuff in his bowl. As he did so he took a furtive glance in the direction of the freshmen.
Was he going to attempt to thank them for having risked their own lives to help him back to safety?