Sam started back, almost as though he expected Tom to strike him, but our hero did not raise his hand. There came a grim tightening of his lips, and into his eyes that had been dazed by the fall there was a look of anger, but that was all.
"By Jove! Fairfield!" exclaimed Sam. "I—I didn't know it was you. I wouldn't for the world have———"
"I suppose if it had been someone else you'd have ridden right over him," said Tom quietly.
"No, indeed. But—er—I guess I was going a bit too fast. I didn't see you—or—rather, I thought you'd step over a bit more."
"Step over more!" exclaimed Bruce. "What do you want; the whole road? We were on the proper side for you to pass. What's the matter with you, Heller?"
"Oh, I didn't mean to do it I tell you. My car is a new one, and the steering gear is a bit stiff. I wouldn't have done it intentionally for the world."
"That's right!" exclaimed Frank Nelson, a Sophomore who had been riding on the front seat with Sam. "I thought Tom would get out of the way."
"Thanks," responded Tom briefly. "I would have, if I'd known what was going to happen."
"Are you—are you hurt—much?" faltered Sam.
"No, it was only a glancing blow," and Tom began to brush the dust from his clothes, assisted by Bruce and some of those with Sam.
"I—I'm sorry," faltered the owner of the car. "I wouldn't have done that for anything, and———"
"Especially after the 'trick' you played on my friends this summer," cut in Tom.
"Oh, I say now," began Sam. "Look here, Fairfield, I'm as sorry as can be over this. Will you—will you shake hands?" and he advanced with outstretched palm.
"I will—not!" said Tom sharply, turning aside.
There was a moment of tense silence, and then Sam went on:
"Well, if you won't—you won't—that's all. I've done my share."
"That's right," chimed in some of his cronies, including Nick Johnson.
"It was an accident, anyhow," the latter added.
"Anavoidableaccident," put in Bruce quietly. "You are lucky it was no worse, Heller. Tom might have been seriously injured."
"A miss is as good as a mile," quoted someone. "Better give him a lift back, Sam. I'll walk."
"Will you ride in the car?" asked Sam, half eagerly, for he realized how popular Tom was, and he knew how thin was the ice on which he was skating. "Come on, there's lots of room."
"No—thank you," said Tom between his teeth, and it was an effort to add the last two words. "I can walk."
There was a little pause—an embarrassed silence, and then Nick said:
"Well, we might as well go on, Sam."
"Yes, I guess so. We can't do any good here. Come on, fellows."
They piled back into the car. There were some good-nights in which Sam and his crony did not join, and then the auto rolled off in the moonlight.
"Can you walk, Tom?" asked Bruce, with his arm around his friend's shoulders.
"Oh, yes. I'm a bit stiff, that's all."
"Too bad. This is my fault. You may be lame for football practice now."
"No, I guess not. I'll use some liniment when I get back. It wasn't your fault at all. It was that Heller's confounded meanness, and I've a good notion to———"
"You're not going to make a row over it; are you!" asked Bruce quickly."You won't go back on what you said?"
"No, but I'll watch my chance for getting back at him. I almost believe he did it deliberately."
"I hardly think so, though it was mighty careless of him. But we might as well be getting on. It isn't far to the Hall now."
Tom found himself a trifle stiff and lame but he could walk all right, though with a slight limp. Bruce bade him good-night and passed on to his own dormitory, while Tom silently made his way to the room he had picked out for himself and his chums. There was a light burning in it, though it was after hours.
"Guess all rules are suspended for a while yet," mused our hero as he entered. "Well, we'll pass the wig joke for a while. I forgot to get one anyhow."
"Hello, what's up?" demanded Bert, who was getting ready for bed.
"Steam roller hit you?" inquired Jack. "Why, your head is cut, Tom!"
"Yes, I had a little go with Sam Heller's auto, and I got the worst of it," and our hero told his story of the evening.
"The cad!" cried Jack. "We'll fix him for this. I almost wish you hadn't given Bruce that promise, Tom."
"Oh, that's all right. There are more ways of getting back at Sam than making a class matter of it. Let's forget all about it. Whew! but I'm stiff. Any of you fellows got any liniment?"
"I have," declared Bert, producing a bottle of highly-flavored compound. "It's home-made but it goes to the spot," and Tom was soon bathing his injured hip, and telling the story of Bruce's "experiment." Much against their desires his chums promised with Tom not to proceed against Sam and Nick.
Elmwood Hall began to buzz and hum with activities, not alone of lessons and lectures, but of sports and the rumors of sports. There were also whispers of hazings to come, and the luckless Freshmen cowered in their rooms, and trembled at the sound of a knock on their portals.
"Did you see the notice?" exclaimed Jack one afternoon as he rushed into the room he shared with Tom and Bert.
"What notice?" asked Bert. "Has that sneak Heller left? If he has it will save trouble later."
"No such luck," was the answer. "But football practice starts to-morrow on the gridiron. Hurray! Let's get out our suits, and see how many holes there are in 'em."
Books were tossed aside, and from the trunks were pulled the jackets and trousers that had seen yeoman service.
"Mine are all right," announced Tom.
"Whew! There's an all-fired big rip here," declared Jack, as he viewed his trousers. "Anyone got a needle and thread with 'em?"
"Use some wire," suggested Bert. "That's what I do. Thread won't hold."
And then began a busy session for the chums.
It was the day of the first football practice. Out on the field assembled half a hundred lads from whom the leading school team would be picked. There were at least a dozen lads for every position, and only a few positions to fill, for many of the former players had come back.
"What are you going to try for, Tom?" asked Bert, as he delivered a beautiful drop kick down the field.
"One of the backs—left half for choice."
"Here comes Morse," remarked Jack, as the captain came into sight, surrounded by a score of lads seeking to curry favor.
"And there's Jackson, the coach," added Tom. "He's got a suit on.Guess he'll go in for practice."
The field soon became a scene of activity. From one side two lads strolled from under the grandstand where some of the dressing rooms were, and advanced toward the coach and captain.
"There are Heller and Johnson," said Bert in a low voice. "They're going to have a try, too."
"Did you hear where Sam wants to play?" asked Tom.
"No," answered his chums.
"Come on now, boys, line up!" called the captain. "We'll play a scrub game. Hecker, Miller, Jones, Reilley, you'll be on the scrub for a while," and Morse called on other names to make an eleven.
"Regular team over here!" went on the young captain—"that is what's left of 'em. Tom Fairfield, you'll be left half, I guess. Bert, get in at guard, though I may change you later. Jack, you'll do at tackle, I think."
"Where am I to play?" asked Sam Heller as though it was all settled—that is all but naming his position. "I'd like to go in at quarterback."
Morse looked at him. So did the coach, and the latter nodded at the captain.
"Very well, Heller. Try it at quarter," assented Morse, "though I can't promise to always play you there in matches. Now then line up. Tom will take the ball for a try through the scrub. Be careful in passing it, Heller."
There was rather a gasp of astonishment from the other players and some of the spectators as the two enemies were thus brought into the limelight. As for Tom, he felt a sinking at his heart, for he realized that Sam had it in his power to make or mar his play by the manner in which he passed the ball.
"But they shan't say it was my fault!" said Tom grimly to himself. "I'll play a straight game, and if Heller wants to do any crooked work—well, let him, that's all!"
"Line up! Line up!"
It was the call of the coach and captain to the improvised regular eleven and the scrub. Twenty-two rather nervous lads faced each other—no, not all of the twenty-two were nervous, for there were some veterans—warriors of past battles—who were as cool as the proverbial cucumber. But the new lads—those who hoped to make the first eleven—were undoubtedly nervous. And so, too, were some of those who had played before, for they had not yet found themselves this season, and they did not know but what their playing might be so poor and ragged that they would be ordered to the side lines.
"Line up! Line up!"
Again came the stirring cry. The scrub team, under the leadership of their captain, withdrew for a short consultation regarding signals, and to plan how best to stop the rushes of the regular lads. The latter, under the guidance of Morse, were ready to put the ball into play, for the captain and coach had decided to see what value their side was in rushing tactics, before going on the defense.
"All ready now, boys!" exclaimed the coach briskly. "Get into the plays on the jump. You can do twice as well if you have speed than if you have not. Hit the defense hard, get some momentum back of you. A moving body, and all that sort of thing you know, that you learn in your physics class.
"Jump into the plays. Meet the ball; don't wait for it to get to you.That applies to you backs," and he nodded at Tom and his two mates."Quarter, don't fumble when you pass the ball back. Be accurate.Don't make a mistake in the signals.
"You guards and tackles, hold hard. Tear holes big enough for the man with the ball to get through. Don't be afraid. Ends, you want to get down like lightning on kicks. Nail in his tracks the man who catches the ball, but don't, for the love of the pigskin, touch him until he has it, or you'll be offside. Watch out for fake kicks, forward passes, double passes—watch out for all tricks. If there's a fumble, fall on the ball and stay there, unless you see a chance to run with it. You fellows who expect to do any toe work, don't get nervous. The boys will hold the others back until you get a chance to boot the ball away. And you fellows in the line, see that you do hold.
"There!" concluded the coach with a sigh. "I've given you enough football instructions to last all season. Now get busy and let's see how much of it you remember."
"Line up!" cried Captain Morse Denton, and, the preliminaries having been arranged, the ball was kicked off by the scrub, as the other players wanted to see how well they could rush it back.
It was Tom's luck to capture the yellow spheroid as it descended, and, well protected by interference, he raced down the field.
"Get him, fellows! Get him!" appealed the scrub captain, and several made an effort to break through to tackle Tom. Our hero noticed that Sam Heller was running interference for him on the left, and for a moment Tom felt that perhaps he had misjudged Sam in one particular.
"He certainly is making good interference for me," mused our hero. "Maybe he won't play me false after all. But I'm going to be on the watch."
There was now but the scrub fullback between Tom and the opposite goal line, though it was some distance away. Most of the leading team lads, streaming and straggling along, were shouting to encourage Tom.
"Go on! Go on!"
"Touchdown! Touchdown!"
"Good run, Tom old man!"
Tom was getting into his stride. Sam was just ahead of him seemingly getting ready to bowl over the scrub fullback, who was racing down the field, eager-eyed, to tackle Tom.
"If Sam disposes of him I will make a touchdown," mused Tom, and then Sam and the fullback came together. Sam went down in a heap at the first impact, and the fullback—who was Henry Everett—came on, scarcely hindered.
The next moment he tackled Tom and threw him heavily, though Tom kept possession of the ball.
"Down!" gasped Tom, as he felt the weight of his opponent. The latter arose.
"Got you; didn't I?" he asked, grinning.
"Yes," replied Tom, looking to where Sam Heller was leisurely getting to his feet. Our hero watched his enemy narrowly. Was it only a fancy, or was it true that Sam had not made half a try to throw off the interference of the fullback?
"You were easy," laughed the scrub lad. "I thought I was going to have trouble with you, Sam, but you were easy."
"Aw, my foot slipped, and I fell, or you wouldn't have gotten me," asserted Sam, but to Tom's ears, somehow, the words did not ring true.
"I believe he deliberately let Everett get me so I wouldn't have the honor of making a touchdown," thought our hero.
The players ran up to Tom.
"Good work, old man!" complimented Coach Jackson.
"Some run, Tom," added the captain. "Come on now, line up boys, and we'll walk through 'em!"
"Yes you will—nit!" jeered the scrub captain.
As Tom was panting from his long run, the other halfback was sent at the line with the ball. He did not gain much, and then the fullback was allowed to try. He gained a few feet.
"We'd better kick," whispered the captain to Sam, who was giving the signals.
"No, keep the ball," advised the coach. "I want the boys to have practice in bucking the line. Let Fairfield try again. He has his wind back now."
"All right," assented Morse, nodding at Sam, who began to give the signal.
Tom stiffened, ready to take the pigskin, and, at the same time he moved up a little nearer Sam, for somehow, he felt that the passing of his enemy might not be just accurate. And it was well that he did, for the quarterback threw the ball short.
"Look out!" cried the captain, but his warning was not needed, for Tom made a jump and met the pigskin. With it safely tucked under his arm, he made a jump between guard and tackle in the hole made for him by his players, and completed the gaining of the necessary distance.
"Down!" he panted, as nearly half a score of lads threw themselves on top of him. "Down!"
"Good work, old man!" the captain shouted in his ear. "Great line-bucking!"
"But almost a fumble!" came the sharp voice of Coach Jackson. "What was the matter, Fairfield? You nearly dropped the ball."
"It wasn't passed accurately," asserted Tom.
"Aw, go on! It was so!" snapped Sam.
"Well, don't let it happen again," advised the coach. "Fumbles are costly—they mean the loss of a game many a time. Watch yourselves!"
The play went on, with the luckless scrubs being shoved slowly back toward their own goal. There they took a brace, and held for downs, getting the ball. They quickly kicked it out of danger, and then the regulars went to work to do it all over again.
Tom was called on several times, and, though he watched Sam narrowly, there was no further cause for complaint about the passing of the ball.
"Maybe it was a mistake," thought Tom, "but I'm going to be on the lookout just the same. I don't trust Sam Heller."
"That will do for to-day," called the coach, after two touchdowns had been rolled up against the scrub, Tom making one of them. "Take a good shower and a rub now, all of you, scrub included, for there's no telling when I may want one of you scrub lads on the first team. You're doing pretty well," he allowed himself to compliment them. "But there's lots to be done yet. We're only beginning. Morse, come here, I want to talk to you," and captain and coach walked off the gridiron, arm in arm.
"Well, what do you think of it?" asked Jack of Tom, as the two came out of the gymnasium, glowing from a rub and shower.
"Oh, it seemed to go all right."
"Heller try any mean tricks?" asked Bert.
"I thought he did, but maybe I was mistaken. Oh, but I got one beaut kick on the shin," and Tom gently massaged the leg in question.
"Some lad tried to gouge out one of my eyes," added Bert.
"And if I have any skin left on my nose I'm lucky," asserted Jack, trying to look cross-eyed at his nasal member.
"It's just a little sunburned," said Tom, with a laugh. "I guess we'll have a team after a bit."
"Sure!" chorused his chums.
Practice went on for several days after this, and there were a number of changes of position made, though Sam was still at quarterback, and Tom held his same place.
"Now, fellows, we're going to have a little different form of exercise to-morrow," announced the coach, at the conclusion of a short game one afternoon. "I want you all to take part in a cross-country run. It will improve your wind, and work some of the fat off you fellows that can stand losing it. It will be good for your legs, too.
"We'll start from the gym after last lectures, hit the turnpike for Aldenhurst, cross the river at Weldon, circle up the hill through Marsden, and come back along the river road. You can go in bunches, or singly as you choose, but you must all make those towns, and there'll be checkers at each one to see that you don't skip. It's only fifteen miles, and you ought to do it in four hours without turning a hair. There'll be a five-hour time limit, and those who don't make all the checking points, and report back by eight o'clock will be scratched off the active football list. That's all."
A silence followed the announcement of the coach, and then came several murmurs of disapproval.
"Fifteen miles!" came from Sam Heller. "That's a stiff run all right."
"I should say yes," agreed Nick Johnson.
"Can't we shorten it in some way?" asked Sam of his crony in a whisper, but not so low that Tom did not overhear him.
"Dry up!" commanded Nick. "I'll see. Maybe we can cut off a few miles. Fifteen is too much!"
"He sure is working us," said Jack to Tom.
"And a time limit," added Bert, with a note of grievance in his voice.
"Oh pshaw!" exclaimed, Tom. "Anyone would think you fellows had never tramped before. Why in camp you thought nothing of doing twenty miles in a day."
"But we could take our time," asserted Bert.
"Nonsense! We always did better than four miles an hour and never minded it. Come on, be sports! We'll go together, won't we?"
"Sure," said Bert. "Well, if it has to be, it has to—that's all.Hang it! I wonder if I want to play football anyhow?"
"Of course you do," said Tom. "We'll have some fun on the run. And think of the supper we will eat after it. I'm going to see if we can't have a little something extra."
And he went to the kitchen of the eating hall where he and his chums dined, to wheedle the chef into serving generous portions after the cross-country run.
"Fairfield, Fitch, Wilson, Abbot," remarked the official checker-out, as Tom and his three chums trotted out of the door of the gymnasium on the afternoon of the cross-country run. "All right boys. Getting away in good time," and the Senior student who was acting in the official capacity smiled in rather a patronizing manner. "Now if you check in together you'll be doing well. Take it easy. You haven't got much of a run, and you've oceans of time to do it in."
"Huh! I guess you think this isn't much of a Marathon," remarked Jack, pausing to address the checker, who had marked their names down on a slip of paper.
"Neither it is, son," came the answer. "In my day we had lots of stiffer ones."
"And did the fellows all make good?" asked Tom, for though he and his chums had spent one year at Elmwood Hall this was the first big run they had taken part in, and on it depended much—their chance to play on the big eleven.
"Oh, most of 'em did," replied the Senior. "Of course some couldn't stand the pace, and others wouldn't. But, as I say, it was stiffer in those days. I don't know what the world is coming to, anyhow," and he looked as though he had on his shoulders a large share of the responsibility of regulating the universe. "You'd better cut away, fellows," he added, "for, though you've got lots of time, it's better to loaf on the other end of the run than on this one. Hike!"
"He doesn't give himself any airs; does he? Oh no!" exclaimed Bert sarcastically, as he jogged along beside his chums.
"Oh, that's the way with all Seniors," said Jack.
"I hope we'll not be," murmured Tom.
"Do you think we will?" asked George Abbot. "I wonder what makes Seniors think they're so high and mighty? Do you think we'll make this run? Will———"
"Foolish question number six thousand four hundred and twenty-one!" interrupted Tom, with a laugh. "Now if you're going to start on your interrogatory stunt, Georgie my lad, you'll make this run alone. I'm not going to get dry in the roof of my mouth answering questions."
"All right, I won't ask any more," promised the lad who was such a questioner.
"I wonder who are just ahead of us?" asked Bert, as he stopped a second to tie a loose shoe lace.
"Let's ask," suggested Tom.
He halted and hurled back this question at the checking Senior, who sat near the door of the gymnasium.
"Who's ahead of us, Rockford?"
"Let's see," and the checker consulted his slips. "Oh, Sam Heller andNick Johnson," he answered. "They've got four minutes start of you."
"All right; thanks!" shouted Tom, as he again took up his stride.
"Say, let's pass 'em," suggested Jack. "I'd rather be ahead of 'em, than behind, anyhow."
"All right," assented Tom. "Shall we pass 'em now, or later?"
"Oh, wait a bit," said Bert. "Let's get our second wind, first."
This suited the others, and they jogged along at an easy pace. The day was pleasant, not too warm, and there was a refreshing breeze when one got on the hilltops. The run was through a rolling country, and the roads were in good condition.
"Say, this is fun!" exclaimed Bert, when they had covered the first half mile. "I like it better than I thought I would."
"Wait a bit," advised Jack. "It hasn't half started yet. When you've done about ten miles the next five will seem twice as long."
On they swung, down a slope that made for easy going. When they topped the next rise Jack uttered an exclamation:
"There are a couple of lads just ahead of us," he said, pointing down in a small valley into which the runners must now descend.
"And if they aren't Sam Heller and his crony I'm a goat!" said Tom."That's Sam's run, all right."
"So it is," agreed Bert. "Shall we make a sprint and pass 'em?"
"Oh, there's time enough yet," said George. "Don't let's rush things."
They accepted this easy way out of it, and, as a matter of fact, none of them cared very much about passing Sam and Nick. They jogged down the slope, to strike a level stretch, and, by this time, Sam and his companion were out of sight beyond a turn in the road.
"There's Aldenhurst!" exclaimed Tom at length, as they came in view of a small but pretty village.
"And if there isn't a soda water stand in it I'm going to make a complaint to the police!" gasped Bert. "I'm as dry as a fish."
"Don't fill up on trash," advised Tom. "The rules said that was bad to do;" for a few simple directions as to the best way of making the run had been circulated by Coach Jackson.
"Well, I'm going to swab out with seltzer, anyhow," declared Jack, "rules or no rules."
"Oh, I guess that won't hurt," admitted Tom, and a little later they had lined up before a crossroads grocery, in front of which was the magical sign: "Ice Cold Soda!"
"Ginger ale! Birch beer! Sasp'rilla! Cream sody!" rattled off the snub-nosed and freckle-faced lad behind the counter, when our four friends filed in and asked for some cool drink. "That's all I've got."
"Any seltzer?" asked Tom, who knew the risk of taking into an over-heated system the artificially flavored and colored concoctions that pass current as summer drinks.
"Seltzer?" queried the lad. "Do you mean that there fizzy stuff that squirts all over when you press down on the handle of the bottle?"
"That's her!" laughed Jack. "Pass it out—if it's cold."
"Oh, it's cold all right, but nobody around here likes it," volunteered the lad. "I took some once, and it tasted like salt water with needles in it. I'd rather have strawberry pop."
"Seltzer's good for your system, son. Pass it out," ordered Tom, with a laugh at the description of the mineral water, and the lad went to a big refrigerator where, after moving out some tubs of butter, and some bottles of milk, he came upon the seltzer which he set before our heroes.
"That's good!" exclaimed Tom, as he drained his glass, and then, after a brief rest, they started off on the cross-country run again, waving farewell to the lad who had so aptly characterized the seltzer.
They crossed the river at Weldon, and circled up the hill to Marsden. There the going was stiff, and they realized why Jackson had given them such leeway in time, for the slope was a steep one.
"This is good for our legs," remarked Jack, as he plodded on.
"Yes, and Sam and Nick seem to be still ahead of us," remarked Tom."They're keeping up well—better than I thought they would."
"Unless they've taken a short cut," suggested George.
"They have to check in at Marsden," said Bert.
"Well, they may take a cut there. However, it doesn't matter," saidTom.
It was beginning to get dusk now, the September days being short. There were about five miles of the run left when the four lads paused at a wayside farmhouse located at the fork of the highway to make sure they were on the right route to reach the river road.
"Yes, you kin git to it this way," remarked a tall, lanky lad, who was hanging over the front gate, seemingly waiting for someone. "There's a bad hill, though."
"Is there any other road to the river?" asked Tom.
"Yes, you kin cut through the woods, and it's level all the way," was the answer. "I'd take that road."
"But we don't want ashorterway," said Tom quickly. "We're doing a school endurance run," he explained, "and we have to cover just so many miles. We don't want to cheat."
"Oh, you won't cheat," chuckled the farm lad. "If any thing it's longer through them woods," and he pointed to a patch of forest just ahead. "There's a wagon road through them trees, that comes out on the river road. The only difference is that it cuts off the hill."
"Then let's take it!" suggested Jack. "I hate hills, and it's all right as long as we cover the distance. There's no more checking to be done until we hit the gym. I say let's take to the woods."
"All right," agreed Tom. "Is the path a plain one?" he asked the lad."We don't want to get lost."
"Oh, yes, it's plain enough. A couple of other fellows passed here a while ago, and I told them about it."
"Sam Heller, and Nick, I'll wager!" exclaimed Bert.
"Sure," assented Jack. "Much obliged," he called to the farm lad, as the four struck off toward the woods.
"Maybe you won't be—after a bit," murmured the lad, as he turned away from the gate, a twinkle coming into his pig-like eyes. "I earned that dollar easy enough—jest directin' 'em to the wood-road," and he looked at a bill crumpled in his hand. "I never made money any easier. Them two fellers, jest ahead, who told me to direct the next bunch into the woods, must have lots of coin. I guess it'll be a while afore them four lads strike the river, goin' through the woods," and, chuckling, he went into the house, after a look at Tom and his chums.
"Say it's going to be dark before we get back," remarked George, when they were well within the woods. "I wonder if we can see?"
"Sure," asserted Tom. "The trees are cut away at the top and it's going to be moonlight a little later. This is a good road, and, even if it's longer than the other, we cut off a big hill. We can explain how we came to take it, and it's fair as long as we do the distance."
"If we only get in on time," murmured Bert.
"Oh, I guess we will," said Jack.
Together they jogged on. It became more and more dark, and, as the wood road was not in the best of condition, they stumbled over roots and tree branches. But, as Tom said, it was light enough to see their way fairly well.
"Say!" exclaimed Jack, after nearly an hour spent in tramping the woodland path, "this doesn't seem just right. The road is narrower than it was at first."
"Let's strike a match and take a look," suggested Tom.
"And we ought to have been at the river some time ago," added Bert. "I wonder if we came right?"
Tom lighted a match, and set fire to a wisp of bark. It blazed up brightly, and as he held it to the ground he cried out:
"Fellows, we're off the main road. We must have made a turn in the dark. We're on some by-path."
"Then turn back right away!" exclaimed Bert.
They did, using the torch to see by. But, after they had retraced their steps for fifteen minutes, Tom again called a halt.
"Fellows!" he said, "there's no use going on.
"Why not?" asked Jack.
"Because we're lost. We've been going around in a circle. There's the same fallen beech tree we passed a little while ago. We're lost!"
Everyone had come to a halt, and, while the bark torch burned dimly his three companions gazed blankly at Tom.
"What's that you said?" asked Jack, as if he had not comprehended.
"We're lost!" repeated Tom.
"Come again!" invited Bert. "You're jollying us!"
"Indeed I'm not!" exclaimed Tom indignantly. "You can see for yourself that we've passed this place before. Here are some of the ashes I knocked off the bark torch," and he showed his chums the place where he had hit the burning bark against a stone.
"That's right," Bert and the others were forced to admit.
"Well, what are we going to do about it?" asked Jack. "We're lost—that's evident and we don't need a pair of opera glasses to see it. But how are we going to get back to school? Or even on the right road? I wish we'd stuck to the way, even if it did go up hill. This taking of short cuts never did appeal to me, anyhow."
"But we didn't take a short cut," insisted Tom. "We took a long cut, and that's the trouble."
"I wonder if that farm fellow directed us wrong on purpose?" askedGeorge.
"He might have," said Jack. "And yet what would have been his object?" If he could have seen that same farm-hand gloating over a crumpled dollar bill about that time, Jack might have found an answer to his inquiry.
"Well, there's no use going into that part of it," spoke Tom. "The question is, what are we going to do?"
"Get back on the main road as soon as we can," suggested Bert, "and stick to it, hills or no hills, I never wanted to come this way anyhow."
"Neither did I," asserted Tom, a bit nettled.
In a short time they had several improvised torches, made of bark, and, each one lighting his own, and holding it down close to the ground, they started off again.
"Here comes a shower!" exclaimed Tom, as he felt the first drops of aSeptember storm. "Lucky we got the dry bark in time."
"Say, but this is punk!" grumbled Bert, as he stumbled on in the half-darkness.
By carefully noting the path, and keeping to it, they managed to avoid going in a circle again. Their torches smoked and spluttered, as the rain increased, and, though they were under the shelter of trees, they soon were quite wet.
"Cross-country runs!" murmured Jack, as he stepped into a bog-hole up to his ankles. "No more for yours truly!"
"It's all in the game," said Tom, with a laugh. "We'll soon be out of it."
"We're out of it now," snapped Bert, looking at his watch. "We've got half an hour to make the gym, for it's half-past seven now, and I'll wager a can of beans that we're five miles from it."
"Not as bad as that," asserted Tom. "We may make it yet, if we can strike a good road. This looks like something here, fellows," he added, as he emerged from the woodland path upon a firm footing. "It is!" he cried a moment later. "I guess we can make it now! Come on!"
Holding his torch of bark above his head, Tom led the way. He was quite sure of himself now, even though he did not know just where the path was coming out. It was broadening as he advanced, and he was positive it did not lead deeper into the woods.
"Ugh!" suddenly grunted Tom, as he came to an abrupt halt.
"What's wrong?" asked Jack.
"I ran into a fence, or something. Yes, It's a fence," Tom went on."We must have struck some sort of a farm."
"I wish it was the one where that fellow works," put in Jack. "I'd like to rub his nose in the mud for sending us on the wrong path."
"There's a light over there!" cried Bert, as he and the others came up to where Tom had come to a halt at the barrier. It was a rail fence of the "snake" variety, and Tom had run full tilt into it in the darkness, his torch having burned out.
"A light!" cried Bert. "That means a house, or some sort of human habitation. Let's head for it, fellows, and maybe we can get on the right road."
"Over the fence is out!" cried Jack, as he leaped the barrier. "Come on, fellows!"
The others followed him, the torch of George being the only one aglow.
"It's a cornfield!" cried Tom, as he landed in it. "Look out, and don't trample too much of it down."
"Oh, it's only late fodder corn, and I guess it won't matter much," was Jack's opinion, as he floundered on through the field. They could hear him crashing down the corn stalks, and being wet, tired and miserable, and perhaps a little unthinking, the others did the same thing.
"Head for the light!" called George. "My torch is on the blink."
It went out a moment later, and in the darkness and rain the lads stumbled on. The light grew plainer as they advanced toward it, and, in a little while, trampling through the corn, they saw a farm house just beyond the field through which they had come.
"That's not where the fellow lives who sent us wrong," asserted Jack, and the others agreed with him.
"Now to see where we are," suggested Tom, as he vaulted another fence, and found himself in the big front yard of a farmhouse. There was a barking of dogs, and, as Tom's chums followed his lead, a door opened, letting out a flood of light, and a rasping voice asked:
"Who's there? What d'ye want this time of night?"
"We're from Elmwood Hall," replied Tom. "We were out on a cross-country run, and we lost our way. Can you direct us to the river road?"
"Which way did you come," the rasping voice went on, and a man, with a small bunch of whiskers on his chin, stood in the lamp-illuminated doorway.
"Through the woods," said Tom. "We got lost there."
"And then we cut through a cornfield," went on Jack.
"Through a cornfield!" cried the farmer in accents of anger. "D'ye mean t' say you tromped through my field of corn?"
"I—I'm afraid we did," answered Tom ruefully. "We couldn't see in the dark, and it was the only way to come. I hope we didn't do much damage."
"Well, if ye did ye'll pay for it!" snapped the man, as he came from the doorway. "I don't allow nobody t' tromp through my prize corn. I'll have th' law on ye fer this, that's what I will! Knocked down my corn; did ye? Well, ye kin find th' road the best way ye like now. I'll never tell ye. And I want t' see how much damage ye done. You wait till I git a lantern. Tromped through my corn! That's jest like you good-fer-nothin' school snips! I'll fix ye fer this all right, or my name ain't Jed Appleby!"
Cold, wet and altogether miserable, Tom and his chums stood in the farmer's yard, waiting for they scarcely knew what. Their reception had been anything but cordial, and, considering that they were unaware that they had done any damage to the field of corn, it was almost unwarranted.
"Well, what do you know about this?" asked Bert, as he took off his cap and dashed the rain drops from it.
"I don't know much," replied Jack, dubiously as he turned the collar of his coat closer up around his neck.
"He's a cheerful chap—not," murmured George.
"He might at least treat us decently," said Tom, and there was a note of defiance in his voice. "If we've damaged his corn I'm willing to pay for it, but he might at least direct us to the road."
"That's right," chimed in Jack. "What's he doing now?"
"Getting a lantern, from the looks of things," replied Bert. The farmer had gone to the barn and in a few moments he returned carrying a light that swung to and fro, casting queer fantastic shadows on the rain-soaked ground.
"Now I'll see what sort of damage ye done t' my corn!" grumbled the man. "I don't see what right a passel of youngsters have t' tramp through a man's field for, anyhow?"
"We got lost, I told you!" exclaimed Tom, a bit provoked. "We didn't do it on purpose. If we've done any damage we're responsible for it."
"Yes, I know what that means!" sneered the man. By this time he was at the fence over which the boys had leaped into his yard, and, swinging the lantern about, he endeavored to see how much damage had been done to his corn.
"Tromped down! A whole passel of ye tromped it down!" he muttered. "I thought so, an' that's my best field, too! I've a notion t' have ye arrested fer trespass."
"Oh, be sensible," ripped out Tom, who was fast losing his temper, a thing that seldom occurred to him. "Tell us what the damage is, and I'll settle. And then tell us how we can get on the river road, and back to Elmwood Hall."
"Huh! A nice lot of school boys you are!" sneered the, man. "Th' fust thing they ought t' teach ye is manners! Spilin' a man's corn!"
"Can't you say what the damage is?" put in Jack.
"No, I can't—not until mornin', anyhow."
"Then tell us how to get on the right road, and you can send your bill to Elmwood Hall. Fairfield is my name—Tom Fairfield," cried our hero.
"Oh, I'll send you the bill all right," snapped the farmer. "I'll attend to that, and ye'll pay th' last cent due, too, let me tell you that!"
"All right," agreed Tom with a sigh. "I suppose you'll charge us double, but we've got to expect that from such as you."
"What do you mean?" snapped, the man swinging his lantern up so he could see Tom's face.
"You know what I mean! You don't seem to want to be reasonable. Now, if it's all the same to you, will you kindly direct us to the right road? And as soon as your bill comes in I'll settle it, though I want to say that we had no idea of injuring your corn, and wouldn't have gotten into your field but that we got lost."
"Huh! That's a likely story. I know you fresh young school squabs!"
"Oh, where's the road?" asked Tom impatiently. "We don't care much for your opinions!"
"Find it yourself!" snapped the man. "I'll not show you, and the sooner you get off my property the better for you!"
"Humph! I can't say that I admire your disposition," spoke Tom, in exasperation, for he was cold and wet, and the prospect of reporting in late, and making a failure of the cross-country run, was not pleasant.
"None of your sass!" growled the man. "Be off, now, or I'll turn the dogs loose!"
With another took at the trampled rows of corn he went into the house, taking the lantern with him, and shutting the door after him. It seemed darker than ever in the farmyard with the light gone, and the rain was coming down in torrents.
"Nice prospect!" murmured George.
"What are we going to do?" asked Bert.
"He's the man with the original grouch all right," contributed Jack."Where'll we go?"
"Over this way!" called Tom, who had been looking about. "I think I see something like a gate leading into a lane. It may take us to a road. Come on."
They followed him, splashing through the mud puddles and darkness.Then came a flash of lightning, which showed them the lane in question.It did lead into the road, and a little later they were on the riverhighway, headed toward the Hall.
"Let's run and get warmed up," proposed Bert, and they set off on a dog trot.
"I wonder if any of the others are as badly off as we are?" spoke Jack.
"I hope not," came from George.
"I suppose we're out of the running," remarked Bert. "It must be after eight."
"Half-past," said Tom, managing to see the dial of his watch by a lightning flash.
"Ugh!" grunted Jack. "It's all up with us."
In silence they plowed on, and a little later they saw the welcome lights of Elmwood Hall.
"Humph! Late, young gentlemen," remarked Mr. Porter, the proctor, as they filed in the gate. "Report to Doctor Meredith at once."
"It was an accident—we got lost," explained Bert.
"And a crusty old farmer wouldn't show us the road," added Tom.
"I'm sorry, but I can't help it. Report to the doctor," was all the satisfaction they received.
But the head master was not at all unkind about it. He listened to their explanation, and consoled them for their ill luck.
They managed to get something to eat, and then, paying a surreptitious visit to the rooms of some of their chums, they learned that they were fully three-quarters of an hour later in coming back than were the last of the stragglers.
"Did Sam and Nick make good time?" asked Tom, of the football captain.
"Very good, yes. They were among the first ones in. I'm sorry about you boys."
"I suppose we're out of the game," hinted Jack.
"Well, not altogether, but it'll set you back. However, I'll do what I can. Better turn in now. You must be tired."
"Tired isn't a name for it!" groaned Bert. "I'll sleep like a locomotive to-night."
They were all slumbering almost as soon as they tumbled into bed, and, though they had been well soaked, they experienced no ill effects the next morning.
To their delight the football captain and coach said nothing about their ill-luck in being outside the time limit for the cross-country run, and they went to practice as usual.
"Huh! I wonder if they call that fair?" sneered Sam, when he saw his enemy, and the latter's friends, in their usual places.
"It's not right," asserted Nick, "after we made the run, and got in on time."
"Well, you didn't get lost in the woods," said George Abbot, who was at least on speaking terms with Sam and his crony. "A farm fellow told us to take the wrong road to avoid a hill."
"Did he?" asked Sam, and there was a trace of a smile on his face. "Well, you can't always trust farm hands," and he nudged Nick in the ribs, though George did not see it.
Two days later Doctor Meredith called Tom to his office.
"There has been a complaint made against you," said the school head."Trampling down the corn of one—er—Jed Appleby——" went on DoctorMeredith, reading from a memoranda. "He says you agreed to pay for it,and his bill is—ten dollars!"
"What!" cried Tom. "We didn't do half that damage! But I'm willing to pay."
"And after this, please be careful not to annoy the farmers hereabout," warned the head of the school. "We have to guard against the students doing that."
"I'll be careful," promised Tom grimly. "Ten dollars! Whew!" he exclaimed, as he took the bill and went out. "If he got a dollar he'd be getting more than the corn we trampled was worth. But I'll not dispute it. Only I'll get square with him," he boasted to his chums.
On going to pay the amount assessed against him, Tom found that the possessions of Mr. Appleby extended to within a short distance of the school grounds. At least one of the farmer's hay fields did, being connected to a main road by a long lane.
"And if he'd been decent," mused Tom, on his way back, after settling the score, "he could have shown us the way through his hay field, and we might have gotten into the Hall on time. The old grouch!"
He cut through the lot, passing a big pile of hay that was stacked and thatched for winter.
"Well, did you fix him up?" asked Jack, as his chum entered the room on his return.
"I did—worse luck to him. Some day we'll have to have the white-caps visit him, or treat him to a coat of tar and feathers. It isn't the ten dollars that I mind so much as it is being gouged by a farmer. I'll get square though!"
It was several nights after this that Tom, gathering up some packages from his dresser, slipped on his coat and cap.
"Where you going?" asked Jack, yawning and tossing aside a book he had been pretending to study.
"Oh, just out for a walk," replied Tom, evasively.
"Want any company?"
"I'll be right back," was the remark, which would seem to indicate that company was not desired.
"All right. Bring me back some peanuts if you go past Pop's place," and Jack tossed over a dime.
Tom's chums were in bed when he returned, and without awakening them, as he supposed, he undressed in the dark and tumbled into his cot.
"That you, Tom?" murmured Jack sleepily.
"Yes."
"What smells so queer? Have you been smoking?"
"No, but I came home in a trolley and there were some fellows in it hitting the pipe."
"Oh, I thought it couldn't be you," for neither Tom nor his chums used the weed.
Jack turned over, and was soon breathing heavily, and Tom, too, was not long in getting to sleep.
It was Bert who awakened them some hours later.
"Hello fellows!" he called. "There's a fire somewhere. I can see the reflection of it on the windows."
They all jumped up, and Jack, going to the casement, exclaimed:
"It isn't here. None of the school buildings are ablaze."
"No, it's over that hill," said Bert. "I have it!" he cried. "Some of Farmer Appleby's hay ricks are on fire, or maybe a barn. Come on fellows, let's help put 'em out!"
"Oh, what's the use?" asked Tom. "It serves him right. He gouged us enough to pay for a ton of hay anyhow. Let it burn!"
Tom's chums looked at him for a moment in the reflected light of the blaze, as it shone in the windows of their room. Then Jack exclaimed:
"Oh, quit your kidding, Tom. Get on your clothes and we'll go over and play firemen. You're not going to stay here."
"No, I meant it!" insisted Tom. "I don't see why we fellows should go to a lot of trouble, and get all smoked up, to save the hay stacks of a grouchy old codger who raised a row just because we trampled down a few hills of his corn."
"Oh, forget it and come along," urged Bert. "There are some of our fellows going now," and he pointed down to the campus, across which several figures could be seen hurrying.
"Sure, come ahead," added Jack, beginning to dress. "It will be something new, anyhow. It isn't like you, Tom, to hold back, even though you have been gouged."
"All right I'll come along," assented our hero, with a short laugh, "though if I get a chance I'll tell Jed Appleby what I think of him, the old skinflint!"
"Better not have a row," suggested Jack calmly.
In a short tune the three chums, followed by George Abbot, were hurrying out of the school dormitory. Some of the monitors began a remonstrance, but when a Senior or two pointed out to Doctor Meredith, who had been hastily aroused, that it was the duty of the students to help prevent the spread of the conflagration, so near the Hall, the head of the school allowed as many as cared to go to the blaze.
"Say, it's a big one all right!" exclaimed Jack, as they hurried on.
"Yes, I shouldn't wonder but what more than one stack is going," added Bert, for they were below the hill now, and could see only the increased reflection of the flames on the sky.
"How did it start? Who set it on fire? Is it hay or straw?" askedGeorge excitedly.
"Stow that!" commanded Tom sharply. "How do we know; and how doyouknow it was set on fire, George?"
"I don't know. But hay stacks don't generally set themselves ablaze; do they?"
"How about spontaneous combustion?" asked Tom, quickly.
"Or a tramp sleeping under the hay with a pipe going?" added Bert."Come on, hit it up, or we'll be the last ones there."
This was evident, for a number of groups of school lads had passed our friends, who were jogging along rather leisurely.
"There goes Sam Heller and Nick," remarked Bert.
"All right. Let 'em get ahead," advised Tom. "We don't want their company."
As they reached the top of the hill the blaze burst full on their sight.
"Two stacks on fire!" yelled Jack.
"Big ones, too!" added Bert.
"And they're near the barn," said Tom. "That'll go next, if the wind shifts."
"They've formed a bucket brigade," said George. "Come on, fellows, let's hurry and get busy!"
He broke into a sharp run, the others following, and soon they were atthe scene, together with a number of their friends from all classes.Farmer Appleby was running about "like a hen with her head cut off," asTom expressed it, calling out various orders.
"Git more water there!" he shouted. "Fill them buckets faster! Hurry up, boys, or th' hull place'll go! Lively now! Oh when I git holt of th' rask'il thet set fire t' my hay I'll have th' law on him!"
"He thinks someone set the fire," remarked Bert to Tom.
"Very likely," was the calm reply. "Most farmers do when it's their own carelessness that's to blame. But he'll never get the fire out that way."
This was only too evident. Half a score of men and boys, some of them the hired help of Mr. Appleby, were filling pails from a cistern, and at a pump, and dashing the water on the blazing hay. They could not get near enough to make the water effective, and what little they did dash on was almost at once turned to steam by the heat. Then, too, the stack was so large in diameter at the bottom that only one side could be attacked at a time.
"Have you any more pails?" yelled Jack into the farmer's ear.
"I don't know. Don't bother me! Look in the barn! Oh what a calamity!" was the answer. "If I get holt of th' rask'l———" and then the farmer rushed off to grab a bucket from a staggering lad, who was advancing with it. Mr. Appleby slipped in the mud, and went down, spilling the precious fluid.
"Jupiter's crab apples!" he cried. "What d' ye mean by that, HankNorton? Butterfingers!"
"You spilled it! I didn't!" snapped the lad.
"All right, git more! Oh, what a fire! My barns'll go, sure!" and the distracted man rushed about not knowing what to do.
"He's half crazy," decided Tom. "He'll never get the fire out in the world acting that way. And if the wind shifts the blaze will blow right toward the barns."
This was evident. Two large stacks of hay, for which there had been no room in the barn, stood in the farmyard not far from the big buildings that contained the farm products, horses and machinery. Both stacks were afire in several places, but as there was only a slight wind the flames went almost straight up, inclining away from the buildings. But it would need only a slight shift of the wind to cause much damage.
"What's to be done?" asked Jack.
"Get the horses out first," decided Tom. "That is if they're not out already. Let's have a look." Now that he was on the scene, even his feeling against the old farmer would not allow him to stand idly by and see property destroyed.
"That's the way to talk!" cried Bert. "Let's save the horses."
They found the animals in their stalls, trying to break loose, and tramping excitedly on the wooden floor.
"Steady, boys! Steady!" called Tom soothingly, and at the sound of his voice the steeds were a bit less restless.
"How are you going to manage?" asked Jack. "I don't know much about horses, but I've heard that they'll rush into a blaze if you cut 'em loose."
"That's bosh!" cried Tom. "It's hard to get 'em past a fire, unless you blind 'em. Get me some old bags and I'll lead 'em out. Come on, Bert. You used to live on a farm."
From the light of the blazing stacks, shining in the barn windows, Jack and George saw where a pile of grain sacks were lying. They passed some to Tom and Bert, and a little later the two lads each led a horse out, the bags having been tossed over the steeds' heads to shut out their view of the fire. The animals were restive, but allowed themselves to be led.
"Here you go!" called Tom to some of his school friends. "Take the horses quite a way off, and tie 'em to the fence. There are four more in here!"
He and Bert went back, and soon had led out two more steeds, while one of the farmer's hired men, becoming aware of the need of haste, led out the other two. Thus the horses were saved.
"Whew!" exclaimed Tom, as he came from the barn after the last of the steeds were safe. "That was hot work!"
"And look at the hay stacks!" cried Jack. "They're blazing fiercer than ever."
"Yep. Water's give out!" exclaimed a hired man. "I guess th' hull place'll go now. I'm goin' t' save my trunk. I've got a new shirt an' a pair of pants I ain't wore yit!" and he scurried toward the house.
"Water's gone!" cried Tom. "Then there's only one way to save the barns."
"How?" asked Jack.
"They'll have to pull the stacks to pieces, and throw the hay that isn't blazing as far off as they can. Scatter it, and then the fire will eat itself out. It's the only way, and it can be done if they hurry, and the wind doesn't shift."
"Come on then!" yelled Bert. "It's up to us. No one else seems to know what to do."
"Grab these pitchforks!" yelled Tom, pointing to several of the implements standing near the barn. "Tear the stacks apart!"
With the sharp-pointed tools ready for service, Tom and his three chums rushed toward the burning stacks. The farmer and his men were standing helplessly by.
"Tear 'em apart! Tear 'em apart!" yelled Tom. "It's the only way!"
The next second, in spite of the intense heat, he and the other lads were scattering the hay on the side of the stack that was not yet ablaze.