Dick Randall Part 10

CHAPTER IX

FOUL PLAY

It was nearing sunset on Friday, the fourteenth of June; the Pentathlon was scheduled for ten o'clock on the following day. d.i.c.k Randall, dressed in his street clothes, but with his spiked shoes on his feet, stood, hammer in hand, listening to McDonald's final words of explanation and advice. McDonald's protege, Joe, the little French Canadian, lay stretched on the gra.s.s, near the edge of the field, looking on.

It was a bright, clear evening, and the sun, now almost level with the horizon, smote blindingly across the field. McDonald s.h.i.+fted his position to escape its glare. "Now then, d.i.c.k," he said, "just one more try, to be sure we've got it. That's all I'm going to let you take. We'll run no risk of damaging that ankle of yours again."

"Oh, the ankle's all right," d.i.c.k answered. "I honestly couldn't feel in better shape. And you don't know what a load it takes off my mind to have the hammer coming right at last. It makes me feel as if I really had something of a show."

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

d.i.c.k took his stand within the circle, and made ready for his trial.

After weeks of disappointment, there had finally come a day when the whole theory of the double turn had worked itself out satisfactorily in his brain, and had remained there, so that for the past fortnight he had kept his form, and had steadily increased the distance of his throws. Yet McDonald, although a great believer in light work before a compet.i.tion, knew from experience how easily the knack with the hammer may be lost, and while he had made d.i.c.k stop his running and jumping, he had kept him at light practice with the weight, taking half a dozen throws a day, until his pupil had acquired a method that was almost mechanical in its certainty. Now he found little to criticize as d.i.c.k spun around quickly and smoothly, keeping well within the circle, and sending the missile far down the field. He nodded approval. "All right," he called, "that's enough. We'll stop right there. Let's put the tape on it."

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

d.i.c.k and McDonald, talking earnestly together, started to leave the field. At the corner of the wood, d.i.c.k turned, gazing out at the darkening west. "Fine day to-morrow, I guess, all right," he said.

"Yes," McDonald a.s.sented, "it looks like it. And we're going to have you in shape to do a good performance, d.i.c.k. Wait till you've eaten the steak I've got for you. That's going to put the muscle on. It'll mean a foot in the hammer, I know."

d.i.c.k laughed. "Well, you were good to invite me to stay," he answered.

"I told Mr. Fenton we had a few last things to talk over, and that I'd come back after supper. And he said that would be all right. Now, about that high jump--"

They walked on toward the cottage. As they pa.s.sed the angle of the woods, Joe, who had been walking along behind them, hurried up to McDonald, spoke a few quick words to him in an undertone, and darted away among the trees. d.i.c.k looked after him in surprise. "What's struck the kid?" he asked.

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

They walked on again, still discussing the all-absorbing topic of the morrow's meet. In the meantime, Joe's little figure was flitting onward through the woods, slipping silently from tree to tree, from time to time stopping to listen, until finally, ahead of him, he heard the murmur of voices. Dropping quickly on his hands and knees, he crept forward through the underbrush. Then, reaching the edge of a little clearing, he peered cautiously through the bushes, and saw before him the figures of two men, standing talking together in the fading light. One of them was slight and dark, and fas.h.i.+onably dressed, and as Joe saw the pair of field-gla.s.ses slung over his shoulder, his eyes gleamed, and he gave a quick little nod to himself, as if now sure of something which he had only suspected before. The other man was short, broad, powerful, his thick chest and long arms suggesting a strength far above the average. It was he who was speaking, and Joe strained his ears to listen to every word.

"I don't like it," he was saying; "the whole thing's too big a risk.

You're safe, I guess, if you play it straight. Ellis is going to win."

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

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

"No," the younger man answered, "hardly that. Ellis meant all right.

He thought he could win. He thinks now he can win. But he can't. I'm sure of it. Because, as long as I've got five hundred dollars on him, I've taken pains to find out how things stand. He can beat Johnson, all right, but he can't beat Randall. The men I got my money up with, were pretty wise guys--they had the tip from McDonald, I believe.

Anyway, it's too late to hedge, and so--I wrote you. And, as I tell you, it's a hundred dollars in your pocket, and as easy as breaking sticks. So don't go back on me now."

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

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

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

"Smith's old barn," answered the other promptly; "pleasant and retired health resort. No bad neighbors. Quiet and peaceful. Keep him till about noon to-morrow, and then let him stray back any way you please.

Oh, the thing's a cinch. I almost hate to do it. It's too easy. But, as I say, I need the money."

"Oh, yes, it's all a cinch," grumbled the older man, "where I do the work, and you do the heavy looking on. It's always easy for the fellow that's superintending. But now look here. Here's question number two.

Suppose Randall doesn't show up to-morrow, at ten o'clock, what happens then? Won't they postpone the whole darn business? I'm not going to live in Smith's old barn for ever, you know. I'm not as strong for this rest-cure idea as you seem to think I am. I like some action for mine."

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

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

For an instant or two, he thought hard. He did not understand all that he had heard, but the main points in the scheme were clear enough to his mind. He must warn d.i.c.k at once, before it was too late. And rising to his feet, he started to run. Yet his very haste proved his undoing. It had grown dark. The woods, even by daylight, were hard to traverse; and now, in his hurry and excitement, he momentarily bore away too far to the right, and missed his way. Then, striving to make up for lost time, he became more and more confused; and finally, catching his foot in a clinging vine, at the top of a little ravine, he pitched forward, half fell, half rolled, down the slope, struck his head violently against some hard substance at the bottom, and lay still, his face upturned to the sky, over his forehead a little trickling stream of blood.

An hour later, d.i.c.k came out of McDonald's cottage. "Well, we've got everything straight now," he said, "and you'll be there tomorrow.

Hopevale Oval, ten o'clock sharp."

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

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

d.i.c.k walked leisurely along through the gloom of the summer night. He felt happy, knowing that he was in the very pink of condition, and now that his chance to do something for the school had really come, he was determined to meet the crisis as gamely and as resolutely as his cla.s.smates on the crew had done. Far away, in the distance, the lights of the school shone out across the fields. He gave a sigh of antic.i.p.ation, feeling alive in every nerve and muscle; fit to do battle for his very life.

Half-way home, he entered the patch of woods which bordered the road, for some little distance, on either hand. And then suddenly he gave a start of surprise, for midway through the thicket, a dark figure loomed up ahead of him, advancing through the gloom. In spite of himself, d.i.c.k felt a thrill of uneasiness, but the stranger hailed him cordially enough. "Beg pardon," he said, "but have you a match about you? My pipe's gone out."

d.i.c.k moved to one side, to let the man pa.s.s, his muscles on the alert to make a dash for liberty, if the need should come. "Sorry," he answered, "I don't carry 'em--"

He got no further. Suddenly, even as he became conscious that the man was still advancing, a brawny arm was thrown about his neck from behind; his head was jerked violently backward; he choked and gasped for breath; and then, before he could struggle or utter a cry, he was gagged, bound, and lying helpless as a log, was borne swiftly away down the road.

The following morning, at seven o'clock, Mr. Fenton heard a hurried knock at his study door. "Come in," he called, and Harry Allen hastily entered, his face pale. "Mr. Fenton," he said, "here's trouble. I just went into d.i.c.k Randall's room, and he's not there. His bed hasn't been slept in. What do you suppose can have happened to him?"

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

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

Mr. Fenton finished the sentence for him. "Would have caused d.i.c.k to vanish?" he said. "I don't know, Harry. Your guess is as good as mine.

Probably it's some very simple circ.u.mstance which we're not bright enough to see. But I confess I'm puzzled. I shall go down to the village directly after breakfast, and see what I can discover there.

But I've no doubt everything's all right. McDonald and d.i.c.k must be together, wherever they are."

Allen paused, with his hand on the k.n.o.b of the door. "Shall I tell the fellows, sir?" he asked.

Mr. Fenton deliberated. "I think not," he said at last. "We don't wish a tempest in a teapot. You know what the newspapers are, these days.

No, I think you'd better say nothing, for the present. Perhaps d.i.c.k will turn up at Hopevale, if he doesn't come back here before then.

No, I think, on the whole, I wouldn't alarm the boys," and Allen, nodding, left the room.

At the selfsame hour that this conversation was taking place at the school, d.i.c.k Randall sat moodily in a chair, in what had been the harness-room of Jim Smith's big barn, now long disused, and falling to decay. The gag had been taken from his mouth, but his arms and legs were still bound. Opposite him sat his captor, the brawny thick-set man whom Joe had seen in the woods on the previous night. He had coaxed a fire into an unwilling start in the old, rusty stove, and was laboring hard to produce a dish of coffee in an old tin dipper. A couple of sandwiches lay on the floor beside him. Finally, with the fire going to his satisfaction, he turned to d.i.c.k. "Well, now," he observed, "I call this doing pretty well. Real nice and sociable like.

Two regular old pals, we're getting to be. You've promised not to holler, which is sensible, because no one would hear you if you did, so you've got your jaws free to eat; and if you'd only promise not to try to get away, I'd untie them arms of yours, and you'd be as fine as a fiddle. Come now, give me your word, and I'll cut that rope in a minute. That shows what a trust I've got in you."

d.i.c.k made no answer. His face was drawn and anxious, there were dark circles under his eyes; he was thinking desperately, as he had thought all through the long summer night. Some means of escape he must find--and yet--how was it possible? And then, even as he recklessly considered the giving and breaking of his word, and the chance of a struggle with his jailer, the man pulled his watch from his pocket, and yawned.