Bert Wilson, Marathon Winner Part 3

And Bert let her go!

The doctor saw some "demon driving" that day. The great machine sprang forward like an arrow released from the string. The cheer that rose from the little knot of townspeople who had hastily collected was lost in the roar of the exhaust. The town itself melted away like a dream. The wind whistled past them with a shriek. In a moment they had pa.s.sed the straggling farmhouses and entered on the road that led upwards through the woods.

Crouched low over the wheel to offer as little resistance as possible to the wind, Bert kept his eye glued on the path ahead. To strike a tree meant death. Collision with a stump would be wreck and disaster. The car lunged from side to side and the doctor, down on the floor of the tonneau, held on for his life. Again and again they grazed death by a hair's-breadth and escaped as by a miracle. Yielding to Bert's slightest touch, the Scout evaded a stump here, a gully there, part of the time on two wheels, again on three, but always righting in time. And all the while, it was climbing, climbing----.

Now they had covered three-fourths of the distance and his heart leaped in a wild riot of exultation. He patted the wheel, soothed it, talked to it as though it could understand.

"Go it, old scout," he muttered, "keep it up. We'll get there yet. We're running for Tom. You know Tom, good old Tom. You've carried him many a time. Now perhaps he's dying. Hurry, hurry, hurry."

His own fierce energy seemed to impart itself to the car. On it went until it topped the rise of the clearing, swung into the road that led to the lodge, and with a triumphal blast from its horn tore up to the door. Before it had fairly stopped, Bert leaped from his seat and the doctor stepped down from the tonneau, his face set and drawn from the perilous ride.

"Thank G.o.d, you've come," cried Mr. Hollis appearing at the door. "I didn't dare to hope for you for two hours yet. Come in, quick."

There was no time for further explanations, but in the course of the fight for Tom's life that followed, Bert learned of what had happened since he had started on his run for help. Warned by the whistle, Mr.

Hollis and the caretaker had hurried to d.i.c.k's side, and together they had carried Tom to the house. They had kept the ligature tight and had cut out the part immediately surrounding the wound. By the greatest efforts they had fought off the deadly coma, but, despite it all, he was fast lapsing into unconsciousness when the doctor appeared.

Faced by a peril that he knew, the doctor pulled himself together and became the cool, alert man of science. Such cases were familiar to him in that wild district, and there was no hesitation or uncertainty in his treatment. His quick sharp commands found ready obedience from his willing helpers, and after an hour of the hardest kind of work the fight was won. Tom's pulse became more normal, his brow grew moist and he opened his eyes and smiled faintly at the group around him. The doctor rose.

"He'll be all right now," he said. "The fangs just missed the large vein, or he'd have been done for. As it is, we've barely pulled him through. If we'd been an hour later, I wouldn't have answered for him.

We can thank this young man," looking at Bert, "for saving his friend's life. By George, such driving! I've never ridden so fast before and I never want to again. A little more of that and I'd be a candidate myself for the hospital or insane asylum. How we escaped being dashed to pieces I don't know."

"It was great luck," said Bert.

"It was great skill," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed d.i.c.k.

"It was Providence," said Mr. Hollis gravely, and no one cared to dispute him.

After Tom was sleeping naturally and healthfully, and Bert and the doctor had bathed and dressed, they sat down to dinner. It was a quiet meal as all were feeling the reaction from the tremendous efforts of the morning. But their fatigue was lost in thankfulness. They had matched their forces against death and this time had won. But by how narrow a margin!

Dinner over, they strolled down the path to the scene of the encounter.

There lay the cause of all the trouble. The long body, as thick as a man's wrist, stretched out in a wavy line across the road. The diamond markings had dulled somewhat, but the staring eyes still seemed lit with malice.

"What a holy terror!" exclaimed d.i.c.k.

"Yes," said the doctor. "He's an old-timer, sure enough. He must be over five feet long and eleven years old, as you can see from his rattles. If you don't mind, I'll take these rattles along and hang them up in my office. They'll serve to remind me of the most stirring incident in my life so far," and he smiled, mischievously, at Bert.

"Take them and welcome as far as I'm concerned," said Bert. "For my part I never want to see another snake, living or dead, for the rest of my natural life." And as every one else felt the same way, the doctor neatly severed the grisly memento, to be duly dried and mounted in his sanctum.

Bert offered to take the doctor back to town in the auto, but the others put in an emphatic veto.

"No, you don't," said Mr. Hollis. "Not another thing for you to-day but rest."

"You bet there isn't," echoed d.i.c.k. "Even Reddy, tyrant that he is, would agree that you'd had exercise enough for one day. I'll take the doctor down myself. He won't go back as fast as he came up, but he'll be more comfortable. I always look out for the safety of _my_ pa.s.sengers,"

he added, with mock severity.

The doctor grinned appreciatively. "Slow down to a walk as far as I'm concerned," he said. "My appet.i.te for speed has been satisfied for a long time to come. Any more just now would give me indigestion."

d.i.c.k's plan was to put the Red Scout in the garage, stay at the hotel that night and walk back in the morning. But the doctor who had taken a great liking to these young specimens of manhood overruled this, and insisted so strongly that d.i.c.k should be his guest over night that this was finally agreed upon.

"I'll bring you back in the buckboard," he said, "when I come up to-morrow to see how our patient is getting along. In the meantime, don't worry. The worst is over and it's only a matter of careful nursing for the next few days and he'll be on his feet again. His youth and vitality and clean life, together with the 'first aid' you gave him have pulled him through."

"Not to mention the doctor and Bert and the 'Red Scout,'" added Mr.

Hollis.

The doctor laughed and stepped into the machine. d.i.c.k took the wheel and the splendid car, none the worse for its wild ride, started on its way back to town, while Bert and Mr. Hollis, standing on the porch, looked after it almost as affectionately as though it had been human.

"Tally one more for the good old Scout," murmured Bert, as he turned away.

That evening, his face still flushed at the heartfelt praise of his host, Bert went in to bid Tom good-night. The patient was getting on famously, but the shock to his system still persisted and he had been forbidden to do much talking. But the pressure of his hand on Bert's and the look in his eyes were eloquent.

"Do you remember, Bert," he half whispered, "what Reddy said the last time you saw him?"

"Why, no," answered Bert, puzzled, and cudgeling his memory, "nothing special. What did he say?"

Tom smiled. "You're fit to run for a man's life."

CHAPTER IV

A DESPERATE STRUGGLE

Tom mended fast, though not in time to go back with Bert and d.i.c.k, and Mr. Hollis insisted that he should stay a week or ten days longer at the lodge until he had fully recovered.

The precious week of vacation pa.s.sed only too quickly, and promptly on the day that college resumed, Bert, faithful to his promise, was back at work. He had carefully kept up his practice, and this, combined with the invigorating mountain air, had put him in splendid shape. As he confided to d.i.c.k, "if he'd felt any better he'd have been afraid of himself." So that when he reported to Reddy and submitted to his inspection, even that austere critic could find no fault with the sinewy athlete who smilingly extended his hand.

"By the powers," he said, as he looked him up and down approvingly, "I did a good thing to let you go. You're fine as silk and trained to the hour. If looks count for anything you could go in now and break the record. Get out on the cinder path and let me time you for a five-mile spin."

With the eye of a lynx, he noted Bert's action as he circled the track.

Nothing escaped him. The erect carriage, the arms held close to his sides, the hip and knee movement, the feet scarcely lifted from the ground, the long, easy stride that fairly ate up s.p.a.ce, the dilated nostrils through which he breathed while keeping the mouth firmly closed, the broad chest that rose and fell with no sign of strain or labor--above all, the sense of reserve power that told of resources held back until the supreme moment called for them--all these marks of the born runner the trainer noted with keen satisfaction; and he was chuckling to himself when he snapped shut his split-second watch and thrust it in his pocket.

"He'll have to break a leg to lose," he gloated. "That lad is in a cla.s.s by himself. I'm none too sure of the other events, but we sure have this one cinched. We'll win in a walk."

But while he thus communed with himself, he carefully abstained from saying as much to Bert. He had seen too many promising athletes ruined by overconfidence. Besides, while he felt sure that Bert could take the measure of any one now known to him as a runner, he couldn't tell but what some "dark horse" would be uncovered at the general meet who would bring all his hopes tumbling about his head like a house of cards. Too many "good things" had gone wrong in his experience not to make him cautious. So it was with well-simulated indifference that he held up his hand at the end of the fifth mile.

"That's enough for to-day," he commanded. "To-morrow we'll start in with the real work. We only have a scant two weeks left before the New York meet and we'll need every minute of it."

And Bert bent himself to his task with such earnestness and good will that when at last the great day of the final meet arrived he was at the top of his form. Neither he nor Reddy would have any excuses to offer or anything to reproach themselves with, if he failed to show his heels to the field.

And, as d.i.c.k remarked, when they entered the gate of the mammoth park, it "was certainly some field." From every section of the country they had gathered--burly giants from the Pacific slope, the slenderer greyhound type of the East--some from colleges, others wearing the badge of famous athletic clubs--all of them in superb condition and all pa.s.sionately bent on winning. To carry off a trophy in such company was a distinction to be prized. And, in addition to the ordinary incentives, was the international character of the event. Before the eyes of each hung the lure of a European trip and the opportunity of proving on foreign fields that the picked athletes of America could lead the world. Patriotism was blended with personal ambition and they formed a powerful combination.

Moreover, the chances of being chosen were much greater than is usual in such contests. Not only the winner in each event was to make the trip, but the man who came in second or third or even farther down the list would go. The Committee was not going to "put all its eggs in one basket." The chances of sickness or accident or change of climate were too many to justify them in depending upon a single compet.i.tor to carry the colors of his country in any given struggle. Thus in the pole vaulting, hammer throwing, swimming, hurdling, javelin casting, there would be from three to six compet.i.tors each. In the Marathon--most important of all--as many as a dozen would probably be taken. So that all were buoyed up by the hope that even if some luckier or better man carried off first honors to-day, they still might be of the elect, if they were well up at the finish.

It was a striking and animated scene that the great park presented. A famous regimental band played national airs and "Old Glory" floated proudly over the judges' pavilion. The stands were packed with a vast mult.i.tude that overflowed on the lawns, while on the inner track groups of contenders indulged in preliminary practice and loosened up their muscles before the games began. Then the bell rang, the tracks were cleared and the throng settled down to watch the performance of their favorites.

Fortune was kind to the Blues that day and their number was hoisted more than once on the bulletin board. Burly Drake cast the discus one hundred and thirty-four feet. Axtell won the standing broad jump and set the mark at eleven feet, two inches. Hinchman was second in the half-mile, and Martin cleared the pole at a height of twelve feet, one inch. Bert and d.i.c.k exulted at the showing of their Alma Mater and Reddy tried in vain to conceal his delight under a mask of grim indifference.