CHAPTER X
THE CROSS-COUNTRY RACE
There were boys of all ages between twelve and eighteen in the groupwhich awaited the word from Horace Burlen. And there were all kinds anddescriptions of costumes. It was a frosty nippy day, cloudy and withoccasional gusts of wind, but nevertheless several of the runners worecotton running trunks and short stockings, and the expanse of bare legbetween hose and trunk required lots of rubbing and slapping to keep theblood in circulation. Others were warmly attired in knickerbockers andsweaters. Roy had taken Chub's advice in the matter of apparel, and woreshort trousers, woolen stockings, his crimson sweater and a pair ofspiked running shoes. Chub was similarly dressed, as was Jack Rogers anda number of others. The Juniors had evolved a wonderful plan wherebycertain of their runners were to save themselves until the final turntoward home and were then to pitch in and beat everything in sight, andthey were gathered in a group plotting excitedly in whispers. Sid Welchwas asking every fellow who would pay attention to him whether hethought he could last through the race. Sid had worn off eight poundsduring the football season, but had already begun, greatly to hisdespair, to put them back again. Chub told him that if he'd run the lastpart of the race backwards he might finish--some day. And Jack assuredhim that they would see that dinner was kept warm for him.
"I'm going to keep with you fellows," said Sid, "if you don't mind." Andhe glanced devotedly toward Roy.
"You honor us," answered Chub with a low bow. "Just keep right alongsideRoy and if he tries to run away from you make him take your hand. Whatdo you weigh now, Sid?"
"Find out," answered Sid impolitely.
Whereupon Chub tried to catch him and Sid led him a wild chase throughthe crowd, finally seeking protection behind Roy. Roy, however, refusedto be drawn into the affair and Sid was duly made to apologize for hischeek. By that time Horace was giving instructions again.
"The course is the same as last year," he announced. "At Carroll youmust give your names to Mr. Cobb, who will be on the porch of theWindsor House and at Findlayburg you must give them to Mr. Buckman atthe corner store. The finish will be at the gate here. No fellow whosename doesn't show on both Mr. Cobb's and Mr. Buckman's list will standany show, so you want to be sure you get checked. All ready now,fellows. Get back of the gravel there, Townsend and Young. Are youready? Go!"
The throng moved forward at a trot, pushed and scrambled through thegate and went across the field. At the farther side was the firstobstacle, a high rail fence, and Sid had his first mishap there at theoutset. He reached the top of the fence beautifully and thendeliberately fell over on the other side into a mass of brush andwayside weeds. Chub paused to pull him out and put him on his feet againand Roy waited for them. As a consequence, when they had crossed theroad, surmounted a stone wall and had begun to breast the long slope ofmeadow on the other side the three were well toward the rear of thecrowd. By the time the hill-top was reached the field of runners waswell spread out and not a few of the younger boys were already losinginterest in the affair. Jack Rogers was well toward the front now andChub suggested to Roy that they close up with him. So there was a littlesprint along the ridge of the hill and they soon found themselvesalongside Jack and with barely a half-dozen runners ahead of them. Butthe sprint had played havoc with Sid's wind and he was puffing like ayoung porpoise.
"Slow work so far," called Jack.
"Why don't you set the pace awhile?" asked Chub.
"I'll take it through the woods," Jack answered, "if you'll take it fromthere to the village."
"All right. Say, Sid, you'd better drop our acquaintance now. You'vedone beautifully and I wouldn't be surprised if you came in pretty nearfirst--counting backward. But you don't want to overdo it at the start,you know."
Sid shot a doubting and suspicious glance at him, shook his head andpuffed on.
Now that he had got his second wind, Roy found it exhilarating, thistrotting up and down the slopes in the cold November afternoon. Therewas a fine glow in his face, the gusts of cold wind that met him now andthen felt good as they ruffled his hair and the half-frozen turf offeredfirm hold to his spikes. He would have liked to speed ahead and tryconclusions with the Middle Class boy who was in the lead, for he wasnot in the least tired and felt now as though he could run for weeks.But they had covered only a scant mile and three-quarters, according toChub, and that meant plenty of hard work ahead. Down a hillsidesprinkled with rocks and low bushes they went, forded a sandy stream,scrambled over a tumble-down wall and entered the woods. Here Jack, witha sprint, took the lead and made fast going. For the first hundred yardsit was difficult work, but after that they found themselves on agrass-grown road which wound and twisted about over stumps and fallenlogs. Many a youth took a cropper hereabouts, and among them was Sid.When Roy saw him last he was sitting on a rotted tree which had provedhis Waterloo sadly watching the procession go by. And a procession itwas by this time, for the runners were strung out in single file for aquarter of a mile.
Roy and Chub were running fourth and fifth as they left the woods andfound themselves on the edge of a wheat field with the church tower ofCarroll a half a mile away. Jack dropped back and Chub took his place atthe head of the line. It seemed to Roy that Chub let up on the pace alittle, but it may have been only that it was easier going here alongthe edge of the field. At all events, Roy was glad of it, for the workwas beginning to tell on him. And he was still gladder when Chub, at thecorner of the field, leaped the wall and went trotting down a lane andfrom there into a country road. In another minute or two they werejogging along the village street and Roy could see Mr. Cobb, paper andpencil in hand, on the steps of the old brown hotel near at hand. Quitea little group had formed about him and the runners swept along to achorus of criticisms, laughter and applause. As they passed Mr. Cobb,they cried their names and were answered;
"Eaton!"
"Eaton!" And the instructor checked the name on the list he held.
"Pryor!"
"Pryor!"
"Townsend!"
"Townsend!"
"Rogers!"
"Rogers!"
"Porter!"
"Porter!"
"How are we making it?" sang out Jack as he passed.
"A minute and a fraction behind the record!" was the reply.
"Hit it up, Chub!" shouted Jack.
"Go to the dickens!" answered Chub. "Who wants the lead?"
"I'll take it," Pryor replied.
"All right." And Chub dropped back to Roy.
"Minute and a fraction--be hanged!" he gasped. "I'll bet--we're righton--time! How you coming?"
"Getting tuckered," answered Roy. "How much farther?"
"Not quite--three miles. Ouch! Stepped on--fool stone!"
"Better save your wind, you two," advised Jack.
"Wish I had some to save," thought Roy.
Then there occurred the first division in the ranks. Pryor left the roadand scrambled over into a field. Jack, Chub and Roy followed, butTownsend kept to the road and others as they came up followed him.
"What's the matter--with the road?" asked Roy.
"Longer," Chub answered briefly.
They jogged up a steep hill, turning to the right at the top and thenwent down at a brisker pace, Roy wishing his sweater wasn't quite soheavy. All the spring had gone from his feet now and the exhilarationwas forgotten. It was just hard work. The downward slope lasted forquite a way and Roy judged that Pryor was letting himself out in thehope of reaching the road again before the others who had kept to itarrived. There was a bad bit of brush to struggle through, and then camethe wall and the road. As they climbed over they looked backward, butonly a farmer's wagon was in sight.
"Beat 'em!" gasped Chub.
On the road they slowed down considerably and Roy gave silent thanks. Heknew now that he would never be able to keep up with Chub and theothers, but he was determined to stick it out as long as he could.Presently a little group of buildings came into sight ahead; a store, ablacksmith shop, a tu
mble-down shed and three houses. Mr. Buckman wasawaiting them in front of the store, supported by the storekeeper and ahandful of loungers.
"Are we ahead?" shouted Pryor as they came up. "Yes, and ahead of therecord," was the answer. "All right, Pryor. All right, Rogers, Eaton andPorter."
Then they were past, trotting along a frosty, rutted country road.
"Anyone want the lead?" grunted Pryor.
"How about you, Roy?" asked Jack.
But Roy shook his head dumbly and Chub moved up to the head of thegroup. The wind had increased and was blowing icily out of thenorth-east, but it was almost behind them and so helped them along.Pryor nodded towards a dead beech tree beside the road. Jack noddedback.
"Two miles more," he said.
"Road or hill?" asked Chub, looking around a moment.
"Don't care," answered Pryor.
"Hill," said Jack.
At a turn of the road Chub left it to the right and the others followed.
"Is this--shorter?" asked Roy.
"About--even thing, I think," answered Pryor.
"A whole minute shorter," said Jack.
Roy sighed for the road as he dragged his feet up a little hill and sawbefore him a rough bit of country in which rocks and stunted bushessprang everywhere. For the next quarter of a mile they were alwayseither going up hill or going down; level ground was not on the mapthereabouts. Jack took the lead again presently and Chub fell back towhere Roy was heroically striving to keep his place. At last Roystumbled over a root, went head over heels into a clump of bushes, andsat up with the last bit of breath knocked out of him. Chub had stopped,grinning. Roy shook his head and waved his hand for the other to go on.
"Hurt?" asked Chub anxiously.
"At last Roy stumbled over a root, went head over heelsinto a clump of bushes."]
Roy shook his head, found a little breath and gasped:
"I'm--all right. Go ahead. I'll--follow--presently."
Chub glanced hesitatingly from Roy to the others. Then he nodded andwent on. At a little distance he turned, waved a hand to the right andshouted something about the road. Roy nodded indifferently and then fellback onto the turf and didn't care a rap what happened. It was blissfuljust to lie there, stretch his aching legs and get his breath back.Anyone who wanted that dinkey pewter mug could have it, as far as hecared. Only--well, he did wish he could have finished! Then it occurredto him that he could, that if he went on he might even finish well up onthe list. He judged that five minutes had passed since the others hadleft him. He already felt better and had regained his wind remarkably.Well, he'd just go on and have a try; maybe he could help win the mugfor the Second Seniors. So he climbed to his feet and set off in thedirection taken by Chub.
But a minute or so later he concluded that he had lost the way, for nowthe wind instead of being behind him was coming against his left cheek.Of course the wind might have swung around, but it was much moreprobable that he had unconsciously borne to the left. The best thing todo, he thought, was to get back to the road, which was somewhere in thedirection he was going. So he pushed on, his trot becoming a walk as thebushes grew thicker and thicker about him. Ten minutes, fifteen minutespassed and he had found no road. Up and down little hills he went,across open stretches and through tangles of leafless bushes. He keptthe wind against his left cheek and went on. It was getting towardtwilight and was still cloudy and cold. His legs began to feel stiff andhis feet would drag in spite of him. A half an hour must have passed--hehad left his watch at school and so could only guess--and he was stilltravelling over wind-swept upland. He began to feel a bit uncomfortable;the prospect of spending the night up there wasn't enticing. Observing alittle bush-crowned hill that looked higher than any he had yet found,he made his way to it. From the top he could perhaps see the road, or,failing that, discover where the river lay.
So he climbed up the rise, his feet slipping over loose gravel. At thetop he paused and looked about him. There was no road to be seen, butbehind him were a few twinkling lights, perhaps a mile away, and--yes,surely, that was the river over there, that ribbon of steely-gray! Hewould get to the river, he decided, at its nearest point and then followalong the bank until he found the school, if he did not stumble across aroad or a house or something before that. So he got the direction firmlyfixed in his mind, broke through the bushes in front of him, gave a cryof terror, grasped ineffectually at the branches and went plunging,crashing downward to lie in a silent, motionless heap thirty feetbelow.