J. Duffield - Bert Wilson, Marathon Winner

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 God, 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 Dick’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,” ejaculated Dick.

“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 Dick.

“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 Dick. “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 passengers,” he added, with mock severity.

The doctor grinned appreciatively. “Slow down to a walk as far as I’m concerned,” he said. “My appetite for speed has been satisfied for a long time to come. Any more just now would give me indigestion.”

Dick’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 Dick 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. Dick 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.”

Tom mended fast, though not in time to go back with Bert and Dick, 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 passed 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 Dick, “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.