Great Hike Part 10

"How far are we from home?" shouted both the walkers, as Elmer came close.

"About twenty miles," he replied, for he had antic.i.p.ated such a question, and prepared himself to meet it promptly.

"Is that all?" called Angus McDowd, who looked pretty much "all in."

"What's the news; who's ahead, Elmer?" called George, as the motorcycle pa.s.sed.

"Lil Artha at last accounts, by a long lead!"

"Bully for Lil Artha!" both trampers shouted; for Angus was so tired himself that he really cared very little who won.

"How far ahead of us, hey?" shouted George.

"Only about thirteen miles, George," answered Toby as he flitted past with a fresh start.

"Oh, won't poor old Landy feel sore when he hears how the hope of the Philander Smiths has gone aglimmering!" mocked Nat, as he, too, went by.

George made a quick motion with his hand as though throwing something at his tormentor; then his care-free laugh floated after them.

About three miles farther along the road they discovered another sight.

"What's going on there?" shouted Toby, who again hung rather dangerously close in the rear of the leader, because he wanted a chance to exchange remarks from time to time.

"Looks like a breakdown, and that's a fact," Elmer replied.

"That's right," called Toby immediately. "It's Tom Cropsey, and he's trying to put a plug in his tire. He's got a puncture, and that ended his run as inspector."

The boy looked up as they drew near, and shook his head even as he grinned.

"All in, I reckon, Elmer, can't seem to fix her!" he called, as the scout leader flashed past.

Possibly he would have been glad if they had stopped in order to a.s.sist him repair the obstinate break; but Elmer had other fish to fry just then, and time was too valuable to waste in gaining a recruit who could never keep up with them for even half a mile.

So they presently saw the last of poor Tom, marooned so far away from home, and with night coming on apace.

Elmer knew that they might expect to overtake some of the others at any minute now, and every time he turned a bend he looked closely to see if there were not figures on the road ahead.

Nor was he mistaken.

A few more miles, and he saw a lone pedestrian manfully struggling onward, with a stout stick, which he had stopped to cut, a.s.sisting him.

At first Elmer thought it was an old man hobbling along, until coming up on the party, the other wheeled.

"h.e.l.lo, Jack, old fellow! making a game push for it, eh?" called Elmer, who had slowed down considerably, so as to give the contestant a cheery word to encourage him in persisting.

"Wow, but I guess I'm pretty near the limit, Elmer," answered the other, who turned out to be Jack Armitage. "How far have I come since morning, hey?"

"About twenty-four miles," answered Elmer, as he pa.s.sed.

"Gee, is that all? Thought it was near fifty!" lamented the scout, as he waved his cane at both Toby and Nat as they went by and doubtless cast an envious look at the machines that were carrying them over the ground so easily, while he was completely done up, and ready to cry quits.

"Next!" shouted Nat, who was really enjoying this thing of overhauling the various used-up walkers more than anything that had come his way for a long time; it is always so nice to spin along on a wheel, or a motorcycle, or in a car, and _pity_ the poor fellows who have to walk!

"Well, there he is, right beyond," said Toby over his shoulder.

"Who under the sun is it?" demanded the rider in the rear, whose view was somewhat obstructed by his companions.

"Blest if I know; looks a little like our Ty Collins!" Toby shot back.

"It is Ty; anybody ought to recognize that old red sweater of his,"

Elmer announced; "and he's got a fine stone bruise on his foot, if that limp means anything!"

The contestant stepped out of the road as they drew near. He stiffened up to salute, game to the last, and chasing away the look of pain that had been on his boyish face.

One of his shoes was held in his hand, and he had been walking along in this way, determined not to give up until the last gasp.

"Better throw up the sponge, Ty," called Elmer, who had the authority to order anyone out of the race who in his judgment was unfit to continue further.

Ty's face told that he welcomed this command, as it released him from all further responsibility, and he could retire with good grace.

"What'd I better do, Elmer?" he called out.

"Station four just ahead; stay there to-night. Some one come for you in morning!" the scout leader shouted back.

"All right, I will. h.e.l.lo! Toby, and you ditto, Nat. Who's winning? That fast Fairfield fellow, Wagner, pa.s.sed me a long time ago, going strong."

"Oh, Lil Artha is miles ahead of him!" replied Nat.

"Hurrah for the pride of Hickory Ridge troop! Bully for Lil Artha!" they heard Jack whoop as they sped onward.

Thus one by one they were fast picking up the contestants who were spread out along the road to Little Falls, covering many miles from the leader to the fellow far in the rear, the Hope of the Philander Smiths.

"There's the other bicycle boy, Phil Dale!" shouted Toby a little later, after they had pa.s.sed the tavern which had been selected as the fourth station.

"And he's near played out, too. Look at him wabble, would you! Wow, he can't do many more miles at that rate!" Nat yelled.

Elmer gave a salute to warn the rider they were coming and wanted half the road. As he swept past Phil called out something, but Elmer failed to catch what he said, the others also went whooping by, no one having thought to slow down.

And so both inspectors as well as a number of the played-out contestants had been overhauled. They were now fast coming to the point where a crisis would be waiting for them. Twenty-seven miles from Hickory Ridge and evening close at hand, when the miserable plot of the Fairfield schemers could be put into play!

CHAPTER IX.

NEARING THE CRISIS.

A SUDDEN howl arose from Nat in the rear.