CHAPTER XXV
A DESPERATE RACE
For a few moments the surprise of the cadets was such that they couldthink of nothing to do. It seemed almost impossible that their plansshould be defeated by such a simple means, yet such was the case. A lookdown the empty tracks showed not a sign of their special train, andfurther appeals to the agent only confirmed what he had first said.
"It's no use, boys," he declared. "That special has been sent back andit will take a long time to get it again, even if I could. The traindispatcher made a certain schedule for it, and once that is busted it'shard to get it in shape again."
"Isn't there a regular train they can take?" asked Mr. Hamilton.
"Not for three hours."
"And that will be too late," said Paul dismally.
"Whew!" whistled George Hall. "This is tough! Let's wire Mooretown andtell them what happened. They'll call the game off I'm sure, and notmake it a forfeit for us."
"What good would it do if they did?" asked Jim Watkins. "There are onlytwo more games for us to play in the championship series. This one withMooretown and the one next Saturday with Blue Hill. This is our onlychance, and if we can't take it we won't get another one at Mooretown,as they break training to-day, after this contest. No boys, it's all upwith Kentfield's chance at the trophy, I reckon."
There was silence for a moment, but the cadets were doing some hardthinking.
"That cad Porter!" exclaimed Innis Beeby. "What could have induced himto play such a contemptible trick?"
"I suppose because I wouldn't promise to let him go in for the full gameto-day," replied Dick reluctantly.
"Are you sure it was Porter?" inquired Paul.
"He's about the only one who is capable of such a thing as this," saidInnis, looking at Weston.
"I'm going to make sure," spoke Dick, and he inquired particularly ofthe agent as to the appearance of the cadet who had given the falseinformation about there being no need of the special train. The detaileddescription left no room for doubt. It was Porter.
"And, now I come to think of it, the young man laughed as he was goingaway, after he heard me give the engineer of the special the orders thathe wouldn't be needed," said the station agent.
"He laughed; eh?" repeated Dick.
"Yes, and I think he said something about a joke, but I can't be sure.Anyhow I thought it was sort of funny to hear him chuckle when he waswalking away, for I know how set you boys are on football, and Ireckoned you'd be sorry if a game was cancelled. But I had other thingsto think of, getting the trains on their regular schedule after thespecial was out of the way, so I didn't pay much attention."
"Well, Porter has put us in bad," declared Ray Dutton. "The sneak! Iwish I had him here now."
Several glances were turned in the direction of the crony of Porter, asif he might know something of him. Weston flushed uneasily, but he roseto the situation.
"Fellows," he said earnestly, "I hope you don't think that I had anyhand in this. Porter and I have been thick, I know, but of late hehasn't had so much to do with me. But, on my honor, I never knew a thingabout this. He never hinted it to me, or if he had I hope you willbelieve me when I say that I wouldn't have stood for it, and that I'dhave told Hamilton right away, so his mean plan could have been stopped.I hope you believe me."
"Of course we do, Weston," said Dick. "I'm afraid Porter hasn't beenhimself lately. But let's forget about that now. The thing to do is toconsider how we are going to get to Mooretown."
"How can we, without a train available?" asked Beeby.
"I don't know--I'm going to think," declared the captain with a braveeffort to keep cheerful against heavy odds.
"Suppose you let me try," suggested Mr. Hamilton. "I know some of thehigher railroad officials, and if I telegraph them they may be able toget a special back here in time for you to play."
The boys brightened up at this, and the millionaire wrote severalmessages which the agent clicked off to headquarters. There was barelytime, if a special arrived inside of half an hour, for the cadets to getto Mooretown in season to play the game, but it was a small margin.
"If we had carriages enough we could drive," said Hal Foster. "The wagonroad to Mooretown is shorter than the railroad line."
"We never could do it in time," objected Frank Rutley.
At this moment the agent came out from the office with several telegramsin his hand.
"I'm sorry," he announced, "but they say at headquarters, Mr. Hamilton,that they'd like to oblige you and the boys, but two hours is theshortest time in which they can get the special in shape again. Noengineer is available."
Once more dull hopelessness fell upon the boys. Dick was almost indespair. He saw all his plans of being captain of a championshipfootball team being dashed to the ground. It was a bitter blow.
The two coaches, likewise, were much disappointed, for it would be not alittle to their credit to have whipped into first class shape a teamthat, the season before, was the tail-ender of the military colleges.
The young captain was pacing up and down the depot platform. Hiscompanions left him alone for a space for they knew how he felt.
"Well," began Dick after a pause, "I guess----"
He did not finish the sentence, but stood in a listening attitude. Fromdown the road there came a steady hum and roar that told of someapproaching vehicles.
"Automobiles," remarked Paul Drew. "If we had enough of them----"
An instant later there swung into view around the bend in the road fourbig auto trucks, new ones, each in charge of a man. The trucks werepowerful ones, designed to carry heavy loads a long distance and theyglistened with new paint, while in gold letters on their sides was thename of a business firm in a large city just beyond Mooretown.
At the sight of these--of their ample capacity--large enough to take theteam and the crowd with them, Dick's heart gave a bound. He made up hismind instantly.
"Fellows!" he cried, "if those men will hire me those trucks we'll playMooretown yet. I'm going to see!"
"Hurray!" cried George Hall, and Mr. Hamilton smiled in a gratified wayat the quick wit of his son.
"I say!" cried the young millionaire, stepping out in front of the firsttruck and holding up his hand, "will you do us a favor?"
"What's this--a--hold up?" asked the man good-naturedly, as he jammed onthe brakes.
"Yes, we're held up--our special has gone--we've got to get to Mooretownsoon or we forfeit the championship game. Will you take us in thosetrucks? I'll pay you well, and stand for all damage. Will you?"
His voice was eager, and the man, who had been a boy himself once, andfond of sport, was visibly impressed.
"I'd like to oblige you," he said slowly, "but I don't know as I can.You see I'm in charge of these four trucks. I work for the auto firmthat built them, and the flour company in Denville that purchased themmade an agreement that before they would accept them, the machines mustbe run from the factory to their place. That's what I and my men aredoing now. The flour concern wanted to test the running gear, and itwill be a good test all right."
"It will be a better test with a load of us fellows in," said Dick withready wit.
"I suppose so," admitted the man, scratching his head, "but I don't knowas the flour firm would like it. There might be some damage, and----"
"I'll stand for it!" put in Mr. Hamilton quickly. "I'm MortimerHamilton, of Hamilton Corners."
Though he spoke quietly his words had an instant effect for the man hadevidently heard of the millionaire.
"Is that so?" asked the chief auto driver quickly. "I know you. I owntwo shares of stock in your electric road. Simpson is my name--RuddySimpson. I hope the rumors that the road is going to fail aren't true,Mr. Hamilton."
"The road will never fail, if I have to sink in it every dollar I own!"cried Mr. Hamilton. "But we've got other business in hand now. Can youtake these boys to the game?"
"I'll do it!" suddenly cried Mr. Simpson. "I'll take a chance. Hop inboys, and I'l
l get you there on time if the gasolene holds out. We'vegot to pass through Mooretown to Denville. Hop in!"
"Hurrah!" cried the now hopeful cadets, and they piled into the four bigtrucks. They had to stand up, and there was considerable crowding, butthey did not mind this, and there was room for all.
"Now for the game!" cried Dick as the ponderous machines started off,the station agent waving a farewell.
"I guess this will put a spoke in Porter's wheel," murmured Beeby."He'll feel sick to think that we got to the game after his meantrick."
"We're not there yet," remarked Dick a bit dubiously, for he knew theeccentricities of autos. "We've got to make pretty good time, and thereare several hills to climb."
"Don't let them hills worry you," said Mr. Simpson. "I helped buildthese trucks, and I know what they can do. We'll take any hill you cangive us, with a heavier load than this on. Only, of course, we haven'tan awful lot of speed. But I'll push them to the limit. Turn on all youcan!" he called back to the three men.
"Sure!" they shouted in reply, and the motors hummed and throbbed underthe strain.
For the first few miles the roads were good, and speedy time was made,so that Dick ceased some of his worry lest they arrive too late. Then asandy stretch was encountered, and the motors whined out a protest, butthey kept on.
"Think you can do it?" asked the captain of the man in charge. Dick andthe team and substitutes, together with his father, were in the firstmachine.
"Oh, we'll do it," was the reply, and Mr. Simpson's voice had aconfidence he did not altogether feel. It was no small responsibility,for it was a desperate race against the fleeting minutes and hours.
After the sand, came a good piece of highway, and then a stiff hill, butthe trucks made it safely and at fair speed.
"We'll do it!" announced Mr. Simpson after about two hours. "There'sone long hill now after this one we're climbing and then we can coastdown into Mooretown."
"Good!" cried Dick, and he felt some of the strain of anxiety leavinghim.
A few minutes later, when the foremost auto had reached the crest of therise, the driver of the truck containing Dick and the team remarked, ashe pointed ahead:
"There's Mooretown, but you can't see the cadet football field yet."
"Oh, I guess they'll be there expecting us," replied the young captain.
Down the other side of the long slope started the first truck, theothers following in procession.
"Well, we did better than I expected we would," remarked Mr. Simpson."These trucks----"
He stopped suddenly, as a sharp jar and crash came from somewhere in themechanism of the machinery. The brakes had been set as the descent wasbegun, and the car had been traveling slowly, but now a sudden increasein speed was noticed.
"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Hamilton quickly.
"Aren't we going a bit too fast down hill?" inquired Mr. Martin.
The driver shut his lips with a grim tightening. He yanked back on thebrake handle with all his force. Then a startled look came over hisface.
"The brake rod is broken!" he cried.
Gathering speed the ponderous truck, with its load of humanity--thecadet football team shot down hill, bumping over stones and hollows,swerving from side to side, the steering wheel making the firm hands ofthe driver tremble.
"Haven't you got two brakes?" gasped Dick.
"Yes--got the foot on one--she won't hold her with this load," was thepanting answer.
"Can't we jump out before it goes any faster?" asked Hal Foster.
"Stay where you are!" fairly shouted the man. "Maybe I can guide herdown."
He was tooting the horn frantically to warn possible approachingvehicles that his was out of control. Fortunately the hill was straight,and a level stretch at the bottom gave promise of a long coast thatmight check the awful speed the car would have when it reached the footof the declivity.
Faster and faster went the runaway truck, and now from behind came thefrantic calls of the other cadets who realized the danger to theirfootball team. And there was grave danger--danger that could not beavoided, for Simpson, yanking again and again on the brake lever, onlymade more certain that it would not work, and the foot brake waspitifully inadequate to check the now rushing vehicle.