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  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE I. WITH FLYING FEET 1 II. THE DEADLY RATTLER 14 III. A RUN FOR LIFE 26 IV. A DESPERATE STRUGGLE 38 V. THE FLOATING RACE-TRACK 48 VI. OFF FOR THE FIGHT 57 VII. THE FIRST MARATHON 68 VIII. IN THE LINER'S PATH 80 IX. MAN OVERBOARD! 92 X. CROOKED WORK 105 XI. A MONSTER PERIL 114 XII. THE OCEAN'S PREY 129 XIII. A HUSKY ANTAGONIST 146 XIV. A FEARFUL AWAKENING 159 XV. THE DYNAMITE SHIP 172 XVI. THE STARRY BANNER 185 XVII. A GLORIOUS VICTORY 195

  BERT WILSON, Marathon Winner

  BY

  J. W. DUFFIELD

  AUTHOR OF "BERT WILSON AT THE WHEEL," "BERT WILSON WIRELESS OPERATOR," "BERT WILSON'S FADEAWAY BALL."

  Copyright, 1914, By SULLY AND KLEINTEICH

  _All rights reserved._

  Published and Printed, 1924; by Western Printing & Lithographing Company Racine, Wisconsin

  Printed in U. S. A.

  BERT WILSON, MARATHON WINNER

  CHAPTER I

  WITH FLYING FEET

  A thundering cheer burst from ten thousand throats, as the threeathletes, running like deer, swung into the stretch and straightenedaway for home.

  It was the last day of the intercollegiate meet for field and trackevents, and the most thrilling feature had been reserved for thewind-up. It was a modified Marathon of fifteen miles and the fastestrunners in the East had entered the lists. Each college had sent thepick of its runners to struggle for the mastery, and excitement was atfever heat.

  The stands were a mass of color, packed with the partisans of thevarious contenders and "rooting" fiercely for their favorites. Thedifferent events--pole vaulting, hammer throwing, broad and highjumping--had been bitterly contested, and the victories had been only amatter of inches. And now with the minor features disposed of, all eyeswere centered on the most important of all--the long distance race.

  A splendid body of athletes, twenty in number, had faced the starter,and at the crack of his pistol had darted off like greyhounds freed fromthe leash. They formed a magnificent picture of youth and vigor as theysped around the track. For the first mile or two they kept a fairlycompact formation; but then the line began to lengthen. Some throughweariness, others through craftiness, fell to the rear and let theothers make the pace. By the time five miles had been covered, thesifting process began. Brawn and wind and staying power assertedthemselves. The weaker or more poorly conditioned dropped out altogetheror plodded hopelessly in the rear. At six miles from the finish, onlyfive were left, and when they entered upon the last mile, the race hadnarrowed down to three.

  In the stands Bedlam broke loose. The excitement that had been seethingall the afternoon reached its climax. The frantic rooters hurledentreaties and begged their favorites to come on and win. Old "grads"worked themselves into a state bordering on apoplexy, while pretty girlswaved their flags and joined their treble to the bass of the men. Thetremendous uproar put new life and spirit into the tired racers as theybraced themselves for the final sprint.

  The race seemed to belong to one of the first two who were running neckand neck. Fifty feet behind came the third. He was tall and splendidlybuilt with the narrow hips and broad chest that mark the thoroughbred.To the ordinary observer he seemed to be out of it, in view of the gapthat separated him from the two leaders. An expert, however, would haveseen that he was running easily and had himself well in hand. At thehalf he lengthened his stride almost imperceptibly and reduced the leadto twenty feet.

  Then something happened. The steady lope became a sprint; the sprintbecame a flight. He came down the track like a bullet from a gun, witheyes blazing, head erect and his legs working like piston rods. Heseemed to be flying rather than running. Foot by foot he overtook themen in front. They knew from the startled roar of their partisans thathe was coming, they heard the rushing feet behind them, and they calledon every ounce of strength they had for a last desperate effort. For amoment they held their own, but only for a moment. With a terrific burstof speed that brought the yelling stands to their feet, he passed themas though they were standing still and breasted the tape a winner, inthe fastest time ever recorded for the track.

  "Wilson," "Wilson," "Wilson," shouted the wearers of the Blue as theypoured down over the field in a frantic mob that threatened to engulfhim. In a twinkling they hoisted him on their shoulders and carried himabout the track while their college songs went booming down the field.They fairly fought to get near him and refused to let him go, until atthe clubhouse door he laughingly shook himself loose and went in for hisbath and rub-down.

  "By the powers," exclaimed Reddy, the trainer of the team, as he nearlyshook his hand off, "you did yourself proud, Wilson, me boy. I'm notdenying that me heart was in me mouth when the fellows were showing youthe way to the tape. But I kept saying to myself: 'He'll know when thetime comes to let himself out,' and sure enough ye did. Ye came downthat track in the last lap like the Twentieth Century Express. Ye onlyhit the high places. I never saw such running in my life."

  "Well," came the answer laughingly, "I'm sorry I nearly gave you heartfailure, Reddy, but we won, and that's the main thing after all. I neverfelt worried myself for a minute. I was sure I had the other fellows'number as soon as I cared to let go. I could see that they'd shot theirbolt when we turned into the stretch and I knew I had plenty in reserve.I had my second wind and felt as if I could run all day."

  "They sure were all in when they staggered over the line," said Reddy."Brady collapsed altogether and Thornton looked like a ghost. Butyou're as fine as silk and haven't turned a hair. Ye look as though yecould do it all over again," he went on admiringly as he noticed theelastic step and regular breathing.

  "No, thank you," was the response, "I'm no glutton and I know when Ihave enough. But now for the shower, Reddy, and then for the trainingtable. I'm hungry as a wolf."

  With his skin glowing and every muscle tingling from the vigorousrub-down, he stepped from the clubhouse only to run the gauntlet of theenthusiasts who had been waiting for him at the entrance. A mighty shoutrose and hands without number grasped his or patted him on the back.

  "What's the matter with Wilson?" they queried and the answer came in arousing chorus: "He's all right."

  At last he escaped from his rejoicing comrades, and in company with DickTrent and Tom Henderson, his special chums, started over to the collegebuildings. The reaction from the terrific strain was beginning to makeitself felt. But his heart was filled with exultation. He had foughtfiercely. He had fought fairly. And he had fought victoriously. He hadwon glory for his Alma Mater and carried her colors to triumph. And justat that moment he would not have changed places with the President ofthe United States or the king of any country in the world.

  "Gee, Bert," said Tom, "that was a wonderful sprint in the stretch. Youdidn't have legs; they were wings. Just as the other fellows too werethinking it was all over except the shouting."

  "Yes," added Dick, "it would have been tall running even for a hundredyard dash. But how you did it after running fifteen miles is beyond me.By George, I wish I had timed you on that last lap. I'd have hated to bein your way as you came tearing down to the line."

  "There mig
ht have been a mix-up for a fact," laughed Bert. "That tapelooked awfully good to me and I'd surely have felt peevish if any onehad hit it before I did. And it wasn't any sure thing at that. Thorntonand Brady were certainly running some. I looked for them to crack beforethey did. If they'd had the least bit in reserve, they might have madeit hot for me. But they'd killed themselves off in making the pace. Ijust kept trailing and watching, and when the right moment came I mademy run. But they're dandy runners," he added, with the generosity thatwas one of his leading traits, "and in another race they might reversethe verdict."

  "Not in a thousand years," maintained Tom stoutly. "They never saw andnever will see the day they can outrun you. It's you for the Olympicteam all right. There's no one this side of the 'big pond' who can makeyou take his dust."

  "No," chimed in Dick, "nor on the other side either. There isn't afellow who saw you run to-day that wouldn't back you to beat anything inEurope and America put together."

  "Not so fast fellows," remonstrated Bert. "Remember I haven't even madethe team yet. This is only a preliminary tryout for the Eastern cracks.I've got to come up against the Western bunch and if all I hear is truethey are going 'great guns' in practice. Then too they grow some speedysprinters in the amateur athletic clubs--regular streaks of greasedlightning. I may prove only a false alarm when I match my wind and speedagainst theirs."

  "Yes," said Tom with fine scorn, "we'll worry a lot about that, won'twe Dick? Didn't Thornton hold the American record up to to-day?" hedemanded, "and didn't you run rings around him?"

  "But this mightn't have been his day," began Bert.

  "No," said Dick mockingly, "it wasn't. Suppose we say it was BertWilson's day and let it go at that."

  Their faith in Bert could not be shaken, nor was this surprising, sinceit was founded on repeated incidents in their own experience. Again andagain they had seen him put to the test, and he had never failed tomeasure up to the emergency. Dangers that might have daunted thestoutest heart he had met without quailing. His physical prowess wasbeyond dispute. He was a typical athlete, strong, quick, muscular, and anatural leader in all manly sports. In most of them he stood head andshoulders above his fellows. He had borne off trophy after trophy onfield and track. This alone would have marked him out as one to bereckoned with, but it was only a part of the reason why he was the idolof his friends and comrades.

  His popularity lay in the fact that his splendid body held a heroicsoul. He was clear grit through and through. His muscles were no moreiron than his will. His beaten opponents often grumbled that he had nonerves, but they never questioned his nerve. He faced life with eyeswide open and unafraid. He stood on his own feet, asking no odds andseeking no advantage. He never quit. There was no "yellow streak" in himanywhere. To-day had only been one more illustration of his indomitablewill, his bulldog tenacity. Add to this that he was a staunch friend, ajolly "pal," a true comrade, and there was no mystery as to the feelinghis friends had for him.

  None felt these qualities more strongly than his particular chums, Tomand Dick. Their friendship was one of many years standing and grewsteadily stronger as time went on. Every new experience tightened thebond between them. They had been with him on many occasions, some merelyexciting, others attended by personal danger, and none had ever shownthe white feather. In all their adventures, Bert had been easily thecentral figure. When as campers they had had that thrilling automobilerace it was Bert's hand on the wheel that had steered the Red Scout toits glorious victory over the Gray Ghost, its redoubtable rival. In thatlast heart-breaking game when the "Blues" captured the championship ofthe college diamond, it was Bert's masterly pitching of his great'fadeaway' ball that snatched victory from defeat before twenty thousandfrenzied rooters. Only a few months before, when acting as wirelessoperator on that summer evening off the China coast, it was Bert's quickwit and dauntless courage that had beaten off the pirate attack and sentthe yellow scoundrels tumbling into their junks. Small wonder then thatthey believed in him so fully and refused to concede that he could losein anything he undertook. Mentally and actually they were prepared toback him to the limit. While delighted at to-day's victory they were inno way surprised. He "had the habit" of winning.

  After supper, where Bert made ample amends for the "short commons" hehad been under while preparing for the race, Tom came into the roomsthat Bert and Dick shared together, for his usual chat before bedtime.

  "Mustn't keep you up too late, old fellow," he said as he dropped into achair. "I suppose you want to hit the feathers early to-night. You mustbe dead tired after the race."

  "Oh, I'm not especially sleepy," replied Bert, "just a little lazy. Ihad such a big supper that I'm doing the anaconda stunt, just now. I'mfull and therefore happy. I'm at peace with all mankind. If I've anenemy in the world, I forgive him."

  "Well, you haven't an enemy in this college world just now, you can beton that," said Tom. "The fellows are talking of nothing else than therace this afternoon. The whole place is buzzing with it. They're surethat you've cinched your place on the Olympic team beyond all question."

  "By the way," broke in Dick, "how did this Olympic idea get its startanyway? Who dug it up? Who saw it first?"

  "Why," replied Tom, "it was a Frenchman I believe--de Coubertin or somename like that--who suggested it."

  "That seems queer too," said Dick. "You don't usually think of theFrench in connection with athletics. Of course they're a great nationand all that, but somehow or other they bring to mind high heels andfrock coats and waxed mustaches and button hole bouquets. The men kisseach other when they meet and they cry too easily. They seem a littletoo delicate for the rough work of the field and track."

  "They do seem a little womanish," admitted Bert, "but that is only amatter of custom. Don't think for a minute, though, that there isanything weak or cowardly about the French. There are no finer fightersin the world. They go to their death as gaily as to a dinner. No onewill die more readily for an idea. A little theatrical about it,perhaps, but the real stuff is there."

  "Oh, they're fighters sure enough," asserted Dick. "They're somethinglike old Fuzzy-Wuzzy that Kipling tells about;

  "''E's all 'ot sand and ginger when alive, And 'e's generally shammin' when 'e's dead.'"

  "To be sure," went on Bert, "they had it handed to them good and plentyin 1870. But that wasn't due to any lack of courage on their part. Bothsides fought bravely, but the Germans were better prepared. They caughtthe French napping."

  "Well," said Tom, "it was this very affair of 1870 that started deCoubertin in the matter of the Olympic games. He smarted under defeat.He got the idea that his people needed building up physically. It wasshy on brawn and muscle. At first he had only the French in mind, butsoon his plans took in other nations too. So a big convention ofdelegates met in Paris and formed an Olympic committee that has carriedon the work ever since."

  "When did they hold the first meet?" asked Dick.

  "At Athens in 1896," answered Tom, "and it certainly seemed right thatGreece, the scene of the old Olympic games, should have the first chanceat the new. And everybody was glad too to have a Greek win the firstgreat Marathon race. The excitable Greeks went wild over it. They gavehim all sorts of presents. Some were of great value; others were simplycomical. A tailor gave him a suit of clothes. A barber promised him freeshaves for life. A restaurant gave him a dinner every day for a year andanother volunteered two cups of coffee daily as long as he lived. Onelaundry did his washing free and another his ironing. Many women offeredto marry him, but he turned them all down for the little Greek girl, hissweetheart, who had promised to say 'yes' if he came in first."

  "Perhaps that's what made him win," laughed Dick.

  "Well it didn't slow him up any," agreed Tom, "you may be sure of that."

  "Since that time," he went on, "they have met in various places. We'vehad it once in this country, in St. Louis, in 1904. But whether heldhere or abroad, your Uncle Sam has been on deck every time. Our boyshave taken twice as man
y first prizes as all other nations puttogether."

  "That's a winning way we have," crowed Dick. "We're seldom far behindwhen the laurel crowns are handed out."

  "The whole idea is splendid, anyway," exclaimed Bert. "The men that meetin the games learn to like and respect each other. When they once gettogether they're surprised to find how much they are alike in all thatgoes to make up a man."

  "Yes," said Dick, "it helps a lot. I'll bet it does more good than allthe Peace societies you hear so much about. It's bound to make usunderstand each other better. So here's to the next Olympic, especiallyits Marathon race, and may the best man win!"

  "He will," said Tom, with a glance at Bert, "and I know his name."