Bert Wilson, Marathon Winner

by J. W. Duffield

Ah, that was better! Now every long, powerful stroke did its work and soon he was within a few feet of the spot where the madman was holding on to a slippery piece of driftwood, that now and again slipped from his numbed fingers, only to be regained by a desperate effort.

As Bert neared him, the stoker cried out frantically, “Don’t come near me! Don’t touch me! I’ll kill you if you do!”

But as he spoke his fingers lost their grip and he would have sunk below the surface if it had not been for Bert’s cat-like quickness. In a flash, he had grasped the stoker around the waist and lifted his head above the water, but he was not quite prepared for what was to follow.

For a second the stoker lay passive in Bert’s grasp, gasping for breath. Then with the quick, sinuous motion of a reptile he twisted about and met his fingers around Bert’s throat in the vise-like grip that only a maniac can effect and began slowly to tighten his hold.

In desperation Bert tore at the relentless fingers, fighting with all the fierceness of a wild animal for his life. But the more he struggled the tighter grew that band of iron about his neck. They were under water now, but not even threatened suffocation could make the madman loose his grip. Tighter and tighter it grew, until Bert felt the blood go pounding up into his brain and his eyes seemed starting from his head.

Was this to be the end, then, of all his hopes, of all his dreams, of all his aspirations? His college, his friends, his two dear comrades, was he to lose all these now, when his future was filled with such bright promise? And that by the hands of a man he had risked his life to save!

Then once again came that rush of wild, hot anger, this time a thousandfold more fierce than before, and again it seemed to give him exhaustless strength. He drew his arm back slowly, and then with all the strength of his body behind it planted his fist squarely in the madman’s forehead.

Then, at last, that iron grip loosened and the fingers relaxed their hold. With great joy and exultation in his heart, Bert grasped the arm as it slipped past him and dragged him to the surface.

With a feeling of exquisite comfort and ease, he floated on his back, drawing in great breaths of the glorious air into his tortured lungs. Softly as in a dream he heard the faint dip of oars in the water and then came Dick’s voice calling his name.

“Stay where you are, Bert,” it was saying. “We’ll be with you in a jiffy, now.”