Just as he reached a point a foot or two short of Bunny, he tripped suddenly and fell. Page [27].
Rodman Cree came pounding in at last. But just as he reached a point a foot or two short of Bunny, he tripped suddenly and fell, plunging toward his team mate from the impetus of his running. The accident was embarrassing, to be sure, but it could hardly have occurred at a luckier spot. Even as he sprawled helplessly toward Bunny, that runner took a quick side-step, to prevent a violent collision, and dashed forward upon the last relay of the race.
The pursuit of Buck seemed well-nigh hopeless. But Bunny did not despair. He fixed his eyes on the bobbing head of the boy in front of him, and urged himself toward it with every muscle of his lithe legs and every beat of his stout heart. On the straightaway portions of the track, he bent forward till it seemed he must fall; on the curves, he leaned inward till those near him among the spectators moved rapidly away in alarm. Always he kept his unwavering gaze upon the stubby shock of black hair that flaunted before him; and, little by little, it grew nearer and more distinct.
His wonderful burst of speed shook the crowd to a mighty roar of applause. He did not hear it. He did not even know they were cheering him. He was dumb to everything but the thud-thud of Buck's foot-beats and the beckoning thatch of his jerking head. His only thought was the dogged determination to reach and pass Buck. He must do it. He could do it. Why, the race—the whole meet—depended upon his beating Buck!
The time came when the shaggy head was before his very face. He swung to the right, ever so slightly, and parted his lips in a parched grin as he saw from the corner of his eye that it was by his side. When he risked another glance, he was in front of the bobbing head. But even as he exulted, Buck drew upon some hidden reserve of strength and pulled up even again.
They were at the very finish now, with the tape just ahead. For one last desperate moment, Bunny forced his legs to drive a tiny degree faster than they had been pounding, lifted his hands high in the air, threw himself forward, and felt the flimsy woolen string hit his chest,—hit it, cling for one awful instant, and then snap.
He had won. The relay, with its eight points for the winner, was safely tucked in the Scouts' total of firsts and seconds. Race and meet were theirs.
The cheering boys who had watched the heart-breaking finish charged upon him. He was lifted high upon the shoulders of Roundy and Jump, now quite unaware of their own lame and halt condition. S. S. and Specs were pounded and buffeted about. Of the four runners of the victorious team, only Rodman Cree was neglected.
Afterward, in the clubhouse, where the remaining six members of the Scout team retreated to get away from the boisterous crowd, there was more jubilation. Everybody seemed to want to talk at once; that is, everybody except Rodman Cree, who sat a little back from the group and stared straight ahead, not smiling or laughing now. So great was the babel that it took Horace Hibbs a minute or two to make himself heard, when he came in abruptly.