The Junior Trophy

by Ralph Henry Barbour

Then down the river Mr. Crane dropped the hand holding his cap and Bert’s skates bit into the ice and he was off. A two mile race, whether on foot or on skates, is a thing of endurance and soon Bert slowed down to an even, swinging pace that took him along quite fast enough. Ben started out with the idea of catching Pierce and he did it in the first quarter of a mile, while back at the starting line the watchers cheered lustily. Ben wasn’t bothering about Bert. He would let Pierce make the pace as long as he would and then pass him. He believed that a mile would see the junior out of the race. Bert reached the farther end of Candle Island quite alone, swung around the snag which poked itself through the ice like a gaunt brown arm, and swung homeward. As he passed the middle of the sand-bar he saw Pierce and Holden, only three yards apart, on the other side. Pierce was looking flurried already, Bert thought. So far Bert had maintained his lead, and he meant to do his very best to keep it. But on the return journey Ben awoke to the fact that Pierce was slowing up and that the third competitor had a very dangerous lead. So he left Pierce behind soon after the lower end of the island was passed and increased his speed. By the time the starting place was reached, where a barrel set on end did duty as a turning mark, Bert’s lead had been cut down to a scant hundred yards and Ben was still gaining. The spectators cheered and waved as the two boys made the turn and began the second lap, and Bert heard Lanny’s voice high above all others:

“All for one and one for all!” shouted Lanny. Nan, a blur of red and white, waved wildly. Half way to the island again Bert heard Ben’s skates ringing on the ice close behind. For nearly a quarter of a mile the two boys skated twenty yards apart, although from the start it was difficult to guess the distance that divided them. Then Ben spurted, as the lower end of the island was reached, and Bert let him by without a challenge. Meanwhile Pierce was out of it and was sitting by the fire nursing a painful attack of cramps.

Around the head of the island the two skaters went, Bert right on Ben’s heels. Ben had obeyed Mr. Crane’s injunction before, but now, hoping perhaps to steal a few yards on Bert, he swung around close to the end of the sand-bar, well inside the snag. After a moment of hesitation, which lost him several yards of distance, Bert followed.

“If that ice will hold him it will hold me,” thought Bert.

Near shore the ice was worn by the action of the current as it swept against the bar and open water showed in places. But Ben’s course seemed to bear him safely away from the weak places, although still some distance inside the dead tree. Bert followed in his tracks some six yards behind. Then, suddenly, there was a cracking sound, an exclamation from Ben and that youth wheeled half around and went through the ice. Bert strove to stop, wheeling to the right, felt the ice giving beneath him and threw himself face down and went sliding toward the snag and safety. Then he was on his knees, rather dizzy and frightened, peering anxiously back for Ben. Ben, clinging to the edge of the ice, was keeping himself afloat.

“Got anything you can throw me?” he asked Bert coolly. “I can keep afloat here for a week but the ice won’t hold, I guess.”

Bert pulled off his sweater, unstrapped his belt with shaking fingers and knotted the latter to a sleeve of the sweater. Then he wriggled forward at full length.

[“Be careful,” cautioned Ben, his teeth chattering.]

“I will,” answered Bert. “I’m lighter than you, Ben. I think I can get pretty nearly out there.”

And he finally did, and then strove to throw the sweater where Ben could reach it. But the thing seemed possessed of the imp of perversity. Time and again Bert’s attempts put the sweater just outside Ben’s reach, and once the latter, struggling to get hold of it, lost his clutch on the edge of the ice and almost sank again. But finally his fingers caught the edge of the woolen garment. Then, getting a firm grip of it, he began to break the weak ice with his fist, while Bert, wriggling away, took up the slack by inches. At last hard ice was reached and then, taking the sweater between his teeth, Ben attempted to lift his body out of the water. It was hard work, and time and again when success was almost attained he went back. But finally, kicking and thrashing and struggling, with Bert pulling as hard as the slippery surface of the ice would allow, Ben got out, dripping and chilled. He wriggled over to where Bert lay, not daring yet to trust himself on his feet and scarcely in condition to stand up, for that matter, and sat panting and shaking.