There was a final spurt on the part of both men, and then, almost in the last stride, Stovebridge flung himself forward with uplifted arms, and breasted the tape a fraction in advance of Dick.
The Clover Club champion had won, but the resulting applause was strangely feeble. There was scarcely a man present who did not realize that Merriwell was the better of the two.
As Dick reeled across the line, he staggered and a spasm of pain flashed into his face.
“Quick, Buckhart!” he ripped out in his sharp, decisive tones. “We must get him into the house and look after that ankle. Good nerve, my boy--good nerve!”
“Well, I lost the race for you, Niles!” he said.
“Lost be hanged!” snapped the other. “You’re the gamest piece of work that ever came down the pike. Why the deuce didn’t you stop when you twisted your ankle that way?”
“I don’t generally give up when I can still go ahead,” Dick said quietly.
“Well, you’ve got that foot of yours into a beautiful condition,” Niles went on. “It’s beginning to swell already. Here, sit down, while we take you into the house.”
He and Buckhart clasped hands and, lifting Merriwell up between them, started slowly back toward the clubhouse, the spectators straggling behind, discussing the result with much interest.
The two fellows carried Dick into the dressing room, where he rested on a chair while they bathed his ankle in cold water and then bandaged it as tightly as they could to keep down the swelling.
“How the mischief did you do it, pard?” Buckhart asked, while this was being done.
“I think I stepped on a small stone,” Dick answered “At least it felt like that.”
“A stone!” he exclaimed. “That’s impossible. I walked over the track an hour before the race and it was in perfect condition. It couldn’t have been a stone.”
“Well, it felt like one,” Dick smiled. “I can’t swear to it.”
Niles turned to one of the men who had acted as timekeepers, and who was helping them with the bandage.
“Say, Johnson, just take a run out to the track and see if you can see anything of a stone, will you?” he asked. “I want to find out about this.”
Johnson was back in a few minutes and reported that he could not find even a pebble on the track. He had questioned the dumb fellow, Hanlon, who was raking up near the clubhouse, and found that he had not yet touched anything on the track.