But with Frank and Lanky there could be no such excuse for wantonly deserting the boy who begged for their help. They could see for themselves that he was in a serious condition; and that unless someone stood by him, to assist in stopping that flow of blood, Bill might even die. Frank knew that his work was cut out for him. He did not relinquish the last hope of being in the run to the finish without a sigh; for there was always some expectation that Columbia might have to look to him for victory, should Lanky fail in the pinch. But he sturdily put the clamps on when he felt this spirit trying to choke the generous impulses of his heart. [Illustration: “GO ON, I TELL YOU, LANKY, YOU MUST WIN THIS RACE!” _Boys of Columbia High in Track Athletics._ _Page 205._] Lanky must go on, and do his level best for Old Columbia; leaving to him the less pleasant duty of caring for the injured Bill Klemm. “I’ll look after him, Lanky; you keep right along, and beat them out! Hear?” he exclaimed, turning on his chum. Lanky shook his head in the negative. “You go, and let me stay, Frank!” he said, crushing down the feeling of rebellion because so miserable a specimen as Bill Klemm, of all Columbia boys, should interfere with the successful carrying-out of their part in the race. “I’ll not stir from this spot until I’ve seen Bill taken in charge,” was the way Frank spoke. “And it’s silly to think that both of us must stay. There will be others along after a minute or two, and they can help me. Go on, I tell you, Lanky. You _must_ win this race. Think of Dora; and the proud colors of Columbia that will be trailed in the dust if you fail them. My duty is here; yours to beat out those two runners ahead. Now you’re off!” Frank actually turned Lanky around, and gave him a shove. The tall boy glared once over his shoulder, and gave his chum a last look, in which affection mingled with the stern resolve that filled his soul. Then he was away like the wind. Around the bend beyond he flashed as might a departing sunbeam; and Frank Allen, as he turned once more toward the injured boy, was saying gladly to himself: “Lanky will do it! he’s keyed up to making a record run; and he’ll just pass the other fellows like they were standing still!” CHAPTER XXIII THE END OF THE LONG RUN “Where are Asa Barnes and Wat Kline?” Frank asked the question as he was bending down over the wounded boy, making a rude tourniquet, with which to stop the flow of blood, by compressing the leg above the broken part. He put this question from a double motive; being curious to know why Bill’s cronies had not attempted to assist him in his trouble; and also to keep the mind of the wounded boy off his pain as much as he could. “The skunks deserted me at the last!” grumbled Bill, gasping with the agony he was doubtless enduring.