The High School Freshmen Part 8

"Hounds to the line!"

d.i.c.k, who had been elected captain of the freshmen team, led his men forward on all easy lope. d.i.c.k took his place at the extreme left of the pursuing line, with Tom Reade next to him; then Dan Dalzell.

"Ready!" A pause of a few seconds. Crack!

The pistol sent the hounds away. They did not attempt to run fast. Captain d.i.c.k Prescott's orders were against that. The hounds moved away at an easy lope, for there were miles yet to be covered. Six miles, in fact, is more than average High School boys of the lower cla.s.ses can make at a cross-country jog.

A go-as-you-please gait was therefore allowed. Either hare or hound might walk when he preferred.

But for the first five minutes the hounds, who divided into three squads almost immediately, moved along at an easy jog. Every eye was alert for the first sign of a paper trail. There were six upper cla.s.smen running with the hounds. Ben Badger was somewhere ahead, hiding in order not to betray the trail. But, when he had been pa.s.sed, Badger would jump up and run with the hounds, making the seventh judge.

"I wonder if we've a ghost of a show to win," muttered Tom Reade.

"Every show in the world---until we're beaten!" replied d.i.c.k, doggedly. "It isn't in the Gridley blood to wonder if we can win---we've got to win!"

After that d.i.c.k closed his lips firmly. He must save his wind for the long cross-country.

On the left the runners were now in a field. The center was moving along the highway, the right wing being in a field over beyond.

"Wow-oo! wow-oo! wow-oo!" sounded a deep, far-away chorus.

"There's the trail, away over to the right!" shouted Captain d.i.c.k.

"Come on, fellows!"

On an oblique line he led them, toward the road. They took a low stone wall on the leap, vaulting the fence at the other side of the road. The center squad had already overtaken the discoverers of the trail.

"Run easily. Don't try to cover it all in a minute. Save your wind!" admonished d.i.c.k to his own squad.

The upper cla.s.smen judges ran well behind the hounds. It was needful only that they be near enough to see and decide any disputed point of capture.

It was all of twenty-five minutes over a course that led across fields and through woods, ere the hounds caught the first glimpse of their quarry. Yet, all along, the paper trail was in evidence.

One of the hares was required to strew the small bits of paper.

When his bag was empty another hare must begin dropping the white bits.

"I'll bet Ripley dropped along here---the trail is so mean and difficult," grunted Reade, disgustedly.

"There are the hares ahead---I see two of them!" bellowed Dan Dalzell, l.u.s.tily.

A chorus from the hounds responded an instant later. Yes; they had come in sight of the chase. But the rearmost hares were still a good half mile away. Then the hares disappeared into a forest, leaving only the paper trail as evidence of their presence.

"Brook ahead!" sang out Captain d.i.c.k. "Go easily and save some of your wind for jumping."

In a minute more they came to it. Most of the hounds knew when to start on the faster run that must precede the running jump.

Splash! splash.

Splash! spla-a-ash!

Four of the freshmen floundered in the knee-deep water. Well doused, they must none the less dash out of the cold water and continue on the chase.

"Keep a-moving, and you'll soon be dry and warm," d.i.c.k called backward over his shoulder. The four who had been badly wet ran heavily now, yet afraid of ridicule if they fell out. They were having their first taste of High School sports, which made no allowance for quitters.

Twenty minutes later a low hurrah went up from the freshmen hounds.

Dawson, of the hares, found the pace too swift for him. With a slight pain in his side he lagged so that one of the hounds put on an extra spurt, then wound his arms around the soph.o.m.ore.

"Fair capture!" bawled one of the judges, and Dawson, dropping out, sat down until he could get his wind back.

Within the next twenty minutes four more of the hares fell into the maws of the hounds.

Five captures! That was fine. Only two more needed, and less than two miles to cover.

The hares were, at this time, again out of sight in the woods ahead. But Captain d.i.c.k, having saved his wind well, now put on a slightly better spurt and jogged ahead, full of the purpose of capturing his second hare. One of the "catches" was already recorded to his credit.

"There's one of the hares," d.i.c.k flashed to himself, as he caught an indistinct glimpse of a sweater and a moving pair of legs ahead.

"He seems to be losing his wind, too---that fellow."

In a minute more d.i.c.k gave another gasp of discovery.

"It's Fred Ripley. I suppose it will be bitter medicine for him, if _I_ make the catch," thought the young captain of the hounds.

Though he was too manly, too good a sportsman to allow malice to creep in, Prescott certainly did do his best to overtake the lagging Fred.

Gradually, the young captain left the hares behind. But Badger, who was an easy runner, forged ahead so as to keep the leading hound in full sight.

Hearing some one running behind him, Fred Ripley glanced backward over his shoulder.

"The mucker!" gritted the lawyer's son. "He mustn't catch me---he shan't!"

Yet vainly did Ripley try to put on more speed. He kept it up for a few yards, then knew that he was failing. That ill-advised anger before the start was surely telling on him now. d.i.c.k still kept forward, gaining a yard or so every few minutes.

"Keep back! Don't you dare touch me, you mucker!" hissed Fred sharply over his shoulder.

"Mucker?" retorted Prescott. "I'll pay you for that!"

At a bound he covered the distance, throwing first one arm, then the other, fairly around Ripley. Fred fought furiously to break the clasp, but was so winded that he couldn't.

"Let go of me! Your touch soils!" he cried, hoa.r.s.ely.

But d.i.c.k still kept his hold, counting: "---twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen!"

"Fair capture!" rumbled Ben Badger.

The other hounds, or their leaders, were stripping by now. d.i.c.k, at the judge's words, loosed his hold on Fred.

"You cur!" snarled Fred. Then, summoning all his remaining strength, Ripley hauled off and struck astounded d.i.c.k on the face, sending the captain of the hounds to the ground.

"Take that, mucker!" shouted the a.s.sailant.

Those of the hounds who had not shot by, halted in sheer amazement.