He came upon a little brook frozen across with a thin sheet of ice.  Here he found a log that seemed to have been placed, either providentially or by some human being, to serve as a foot-bridge.  MacManus leaped gaily on it to cross the stream ahead of the rest.

To his breathless dismay, the log turned under his foot; and wildly as he tried to get a good grip on the atmosphere, nothing could save him, and he went ker-smash and ker-splash through the thin ice into the water.

Now he was indeed willing to run without any more coaxing than the bitter air upon his wet skin.  His only hope of getting warm was in his heels.  And he ran like a maniac till Tug and the rest must put on extra force also, or leave him completely.

Almost before they knew it, now, they were on the outskirts of Kingston village.  Their arrival at the beginning of the home stretch was signaled in a very startling manner; for Tug, who had regained the lead, saw ahead of him a bright, shining strip that looked for all the world like a little frozen stream under the moonlight.  He did not care to risk stepping on any more thin ice, so he gave the quick command: 

“Jump!”

And he jumped, followed almost immediately by his devoted attendants.  The next thing they all knew, they were in half-frozen mud up to their knees.  The bright patch they had supposed to be a brook was a frost-covered sidewalk!

And they had carefully jumped over the sidewalk into the mire beyond!

Tug was disgusted but not disheartened, and he had his crew under way again instantly.  He kept up his system of short cuts even now that they were in town.  He led them over back fences, through orchards and kitchen-gardens, scattering a noisy flock of low-roosting hens in one place, and stirring up a half-dozen more dogs in another.

The true home stretch was a long downhill run straight to the goal.

By the time they reached this MacManus was once more in bad shape, and going very unsteadily.

As they cleared the brow of the hill, Tug’s anxious heart was pierced with the fear that he had lost the long, racking race, after all; for, just crossing the stake at the finish, he caught a sight of Orton.

The rest of the team saw the same disheartening spectacle.  And MacManus, eager for any excuse to stop running, gasped: 

“They’ve beaten us.  There’s no use running any farther.”

But Tug, having Lakerim ideals in mind, would never say die.  He squandered just breath enough to exclaim: 

“We’re not beaten till the last man crosses the line!” And he added:  “Stage, run for your life.”

And Stage ran.  Oh, but it was fine to see that lad run!  He fled forward like a stag with the hounds in full cry after him.  He wasted not an ounce of energy, but ran cleanly and straightly and splendidly.  He had the high-stepping knee-action of a thoroughbred trotter, and his running was as beautiful as it was swift.