“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 Dick, doggedly.  “It isn’t in the Gridley blood to wonder if we can win—–­we’ve got to win!”

After that Dick 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 Dick.  “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 Dick to his own squad.

The upper classmen 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, lustily.

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 Dick.  “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,” Dick 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 sophomore.