So Hugh, having registered as required at two booths on the way, and thus learned the order in which the trio ahead of him seemed to be running, finally arrived at the sunken quarry road.  He recognized the landmarks before he reached the spot; and losing not a second of time darted among the trees.

“Just” Smith was still leading him, for here and there he could distinguish the other’s foot prints, where the ground chanced to be a little moist.  Hugh also had reason to believe that Nick Lang was coming strong not a great distance behind him.  He wondered whether Nick meant to take advantage of the old quarry road as well as he and “Just” Smith, and Horatio in the bargain.  For that matter Hugh did not care an iota; if Nick considered it would be to his advantage he was at liberty to benefit by this scheme of Hugh’s.  It was all for the glory of Scranton High; and far better that Nick won the prize, than that it should be taken by an Allandale, or a Belleville contestant—–­that is, if he won it honestly.

Apparently, on the face of the returns, when half of the fifteen-mile course had been run, the victory was likely to be carried off by Whipple, the fleet-winged Allandale chap who had played right, field during the baseball matches; “Just” Smith; himself; or possibly Nick Lang.  There was always a dim and remote possibility, however, of a dark horse forging to the front on the home stretch.  This might be Horatio Juggins, or Mc.  Kee, or perhaps that Belleville runner, Conway, who had looked so confident when Hugh surveyed the line of eager faces at the start.

Hugh remembered every foot of the way along that quarry road.  He had a faculty for impressing features of the surrounding landscape on his mind, so that he could recall it at pleasure, just as though he held a photograph in his hand.

Now he was drawing near the quarry itself, the loneliest and most gruesome stretch of the entire cut-off; with “Just” Smith still in the lead.  Hugh felt proud of his chum, and often chuckled as he contemplated the other’s supreme delight in case a fickle fortune allowed him to come in ahead; for honors of this sort were a rare thing in the past of the Smith boy; and certainly he had never before been so close to reaping such a colossal prize as the winning of the Marathon would be reckoned.

Now Hugh glimpsed the quarry on one side of him.  How his thoughts flew backward to marshal the strange events so recently happening there, in which he and some of his comrades had had the good fortune to participate.

Just then he heard a plain groan.  It gave him a little thrill, but not because he fancied there was anything supernatural connected with the sound.  Looking in the direction from whence the groan came he discovered a boy sitting on the ground, and rubbing his lower extremities vigorously.

It was “Just” Smith!  Evidently something not down on the programme had happened to the boy who led the race across the quarry road.  Hugh suspected treachery immediately.  He turned aside, and sprang towards his chum.