To one of Dick’s training, trailing was a comparatively easy matter in the woods, where broken twigs, bruised leaves, and bent branches of the bushes marked the way clearly. But when they emerged from among the trees to the close cropped sward of the links again, he scarcely lessened his speed. It seemed as though he knew almost by intuition which way the man had gone.
Very soon Niles fell behind. For all of his condition he was beginning to be winded, while his companion showed no signs whatever of even hurried breathing.
Rapidly the distance between them increased as Merriwell forged ahead, and presently he vanished over a high knoll, leaving Niles to plod on alone, gasping and breathless, but determined not to give up.
At last he reached the summit and there he paused with an exclamation of satisfaction.
A perfectly straight stretch of green was spread out before him. It was over a mile in length, and by far the longest hole of the course. Though there were several slight undulations, it was for the most part quite level, being broken here and there with grassy bunkers placed to make the hole more difficult.
About half way down the stretch a party of golfers had stopped their play and were staring in astonishment at the strange sight of two young fellows tearing over the grass as hard as they could run. The one in advance was Stovebridge, who ran desperately as though his life depended on it. His face was white and set, his breathing labored, his eyes full of a great fear.
A hundred yards behind him Dick Merriwell was covering the ground at an amazing speed. Apparently unhampered by golfing clothes or bandaged ankle, he ran lightly and easily as though on the cinder track. It seemed to the excited Niles on the hill top that he almost skimmed over the ground like a bird.
“Jove, what running!” he cried aloud. “Oh, I wish I had a watch! I never saw anything like it on the track. There can’t be eighty yards between them now; he’s gained twenty in a couple of minutes. Stove must be getting winded. There! What a jump! He took that bunker like a bird. Stove had to climb over it. What a hurdler he must be! Another five yards gained.”
For a moment he stood silent, shading his eyes with his hand.
“Another bunker!” he cried presently. “Merriwell is a perfect wonder. He’s as fresh as when he started. Great Scott! I never saw anything like this in all my life.”