“My clo’ all hunky,” replied Pickles. “Dat feels like it was a rope under dar. Did yo’ tie a rope to de tobog, Harry?”
“I took the rope off and left it with Mr. Bruley when we started,” returned the owner of the Buster. “It’s no use,” he groaned. “They’ll reach the tracks before we are half-way down!”
In the meanwhile Boxy Woodruff was feeling along the side of the toboggan. It was not long before his hand came in contact with an end of wash-line.
“Here it is, tied around the toboggan!” he cried. “I’ll bet this is some of Pete Sully’s underhanded work!”
“Yank it loose, can’t you?” exclaimed Harry, anxiously. “Cut it or break it—something.”
Boxy pulled with all of his strength, and the wash-line, which, luckily, was old and rotten, parted. An instant later it was clear of the toboggan bottom, and streaming along behind like the thin tail of a kite.
Freed from this hindrance, the Buster shot forward on its course. Like a comet it passed over the brow of the second hill, with the Whistler over a hundred feet ahead. Could they regain the ground they had lost?
CHAPTER II.
LOST OR WON?
It was one thing for the boys on the Buster to wish to range alongside of the Whistler again, but it was quite a different thing to do it.
Both toboggans were rushing along with furious speed, and now the end of the course was close at hand.