On and on, and still on, sped the runners over the rough trail, leaping many a rough rock or fallen log, in steeplechase fashion. The roughness of the way now told on Brown, and gradually he dropped behind, and Wilson followed. Then it was seen that Jackson and Ferris were in the lead, with Darry Ford third, and Harry fourth.
“Jackson will win!”
“Ferris is crawling up to him!”
“I’ll bet on Darry Ford. Just you wait until he begins spurting.”
It was now that a turn in the trail hid the runners from view for a moment. When they came again into the open it was seen that Ferris and Jackson had changed places, and that the others were as before.
“What did I tell you?” roared Luke Stout. “I knew Jack Ferris would win. Winship, that knife is as good as mine.”
“The race isn’t over yet, Stout.”
“Pooh! Ferris is first and Harry Parsons is fourth. Do you think he is going to crawl into the lead? Not much!”
A minute later came another cry, from those further up the trail.
“They are rounding the rock!”