“Here it is, Walter,” cried out Alfred. “They have crossed this ditch.”
Walter ran up and jumped over the ditch, followed by the rest and Mr. Young. Now they ran across a meadow, and then over a ploughed field and up a lane. They had not yet seen either of the hares, and already one hour was gone. They halted for a few minutes.
“Well, Parker,” said Mr. Young, “have you lost the trail again?”
“No, sir. I can see the paper along the side of the hedge. They have crossed this brook.”
The brook was at least twelve feet wide, and about four feet deep where they were.
“Look, sir!” said Cox; “they have leaped over it and thrown the pole down on the other side.”
Mr. Young glanced in the direction in which he pointed, and saw a long pole lying near the water, and the trail across the field on the other side of the brook.
“There is a wooden bridge about a quarter of a mile up the stream. Those of you who can’t jump over must go round,” exclaimed Mr. Young, who took a short run and easily cleared the brook. “Here’s the pole for any who care to try and follow me.”
Most of the boys had already made for the bridge. Walter, Cox, and Frank Pitt alone leaped over the brook by the help of the pole. Alfred had gone with the others. Again they all followed the trail. Brangton was in sight, and if the hares reached the farmhouse before they were caught, they would win the chase. Walter, with Cox and Pitt, now made a final spurt, and saw Steve and King quietly sitting down about a quarter of a mile ahead.
They got up and waved their caps in derision, and then darted off, all the others following as fast as they could. It was rather a hopeless task. The hares slackened speed, but as soon as Walter, Cox, and Pitt came within a few yards of them, they ran away again, laughing at them.