A third of a mile further on another yell of triumph floated back to young Prescott, who had not yet regained the lead.
In a few moments more the last of the hounds came upon a flushed, joyous group of freshmen runners. With them were two of the judges and a sheepish-looking hare.
The freshmen hounds had won, and had bagged all the hares for which the game called. Let the five remaining hares keep on running to the finish, if they would. For the first time in seven years the freshmen hounds, led by Captain Dick Prescott, had won.
"Ki-yi-yi-yi-yi!" howled the exultant fourth classmen. "And another for Dick Prescott."
"Dick Prescott has other game on his hands now," spoke up Dan
Dalzell, one of the late arrivals.
"What's the row?" demanded the freshman who had just bagged the seventh hare.
"Row? That's just it," nodded Dan. "Prescott caught Ripley—-"
"We saw that."
"But you didn't see the finish. Ripley, as soon as he was released, knocked Dick down."
"And you came on with the hounds, Dick!" demanded Tom Reade, incredulously.