“Good for you, old man!” said Dan heartily. “I always said you were the bravest of the lot.”
“Brave nothing!” scoffed Tom. “He thinks he has a winning smile. Bob’s a regular fusser at home, I’ll bet!”
“Hey!” exclaimed Nelson, arising and stretching his arms in accompaniment to a mighty yawn, “who’s going to soak?”
“I am,” said Bob; and the other two expressed themselves similarly. “Babe” came up, kicking his box before him.
“Isn’t that enough, Bob?” he asked pathetically.
“Sure, ‘Babe,’ that’s enough. Come on and soak. Ho, for ‘Babe’s’ briny ocean!”
The next day dinner was a half hour earlier, and promptly at the stroke of two Nelson and Dan left Spruce Hall and trotted down the road to the village, each bearing a bag of “scent” in the shape of torn paper, and each wearing the scantiest costume modesty would permit. The hounds were to start twelve minutes later, and the trail was to be laid for a distance of about three miles and return, at least half the trail to be over roads. Nelson thought twelve minutes rather scant time allowance, but Dan, who fancied himself a bit as a cross-country runner, was quite satisfied. Almost every fellow in camp was going to have a try at the chase, although it was a foregone conclusion that many of them would drop out the first mile. Mr. Verder was leader of the hounds, and he was the only member of the pursuit that Dan feared.
Once out of sight of the camp, and having reached the beginning of the slight slope that led down to the foot of the lake, the hares let themselves out. It was a cloudy, threatening day, somewhat chill for the month of August, and the rain, which had fallen continually from Monday morning until some time last night, had left the ground soft, and in some places decidedly slippery. Once or twice during the forenoon there had been tiny showers, and there was every indication of more to follow before night. The distance to the village of Crescent, Dan’s estimate on the day of his enforced return to camp by way of the road notwithstanding, was but a trifle over the mile, and they made it in short order, and passed over the bridge and by the post-office, running well, having got their second breaths. They followed the road around to where Dan and Bob had cut across the meadow when they had made their trip to the base of the cliff. There they climbed the fence and struck across the field under the cliff, exchanging smiles as they caught fleeting glimpses of the inscription on the rocks, and swung around to the right on the farther side of Humpback Mountain. Their plan was to keep along the lower slope of the mountain, return to the road at the farther end of Hipp’s Pond, and come back by the highway to some spot near the village, where they were to ford the river and reach the road to camp near the forks. Once in the forest their going was necessarily slower. It was slightly up-hill, and the wet leaves made anything beyond an easy trot impossible. They lost nearly a minute on one occasion, when Nelson tripped on a log which he had tried to hurdle and came down sprawling, emptying most of the contents of the bag he carried. The paper had to be picked up before they could go on, since already they had begun to wonder whether the scent would hold out. Half-way along the side of the mountain it suddenly grew dark, and the tree-tops began to sway in quick gusts of wind.
“By Jove,” panted Dan, “I’ll bet we’re in for a wetting!”