“I’ll have to go into the house, and see what the others think about it,” said St. Ives. “Won’t you come in, fellows?” “No,” said Diamond; “I am too tired.” “I’m tired myself,” confessed Frank. “I think we’ll roll into our beds very soon.” The boys strolled down past the summerhouse, while Kenneth went into the mansion. Through a window Frank and Jack could see the billiard players at work, and they heard Rattleton shout with laughter at some fluke Hodge made. “It strikes me this is the last round of sport before we get back to the grind,” said Jack. “Yes,” said Frank, somewhat sadly; “we’ve had our summer’s whirl, and it’s over; but it was fun while it lasted.” Arm in arm, they walked down through the garden. They did not take the gravel path, but kept on the grass. Their feet made no noise, and they were silent, as both were thinking of their varied adventures since starting westward on the bicycle tour. All at once they heard voices, and stopped suddenly. “Catch your chance, Bill. A hundred for the boy and two hundred for the man. You do not like either of them, so——” “Like ’em! Cuss ’em, I hate ’em! I’ll do it if I git a good chance.” “That is settled, then. You’d better get away from here, for you don’t want to be seen. Good-night.” “Good-night.” Frank leaped toward the bushes beyond which the voices sounded. They were thick, and he broke through with difficulty. When he reached the other side, he could hear the sound of running feet in dull retreat, but both men were gone. Frank started in pursuit, but the ones who were running away seemed to know the turns of the garden walks better than he did, for both got away. Diamond found Merriwell near the summerhouse chewing his lip and standing in an attitude that expressed mingled rage and disgust. “Didn’t catch either of them, did you?” asked Jack. “No,” was the answer; “but I think I know them both. They were the discharged hostler and Steve Fenton, or I’m daffy.” CHAPTER XXVII—THE HUNT “Hark away!” The sound of baying hounds and the hunter’s horn cut the crisp morning air. “The dogs have struck a track!” gayly cried Frank, who was mounted on Firefoot, having chosen that horse, although warned that he was the most dangerous animal in the Springbrook stables. “Listen to that! Is it not music to stir the blood?” The baying of the hounds grew more and more distinct, and surely it was sweet music to the ear of the enthusiastic hunter. Rising, falling, now loud and clear, now faint and low, the mellow notes came across the meadows. “They’re coming this way!” cried Diamond, excitedly, as his mount pricked up its ears and pawed the ground, plainly longing to be off after the baying dogs. “Come, Frank!” “Shimminy Ghristmas!” gurgled Hans Dunnerwust, who was astride an old steed. “You don’d pelief dese hoss vos bound to run avay mit myseluf, do I?” “I don’t think ye need ter worry abaout that,” grinned Ephraim Gallup.