“I make you feel petter ven you said dot,” declared the Dutch boy. “I peen avraidt I might run avay mit dese hosses und throw heem off.” “It’s a warm scent, fellows!” palpitated Bart Hodge, who was a-quiver with excitement. “Oh, this morning will be filled with glory!” “I thought you fellows would enjoy it,” said Kenneth St. Ives, who was with Frank and his friends, the hunters having split into two parties. “I want you to enjoy all the time you spend at Springbrook.” “There’s the horn again!” fluttered Diamond; “and there they come! It’s a signal to us. Look! look! look!” Out from a bit of scattering timber far across the meadows broke the hounds, the foremost running nose to the ground, the others following close, but often baying with uplifted muzzles. As the dogs had just struck the track, the hunters were close after them, and the bright colors of their clothing showed through the trees almost before the dogs appeared, rising and falling with the movements of their galloping horses. “Harden is in the lead!” cried Kenneth St. Ives, “and Fenton is a close second. Look—look, fellows! The third one is my sister! Doesn’t she ride beautifully! Oh, she is as good as the best of them! I’ll wager a sawbuck she leads both Fenton and Harden before the chase is over, and she is sure to be in at the death.” “That’s a habit I have myself,” smiled Frank Merriwell; “and I shall make an attempt to be in at the death this morning.” “Firefoot will balk on you before you are through with him,” declared Kenneth. “He’s got speed and blood, but he is treacherous.” “I don’t believe he will play any tricks on me,” said Frank. “I do not believe he has been handled right. Your hostler, Wade, had a grudge against the horse, and Fenton didn’t know how to treat him. But this is no time to talk of that. See—the dogs take that hedge! Hurrah! See Harden follow! What a glorious sight! Hurrah! hurrah!” The boys could not repress their cheers. The horses they bestrode were dancing now, but the animals were held in check yet a little longer, and then, with a cry to the others, Frank gave Firefoot his head. Down toward the hunters charged the second party, riding to join them. They were seen, and Harden set the horn to his lips and blew a welcome. Ta-ra, ta-ra, ta-ra-tar! How the bugle note cuts the frosty air! It is enough to stir the blood in the veins of a sluggard. The horses cannot be held in check. Oh, the glorious excitement of the mad ride—the delight of speed! Whip nor spur is not needed, and like birds they go across small washouts, down into a tiny ravine, and then up again with short, sharp jerks. “Ou-oo! ou-oo! ou-oo!” It is the baying of the hounds, the whole pack bursting into a grand swell of melody. Who would not rise early to hear such a morning chant!