Rattleton dived into the bushes again with a whoop, closely followed by Merriwell, who saw in a few moments that Harry was right. The goal was just before them, with only the timekeepers there, and they had won the race! CHAPTER IX—THE VALIANT DUTCH BOY Where was Hans? The Dutch boy, who by reason of his roly-poly body and fat, short legs, was not well adapted to mountain climbing, was much fatigued by the headlong haste with which his friends proceeded. “Some volks peen plame vools enough to call dos sbort,” he secretly grumbled, panting along at the heels of the procession. “Maype it vos sbort vor me, alretty, py shimminy! put don’t you pelief me! Ven I vos caughd py a voolishness like dot again, I hope I vill gick someboty.” He was stumping along in this manner, dropping gradually behind, when at a short turn in the path his friends vanished. At the same moment a pebble that had found its way into one of his shoes began to cut his foot so that he could hardly walk. “Wa-ow!” he gurgled. “Dot feel shust like I pit a snake by. Dunder and blitzens! Dot toe vos cud off, I pelief me!” He stared along at the dim path and at the bushes beyond which he heard the voices of his friends, then plumped himself down on a rock and began hastily to unloose the shoe lace. “Uf I get oudt uf dis scrabe, anudder vun von’t go into me right avay, I dell you!” he muttered. “I haf to haf a boultice vor dot toe, I pelief me, der vay id veels. Waow!” He pulled off the shoe with a jerk, felt of the injured toe, and gave the shoe a shake to remove the pebble. It rolled out, a tiny thing, not larger than a small shot, but with a cutting edge almost as hard as a diamond. “Some liddle dhings make a pigger vuss dan——” He cocked an ear around, and listened for the voices, but they were no longer to be heard. “Shimminy Ghristmas! Dose vellers gid along like shain lighdnings. I vos half to hurry uf dey gacht me oop, I tolt you!” He crowded his foot back into the shoe, hurriedly laced and tied it, then picked up his alpinstock and set his short legs in motion. But it was a hopeless chase. They were swinging on at a swift pace, and had gained so much that it was quite impossible for the Dutch boy to come up with them. Discovering this, he became terrified. “Vot uf dose shinermoons shoult pe hiding dese pushes behint, und kilt myselluf mit a club der head ofer?” he panted, staring about in wild-eyed expectancy. He heard a movement in the bushes, which almost raised the hair on his head. The brush cracked. The sound came toward him. He dropped his alpinstock and turned to run, but his short, fat legs became so weak they would not sustain him. He dropped to his knees with a bellow of fright, and pleadingly threw up his hands. The brush cracked again, sending cold shivers up the Dutch boy’s back, and a lean sow, followed by three or four thin, sharp-backed pigs, came into view. Hans scrambled up, with a screech of fear.