“You should cut his lead down. He’ll think you are disposed of, and he may take it easy as soon as he fancies he is reasonably sure of winning.” Bramwell took the lead, as Merry had suggested, but Frank kept at his heels. Together they came out from the Dead Timbers and pressed on. With the endurance of a man of iron, Merry seemed to pay no heed to the pain and his now badly swollen ankle. He talked to his companion, giving him advice and instructions as they ran. Where the ground was rough and uneven he warned Bramwell to run loosely, in order not to jar and shock himself as he would were his muscles taut. He corrected Bramwell’s too long stride in descending steeps and urged him to a steady, strong gait in mounting ordinary slopes. “Why,” said the Ashport man, “with you for a coach we might, all of us, have learned much more about cross-country running than we now know.” Together they passed the first point where watchers noted their numbers and recorded them. From a height they looked back and discovered the most of the runners behind them. One man, however, was in advance. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XXVI THE WINNER OF THE TROPHY. No one save Merriwell himself ever knew how much he endured and how keenly he suffered during that cross-country run. Considering what he accomplished no one could have appreciated his unconquerable determination not to give up and drop out. Toward the end, when all the greater difficulties were passed, he and Bramwell still clinging together, they came to Ragged Hill. They knew that not more than one man was ahead of them, and that man they had seen disappearing over the crest of the hill as they mounted its lower slopes. Once or twice before this Bramwell had urged Frank to take the lead. This he now did once more. “You are the man to beat Huntley,” he declared. “I fear I can’t do it.” “You have too many fears,” said Frank. “Huntley hasn’t seen us. From the top of the hill he surveyed the country behind him. He must have seen most of the runners who are near, and he must feel that he has time to burn. He is full of confidence now.” “You’re the one to take the confidence out of him.” Frank waited for no further urging. He took the lead and set such a pace in mounting to the crest of the hill, following the difficult path they had discovered, that Bramwell dropped some distance in the rear. The eastern side of the hill was partly cleared or had never borne timber. Down the declivity sped Merry. He cut hither and thither, choosing the best course. Halfway down the hill was an old stone wall. In one particular spot the wall was lower than elsewhere, and behind it, just at that point, crouched two masked ruffians clutching sand bags. One of them had peered over the wall and seen Frank coming down the hill. “This is the bloke, pal!” he growled. “Reddy ter soak him!”