"It's the amateur world's record!" announced the Forecaster. The words were scarcely out of his lips when there came a sudden sharp crack. The kite-wire snapped close by the reel and as it curled on itself the coils appeared to run up into the sky. "Gone! My kites are gone!" cried Tom, and a perfect howl of disappointment went up from all the boys. "Gone!" cried the Forecaster, "of course they're gone, but we're going after them!" Throwing himself on the back of an old mule which a darky had ridden to the kite ground, he started full tilt after the disappearing wire, the whole membership of the League streaming at his heels. CHAPTER VI DEFEATING THE FROST Out across fields and woods, the Forecaster leading on the old mule, the boys followed the direction of the kite. Bob's pocket compass held them true to their course and Tom's keen sense told of any shift of the wind. The boys ran fast, the mule ran faster, and Lassie and Rex ran faster still. Only Anton, the crippled lad, had stayed behind. Midway up the first hill, Fatty dropped out. His intentions were good, but he was no match for the others in running. Monroe, the athlete of the group, was swinging along in light springy strides; Bob, the silent, ran heavily and mechanically; while Tom, eager for the recovery of his kites, kept to the front with the other two. The Forecaster checked his mule and let the boys come up to him. "It's no use trying to outrace the kites, boys," he said, "they're dropping in any case. But as they were three miles up, they were also three miles to leeward, and as they won't fall like a stone but float down gently, it'll be another mile or two at least before they strike ground. So you've a five mile run ahead of you and you'd better settle down into a jog trot, for you can never keep up this pace." The faces of the boys fell at the thought of a five mile run, for while they were all strong and vigorous, cross-country running was not one of their regular sports. Ross turned to the younger boys of the party, calling them by name. "You'd better drop out," he said kindly; "you won't be able to keep it up and there's no use getting yourselves worn out and then having to walk back, half dead. Fred," he continued, turning to the editor-in-chief, "you'd better quit, too." "Not much," answered Fred, "I've got to write this up for the _Review_." The Forecaster smiled. He liked pluck. "All right, my boy," he said, "come along, if you want to. Still, I think Ross is right." Over fields and woods they ran, but it was an hour before Bob, lean, wiry and silent, pointed to the sky. "Kite!" he said. The weather expert pulled up the mule and drew out his field glasses. "Yes," he said, "that's the string of kites, sure enough. But they're going up, boys, not coming down." "Going up, sir?" exclaimed Tom. "They couldn't be! They must be coming down. All the kites were out of sight when the wire broke."