Bones had been unable to restrain his eagerness, and chased after the two leaders--Parker for Clifford, and Coddling for Bellport. Just back of the other two Columbia entries ran Wentworth, that sturdy Clifford fellow, who had always worked so hard on diamond and gridiron for the honor of his school. Then, not far back of him came Mallory and Keating, two new Bellport “wonders,” who failed in the pinch to get even a showing. Far in the rear trailed Atkins, the third Clifford contestant, who seemed either gone “stale” from overtraining, or else was having trouble with his shoes, for he had stopped twice to do something. That was the way the runners were spread out when the three-mile mark was passed. Now and then Frank could catch a glimpse of those who were ahead. He wanted to make sure Parker did not gain such a tremendous lead that he could not be overhauled later on. Lanky was fretting some, as usual. He seemed like a mettlesome horse chafing because of the restraining bit. “Frank, say the word, and let’s pick up a bit!” he complained. “Just a little, then,” was the reply the other made. The fewer words that passed between them the better, for breath was valuable. And it was more to quiet Lanky than because he believed there was as yet any need of shortening the distance between the leaders and themselves, that Frank gave in so readily. Two of the racers seemed to be running neck and neck. They bore the Clifford and Columbia colors, which would indicate that Bones must have made a grand spurt, and overtaken the leader. Perhaps he would not rest content with that, but try to pass Larry Parker before the five-mile mark had been reached. Already the pace had become so grinding that several at the tail-end of the procession had dropped out. Atkins had given up, and Keating was seen wobbling when a stretch of straight road allowed Frank to look back. The other fellows were still booming steadily along, grimly hoping that if they kept within striking distance, fortune might favor them by some accident to the leaders, when they might jump in and win. All at once, as Frank, side by side with tall Lanky, broke around a bend of the road, they discovered a lone figure seated by the wayside, and evidently nursing a sprained ankle. Frank saw with more or less dismay that the figure wore the well-known Columbia colors. He knew to a certainty then that it must be their chum, Bones Shadduck, who had met with an accident. And it was perhaps not strange that just then Frank should remember what he had said to Lanky as a warning, with regard to Larry Parker, in case he ever found himself in a position to pass the new Clifford wonder. “It’s Bones!” Frank snapped out between his teeth; for it is no easy thing for a fellow who has been running speedily over four miles to talk while continuing to rush on.