Roy and Chub were running fourth and fifth as they left the woods and found themselves on the edge of a wheat field with the church tower of Carroll a half a mile away. Jack dropped back and Chub took his place at the head of the line. It seemed to Roy that Chub let up on the pace a little, but it may have been only that it was easier going here along the edge of the field. At all events, Roy was glad of it, for the work was beginning to tell on him. And he was still gladder when Chub, at the corner of the field, leaped the wall and went trotting down a lane and from there into a country road. In another minute or two they were jogging along the village street and Roy could see Mr. Cobb, paper and pencil in hand, on the steps of the old brown hotel near at hand. Quite a little group had formed about him and the runners swept along to a chorus of criticisms, laughter and applause. As they passed Mr. Cobb, they cried their names and were answered; "Eaton!" "Eaton!" And the instructor checked the name on the list he held. "Pryor!" "Pryor!" "Townsend!" "Townsend!" "Rogers!" "Rogers!" "Porter!" "Porter!" "How are we making it?" sang out Jack as he passed. "A minute and a fraction behind the record!" was the reply. "Hit it up, Chub!" shouted Jack. "Go to the dickens!" answered Chub. "Who wants the lead?" "I'll take it," Pryor replied. "All right." And Chub dropped back to Roy. "Minute and a fraction--be hanged!" he gasped. "I'll bet--we're right on--time! How you coming?" "Getting tuckered," answered Roy. "How much farther?" "Not quite--three miles. Ouch! Stepped on--fool stone!" "Better save your wind, you two," advised Jack. "Wish I had some to save," thought Roy. Then there occurred the first division in the ranks. Pryor left the road and scrambled over into a field. Jack, Chub and Roy followed, but Townsend kept to the road and others as they came up followed him. "What's the matter--with the road?" asked Roy. "Longer," Chub answered briefly. They jogged up a steep hill, turning to the right at the top and then went down at a brisker pace, Roy wishing his sweater wasn't quite so heavy. All the spring had gone from his feet now and the exhilaration was forgotten. It was just hard work. The downward slope lasted for quite a way and Roy judged that Pryor was letting himself out in the hope of reaching the road again before the others who had kept to it arrived. There was a bad bit of brush to struggle through, and then came the wall and the road. As they climbed over they looked backward, but only a farmer's wagon was in sight. "Beat 'em!" gasped Chub.