“Here it is,” replied Harry, producing it. “Four blades, and every one in good condition. Where is yours?” “It’s just as good as that,” retorted Sully, bringing forth his pocket-knife. “Four blades and a corkscrew.” “Who’s going to hold them as stakes?” questioned Bill Dixon, Sully’s most intimate chum. The matter was talked over for several minutes, and finally a gentleman who had come to the hill to look at the sport agreed to become stakeholder. Before the matter was decided, however, Sully did a good deal of whispering to Bill Dixon, who immediately left the crowd, which had moved over to the largest of the nearby campfires. At last all was in readiness for the start. Hearing of the race, many on the course left their toboggans and sleds to witness the contest. “Now, remember, the first to reach the railroad track switch wins the race,” shouted the stakeholder. “Are you ready?” “We are,” said Sully. “Then--go!” With a great push, Sully sent the _Whistler_ on the downward course in fine style. Harry likewise gave the _Buster_ a good shove, and his toboggan also started. But he was a rod behind the other sled in the fraction of a second. “Something is dragging under us!” cried Andy, quickly. “I can feel it plainly.” “What can it be?” exclaimed Harry, in alarm. “Anybody’s clothing caught?” “My clo’ all hunky,” replied Pickles. “Dat feels like it was a rope under dar. Did yo’ tie a rope to de tobog, Harry?” “I took the rope off and left it with Mr. Bruley when we started,” returned the owner of the _Buster_. “It’s no use,” he groaned. “They’ll reach the tracks before we are half-way down!” In the meanwhile Boxy Woodruff was feeling along the side of the toboggan. It was not long before his hand came in contact with an end of wash-line. “Here it is, tied around the toboggan!” he cried. “I’ll bet this is some of Pete Sully’s underhanded work!” “Yank it loose, can’t you?” exclaimed Harry, anxiously. “Cut it or break it--something.” Boxy pulled with all of his strength, and the wash-line, which, luckily, was old and rotten, parted. An instant later it was clear of the toboggan bottom, and streaming along behind like the thin tail of a kite. Freed from this hindrance, the _Buster_ shot forward on its course. Like a comet it passed over the brow of the second hill, with the _Whistler_ over a hundred feet ahead. Could they regain the ground they had lost? CHAPTER II. LOST OR WON? It was one thing for the boys on the _Buster_ to wish to range alongside of the _Whistler_ again, but it was quite a different thing to do it. Both toboggans were rushing along with furious speed, and now the end of the course was close at hand. “Sit jess a little moah to de front,” was Pickles’ suggestion, and it was immediately acted upon. “Didn’t I tell you you wasn’t in it?” shouted Pete Sully, derisively. “There isn’t a toboggan around Rudskill can beat the _Whistler_!” put in Bill Dixon.