not have been sorry if they had gone on without him. “Haul away. And remember that my life isn’t insured.”
It was no easy task to lift him to the top, but it was accomplished without mishap.
“No Hans in sight yet,” said Merriwell.
Rattleton, who was running up the path, was heard to give a whoop.
“Fellows, we’re right there!” he announced, hastening back to bear the glad tidings. “I took a peep through the bushes, and the rock isn’t a hundred yards away. I saw the men who were sent up here standing by it, and there wasn’t another soul in sight.”
Merriwell looked at his watch again.
“An hour and twenty minutes since we started. Lead on, Rattleton. If you’ve seen the rock, you may act as guide. We’re after you.”
Rattleton dived into the bushes again with a whoop, closely followed by Merriwell, who saw in a few moments that Harry was right.
The goal was just before them, with only the timekeepers there, and they had won the race!
CHAPTER IX – THE VALIANT DUTCH BOY
Where was Hans?
The Dutch boy, who by reason of his roly-poly body and fat, short legs, was not well adapted to mountain climbing, was much fatigued by the headlong haste with which his friends proceeded.
“Some volks peen plame vools enough to call dos sbort,” he secretly grumbled, panting along at the heels of the procession. “Maype it vos sbort vor me, alretty, py shimminy! put don’t you pelief me! Ven I vos caughd py a voolishness like dot again, I hope I vill gick someboty.”
He was stumping along in this manner, dropping gradually behind, when at a short turn in the path his friends vanished. At the same moment a pebble that had found its way into one of his shoes began to cut his foot so that he could hardly walk.
“Wa-ow!” he gurgled. “Dot feel shust like I pit a snake by. Dunder and blitzens! Dot toe vos cud off, I pelief me!”
He stared along at the dim path and at the bushes beyond which he heard the voices of his friends, then plumped himself down on a rock and began hastily to unloose the shoe lace.
“Uf I get oudt uf dis scrabe, anudder vun von’t go into me right avay, I dell you!” he muttered. “I haf to haf a boultice vor dot toe, I pelief me, der vay id veels. Waow!”
He pulled off the shoe with a jerk, felt of the injured toe, and gave the shoe a shake to remove the pebble.
It rolled out, a tiny thing, not larger than a small shot, but with a cutting edge almost as hard as a diamond.
“Some liddle dhings make a pigger vuss dan – ”
He cocked an ear around, and listened for the voices, but they were no longer to be heard.
“Shimminy Ghristmas! Dose vellers gid along like shain lighdnings. I vos half to hurry uf dey gacht me oop, I tolt you!”
He crowded his foot back into the shoe, hurriedly laced and tied it, then picked up his alpinstock and set his short legs in motion.
But it was a hopeless chase. They were swinging on at a swift pace, and had gained so much that it was quite impossible for the Dutch boy to come up with them.
Discovering this, he became terrified.
“Vot uf dose shinermoons shoult pe hiding dese pushes behint, und kilt myselluf mit a club der head ofer?” he panted, staring about in wild-eyed expectancy.
He heard a movement in the bushes, which almost raised the hair on his head. The brush cracked. The sound came toward him.
He dropped his alpinstock and turned to run, but his short, fat legs became so weak they would not sustain him.
He dropped to his knees with a bellow of fright, and pleadingly threw up his hands.
The brush cracked again, sending cold shivers up the Dutch boy’s back, and a lean sow, followed by three or four thin, sharp-backed pigs, came into view.
Hans scrambled up, with a screech of fear.
“Vilt hocks!” he squawked. “Shimminy Ghristmas! I vos deat alretty yet!”
The sow ridged the rough bristles along her spine and made a sound which Hans thought her battle cry.
He gave another squawk and dived for the nearest tree. Into its low branches he scrambled, throwing his feet across a bough and pulling himself by his hands.
As it chanced, the tree was in the direct line of the sow’s flight. She dashed toward it, bringing another squeal of fear from Hans, and the pigs scampered at her heels.
While hanging in this inverted position, with his cap gone and his pockets upside down, some peanuts that Hans had thrust into a pocket to munch on the mountain climb, dropped out to the ground.
One of the pigs saw and scented them. Its chronic hunger overcame its fright, and, while its mother and the other members of the porcine family bounded on into the depths of the laurel it stopped and began to munch the peanuts.
“I vos a deat mans!” gurgled Hans, fairly paralyzed by terror. “He vos going to ead up dose beanuds und my gap, und den he vill glimb dese dree ub und I vill ead heem! Hel-lup! hel-lup!”
Now and then a peanut spilled out of the pocket, and when the pig had devoured all, it looked up at the peanut fountain for more, placing itself directly under Hans with its mouth expectantly open.
“Oh, I vos deat! I vos kilt!” he howled. “Someboty gome guick und shood me, so dot I von’t ead mineselluf ub!”
It was impossible for him to climb higher, both on account of his weakness, and the springy nature of the bough, and he was dimly conscious of the fact that he could not hold on much longer.
Ordinarily, the pig would have fled from him, but its hunger now caused it to half lift itself on its hind legs and stretch its long nose up toward him.
In that moment of supreme terror the Dutch boy’s strength entirely deserted him, and he fell from the bough, striking the pig directly in the center of the back.
It went down, with a squeal. Hans rolled quickly over and tried to scramble to his feet. He could do nothing, however, but thresh his heel in the air and bellow for assistance.
After a while it began to dawn on him that the dreaded monster was not devouring him alive, as he had fully expected, and that, since his fall, he had not heard a sound, except such as he made himself.
“Id vos skeert me avay,” he thought, stopping his flailing heels and turning his head slowly to the point where the ravenous beast might be expected to be seen.
He lifted himself slowly on his hands and stared, his eyes rounding out in astonishment.
The pig lay on the ground as if dead.
“Id vos maging a vool uf me, maype,” he reflected. “It vos shust agting like I vos deat. Id shust vant to play mit me, like I vos a gat und id vos a mouses.”
Still, when the pig maintained that
