The Rover Boys on a Hunt | Page 2

like fun!" grumbled the cadet addressed, a rather heavy-set

and by-no-means pre-possessing youth. "Come on now, unless you're
afraid."
"We're afraid of nobody!" sang out Andy Rover, and, leaning sideways
from where he sat on the bobsled, he scooped up a handful of loose
snow and threw it playfully at Glutts.
"Hi, you! what do you mean?" roared Bill Glutts in anger, as the snow
landed directly behind his right ear.
"Hello! I guess it must have begun to snow again," cried Randy Rover,
mischievously.
"I'll 'snow' you!" retorted Glutts. "I guess you fellows are afraid to race.
That's why you are cutting up."
"Never mind--race them anyway, Bill," came from a small, pasty-faced
youth, who was usually called Codfish on account of his broad mouth.
"Go ahead and show 'em what your new bobsled can do."
"That's the talk!" cried another cadet, a newcomer at the academy.
"Show 'em that the Yellow Streak can lick anything on this hill."
"That's a dream that will never come true!" cried Spouter Powell.
"Come ahead, Jack, let's start this race," he added to the oldest Rover
boy.
The scene was Long Hill, a rise of ground located about midway
between Colby Hall Military Academy and the town of Haven Point.
There was something of a wagon road leading up the hill from the main
highway which skirted Clearwater Lake, and this road had been
converted by the cadets of the academy into a slide for their bobsleds.
From the top of the hill the slide ran down and over two smaller hills,
then crossed the main highway and shot down another road onto the
lake, which at this season of the year was covered with ice.
It was a Saturday afternoon, and, as usual, the cadets of the military

academy were making the most of their off time, some with bobsleds
and other with ordinary handsleds and what were locally called "bread
shovels."
For some weeks before this the boys, as well as many other residents in
that vicinity, had enjoyed skating on the lake. But a rather wet snow
had fallen which the wind had been unable to sweep away, and
consequently skating became a thing of the past. Then the lads turned
to their bobsleds, the Rovers getting out one they had used the season
before. This they painted and varnished very carefully and christened
the Blue Moon.
"Because, you see," explained Randy, with a wink, "it's only once in a
blue moon that she'll be beaten."
The Rovers and their chums, as well as many other cadets and boys and
girls from that vicinity, had been using the hill for a couple of hours
when the race between the Blue Moon and the Yellow Streak was
proposed by Nick Carncross, the new friend of Bill Glutts.
Now, as my old readers know, the Rovers and Bill Glutts were by no
means on good terms with each other. In the past Glutts had proved
himself anything but a friend, and they had had more than one personal
encounter with this freckled-faced bully.
But it was not in the nature of any of the Rover boys to refuse a
challenge to race, knowing well that if this was done many would think
they were afraid of being beaten. So the challenge was accepted, and
immediately the details were arranged.
Each bobsled was to carry six cadets, and they were to start down the
hill side by side, the Blue Moon keeping well to the right and the
Yellow Streak well to the left. The first sled to cross a mark located out
on the lake was to be declared the winner.
With the four Rover boys were their intimate chums, Spouter Powell
and Gif Garrison. With Glutts were Codfish, Carncross, and three other
of the bully's cronies.

"Gee! I wish I was in that race," came from Will Hendry, who, on
account of his unusual stoutness, was always called Fatty.
"Nothing doing, Fatty," remarked Dan Soppinger, another cadet.
"You'd make the Rovers lose sure."
"All ready?" questioned Walt Baxter, who had been settled on as the
starter of the race.
"All ready," answered Jack Rover, after a glance around to see that
nothing was out of order.
"Been ready half an hour," grumbled Bill Glutts.
"All right, then!" cried Walt. "One--two--three--go!"
As he finished Fred Rover, who was at the rear of the Blue Moon, gave
that bobsled a quick push and leaped aboard. At the same time
Carncross sent the Yellow Streak forward and also sprang to his seat.
Then, side by side, the two bobsleds moved down the long hill, slowly
at first, but gradually gathering speed.
It was five o'clock of an afternoon in early December, and consequently
quite dark, even on the snow-clad hills. Many of the smaller children,
and