One of the "catches" was already recorded to his credit.
"There's one of the hares," Dick flashed to himself, as he caught an indistinct glimpse of a sweater and a moving pair of legs ahead.
"He seems to be losing his wind, too---that fellow." In a minute more Dick gave another gasp of discovery.
"It's Fred Ripley.

I suppose it will be bitter medicine for him, if _I_ make the catch," thought the young captain of the hounds.
Though he was too manly, too good a sportsman to allow malice to creep in, Prescott certainly did do his best to overtake the lagging Fred.
Gradually, the young captain left the hares behind.

But Badger, who was an easy runner, forged ahead so as to keep the leading hound in full sight.
Hearing some one running behind him, Fred Ripley glanced backward over his shoulder.
"The mucker!" gritted the lawyer's son.

"He mustn't catch me---he shan't!" Yet vainly did Ripley try to put on more speed.

He kept it up for a few yards, then knew that he was failing.