Hugh, as he went along toward home, was really taking mental notes
concerning the lay of the land, and with an object in view. He was
entered for the fifteen-mile Marathon race (an unusually long distance
for boys to run, by the way, and hardly advisable under ordinary
conditions), and one of the registering places where every contestant
had to sign his name to a book kept by a judge so as to prove that he
had actually reached that particular and important corner of the
rectangular course, had been the quaint little old road tavern just
half a mile back of them.

"You're wondering just why I'm so curious about the country up here,
I can see, fellows," Hugh was saying about the time we meet them,
"and, as we all belong to the same school, and our dearest wish is to
see Scranton High win the prize that is offered by the committee in
the Marathon, I don't mind letting you in. I know something about
this country up here, and have traced on a surveyor's chart the
ordinary course a fellow would be apt to take in passing from the
second tally post, that old tavern back of us, along this road to
the canal, and from there across the old logging road to Hobson's
Pond, where there's going to be the last registering place before
the dash for home. Well, I've figured it out that a fellow would
save considerable ground if he left this same road half a mile below,
and cut across by way of the Juniper Swamp trail, striking in again
along about the Halpin Farm"

His remarks created no end of interest, for there were several others
among the bunch who had also entered for that long-distance race; and,
naturally, they began to figure on how they might take advantage of
Hugh's discovery. It was all for the honor and credit of good old