"Wait, I'll loosen the tippet," came from Songbird, and guided the muffler free of the bob. Then Hans took up the ends and tied them around his waist.
The drag had caused the Rovers' bob to get two lengths behind the other, and Peter Slade and his companions felt certain of winning.
"You can't touch us, Dick Rover!" called Slade, triumphantly.
"Good-bye!" called another boy. "We'll tell those at the bottom of the hill that you are coming."
"Are we making better time?" questioned Tom, anxiously. "If we are not I'll get off and shove," he added, jokingly.
"You hold tight now!" yelled Dick, and an instant later the bob went down over a ridge of the hill. Free of the drag, it shot forth like an arrow from a bow, and soon began to crawl up to Peter Slade's turnout.
"The Rovers are crawling up!"
"Yes, but it's too late to win!"
"We've got to win!" called out Sam.
And then both bobs took another ridge and rushed on to the end of the course, less than a hundred yards away.
