don't just know what that really means."

"Why, you see, in a long gruelling run of twenty-five miles," explained
Bristles, "it's necessary to have certain places a few miles apart, and
especially at turns in the course, where every contestant enters his name
in his own handwriting, as well as the time he passed there."

"You don't tell me!" exclaimed Mr. Jenks. "But what's all that
tomfoolery for? Strikes me they go to a heap of trouble for next to
nothing."

"Why, you see," continued Bristles, "these races have to be above
suspicion. The committee doesn't want anybody to be able to say there
was any crooked work about the run. The fellow who wins must have beaten
every competitor fairly. And by this system of registering they have a
complete record of the race. No one can cut across lots and cheat,
without its showing in the record."

"Oh! now I understand you, my lad, and I guess it's a good thing. That
gent was a fine one, and he said I had the best---but never mind what he
said. How far have you come this time, boys?"

"This is over half the distance," explained Fred, "and we're on the home
stretch right now. But we're not trying for a record to-day. Fact is,
we're just feeling out the ground. The next time we come we'll stop only
a minute, as if we were registering, and be off, for that's when we'll be
trying it out to see what our time is."

"Oh! excuse me," said Bristles, as he saw the old farmer once more turn
toward his rig, as though he felt he must be going on, "but didn't I hear
you telling someone in the market the other day that you'd lost a number
of sheep lately?"

The old man frowned, and shook his head sadly.

"Three of my best, and I reckons that if things keep on the way they're
goin', I won't have any flock left purty soon, boy," he replied.

"And you said the damage had all been done by a pack of wild dogs, didn't
you?" continued Bristles.

"Anybody with one eye could see that, by the way the sheep was mangled,
and the pad of the prints around. They're gettin' to be a terror up
here. Jenks kin tell you how he's heard the lot carrying on like Cain
over in the woods there nights."

"Did you ever see the pack, mister?" asked Bristles.

"Well, I can't say as I really and truly has, son, but I do believe I
knows what the wust of the lot looks like," the farmer told him.

"How was that, sir?" asked the boy, eagerly. He saw the old man shrug
his broad shoulders, while a whim