CHAPTER XVIII

"WON'T WIN AGAINST A MUDSCOW"

"How can we help Mr. Wright by racing?" queried Hartwell.

"By enabling me to advertise a canoe race between high school boys as an attraction to bring added guests to this hotel," the manager explained for himself. "Let me see. This is Thursday. If the race were to be held day after to-morrow—-saturday—-would that give both crews time enough to get ready?"

"Saturday will suit Gridley," Dick answered promptly.

"And Preston also," guaranteed Bob Hartwell.

"At three in the afternoon on Saturday?" asked Mr. Wright.

"Yes, sir," Prescott nodded. "But will you have sufficient time to advertise, Mr. Wright?"

"Plenty of time," replied the manager, "if I send my letters away by tonight's mail. I will advertise in a Gridley paper, and also in Preston and Trentville. I will send copy to papers in a few other towns as well, and I will see to it that the railway folks know about it. Fortunately the railway people will attend to their own advertising, as it will give them some chance to bring extra passengers. Now, boys, does either crew wish to draw any expense money to help in preparing for the race?"

"Preston High School doesn't want any expense money, thank you, sir," Bob declared quickly. "Our fellows all have abundant funds."

"The Gridley High School crew is a lot of near paupers," Dick admitted with smiling candor.

"Then you may have——-"

"Thank you, Mr. Wright," Prescott went on. "I don't know that we could use money if we had it, but in any case I am certain that we couldn't accept it from the hotel management without risk of sacrificing our standing as amateurs. We might be ruled out as 'professionals' for accepting money for the race."

"Pardon me," broke in Mr. Wright, as a bellboy handed him a telegram. As he read the message a smile appeared on his face.

"Perhaps this will put a different aspect on the matter," beamed the hotel manager. "This telegram is from Mr. Howgate, and says:"

"'Am mailing you check for forty dollars. Please allow Prescott, Captain Gridley High School Canoe Club, to draw on you for that amount, for boat uniforms and other expenses. Money voted by Council from High School Athletic fund.'"

"That's thoughtful," murmured young Prescott, wholly taken aback. "However, I don't believe we shall need the money."

"You ought to have some sort of uniform," suggested Hartwell. "We Preston chaps have canoe uniforms."

"We can paddle just as well without special uniforms," smiled Dick,

"But how would it look for good old Gridley High School?" hinted Bob generously. "Remember, in appearance, as well as in performance, you have the prestige and honor of your school to consider."

"I think you will do well to accept the money and get uniforms," Mr. Wright declared thoughtfully. "You will have to telegraph for them in order to have them here by Saturday."

"I have the A.B. Lollard catalogue up in my room," suggested Hartwell "I'll run up and get it, and you fellows can look it through and make a quick decision."

"When you have the choice of uniforms made," said Mr. Wright, "write your telegram and bring it to me to sign. The Lollard people know me, and will honor my order."

Now that matters had been arranged so as to be strictly within amateur usages, Dick, Dave and the others found that they had a new cause for interest as they glanced through the bewildering display of uniforms offered in the catalogue.

When the choice had been made Dick turned to young Holmes to say:

"Greg, run down to the landing to relieve Tom, and ask him to hurry up here. We want him, too, to approve our selection or to state his disapproval."

Reade arrived with a breathlessness that testified to his having run all the way. Needless to say, he heartily agreed with his chums as to the uniform selected by them.

The uniform chosen was not expensive. It consisted of sleeveless cotton shirts, white cotton trousers, knee-length, and with a red stripe down the sides, and thin, light boating shoes.

The total cost, per boy, was three dollars and eighty-three cents. Certainly not an expensive canoeing uniform! There would be some express charges to pay in addition.

"You'll have about fifteen dollars left for anything else that you may need," suggested Mr. Wright.

"Yes; but we don't wish to spend it," Dick replied. "It is only the thought of the Gridley High School that makes us decide on any uniform at all."

"You couldn't have been more modest," smiled Bob Hartwell, as he thought of the more expensive uniforms of his own crew.

The telegram was prepared. Mr. Wright signed it and sent it away. Then he hastened to his office to prepare his own advertising matter.

As the Gridley girls were nowhere to be seen about the grounds, Dick did not inquire for them. Instead he and his chums hurried back to the lake, where they put in another hour in hard practice. Prescott kept his crew out on the lake, in about the middle, where his low—-spoken directions could not be heard from the shore.

"Are we going to win, now?" asked Dan Dalzell.

"How can we help it, when we are to wear such dazzling uniforms?" queried Reade.

"We've got to do a lot of hard work tomorrow, and on Saturday morning," Dave added. "I doubt if we yet paddle anywhere near the Preston High School performance."

"We'll work hard to-morrow," Dick agreed, "but after that we will have to be satisfied with what we've done. Saturday morning we don't want to do any hard work. Just enough exercise to keep our muscles supple for the real fray of the afternoon."

"We ought to stay out longer now," urged Hazelton.

"Do you fellows think so?" asked Dick thoughtfully. "It seems to me that we've done enough hard canoe work for to-day. We don't want to go stale from too much training."

"But we can't—-we mustn't lose the race on Saturday," almost groaned Dave Darrin.

"Then we'll do better not to overtrain," said Dick quietly. "Unless I hear a big kick I'm going to turn the canoe toward our camp."

There was no objection, though some of the members of Dick & Co. frowned slightly. They had great confidence in Dick's judgment, yet he seemed to them over cautious in training.

"I wish it were Saturday night," murmured Tom Reade, lying on the grass full length, after they had landed.

"So that you'd know how it feels to be licked and to have your school licked, too?" inquired Danny Grin.

"Stop that talk!" ordered Tom gruffly. "We're not going to be beaten. We'd hardly dare show our faces again in Gridley if Preston High School took us into camp."

"Then how will the Preston fellows feel if we distance 'em?" Greg inquired.

"Oh, it won't matter as much over at Preston," Tom replied coolly. "Preston hasn't such a big reputation for winning athletic events as Gridley has."

"The more I think of it," muttered Dave, "the more I marvel at our cheek. We are barely more than freshmen. As yet we've entered the sophomore class only by promotion. Yet we get away from home and immediately start in to fight under the Gridley colors, just as though we were real juniors or seniors! My, but I'll hate myself if we get walloped Saturday afternoon!"

"We'd all dislike ourselves," smiled Dick Prescott calmly. "That is why we haven't any thought of allowing ourselves to be beaten, either by Preston or Trentville."

"I wonder if Trentville is as good as Preston?" asked Tom curiously.

"We can't tell until we see them work," suggested Greg.

"Who's going to eat, and when?" asked Dan. That started the crowd to making preparations for the camp supper. It was prepared in good time, and six healthy boys sat down to enjoy it. After that came a period of blissful idleness. Then, more or less reluctantly, the youngsters set about washing the dishes and setting the camp straight in general.

"Better throw some wood on the fire; it's getting pretty dark," suggested Dick. "I'll get the lantern and light it."

Gr-r-r-r-r! came the voice of Towser, in the near distance. It was followed by barks and yelps, all in the voice of Hazelton's bull-dog.

"What trouble has the pup gotten into?" demanded Harry, throwing an armful of wood on the campfire, then wheeling sharply.

Gr-r-r-r! Wow-wow! Woof! sounded closer at hand, accompanied by considerable noise in the underbrush.

"That pup's in trouble," declared Tom sagely. "Come along, fellows! Bring the lantern, Dick!"

Six boys, headed by Dick with the lantern, went to meet the bull-dog. They came upon Towser, growling in a most excited manner, threshing something about him in the bushes as he came toward them.

"Hold still, boy!" commanded Harry. "What is it, old chap?"

Then he came upon the dog. In the darkness it was not easy to make out what ailed Towser. But Prescott came closer to the dog with the lantern.

"Towser has his foot caught in a steel trap. I'm afraid his leg is broken," quivered Hazelton, as he threw himself on the ground beside his pet. "Hold still, boy! Let me take it off of you."

The dog permitted himself to be held while Tom Reade pried open the jaws of the steel fox trap, the chain to which the pup had dragged over the ground.

"That's a queer accident," commented Greg Holmes.

"Accident?" flamed Harry. "This thing is no accident. It was done on purpose, and I wouldn't need but one guess to name the two-legged cur that did this!"

All of the boys understood at once that Hazelton was accusing Fred Ripley of setting the trap.

Towser, as soon as released, limped a little, but proved that his leg was not broken, though it had been cut in the trap.

"Woof!" he exploded angrily, as soon as he found that he could run about on his injured leg. Then, showing his teeth, he growled menacingly and bounded through the woods, Dick & Co. following pell-mell.

"Towser knows that his enemy is still near!" called Harry exultantly. "Come on, fellows! We'll catch that sneak!"

A bull-dog's strong point is not his scent. He led the boys to the roadway, then halted, growling, plainly at fault.

Perched up in a tree not fifty yards away, well hidden by the foliage, were Fred Ripley and another youth. For a few moments they listened breathlessly to the pursuit, then appeared to feel more at their ease.

"You didn't work the trap trick quite right," whispered Fred to the youth in overalls beside him.

"Better luck next time," whispered back the stranger. "But no matter. I see how we can fix the canoe so that it couldn't win a race against a mudscow!"



CHAPTER XIX

WHAT AILED GRIDLEY?

"There's an automobile full of Gridley folks coming up to the lake to-day!" cried Susie Sharp excitedly as she ran to meet her girl friends at the landing stage.

"How do you know?" asked Laura eagerly.

"Mr. Wright has just received a telephone message, asking that arrangements be made to give them supper here. They're going back in the evening."

"Dick will be so pleased!" cried Laura. "All of our boys will be delighted, I imagine," replied Susie dryly.

"Of course; that is what I meant," explained Laura, flushing slightly.

"I know. You think that Dick Prescott is the only boy at Lake Pleasant," teased Miss Sharp.

"Stop that!" begged Clara Marshall. "Don't talk nonsense."

At one end of the float lay the "Pathfinder." At the other end lay the "Scalp-hunter," as shining as a thorough overhauling and a coating of oil could make her.

Over the latter canoe the Gridley High School girls had posted themselves as a sort of guard of honor.

Not that there was any suspicion that either of the canoes would be tampered with. High school and college sports are "clean." No underhanded tricks are resorted to by competitors for the sake of winning.

In the boathouse near by sat the members of both crews, mingling on the most friendly terms. With them were some of the officials of the race.

Dotted along the water front of the hotel grounds were many little groups of waiting spectators in chairs, on campstools or sitting on the grass.

In the morning buoys had been set on the lake at each end of a measured course. The course was to be a mile, around the upper buoy and returning to the starting line. The usual rules of boat and canoe racing were to apply as to clear water, fouling and the like, as well as the right of way at the upper buoy in case the rival canoes were close together.

"It's half-past two o'clock now," announced the starter, glancing at his watch.

"At two-forty," stated the referee, "I shall order both canoes into the water. As soon after that as each crew captain chooses he may put his men aboard and take such warming-up work as he may wish. At two-fifty-six the first gun will be fired, and both crews must come promptly to the judges' boat for alignment. At exactly three the second shot will be fired—-the starting signal. Has either captain any questions to ask?"

Neither captain had any questions.

"Let me know, time-keeper, when it is two-forty," said the referee, going toward the door. "Both captains will be on the alert to avoid delays."

As the referee glanced out he saw that at least four hundred spectators were on hand. Two stage loads of men, woman, boys and girls had already arrived from Preston. Trentville also had sent a delegation.

"What's all that yelling with 'Gridley' in it?" cried Dick, jumping up and moving toward the door.

He was followed by his chums. They reached the float in time to see the automobile bus from Gridley coming down to the water front. In it were some thirty people of all ages.

"Oh, you Prescott!" yelled one irrepressible young man, through a megaphone. "Don't you dare make fools of us this afternoon! Gridley must win!"

"Don't worry!" Dick shouted back, waving his hand. "Gridley is going to win!"

"Yes, sirree!" called Bob Hartwell, laughingly. "Preston High School guarantees Gridley to be a winner—-for second place!"

People now came crowding down upon the float to such an extent that Mr. Wright had to use the services of four hotel employs in coaxing them to keep back out of the way of the crews.

"No further admittance to the float, ladies and gentlemen!" called the hotel manager. "Keep it clear for the use of the crews!"

"Remember, Prescott," shouted a voice, "nothing but a win!"

"That's the Gridley way," Dick called back.

"Crew captains!" shouted the referee. "Ready to launch your craft! Time for a bit of preliminary practice."

"Take hold and launch!" cried Bob Hartwell, running forward.

Over into the water went the Preston High School canoe with a splash. The Preston boys began to fill their places.

"Gridley, stand by to launch!" called Prescott, "Slide her in, easily!"

As graceful as a thing of life the big war canoe slipped into the water, then lay there like a swan. Dave Darrin took hold of the bow-line, the pretty craft resting lightly against the float.

"Aren't you going to take your men out and warm them up, Prescott?" asked Referee Tyndall.

"No, sir; only for the last five minutes. We want only work enough to start the blood to moving well."

So only Dave stood by the canoe. Hatless, the Gridley High School boys paced up and down the float, awaiting word from Big Chief Prescott before embarking.

"I wish Dick would put our boys to work at once," murmured Belle uneasily. "Look what a fine showing Bob Hartwell's Preston fellows are making out there."

In truth the Preston boys were making a splendid showing with their brisk, steady, sturdy paddling. Many a cheer went up from shore for them.

"Time for us, Gridley," announced Prescott, when some minutes had passed.

Alertly his chums sprang to their posts. In a twinkling they were seated, each with his paddle in hand, holding lightly to the float.

"Shove off," said Dick, in a very low voice. As the "Scalp-hunter" started for the middle of the lake a wild Gridley yell broke loose.

But none of the boys paid heed. Each had his ears alert only for the orders of the captain.

Somehow, as the canoe moved out, each one had the same feeling. The "Scalp-hunter" was not moving quite as it should do.

"There is at least one of you fellows who isn't doing all he should, or just as he should," Dick murmured quietly. "Which one is it?"

There was no immediate response, though all five of the boys gave renewed attention to their work. Still, all of them had the same uneasy impression that there "was a screw loose somewhere."

"It's just as though we had a drag holding us back," Dick muttered disappointedly.

"Perhaps it's only because we're not quite warmed up yet," Tom hinted.

"No; it isn't that," Prescott responded. "I wish I knew just what does ail us. Take the second speed, fellows, and each of you watch his dip and recovery. Remember, it's the disciplined paddling that wins a canoe race."

At the next speed they went forward a little faster, to be sure. Yet there was a decided lack of speed or a pull-back somewhere.

"Don't lose your nerve, Gridley!" floated Hartwell's voice over the water as the Preston canoe shot by at a wind-jamming speed.

"Want a tow, Gridley?" hailed someone from shore.

"Next speed, fellows! Hit it up hard," called Dick Prescott. Perspiration from extreme nervousness broke out on his forehead.

Strive as he would, the crew captain of the Gridleys could not shake off the gloomy depression that assailed him. Something was wrong—-radically wrong! The "Scalp-hunter" was not showing a winning gait!

"Best speed—-and work, fellows!" called Dick, as quietly as ever, though in his voice there was a note almost of despair.

Now, indeed, the Gridley craft sped through the water. Yet all of her crew, and many people on shore, realized that the war canoe was not showing a prize-taking gait.

How Dick, Dave, Tom and the others worked, bending all their energies to the task! Yet all felt the same awful doubts.

Bang! The first gun had sounded.

"Down to the line, fellows!" Dick called. "Put in all the steam you can. I was wrong not to have warmed you up before. Get your blood to moving. One, two, three, four! Hump it! Hump it!"

Their bodies streaming with perspiration, breath coming fast, their faces deeply flushed, Dick & Co. bent to their paddling. They were moving fast, yet not as fast as they should be moving and back.

"What on earth can ail our boys?" cried Laura Bentley anxiously as she watched.

"They're moving fast," replied Clara Marshall.

"Yet not the way they should move," Laura insisted. "There's nothing about them of the easy, brisk form that Preston High School shows to-day."

"Don't hint at defeat!" shuddered Belle Meade. "We might be able to stand a Gridley defeat, but the boys couldn't."

Preston's canoe now rested on the water, ready to be aligned at the referee's order. Gridley's craft seemed to be straining as she neared the line.

Suddenly three sharp, short, shrill blasts sounded from the whistle of the judges' launch.

"Prescott!" roared the referee.

"Now, what's up, I wonder?" Dick asked himself, with another sinking feeling at heart.

The judges' boat was making fast time toward the Gridley High School entry.



CHAPTER XX

"DINKY-BAT! HOT SAIL!"

"Captain Prescott, what is wrong with your boat?" demanded Referee Tyndall, as the judges' launch stole up close.

"Something seems to be wrong with us, I'll admit, sir," Dick made answer. "I'll be greatly obliged to you, sir, if you'll tell me what it is.

"What are you towing?" asked the referee bluntly.

"Towing?" repeated Dick in bewilderment.

"That's what I asked," repeated the referee. "When you came down on this last spurt I'm sure that at one moment I saw a length of line rise above the water astern of you. Then, further back, I saw something else jerked to the surface."

"Why, we can't be towing anything," Dick insisted. "You saw our canoe launched."

"Late start, if you don't line the canoes up at once, referee," warned the time-keeper.

But Mr. Tyndall had his own views.

"The starting time will be delayed," he announced sharply. "Captain Prescott, take your canoe to the landing stage."

"All right, sir."

"Captain Hartwell you will follow."

"Very good, sir."

Going in to the landing stage Dick gave his crew an easy pace, yet they were soon alongside the float.

"Now, take your canoe out of water, Gridley," commanded the referee, stepping ashore from the launch. "I want a look at the craft."

Dick & Co. lifted the war canoe to the float bow first. Just as the stern cleared the water a cry went up from scores of throats.

For the referee had grasped a line made fast to the bottom of the canoe near the stern.

Hauling on that line he brought in several yards of it—-then, at the outer end of the line came a light blanket, dripping. Through the middle of the blanket the end of the line had been secured.

Dick Prescott gasped. His chums rubbed their eyes. Bob Hartwell, who had landed, looked on in utter consternation.

"For the love of decency!" gasped Referee Tyndall. "Who rigged on a drag like that."

The blanket, towing below the surface, was a drag that could be depended upon, perhaps, to delay the canoe at least one length in every dozen that her crew could put her through the water.

"None of our fellows did that trick," Dick declared hotly. "You saw us launch our canoe, Mr. Referee, and she was clear when we launched her."

"I naturally wouldn't suspect the Gridley crew of rigging a drag on the Gridley canoe," remarked the referee dryly, as he followed the line back to the canoe. "See! Some scoundrel managed to twist a screw-eye into one of your frame timbers underneath. The line is made fast to the screw-eye. Captain Prescott, that could have been done by someone hidden under this float while your craft lay alongside. He could bring his mouth above water, under the timbers of this float. Then, with his hand and arm hidden under water the same rascal could easily reach out and fasten in the screw-eye."

"Prescott," gasped Bob Hartwell, in a disgusted voice, "I hope you don't believe that any of our fellows, or their friends, could be guilty of such contemptible work!"

"Hartwell," Dick answered promptly, resting a hand on the arm of the Preston High School boy, "I am offended that you should believe us capable of suspecting Preston High School of anything as mean as this. Of course we don't suspect Preston High School!"

The referee himself now twisted the screw-eye out of its bed in the canoe frame. Then he gathered up the wet cord and blanket and hurled the whole mass shoreward.

"I'd pay twenty-five dollars out of my own pocket," the race official declared hotly, "for proof against the scoundrel who tried to spoil clean sport in this manner!"

Nearly all of the crowd of spectators had now surged down close to the float.

"I think we could make a pretty good guess at who is behind this contemptible business," snarled Danny Grin, his face, for once, darkened by a threatening frown.

"Who did it?" challenged Referee Tyndall. Dalzell opened his mouth, but Prescott broke in sharply with the command:

"Be silent, Dan! Don't mention a name when you haven't proof."

"Can it possibly be anyone from Preston?" asked Hartwell anxiously. "If it is, I beg you, Dalzell, to let me have the name—-privately, if need be. I'd spend the summer running down this thing."

"I know whom Dalzell has in mind, Hartwell," Dick rejoined. "It's no one from within a good many miles of Preston, either. But we have no right to make accusation without an iota of proof."

"Then you decline to allow the name to be furnished?" blurted the referee.

"I refuse, sir, for the same reason that you would," Dick answered coolly. "Only a coward, a knave or a fool will accuse another person without some reasonable proof to offer. No great harm has been done, anyway. The drag was found in time."

"Get your canoe out, Hartwell," ordered Mr. Tyndall. "This time, when we launch them, we'll make sure that both craft are in good order."

When the "Pathfinder" was hauled up on the float she was found to be free from any evidences of trickery.

"Now, launch, and we'll watch each canoe until it puts off," announced Mr. Tyndall. "Captain Prescott, will ten minutes be enough for you before the sounding of the first gun?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'd rather you gave Gridley plenty of time, sir," urged Bob Hartwell. "If we can't win from Gridley High School fairly, we don't want to win at all."

"First gun, then, at three-twenty-eight," called Mr. Tyndall. "Second gun at three-thirty."

Slowly the "Pathfinder" followed the "Scalp-hunter" out into midlake.

"How does your craft go now, Gridley?" hailed the big chief from Preston.

"She goes like a canoe now," Dick called back joyously.

Then he set his chums to easy paddling. All six of Dick & Co. felt a thrill of joy at realizing the difference in the canoe's behavior.

"We'll win, all right," predicted Prescott joyously.

"If we don't, we'll make motions that look like putting up a hard fight, anyway," Tom answered him.

"I wish I had my foot on the neck of the cur that rigged the drag!" muttered Darrin vindictively.

"I don't," Dick answered quietly. "The fellow who rigged the drag probably wasn't the same fellow who planned the scheme."

"I'm going to provoke a fight with a certain party, one of these days, anyway," threatened Dave, his brow dark with anger.

"Forget it now," Dick urged. "The fellow whose mind is ruled by an angry passion isn't in the best form for athletic work. Banish all unpleasant thoughts, all of you fellows."

By degrees the big chief from Gridley warmed up his braves in the war canoe. He had them going in earnest, at nearly their best speed, just as the first gun was fired—-a pistol in the hand of the starter on board the judges' boat.

"We'll go over there in our best style," Prescott called. "Try to give the people on shore something worth looking at—-they've waited long enough to see something! One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four!"

In absolute precision the Gridley High School boys moved at their work, their swift, deft, strong strokes sending the birch bark craft darting over the water in a fashion that brought a cheer from shore.

"Deep breathing just as soon as we're at rest at the line," Dick warned his chums. "At the start try to make the first breath carry you for four strokes!"

In a short time the referee had the canoes with their noses at the line, and at an interval from each other satisfactory to him.

"Thirty seconds to the start!" called the time-keeper. "Twenty seconds!"

In the Gridley canoe each boy sat bent slightly forward, his paddle raised at the proper position.

"Ten seconds!" called the starter. Then——-

Bang! Away shot the canoes. Over all other sounds could be heard Dick's low-toned:

"One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four!"

The Preston boys heard him, and Dick noted, with amusement, that they unconsciously adapted their own stroke to his count.

"Cut that numeral business," grunted Bob Hartwell, across the water. "You're queering our fellows."

"They mustn't listen to our signals," Dick laughed back. "One, two, three, four!"

"Come on, fellows; get ahead of that Gridley crowd, where we can't hear 'em," urged Hartwell. "Hanky pank!"

At that the Preston canoe managed to get a slight lead. Dick did not vary his count, however. He had no objection to being led slightly to the upper buoy.

Soon, however, Preston High School made the distance two lengths. Dick began to count a bit faster.

"Put a little more steam on, fellows," he urged.

So the gap was closed up somewhat. But Hartwell, glancing back, called:

"Mumbleby hoptop!"

Whatever that signal meant the Preston boys were now paddling a stronger and slightly swifter stroke. Dick, too, increased the stroke.

Despite it all, however, Preston was now securing more and more of a lead by almost imperceptible gains. Dave Darrin, in the bow seat of the war canoe, eyed the water interval between the two canoes with a frowning glance.

"More steam!" Dick urged. As the Gridley canoe went creeping up on the rival craft, Hartwell muttered another of his ridiculous code signals.

"Preston hasn't let itself out yet, and we're next door to panting already," Tom Reade told himself, with a sinking heart. "We were fools to enter as a school crew without more practice!"

At this time Dick Prescott was the only one in the war canoe who serenely ignored all doubts. Of course he couldn't be sure that he would win. In fact, all the chances appeared against him. But the absurd habit, as it seemed to others, of feeling that Gridley could not be beaten, was strong upon him.

More than half way to the upper buoy Preston High School led by more than two lengths.

"Get on, Gridley! Get on! Do something!" came the distant yet distinct yells from shore. Many spectators, in carriages, or on bicycles, were following the rival crews.

"Prescott, what ails you?" came a wailing cry from shore.

There were other discouraging calls, too. Had Dick been less strong in his faith in Dick & Co. he might have gone to pieces under the nagging.

Bob Hartwell, glancing smilingly back over one shoulder, saw the Gridley boys working.

"We've got 'em stung, fellows," called the Preston High School big chief to his crew. "Take it easy, but don't let 'em gain anything. We won't try to increase the lead until we're on the last half of the home stretch."

A hundred and fifty yards from the upper buoy Dick passed the word:

"Now, hump a bit. We want to worry 'em as we get to the buoy. Make it hot for Preston! One, two, three, four!"

Some of that distance was covered. As Preston rounded the buoy Hartwell and his crew came face to face with Gridley, about to round it.

"One, two, three, four!" almost drawled Dick. He had already passed the signal to his own men, not one of whom obeyed his slow count, but on the other hand, Preston High School for the space of about fifteen seconds, slowed to that crawling count.

"Brace up, you dubs! Paddle!" roared Hartwell. "Never mind that funeral march. Dipperty-dip!"

Preston recovered from its brief trance and shot ahead. But Gridley was already around the buoy and coming fast.

Half way home from the upper buoy found Preston going strongly, two and a half lengths ahead of Gridley High School.

"Oh, you, Prescott, get up and run!" came the dismal, desperate advice from shore.

As he mentally measured the distance, now, to the finishing line, Dick Prescott's eyes flashed.

"Now, your reserve power, fellows!" he called in a low, tense voice. "Make every stroke count! Full muscle! Never mind your backs! One, two, three, four!"

A splendid showing Gridley made. Soon the lead of the rivals was less than two lengths.

"Steam-ho!" called Hartwell. "Hot sail!"

Preston's paddles flashed in the sunlight in unison, in the best, swiftest stroke they had yet shown. Over on shore the Preston boosters let their lungs loose in cheering yells.

"Wait for a tugboat, Prescott!"

"You're up against the real thing, Gridley!"

"Come on in, Hartwell! The other canoe is tied to the shore!"

"More steam!" ordered Dick. "More steam! Your best, prize winning stroke now."

Again Hartwell glanced backward. Now the prow of the war canoe was less than half a length from the stern of the Preston craft.

Up and up it came. Hartwell, in a burst of energy, shouted his prize signal:

"Dinky-bat! Hot sail!"

The new spurt carried Preston High School ahead once more.



CHAPTER XXI

NATURE HAS A DISMAL STREAK

"Come on, Prescott!"

"Or else sink!"

"Don't come back to Gridley!"

The cries from shore, as the Gridley boosters noted the effects of the fine Preston work, were not encouraging.

"Preston High School wins!"

Indeed, it looked as though Hartwell's craft must be the winner. Shorter and shorter became the distance to the finish line.

True, Big Chief Dick was bringing his prow close up to the stern of the "Pathfinder" once more, but Preston evidently had a little reserve steam left as yet.

"Go it, Hartwell! Go it! You win! Hurrah!"

Suddenly over the water traveled Dick Prescott's command:

"Now, then, Gridley! Break your backs!"

This time there was no counting, nor was there any need of any. From Dave back to Dick all six bent their full strength and wind to the task of making the "Scalp-hunter" dart over the water. It was a grueling, killing pace that Dick had set for his crew, but it did not need to last long. The finish line was close at hand.

Hartwell saw the "Scalp-hunter's prow steal up on a level with the centre of his own canoe.

"Go it, fellows—-one last, big spurt!" he yelled.

A sudden yell from shore told another story. The war canoe's nose was now six feet further along than the bow of the Preston canoe.

"Come on, Dick! Come on! Come on!"

"Speed! The last swift dash!" yelled Dick Prescott. "Bend to it!"

Hartwell tried to call to his crew, but could not make himself heard. The yelling from the shore, and from the boats nearby drowned out all other sounds.

The two canoes seemed to be rivaling express trains in their speed. Then the cheers of one faction drowned the groans of the other.

Gridley High School had shot across the finish line by a length and a half lead over Preston High School.

Just as the "Pathfinder" left the line astern there came from the Preston craft a sound like the report of a pistol.

One of the Preston braves had snapped his paddle off just above the blade.

As the "Scalp-hunter" swung about, Dick saw that broken-off blade floating on the water.

"I'm glad that paddle didn't snap until you had crossed the line," Dick panted. "If it had, the real result would have been in doubt."

"Your crew won, Prescott!" called Bob Hart well in a husky voice. "Congratulations!"

"Thank you," returned Dick. "You're surely a generous enemy."

"Rivals, this afternoon, but enemies never!" protested young Hartwell.

Now a blast from the whistle of the launch recalled the two canoes. Standing in the bow of the launch, Referee Tyndall announced so that those on shore might hear plainly:

"Gridley wins by a length and a half!" From the shore came a wild cheer. There was also a frenzied waving of handkerchiefs and of parasols. Though the Gridley boosters might be few in number, they were great in enthusiasm.

As the "Pathfinder" started in for the landing float a crowd made a rush to meet the canoes. It was not, however, the Preston craft, that the crowd wanted, for this was a Gridley crowd.

Noting the fact with his keen eyes, Dick gave the word for easy paddling. Then he swung the war canoe about, heading toward camp.

That proved not at all to the crowd's liking.

"Come back, Prescott! This way, Gridley! We want you!"

"Why don't you land, Dick?" queried Tom Reade.

"What! Land at the mercy of that crowd!" exclaimed Prescott. "That is a Gridley crowd. They're so pleased over our winning that what they'd do to us might be worse than what they'd have done if we had lost."

"Where are you going?" asked Dave, somewhat disappointed.

"Camp is good enough for us, I guess. It's a safe place, anyway," Prescott replied.

A few minutes later the "Scalp-hunter" touched lightly on the beach in front of camp.

Towser greeted them with a joyous bark.

"So you've been watching the race instead of the camp, have you?" demanded Tom, eyeing the dog in mock reproach.

"Oh, but I'm tired!" muttered Darrin, after they had beached the canoe. "This green grass looks inviting."

He threw himself down at full length on the grass.

"Up, for yours," commanded Dick, grasping him by one arm and pulling Dave to his feet. "Don't you know that your blood is almost at fever heat after the strain of the race? Do you want to get a chill that will keep the whole camp up to-night?"

"I want to lie down," muttered Darrin. "And I want to sleep."

"Then get off your racing clothes, put on your other clothes, then roll yourself well in your blankets and lie down in the tent," Dick ordered. "That's what I'm going to do."

Now that the strain was over every member of Dick & Co. found himself so weary that the putting on of ordinary clothes was a process which proceeded slowly. After a while, however, all six had rolled themselves in their blankets and lay on the leaf-piled floor of the tent.

All but Dick and Harry were asleep, presently, when an automobile stopped near the camp.

"Anyone at home?" called Referee Tyndall, poking his head in past the flap of the tent and viewing the recumbent lads. "All here? That's good. I'm a committee of one, sent over here by the Gridley folks at the hotel. They're ordering a supper and they want you boys to come over promptly. You're to be the guests of honor."

"Will you be good enough to present the Gridley people with our best thanks," returned Dick promptly, rising to greet the referee, "and ask them very kindly to excuse us? Assure them, please, that we're in strict training, with more races to come, and that banquets would perhaps spoil us for the next race."

"I'm afraid I'll have difficulty in getting that message through," protested Mr. Tyndall. "Your Gridley friends are bound to have you over at the hotel."

"They can't get us there with anything less than the state militia," declared Dave, who had awakened. "We can fight and whip any smaller body of armed men that tries to drag us away from our rest. Our friends are good to us but can't they understand that we ache?"

"You do look rather played out," assented Mr. Tyndall, after surveying the various wrapped bundles of high school boy humanity. "But can't you raise enough energy to come over in an hour?"

"If the Gridley people are really our friends," protested Tom Reade, opening his eyes, "they'll let us sleep through until to-morrow morning. We nearly killed our tender young selves in that last big spurt, and now we must rest our bones and aching muscles."

"But what can I tell the folks at the hotel?" begged Mr. Tyndall.

"Tell 'em that we appreciate their kindness," laughed Dick.

"All right. I'll tell them—-something," murmured Mr. Tyndall, as he turned away.

"Up, all of you fellows!" commanded Dick Prescott. "This doesn't look very gracious on our part, when an entertainment has been arranged for us. We'll go, and attend to our aches to-morrow." But when the referee of the afternoon noted how stiffly they all moved he found himself filled with compassion.

"Don't you try to come over, boys," he urged. "You're too stiff and sore to-night. Some people, myself included, don't realize that fifteen-year-old boys haven't the bodily stamina of men of twenty-five. You did a splendid bit of work this afternoon, and now you're entitled to your rest."

"We'll get over there, somehow," Dick promised.

"No; you won't. Don't you try it. The Gridley visitors would be brutes to try to drag you out to-night. I shan't let you go, and I shall tell the home folks that you're enjoying a well-won rest."

"But don't you let any of the Preston High School fellows know how crippled you found us," begged Dave Darrin.

"What would you care, if I did?" laughed Mr. Tyndall. "You fellows won the race, didn't you? And I'll wager that the Preston boys are feeling a whole lot worse than you are. Don't come! Good night."

"Tyndall is a brick to let us off," sighed Tom gratefully, as he sank down once more.

Later on Dick & Co. emerged from the tent, started a fire, and had supper, though they did not pay great attention to the meal.

"I wouldn't want to race every day," grunted Reade, as he squatted near the fire after supper.

"If we did," Dick retorted, "we'd speedily get over these aches and this stiffness."

For an hour or so the boys remained about the fire. Dan Dalzell was the first to slip away to his blankets. Hazelton followed. Then the movement became general. Soon all were sound asleep.

Nor did any sounds reach or disturb them for hours. Not one of the sleepers stirred enough to know that the sky gradually became overcast and that there was a distant rumbling of thunder.

Hardly had the campfire burned down into the general blackness of the night when an automobile runabout, moving slowly and silently, stole along the roadway.

In it sat the son of Squire Ripley. Fred, having brooded for hours over the failure of his scheme to make Dick & Co. lose the canoe race, had at last decided to pay a stealthy, nocturnal visit to the camp of the boys he disliked, with the express purpose of doing whatever mischief his hands might find to do.

His father's family car and automobile runabout were both at the hotel garage, and at his disposal. Soon Fred Ripley was speeding away over the country road in the automobile runabout.

As he neared the camp he extinguished the running lights, then went on slowly so as to make no noise. At last he stopped the car.

Gr-r-r-r! came out of the darkness. Faithful Towser was still at his post. He came forward slowly, suspiciously out of the darkness. He may have recognized his enemy, for Towser came close to the car, showing his teeth in an ugly fashion.

Fred lost no time in starting his car forward. "I wish that pup would have the nerve to get in front of the car," he muttered as he drove slowly away from the camp. "What fun it would be to run over the brute! I don't dare to get out of the car while he's on guard. I forgot about him for the time being, though goodness knows I've cause to remember him."

Towser uttered one or two farewell growls. Two hundred yards further on Fred let out the speed in earnest, at the same time switching on the electric running lights.

"I'll come back late to-night," Fred reflected. "I'll leave the machine a little way down the road, and come up here on foot. In the meantime I'll think of some scheme to get square with Dick Prescott and his crowd. I'll hunt up a good stout club, too, and then if that confounded dog is troublesome I'll settle him."

For an hour or more Fred ran the car at random over one country road after another.

"I wonder if that pup ever goes to sleep," he muttered. "I'd really like to know. If I'm going back that way to-night I'd better be turning about, for there is a bad storm coming."

Turning the car, he drove swiftly back again. In about twenty minutes he reached a part of the road directly above the camp.

Overhead the lightning was flashing brightly. Heavy thunder followed each flash. Large drops of rain were falling, but Fred, bent on his evil errand, did not mind. At any rate he was not afraid of lightning. Aided by the flashes he searched along the side of the road until he found a branch of a tree that he shaped into a club with his knife.

"I won't wake Prescott's muckers," he reflected, "and I want to be sure to attract the dog's notice if he is on guard."

A broad, white streak of lightning showed the tent from the road as Ripley, armed with the club, drew nearer to it.

Fred halted. "They're all asleep, the muckers!" he muttered. "I'm glad of that. Where is that dog? Why doesn't he come around? I'm ready for him now."

Fred stole stealthily along, keeping a sharp lookout for the bull-dog.

Suddenly the sky was rent by a vivid flash of lightning so glaring that the lawyer's son covered his eyes with his hands.

Bang! Crash! Almost instantly the thunder followed the flash.

"It's time to be getting out of here if I don't want to get drowned on the way back to the hotel," Ripley decided. "I'll have to postpone getting square with Prescott. Besides, the storm will waken those fellows and I don't want to be caught here."

There came another flash, that descended near the water. The crashing noise of the thunder came at the same instant.

Fred, facing the tent, saw the bolt strike the ridge pole. Evidently the current ran down one of the poles, for he saw the bluish white electric fluid running over the ground, coming from inside the tent. The tent sagged, then fell.

"Gracious!" shivered this evil traveler of the night. "It will be a wonder if that bolt didn't stretch them all out. I wonder if it killed Dick Prescott and his crowd?"

Uncontrollable curiosity seized upon Fred. Turning about he ran toward the tent. Violently he tugged at the canvas. As he lifted it another sharp flash showed him the six Gridley High School boys lying motionless in a row.

"The lightning did finish them!" gasped young Ripley, overcome with fright and awe.



CHAPTER XXII

FRED IS GRATEFUL—-ONE SECOND!

For some moments Fred Ripley stood there, spellbound, regarding the still figures of Dick & Co. with fascinated fear.

Most of the time he stood in darkness, but as the flashes of lightning came he again saw the six motionless figures. Even the fearful crashes of thunder failed to arouse the sleepers.

"Oh, this is grewsome!" gasped Ripley at last, the coward in him coming to the surface strongly. "I can't stand this any longer!"

Unconsciously he spoke aloud, his voice rising to a wail. Then as he let the folds of canvas fall, a voice inside called angrily:

"Quit that! I want to get out."

It was Dave Darrin's voice, and Dave was the quickest-tempered one of the six boys.

Fred knew that it behooved him to get away from the spot at once. There was a wriggling under the canvas. Ripley turned to flee.

Gr-r-r-r! Towser stood barring his path.

"Hurry up, Darrin!" appealed Fred, as Towser moved closer, showing his teeth. "Hurry! Or this dog will chew me up."

"Who's there?" called Darrin, thrusting his head out of the collapsed tent, then drawing the rest of his body after.

Another flash of lightning showed Ripley's frightened face.

"Oh, you, is it?" uttered Dave in a tone full of scorn.

"Hurry and quiet this bull-dog!" the lawyer's son insisted.

"Don't worry," retorted Darrin calmly. "Towser wouldn't sink his teeth very deep in you! He's a self-respecting dog."

Now that one of the members of the canoe club was on the spot, the bull pup displayed less ferocity. He contented himself with eyeing Fred, ready to spring at a second's notice.

"What has happened?" demanded Dave, looking rather bewilderedly at the tent.

"Your shack was struck by lightning," Fred answered glibly, and then, ever ready to lie, he added, "I was passing by in the car, in a hurry to get back to the hotel, and I saw the thing happen. The lightning ran along the ridge-pole, then down into the tent and out at the sides along the ground. I'm afraid same of your fellows have been struck. At first I thought all of you had been killed, so I ran down here to investigate."

But Dave paid little heed to the last part of this statement. He had seized hold of one side of the canvas, holding it up.

"Dick!" he called lustily. "Tom, Greg, Dan, Harry!"

There was no response. The thunder continued to boom louder than ever.

"Hold this canvas up," Dave Darrin ordered sharply, and Ripley, knowing that Towser was eyeing him, obeyed. Inside crawled Darrin, shaking each of his friends in turn and calling to them.

"I can't wake 'em! I can't get 'em to speak," reported Darrin, crawling out again, his face white with anguish. "I'm afraid they've been——-"

"Yes," nodded Ripley, in a hoarse voice. "They're dead!"

"How did you say you got here?" demanded Dave suddenly. "In a car?"

"Yes."

"Then we'll prop the canvas up to let air inside the tent, and then you'll drive me to the Hotel Pleasant as fast as you can go!"

"Maybe I won't," jeered Fred.

"Maybe you will," retorted Dave Darrin indignantly. His voice rang with righteous contempt. "Either you'll stand by at a time like this, or I'll fall upon you tooth and nail—-with the very able help of the dog!"

Gr-r-r-r! approved Towser, again showing his teeth.

"I—-I'll take you!" quavered Ripley.

"Of course you will," nodded Darrin. "Wait till I see if the lantern is all right."

He crawled into the tent, found the lantern and struck a match. Curiously enough the lantern had not been injured. Placing the lantern outside, Darrin sharply commanded his chance companion to aid in propping the canvas so that those underneath could get air.

"Now, come along," ordered Darrin, when this had been done. "Towser, watch the—-the gentleman!"

Thus they started up the slope, when they heard a growl just ahead of them. In the same instant Towser, uttering a yelp, turned and darted away as fast as he could go.

"Now, we'll see whether you'll boss me," grunted Fred Ripley, brandishing the club that he held in his left hand. "Your dog is no good any more."

"Neither will you or I be any good any more if we don't keep our nerve," uttered Darrin quietly, as he turned the lantern's rays against the object in their path. "There's only one thing in the world Towser would run away from, and that's just what is ahead of us—-a mad dog!"

At this instant Fred, too, caught sight of the object in their path. A large dog, of doubtful breed, stood before them, its head down, but its bloodshot eyes watching them cunningly. It's dripping jaws carried conviction that the animal was rabid.

Fred did not cry out or stir. He was too frightened to do either. But Dave very stealthily put down the lantern. Then, his muscles wholly steady, he snatched up an eight-foot pole that lay on the ground.

"Now, come on, you beast!" challenged Darrin, making a slight thrust with the pole.

Enraged at the challenge, the rabid dog sprang forward, its mouth wide open. Without faltering, Dave made a thrust that jammed the pole hard into the animal's mouth.

Staggered by the blow, the dog fell back on its side. It never rose again, for now Darrin used the pole as a club, raining down blows upon the dangerous animal until he was sure that there was no life left in it.

"Darrin, that was wonderful nerve of yours!" gasped Fred with admiration wrung from him in spite of himself. "And you saved my life!"

"I wasn't thinking of that," said Dave grimly, as he picked up the lantern. "Don't you believe I'll ever brag about having saved your life. Now to the car, and be quick."

Fred, stung by the contemptuous answer, felt his resentment raging. He darted forward so swiftly that he might have been able to leap into the car and get away with it, had not something else happened.

For Towser, though he had run away from a rabid specimen of his own species, had circled about. Now he leaped into the automobile, growling, just as Fred would have sprung in.

"That's right, Towser. Hold the sneak!" called Dave, arriving on a run and leaping into the car. "Now, Ripley, hang you, do some quick and honest work!"

"Kick that dog out of the car first," pleaded Fred.

"I won't," Darrin retorted. "The dog is my guarantee for your good behavior to-night."

As soon as might be they ran around the lower end of the lake, then raced for the hotel.

There Dr. Bentley was aroused. While he was dressing he sent a bell-boy to order his own big car.

Just when Ripley vanished from the scene no one about the grounds or the hotel seemed to know or care.

Dr. Bentley, dressed in record time, came down.

"Now, we'll drive fast, Darrin," the doctor announced, as he dropped his bag into the car and seated himself at the wheel. "Struck by lightning, did you say? It was a fearful storm, but it is stopping now."

Ere they reached the camp the stars were out. There was no sign of nature's dangerous mood.

Dr. Bentley first of all ordered that the canvas be lifted and cast aside. The tent was badly wrecked and burned, though the rain had prevented the rising of flames that might have burned the bodies of the five unconscious boys.

"Throw your coat off, Darrin, and do the work of four men for a few minutes," said Dr. Bentley tersely.

"I'll do the work of a hundred," replied Dave, "if I can find the way."

After some minutes of hard work Tom Reade opened his eyes. Shortly after this the puffing of one of the hotel launches was heard. For the doctor, while hurrying into his clothes, had left word with Mrs. Bentley what to do. The launch brought another and much larger tent, with cots, bedding and other things, as well as four capable workmen.

Greg came to next. Neither he nor Reade, however, were good for much at the time. By the time that the new tent was up, and the cots arranged those who were still unconscious were carried in there. Then Greg and Tom were helped into the drier quarters.

It was Dick who longest resisted the efforts to bring him to consciousness. At last, however, he opened his eyes.

"It was a mercy that none of you were killed," uttered Dr. Bentley devoutly. "A little bit more of the current and you might have been done for."

But now that he had attended to his young friends, Dr. Bentley did not think of returning to the hotel. He remained through the night, despite the fact that his charges became steadily stronger and at last went sound asleep.

In the morning, before eight o'clock, the launch was over again on that side of the lake. This time it brought Mrs. Bentley, Mrs. Meade and the girls, as well as a lot of daintily prepared food fresh from the hotel kitchen.

"This is a mighty pleasant world!" sighed Dick Prescott, full of luxurious content.

"Yes when you have some good friends in the same world with you," Tom added.

Dave and Dan slipped away to remove the body of the rabid dog killed during the night.

The tent they had brought with them from Gridley would never be of service again, so Dick & Co. were highly delighted when informed that Manager Wright begged them to accept the use of this larger, finer tent, and also of the cots, during their stay at the lake.



CHAPTER XXIII

TRENTVILLE, THE AWESOME

As the "Scalp-hunter" swung around the upper buoy and headed down the course she had a lead of a clean two lengths over the Trentville High School canoe.

There was a larger crowd on the lake to-day and more steam and gasoline craft were out.

As Dick & Co. shot down the line, still leading, steam and pneumatic whistles broke forth into a noisy din.

Over on the western shore, on the grounds of the larger hotel, only one little knot of Gridley people stood to watch and cheer. These were the Bentleys, Mrs. Meade and the same group of girls that had watched the other race.

No excursion had come up from the home town to-day, for no one in Gridley had believed that their high school youngsters could defeat the seasoned Trentville High School canoe crew.

Only two days before Trentville had won from Preston High School by nearly five lengths.

What show was there for Dick & Co. or for Gridley High School?

Hence the smallness of the Gridley crowd present.

However, some hundreds of people who looked on were eager only to see the best crew win, as they had no ties binding them either to Gridley or to Trentville.

But the unexpected had happened.

In the first place, when the Trentville canoe and crew arrived at the lake Dick Prescott had insisted that Preston High School and Trentville High School race together first.

Thus he had opportunity to watch the Trentville work. Moreover, by delaying his own race against Trentville, Dick had had more time to train and drill his crew into form, both as to paddling and endurance.

He had profited well by these opportunities. To-day, from the outset, he had handled his crew so that a slight lead over Trentville had been maintained. This had been gradually increased, and now that the buoy had been turned with such a handsome lead, none on shore or in the other boats believed that Trentville High School had any further chance.

Pascal, however, who captained the Trentville canoe, had another view of the matter. It was Ted Pascal's third summer in a canoe. He had drilled more than one crew, and knew all the ins and outs of the sport.

"I guess Prescott thinks he has the whole thing, by this time," smiled Pascal to himself. "Poor chap. He's a nice young freshman, and I hate to fool him. But we'll soon begin our work. The Gridley crew must be well tired by now."

Presently Ted Pascal passed the word quietly over the heads of his perspiring but confident crew.

"Tighten up a little bit, now—-a little bit at a time," was the message Pascal gave his followers.

By the time that the home course had been half covered it was noted that the "Slip-over," as the Trentville craft was named, was creeping up fast on its rival.

Dick, too, quickly became aware of this.

"Trentville is showing a lot of new form, fellows, and coming right up on us," Dick called quietly. "This race isn't won! The fact, we're near to losing it. Form! form! muscle! Don't fumble again, Hazelton! One, two, three, four!"

But still the Trentville High School craft continued to creep up on them. The Gridley High School girls on shore became so anxious that they forgot to wave their handkerchiefs and cheer.

"More push! Power, as well as speed," Dick panted, for now the grueling speed was beginning to tell on even the leader of Dick & Co.

The prow of the "Slip-over" now passed the stern of the "Scalp-hunter." Reade saw this, too, and uttered a groan.

From the shore and the boats holding spectators came new volleys of cheers, for most of these spectators were wholly impartial, and wanted only to see an exciting race.

"Let yourself out, Gridley!" boomed a voice over the water.

Dick and Co. were doing their best—-or what amounted to much the same thing—-believed that they were, at any rate.

Yet the Trentville canoe crept steadily up, then led by a quarter length, a half length. It looked as though the Trentville crew would soon be a length ahead of the Gridley boys.

Everyone of Dick's chums was desperate. So was Dick himself, but he kept as cool as possible.

"Bring our prow up!" he called steadily. "No matter what happens, bring our prow up flush with Trentville!"

By some miracle the Gridley boys found strength enough left in their arms and backs to accomplish this feat.

Then the "Scalp-hunter" dropped behind again, an inch at a time.

"We caught 'em once!" called Dick in an even voice. "We must do it again. One, two, three, four! Hump! hump! Put in the power!"

By inches the "Scalp-hunter" crawled up, but Dick & Co. felt completely exhausted.

"You've been doing well, kid," called the even voice of Ted Pascal over the water, "but you can't do any more. We take this race!"

"Do you?" dared Dick.

"Yes; you're all in, and we have reserve steam left."

"Have you?" snapped young Prescott. "Then now is the time to prove it."

Taking a deep breath, Dick Prescott shouted:

"Remember what Gridley demands! No defeats. Dash ahead, Gridleys! Now—-go in and kill yourselves for the honor of your school!"

Dick was far from meaning that literally, but his quick eye had measured the remaining distance of the course.

He was captain enough to know just what each of his men could endure, and for how long they could stand up under it.

"Life is of little use to the vanquished!" Dick shouted on. "Go in to win—-kill yourselves!"

At an earlier point on the course it would have been fearfully bad leadership. It would have resulted in disaster had any of Dick & Co. had any form of serious physical weakness.

But Dick Prescott knew his boys!

"Kill yourselves!" he shouted out again, as he saw the two canoes running neck and neck. "For the honor of Gridley High School!"

Right noble was the response, though flesh and blood could not stand this new and savage grilling for long.

"Wake up, Trentville!" shouted Ted Pascal, when he saw the "Scalp-hunter" gaining. "Wake up! Let out all of your steam! Push!"

Dick Prescott said no more. His straining gaze was now fixed on the finish line. Not one of his chums even glanced at the imaginary line. All their thoughts, like all their glances, were on their paddles.

"A final dash, now!" called Dick. "Slam up the pace for Gridley!"

But Trentville was showing its boasted reserve steam.

Close as they now were to the finish, Pascal had no thought of permitting defeat to come to his crew.

No dinning of whistles was there now. Every spectator waited breathlessly for the outcome that would be reached in the next few seconds.



CHAPTER XXIV

CONCLUSION

Then the end came.

Pascal sank back on his seat with a groan when he had put in the last dip of his paddle that could do any good.

Frantic indeed was the cheering, and now once more came the deafening screech of whistles.

From the judges' launch, as soon as the din had died down a bit, came the announcement through a megaphone:

"Gridley High School wins by three quarters of a length."

Dick heard the news, then ordered quietly:

"Paddle—-easily."

A turn of his own blade swung the prow around so that the "Scalp-hunter" glided in toward the hotel landing float.

To-day he had no jubilant mob of Gridleyites to fear in the excess of their joy. Only some very gentle friends of their own town came hurrying forward to congratulate them.

But Dr. Bentley gripped Dick's arm as soon as that young man stepped from the canoe.

"Bring your crew along and follow me, Prescott," whispered the physician. "You are a limp-looking lot. That was a wild, splendid finish, but I fear you may have put it too hard to your crew. I want to examine you all, to make sure that not too much harm has been done by your desperate 'kill yourself' order."

Dr. Bentley led the way to the boathouse, while a hotel employ took charge of the "Scalp-hunter."

He listened briefly at each boy's heart, then made them all sit still for ten minutes. At the end of that time he examined them again as to heart beat. Half an hour later he made a third examination.

"I don't believe anyone of you has sustained any lasting injury," said Dr. Bentley at last. "But, Prescott, don't you ever dare give a 'kill yourself' order again. That is my order, and an emphatic one. You may recall that I happen to be medical director of the Gridley High School Athletic Association. If you youngsters ever try a pace like that again, then undoubtedly you will all be disqualified from future athletic events. Don't forget."

After that lecture Dick & Co. were allowed to sponge with hot water, rub down and put on ordinary clothing. Then they went forth to meet their friends.

Ted Pascal, however, was the first to rush forward. He had been waiting for their appearance.

"Prescott, you're a great fellow as a crew captain!" the big chief of the Trentvilles declared. "I was sure we had you beaten, and even now I can't imagine how you left us to the rear. But it was a great race, and I congratulate you!"

"And we all thank you for your good will," Dick answered promptly. "Truth to tell, Pascal, I thought, too, that you almost had us beaten."

"Almost?" echoed Ted. "Why not wholly?"

"Because Gridley is never quite beaten. It's our way, you know—-one that was adopted by a past generation of Gridley boys and has been lived up to ever since."

"I've heard a lot about that 'Gridley way,'" laughed Ted Pascal, "but to-day was the first time that I've ever had it played on me."

"Do you play football?" asked Dick.

"No."

"Baseball?"

"I tried, but couldn't make the nine," Pascal confessed.

"Then I don't know that you're likely to have the 'Gridley' way played upon you again not unless you meet some of our girls in a tennis game."

The two crews mingled, passing some ten minutes in talk and in good-humored chaff. But at last Dick broke away and drew out from the canoe talk as he saw Laura, Belle, Susie and the other girls awaiting them at a point farther up in the hotel grounds.

"I know the girls have been waiting to speak to us," Dick told his chums, "and they've been mighty kind to us. Come along."

"We thought you would never get around to talking with poor mortals like us," Laura admitted, as the boys joined the high school girls.

"It was mainly your father's fault," Dick laughingly, protested.

"How was that?"

"You'll have to ask him. Perhaps we're not at liberty to reveal what the Athletic Association's medical director had to say to us."

"Especially when it's in the nature of a 'roast,'" added Danny Grin.

"If my father was severe with any of you I am certain that he had good reason," replied Laura gravely, though her eyes twinkled. "But what a splendid race you made against Trentville and at one time we felt sure that you were beaten."

"We all felt the same way at one time," Tom Reade interjected.

"All except Dick," added Darry. "Why, if anyone were to kill Dick Prescott, Dick would insist on the fellow coming around the next day and proving his death."

"It was a splendid race, anyway," Belle glowed. "Do you notice anything, boys?"

"Where?" asked Tom, looking blankly around.

"Anything about us?" Susie put in.

"Nothing," drawled Tom, "except that you're the finest, daintiest and sweetest-looking lot of girls we know. But that's true every other day in the week."

"We didn't ask you anything like that," Susie pouted, "though doubtless it's all true enough. But don't you notice what we're all wearing?"

"I think I see what you mean," Greg suggested hopefully. "Each one of you is wearing the Gridley High School pin."

"Correct!" assented Susie warmly. "But can't you guess why we're wearing the pins? It's because when Gridley boys can win such a race as you won to-day it's a real honor to wear the pin."

"And a bigger honor to have it worn on our account," Dick laughed.

"I was waiting to see who would be the first boy to say something really nice!" cried Clara Marshall.

"Have you heard of any more canoe clubs coming this way—-high school clubs with which you could arrange races?" asked Laura.

"No," said Dick, with a shake of his head. "Even if there were a dozen coming here I'm afraid we'd have to lose the chance."

"Why?" asked Belle quickly.

"Because we can remain here only two or three days longer."

"Oh, that's a shame," broke in Susie. "Do you really have to go back to Gridley?"

"Yes," said Dick solemnly.

"Is the reason one that you may properly tell us?" Laura inquired.

"It's one that we're not ashamed of, because we can't help it," Prescott rejoined. "Our vacation up here is nearly at an end just because our funds are in the same plight—-nearly at an end, you see."

"Oh, what a shame!" cried Clara sympathetically.

"To be short of money is more than a shame," blurted Tom Reade. "It is a crime, or ought to be. No one has any right to be poor—-but what can we do?"

"Oh, well, there are plenty of pleasant times to be had in good old Gridley in the summer time," Dick declared stoutly. "And we shall have our canoe there."

While chatting the young people had been walking up through the hotel grounds until now they stood just behind the stone wall that separated the ground from the road.

"Why—-look what's coming!" urged Dave Darrin, in a voice expressive of mock interest.

All looked, of course.

Fred Ripley, his hat drawn down over his eyes, came trudging along.

In one hand he carried a dress suit case, and from the way his shoulder sagged on that side, the ease appeared to be heavy.

On young Ripley's face was a deep scowl.

"Judging from his appearance," suggested Tom Reade, "Rip is walking all the way to the Land of Sweet Tempers. Probably he's doing it on a wager, and is just beginning to realize what a long road lies ahead of him. I wonder if he'll, arrive at his destination during his lifetime?"

Fred's shoes, usually so highly polished, were already thick with dust. His collar, ordinarily stiff and immaculate, was sadly wilted and wrinkled. His whole air was one of mingled dejection and rage.

"I wonder what can have happened to him?" asked Susie curiously.

"I think his conscience may be chasing him," smiled Dick.

What really had happened was that Squire Ripley had been present when his son had made a very disrespectful answer to a white-haired man, one of the guests at the Lakeview House where the Ripleys were stopping.

In a great rage the lawyer had decided to send his son home for that act of gross disrespect to the aged.

To make the punishment more complete, Mr. Ripley had ordered his son to make the long journey on foot over the hills to the railway station. Only enough money had been handed the young man to buy his railway ticket home. The dress suit case had been added in order to make his progress more difficult.

"A young man who cannot treat the aged with proper respect must be dealt with severely," said Lawyer Ripley to his son. "You will reach home fagged out from your long tramp. For your fare, until your mother and I return, you will have to depend on such food as the servants at home can spare you from their larder. Don't you dare order anything from the stores to be charged against me. Now, go home, drowse out your summer in the hot town and reflect on what a mean cad you have shown yourself to be to-day."

While Fred was thinking this all over he glanced up suddenly, to see fourteen pairs of Gridley eyes fixed upon him. The young people, as soon as they found themselves observed, immediately turned their glances away from the sullen looking young pedestrian from their school.

"I wonder what has happened to Fred Ripley?" Susie repeated, when the object of their remark was some distance away. "Something has gone very wrong with him. A blind man could see that much."

During this time Fred was thinking to himself:

"If the guv'nor subjects me to this degradation just for one sharp answer to an old man, what would that same guv'nor do to me if he knew all the things that I've been engaged in up here at the lake? What if he knew that I hired that farmer's son to swim under the float and attach that drag to the canoe? What would the guv'nor do if he knew that I tried to wreck Prescott's outfit?"

Fred shivered at the mental prospect of his father's stern, grim wrath.

But young Ripley, as sometimes happens, wasn't caught just then. He would go on for the present planning mean tricks against those whom he had no just reason to dislike. Yet his time was sure to come.

Soon after Dick & Co. were compelled to bid adieu to Lake Pleasant. They had had a splendid time, and had acquitted themselves with great credit in this entry into high school athletics. They had had pleasure enough to last them all the rest of the summer in memory.

The cost of transporting their canoe, on the homeward trip, was borne out of the funds of the Gridley High School Athletic Council.

Dick & Co. entered three more canoe races against high school teams that summer. All these were run off on the home river, and Dick & Co. had the great glory of winning them all "the Gridley way."

After the summer, came the opening of the school year again. Our readers may learn what happened to Dick & Co. in their sophomore year in the second volume of the "High School Boys Series," which is published under the title, "The High School Pitcher; Or, Dick & Co. on the Gridley Diamond."

As to what befell our young friends in the summer vacation which followed their sophomore year, all that is told in the second volume of the "High School Boys Vacation Series." That interesting volume is published under the title, "The High School Boys' Summer Camp; Or, The Dick Prescott Six Training for the Gridley Eleven." It will be found to be a splendid story of real American boys who know how to get the most out of both work and play, and to make each year of life a preparation for a better year to come. In this volume the friends of Dick & Co. will find these six sturdy boys leading a life full of healthy excitement and adventure in the woods.

THE END