Fifteen yards from the finish Fred’s paddle broke. It snapped off short in his hand and as a result, the canoe almost upset. It seemed as if their splendid effort was to go for nothing. Herbert and Franklin, seeing the plight of their rivals, were endowed with new hope that they might win their relay after all. The hope thus aroused gave them just strength enough to urge their canoe forward across the line. Herbert lifted his paddle and touched the canoe in which Hugh and Thomas waited so impatiently, and then sank back against the thwart exhausted.
The disaster to Fred was nearly fatal. The canoe rocked dangerously and though it did not turn over, it lost every bit of its momentum.
“Sit down, Fred!” shouted George. “I’ll paddle.”
One man against two is a severe handicap, however, even if those two are well nigh exhausted. It must be remembered also that George too, was nearly fagged out. In spite of his usual lightheartedness, he had an indomitable will, however, and not one of the boys had more nerve than he.
He dipped his blade deep into the water, brought the bow of the canoe around so that it pointed in the proper direction, and urged it forward. Meanwhile the other canoe had passed them and crossed the line at least five yards in the lead.
Grant and John were off like a flash, however, and the advantage the red team enjoyed was not insurmountable by any means.
“That was tough luck, boys,” exclaimed Mr. Maxwell earnestly to Fred and George. “You two certainly deserved to win that relay.”
“You surely did,” echoed Franklin Dunbar. “That was about the toughest luck I ever saw.”
“Fred’s too strong,” laughed George. “It’s awfully hard to get any paddle that he won’t break.”
“Don’t pay any attention to what he says, Mr. Maxwell,” urged Fred. “He thinks he can tease me; personally, I think he’s crazy.”
“I hope not,” laughed Mr. Maxwell.
“He’s fresh though,” insisted Fred.
“Not now,” puffed George. “My breath’s gone and I’m all in.”
“That was a great race,” insisted Mr. Maxwell. “I don’t remember ever having seen a better one.”
“We were about twenty-five yards ahead of them at one time, you know,” said Herbert. “I thought we would win easily.”
“So did I,” exclaimed Fred. “You kept drawing away from us all the time and I thought we wouldn’t even be in it. I wanted to paddle harder all the time but Pop here wouldn’t let me. He insisted that we keep up a steady gait and sprint at the end.”
“My system was all right, wasn’t it?” demanded George.
“It surely was. You didn’t count on the paddle breaking, though.”
“Oh, yes, I did. I knew that if you exerted all your strength that any paddle would snap; that’s the reason I wanted you to save it until the end. Suppose you’d cut loose over the other side of the island and the paddle had broken there. We’d have been in a nice fix, wouldn’t we?” and George winked solemnly at their three visitors who seemed much amused at his efforts to secure a rise from his companion.
“Oh, dry up!” exclaimed Fred shortly, and George laughed gleefully at having accomplished his purpose.
Meanwhile the two other canoes were rounding the first turn.
“Sprint, John! Sprint!” Grant urged the moment they had started. “Catch up to them and hang right on to them all the way around.”
Paddling with all their strength Grant and John succeeded in catching up with their opponents. When the bow of their canoe was within a few feet of the stern of the other they eased up a bit and contenting themselves with allowing their rivals to set the pace, they kept their position with bulldog determination.
Thomas and Hugh sprinted. Grant and John followed suit. If the leading canoe slackened its pace the one behind did the same. Like a shadow the two Go Ahead boys dogged their opponents’ course.
Such a proceeding always worries the leader. To know that a step behind him is some one who follows him like grim death and who cannot be shaken off by any means whatsoever, is bound to have its effect in the long run. The pace-maker is irritated and bewildered and sometimes demoralization follows as a result.
Grant was aware of this and he intended to make the most of it. He knew that if Thomas and Hugh discovered that it was out of the question to pull away from the pursuing canoe their confidence would be shaken and once this quality is lost, a great asset is gone.
It is easier to follow the pace than to make it. Another advantage is that the one behind can watch his opponent and note everything that he does. The leader, on the other hand, cannot tell what his rival intends to do and must always be on his guard lest he be taken by surprise.
Thomas and Hugh worked desperately. Evidently they had decided that their best chance was to tire out the boys in the canoe that followed them so relentlessly. With this object in view they started a sprint when they had covered about one-third of the course and they kept it up. Their team-mates had tried to sprint the entire distance, and failed. Could these two do it? George and Fred had been content to allow their rivals to gain on them, but not so Grant and John. Their one idea was to hang on and hang on and hang on, until the time should come when an opportunity offered itself for a quick dash into the lead. This chance had not yet presented itself.
The four boys worked like demons. Down the whole length of the island they raced, neck and neck. The same amount of open water showed between the two canoes all the way along. It almost looked as if the first canoe was towing the other. Maintaining these same positions they approached the last turn.
“Now, String!” said Grant in a low voice. “When they take this curve, I’m going to shoot in between them and the shore. Be ready.”
“All right,” replied John, without looking up from his task for an instant.
The leading canoe now turned and began to round the point of the island. Close behind them followed Grant and John. Thomas and Hugh were not far from shore, so that Grant would not have much room to pass, if indeed such a thing was possible. Just before the canoes entered the straightaway leading to the finish line, the two Go Ahead boys made their bid for the lead.
Grant in the stern swung the canoe in between the other and the shore. The space was limited but their chance had come. It was now or never.
“Now, String!” cried Grant. “Let ’em have it!”
It seemed impossible that the two boys could work any harder than they had been. Every one seems to have some reserve strength, however, no matter how much he may have used before, and it was this store that Grant and John called upon now.
Inch by inch they crept up. Soon Thomas from the stern of his canoe could see out of the corner of his eye the bow of the blue team’s canoe.
“Paddle, Hugh!” he cried. “Paddle for all you’re worth!”
It was a desperate contest, but Grant and John were not to be denied. The difference that setting the pace or following it made, was just enough to give them a slight advantage. As far as skill and strength were concerned, the four boys were remarkably well matched.
Down the home stretch they dashed, and little by little Grant and John gained. They gained steadily also, and it was evident that if the course were long enough they would be returned winners. But could they catch and pass their rivals before the finish line was reached? That was what worried Fred and George, who screamed themselves hoarse in their eagerness to spur their comrades on.
No open water showed between the boats now. A few yards more and the red team was but three-quarters of a length ahead. Soon this was reduced to half a length and still Grant and John gained. The line was but a few yards distant now however. Could they do it?
The veins stood out on their foreheads. Between their clenched teeth their breath came in gasps. Still they struggled on, still they gained slowly, almost imperceptibly and nearer and nearer they came to the finish.
“If the course was only a few yards longer,” groaned George as he watched the stirring finish from the canoe.
A moment later and the two racers were almost on even terms. It was nearly impossible to tell which one was in the lead now, so evenly were they matched. The tape was only a few feet away. With one final effort the four young racers urged their canoes forward; they broke the tape and shot on past. The race was over.
“Well!” exclaimed George. “I never saw anything to beat that!”
“Who won?” demanded Fred.
“Don’t ask me. I’m not the judge.”
The boys turned and looked at Mr. Maxwell who was seated in the other canoe with Franklin and Herbert. His face was turned towards the two canoes which had just flashed across the finish line. He wore a puzzled expression and was evidently at a loss what to say.
“Who won?” called George.
Mr. Maxwell turned and looked at the speaker sorrowfully. “No one,” he said.
“No one,” exclaimed George. “Why, how can that be?”
“Couldn’t it be a tie?” asked Fred quietly.
“Why, yes, of course. I hadn’t planned for a tie though.”
“I declare the race a tie,” announced the judge solemnly. “If either boat was ahead of the other, I’m sure I didn’t see it, and I wouldn’t dare call it anything else.”
The racers had turned around and were now making their way slowly back. All four of the boys were well nigh exhausted, but they were smiling nevertheless.
“Who won?” called Thomas, for they had not heard the judge’s verdict.
“It was a tie,” said George.
“A tie?” exclaimed Grant, his face falling. “That’s bad.”
“Why is it?” demanded George.
“Because we needed the points.”
“By the way,” exclaimed Hugh, “how do we award the points?”
“Split them, don’t we?” said Fred readily, appealing to Mr. Maxwell.
“Each team gets one and a half. Two for first and one for second makes a total of three, and a half of three is one and a half.”
“Whew!” whistled George. “You certainly are quick at figures.”
A general laugh went up at Fred’s expense but he did not seem to mind.
“That’s the way it’s figured out anyway,” said Mr. Maxwell. “That makes the total points three and a half for the red team and two and a half for the blue.”
“Still one point behind,” exclaimed Grant. “We’ll have to get that back somehow.”
“Well,” said Thomas, “the swimming race comes next and three places count in that. Three for first, two for second, and one for third; you’ll have a fine chance to catch us there.”
“I was just thinking,” interrupted Mr. Maxwell, “that it might be a good idea to reverse the order of these last two events. You boys are pretty well tired out after that canoe race and to swim a hundred and seventy-five yards now would be quite a severe strain. What do you say to our having the sailing race next?”
“Why,” said Grant slowly, “I don’t see any objection to that. What do the rest of you fellows think about it?”
“How about dinner?” exclaimed George. “We could never finish by the time we had planned to eat and I must say I’m hungry right now.”
“So am I,” said Hugh so earnestly that everyone laughed.
“Why don’t we have dinner right now then?” suggested Mr. Maxwell. “As soon as we are through we can start the sailing race.”
“That’s a good scheme,” exclaimed Grant. “Let’s do that.”
“And have the swimming race after the sailing?” queried Thomas.
“That’s right,” said Grant. “The water’s more apt to be quiet later in the day than it is now and that will make it better for swimming.”
“Very true,” agreed Mr. Maxwell. “The wind often seems to go down with the sun and if the wind goes down the water becomes still.”
Without further delay they made their way ashore and preparations for dinner were at once started. Grant usually did all the cooking, but to-day he had an abundance of help. Wood was quickly gathered and a blazing fire was soon under way.
Two of the boys were set to work peeling potatoes which were to be fried in the pan. Others made ready the dishes and collected the knives and forks. Mr. Maxwell had several good sized bass he had caught before breakfast, and, what was even better, he had brought along a dozen and a half ears of green corn, two for everyone present. Was it any wonder that the young campers’ eyes sparkled with anticipation as they saw the dinner being prepared?
Their appetites were keen as only those in the woods can understand. The fragrant odor of sizzling bacon and roasting corn coming to their nostrils only served to increase their eagerness.
“Isn’t this great?” cried George enthusiastically, when at last dinner was announced as ready and the pleasant task of disposing of it had begun. “If anything can beat this, I’d like to know what it is.”
“There is nothing that can tie it even,” laughed Mr. Maxwell, who seemed to be enjoying himself as much as any of the boys.
“I only hope Pop won’t eat so much, he’ll sink the Balsam,” said Fred doubtfully. “We have plenty of ballast aboard as it is.”
“You ‘tend to your own dinner,” advised George very promptly. “I’m too busy to waste any time talking to you now.”
At last the meal was over, and every one had had sufficient to eat.
“All ready to start the race?” inquired Mr. Maxwell.
“Oh,” groaned Franklin, “I don’t feel as if I could move. I’d rather crawl off somewhere and go to sleep. I guess I ate too much.”
“I know I did,” laughed John.
“We’d better start though, I guess,” urged Grant. “The course is long and while there’s a good breeze now you can’t tell how long it will last.”
“That’s right,” agreed Mr. Maxwell. “You’d better get ready.”
The boys at once made their way to their respective boats and made the final preparations for the race. Both boats had had their sails up all the morning in order to dry them out thoroughly and there was very little left to be done.
Mr. Maxwell sat in a canoe near at hand and watched the boys.
“Remember,” he said, “twice around the course. The first lap you go one way and the second in the opposite. Be very careful to round every stake. The start is from the same spot as the canoe race and the finish is there, too. I will fire this pistol as a warning gun, and three minutes later I will fire it again for the start. Be sure not to cross the starting line before I give the second signal.”
“All right,” said Grant. “We’re all ready.”
“So are we,” echoed Thomas from the Spruce.
“Very well then,” said Mr. Maxwell. “Get your anchors up and move out by the starting line.”
This was soon done and a few moments later the two catboats were jockeying back and forth off the entrance to the little harbor. Fred was at the tiller of the Balsam and Hugh guided the Spruce.
The sharp crack of the pistol announced that the race was about to start. Grant had been waiting, watch in hand, for this signal.
“Take a short tack out and back, Fred,” he urged. “I’ll watch the time.”
“Hard-a-lea!” called Fred as he put the tiller over and the Balsam came around into the wind. His crew quickly shifted sides, the sheet was hauled taut, and the trim little boat scudded swiftly along before the fresh breeze.
“Better go back now,” advised Grant when they had covered fifteen or twenty yards. He scarcely lifted his eyes from his watch which he still held in his right hand. “We’ve got a minute and a half more.”
Once more the Balsam came about and began to retrace its short course towards the starting line. The Spruce was just off its starboard side, with bow pointing directly into the wind and consequently was almost stationary.
“We’ll cross the line too soon,” exclaimed John nervously. “We’ll have to come back if we do.”
“Leave that to me,” said Grant confidently, his eyes still on the second-hand of his watch. “I’ll look out for that.”
“We’re not a dozen feet from the line now though,” cried John in alarm. “You’d better come around, Fred.”
“Don’t you do it,” exclaimed Grant sharply.
Closer and closer to the line they came. John, and for that matter Fred and George also were intensely nervous for fear they should cross the line before the signal. Grant, however, seemed confident that they were on the safe side.
“We’ll have to turn around and start all—” began John, when Grant suddenly interrupted him.
“Now,” he cried, and barely the fraction of a second behind his voice came the sound of the starting gun. Almost simultaneously the Balsam crossed the line; away to a splendid start and with a good lead of at least fifteen or twenty feet on the Spruce.
“I take it all back, Grant,” exclaimed John. “You’re all right.”
“It was certainly close though,” said Fred solemnly.
“But ‘close’ doesn’t count in any game, you know,” laughed Grant.
“How about quoits?” inquired George.
“That’s right, Pop,” exclaimed Grant, “it does count in quoits, but I don’t know of any other.”
“We’d better attend to our sailing,” warned Fred. “Trim that sheet in a little, String.”
“That enough?”
“All right,” said Fred. “My, I hope this breeze holds.”
“It’s getting stronger, I think,” said George.
“It does seem to be,” agreed Grant. “It’s dead ahead of us now, but if it doesn’t change, it’ll be right behind us on the last leg of the race. I think it’s always fun to be able to finish straight before the wind.”
“That’s true,” exclaimed John. “We go in the opposite direction the second round, don’t we?”
The Balsam was skimming over the water rapidly on a long tack to leeward. Behind her came the Spruce, also making good time and with about the same distance between the two boats that had separated them at the start.
“They’re pointing up a little more than we are, I think,” remarked Grant, after a glance at their rival.
“We’re all right, though,” said Fred confidently. “I don’t believe in sailing as close hauled as that.”
“Perhaps not,” agreed Grant. “At any rate you know more about it than the rest of us. We’ll have to do as you say whether we like it or not.”
They rounded the first stake thirty yards ahead of the Spruce. Fred’s tactics on the first leg had proved successful, anyway.
“It’s easy,” exclaimed George confidently, as they slid past the stake and settled back for the long reach to the next mark.
“Don’t talk like that, Pop,” urged John earnestly. “Don’t ever boast or get overconfident; you’re sure to regret it if you do.”
“Knock on wood, Pop,” laughed Fred. “That’ll take away all the bad effects.”
The four friends were in excellent spirits, for they enjoyed a comfortable lead which seemed to be steadily increasing.
“There they come around the stake now,” exclaimed Grant, gazing behind them. “They gave it a little more room than we did.”
“And consequently sailed a little bit farther than necessary,” added Fred. “A few feet doesn’t seem very much at the time but in the long run it amounts to a good deal.”
“On the other hand,” said John, “if you cut too close to the stake you’re apt to foul it and then you’re disqualified.”
“The answer to that is easy enough,” laughed Fred. “Don’t hit it.”
“You fellows take more chances than I would,” said John doubtfully. “I believe in playing safe.”
Steadily the Balsam drew away from her rival. The wind was strong now and the lake was dotted with white-caps.
“Perhaps the Balsam is a rough-water sailor,” remarked Grant. “At any rate she seems to be doing splendidly in this breeze.”
“If the breeze should die down they’d probably catch right up to us,” said Fred. “Let’s hope it doesn’t.”
“What makes you think they’d catch us?” demanded John.
“Nothing. Some boats sail better in one kind of a breeze than in others. This seems to be suited to a strong wind and I thought it was possible that the Spruce would do better in a light one.”
“But they’re exactly alike,” objected John.
“I know it,” replied Fred. “That doesn’t necessarily mean they’ll sail just alike, though. I’ve seen ten boats all built on the same model, the same size, and everything about them the same, and yet some of them seem to be twice as fast as others.”
“It must be in the one who handles the boat, then,” said George.
“Not at all. I’ve seen them swap crews and the same boats win.”
“How do you explain it?” inquired Grant, who always liked to have a reason for everything.
“I can’t, and I don’t believe any one else can, either. Some boats seem to do well under certain conditions, and that’s all there is to it.”
“Well, the present conditions seem to suit the Balsam pretty well,” exclaimed George. “Let’s hope they continue.”
The second stake was reached with the Balsam still farther in the lead than before. The wind steadily increased in strength and forced the sturdy little catboat through the water at an amazing speed.
“I didn’t know she could go so fast,” exclaimed John enthusiastically.
“None of us did, I guess,” said Grant. “She’s all right though, isn’t she?”
“I should say so,” cried George. “Say, just look at her go,” and he scrambled over to the other side of the boat. The Balsam was heeled far over and the lee rail was awash. Now and then a wave, a little larger than its fellows, slapped lustily against the side and covered the crew with spray.
“We’ll have to reef her if this wind gets much stronger,” said Fred just before they had completed the first round.
“What’s the use?” demanded George. “It’s great this way, and we’re certainly gaining on those fellows all the time.”
“Yes,” said Fred, “but you don’t want to lose the mast, do you?”
“Or we might upset,” added Grant.
“Suppose we do,” cried George. “It won’t hurt us.”
“But we’d lose the race just the same,” said Fred. “Let that sheet out a little there, String. Whenever she heels over like that, give her a little more rope and I’ll bring her up into the wind for a second.”
“That makes us lose time, doesn’t it?” asked Grant.
“I think so. It seems to me that if we stopped and put a reef in the sail we’d sail more evenly and as a result we’d go faster.”
“Those fellows in the Spruce don’t seem to be putting in any reefs, I notice,” remarked George. “If they don’t need them I don’t see why we do.”
“But the breeze is getting so much stronger,” insisted Fred. “It really seems to me that we should put in one reef anyway.”
“How long will it take us?”
“Not two minutes. We can do it in no time.”
“We’d better wait until we round this next stake, I think,” said Grant. “We can do it, then.”
“All right,” agreed George. “I don’t believe in it, though. I love it this way,” and he exclaimed delightedly as the Balsam heeled far over and the spray from the crest of one of the white-caps drenched him from head to foot.
“It’s cold, though,” objected John.
“Nonsense,” cried George. “If you were half a man you wouldn’t mind it.”
John merely shivered, and placing Grant in temporary charge of the sheet he crawled forward and drawing his sweater out from under the deck, he put it on.
“Get ready now,” warned Fred. “The stake is just ahead.”
“And we’re going to take in a reef as soon as we round it. Is that right?” inquired Grant.
“That’s the idea,” said Fred. “Here we go,” and putting the tiller hard over he brought the Balsam cleanly around the mark and headed her up into the wind.
“Let go that topping lift, Pop!” he cried. “Loose your halyards there, Grant! Now, String, let’s get busy!”
He left his post, and ordering and helping his comrades, he took charge of the work of reefing. He had predicted two minutes for the work, but it took at least five, and before they had finished the Spruce was almost up to them.
“Hurry, Fred, hurry!” urged George. “They’re catching us.”
“All right,” cried Fred, springing back to the tiller. “Haul in your sheet there, String!”
The bow of the Balsam swung slowly around and as the sail filled she began to slip through the water once more. Not twenty-five yards behind them now came the Spruce, her full sail spread. Thomas waved his hand and shouted something to the four Go Ahead boys but the wind blew the sound away and the words were lost.
“What did he say?” demanded John.
“I didn’t hear,” said George. “He probably said they’d catch us in a few minutes, and I guess they will, too.”
“You’re a pessimist, Pop,” said Fred, but he looked back anxiously at the Spruce plowing along behind them.
“No, I’m not either,” exclaimed George. “I do think we made a mistake in reefing that sail, though.”
“Wait and see,” said Fred, but he himself appeared to be anxious.
“If the wind should die down we’d be in a nice fix,” said George in a discouraged tone of voice.
“It doesn’t seem to be going down now, though,” said Grant. “Just see us go! And look at all the white-caps. I really think we’re doing better than we did before.”
“But we’re not gaining on them any more,” insisted George gloomily.
“We don’t need to,” laughed Grant. “All we have to do is to hold our lead.”
The relative position of the two boats was unchanged at the end of the first leg on the second round. The Balsam still enjoyed her lead of twenty-five yards over her rival. They had covered only a short distance on the second leg when George suddenly remarked that the wind was dying down.
“I know it is,” he insisted. “Just look; we aren’t tipping half as much as we were.”
“I hope you’re wrong, Pop,” said Fred anxiously.
“But I’m not. Can’t you see it yourself?”
“Perhaps you’re right. At any rate it may only be a lull.”
In silence the four young sailors watched the sail and looked out over the water and gazed fearfully at the Spruce so close behind them now.
“She’s gaining,” announced John.
“No doubt of it,” said George. “What shall we do?”
“What can we do?” demanded John in despair.
“Can’t we take the reef out?”
“If we did,” said Fred, “we’d have to stop, and they’d surely pass us, and whether we’d ever catch them or not would be a question.”
“But won’t they pass us if we don’t take the reef out?” demanded George.
“I don’t know. We’ve got to take a chance either way.”
“And no matter what we do,” added George, “we’re bound to lose.”
“Cheer up, Pop,” urged Grant. “The wind hasn’t gone down very much and they haven’t passed us yet.”
“Can’t we take the reef out while we’re going like this?” demanded George.
“Oh, we can,” said Fred. “It would be awfully hard, though, and dangerous, too; besides that, we might tear the sail.”
“Let me try it,” begged George. “We mustn’t lose this race and that’s all there is about it.”
Working under Fred’s guidance, and taking desperate chances George finally succeeded in shaking the reef out of the sail. The halyards were tightened and once again the Balsam moved along under her full spread of canvas.
“Now I feel better,” sighed George, as he settled back in the cockpit once more. “That short sail worried me.”
“We certainly lost a lot of time fooling around there,” observed Fred. “It was all my fault, too.”
“Forget it,” exclaimed Grant. “We’re still ahead of them, aren’t we?”
“But not much,” said Fred, and he glanced hastily around at the Spruce not more than fifteen yards distant now.
“I hope they don’t get our wind,” said George. “It’s certainly going down and we need every bit of it we can get.”
“You’re right, Pop,” said John. “The wind is lighter and you know what Fred said about the Spruce probably doing better than the Balsam in a light breeze.”
Still maintaining their slight advantage the Balsam turned the last stake and started down the home stretch. The wind was dead astern of both boats now and the sails were stretched at right angles to the mast in order to get the full benefit of the breeze.
“They’ll blanket us, I’m afraid,” muttered Fred gloomily.
“What do you mean by that?” asked George.
“Why, they’ll get right behind us and shut off all our wind.”
“Don’t let them do it, then.”
“You don’t think I’d let them on purpose, do you?”
“They’ll catch us on this straight away, I’m afraid,” said Grant in a low voice. The boats were so close together now it was necessary to speak softly to keep from being overheard.
“Everybody move back towards the stern,” ordered Fred. “Perhaps if we get her bow out of water a little she’ll do better.”
They followed Fred’s directions, but little by little the Spruce crept up on them. The wind was dropping rapidly; it seemed that on this woodland lake storms and winds came and went with equal facility.
The Spruce had blanketed their boat momentarily as Fred had predicted. Drawing even, however, the Balsam once more caught the breeze and the racers moved forward on even terms.
“We certainly have some great finishes, don’t we?” called Hugh from the other boat.
“Well, I should say so!” exclaimed Grant. “They’re heartbreaking.”
All at once George left his seat and moved forward.
“Where are you going, Pop?” demanded Fred. “You’d better come back here and sit down.”
George, however, paid no attention to this advice nor did he deign any answer. He continued serenely on his way until his reached the forward deck. Straightening himself up, his amazed companions saw him place his right hand on the mast and scratch it with his finger-nails.
“He’s gone crazy,” muttered Grant. “What does he think he’s doing?”
George, having completed his strange performance, returned to the stern of the Balsam and quietly resumed his seat.
“What were you trying to do?” demanded John curiously.
“I scratched the mast.”
“I know you did. Why did you do it?”
“To give us more breeze.”
“I suppose scratching the mast is going to make the wind blow,” and John laughed loudly. “I think you’re crazy, Pop.”
“Wait and see,” said George calmly. “I remember that I once read somewhere about sailors scratching the mast when they wanted a breeze, so I thought I’d try it. We need to try everything if we want to win this race. They’re ahead of us now.”
“All right,” smiled John. “I guess you didn’t do any harm anyway.”
“That’s the way I figured,” exclaimed George. “All sailors are superstitious and they believe in those things. As long as we’re sailing, why don’t we try them ourselves?”
“Where’s your breeze?” demanded Grant.
“There it comes,” said George, pointing astern of them. A puff of wind was approaching and a patch of the water could be seen to be ruffled by its breath. A moment later it struck the Balsam and in answer the little catboat increased its speed.
“Why won’t the breeze help them as much as it does us?” inquired Fred.
“We’ll hope they won’t get any of it,” said George. “You notice that that last puff didn’t hit them and that we gained a little by it.”
“It’s certainly close,” said Grant. “We don’t want another tie, though, and we don’t want second place, either.”
“Only a quarter of a mile to go,” said Fred. “We’ll need more wind.”
“Scratch the mast again, Pop,” urged John.
George did so and another gust of wind caught them and drove them along a little faster.
“Isn’t that queer?” exclaimed Grant. “It seems to work though. Try it again, Pop.”
Again George scratched the mast and once more a puff of wind caught their sail. The Balsam was now several feet ahead of her rival and rapidly approaching the finish.
“Don’t do it any more, Pop,” urged Fred. “At least don’t do it as long as we are ahead. If they catch up to us try it again. Of course it’s all luck, but it is certainly strange, isn’t it?”
“It surely is,” agreed John. “How do you account for it?”
“You can’t account for it,” exclaimed Grant. “You don’t suppose that scratching the mast really makes the wind blow, do you? It has just happened that way, that’s all.”
Nearer and nearer the two boats came to the finish. Waiting for them was Mr. Maxwell, seated in one of the canoes, on a line with the tape.
“A little more sheet, String,” said Fred. “That’ll do.”
“They’re almost up to us,” whispered John, doing as Fred had ordered. “Let Pop scratch the mast again.”
George was eagerly awaiting a signal to do this very thing. Fred nodded to him, and using both hands this time George scratched the mast lustily. Call it coincidence or luck or whatever you like, a strong puff of wind struck the Balsam almost immediately. She heeled over and for the first time in a half-hour made such speed that it was possible to hear the water rippling under her bow.
“Here we go!” cried George lustily, and with a rush the Balsam swept forward and crossed the line a good six feet ahead of their rival.
“Balsam wins!” shouted Mr. Maxwell, and a hearty cheer for the victor was immediately given by the crew of the defeated boat.
“How did you like my stunt?” grinned George proudly, addressing his remarks to his three companions. “Any time you want to win a sailing race just come to me and I’ll tell you how to do it.”
“Huh!” snorted Fred, “I suppose you‘ll have a big head for the next year on account of that.”
“Look here, Fred,” exclaimed George, winking at his other friends. “I wouldn’t say very much if I were you. You insisted upon reefing the sail and as a result we nearly lost the race; if it hadn’t been for my great brain and cleverness we surely would have been beaten. However, as long as it turned out the way it did I will forgive you.”
“I made an error of judgment and yours was nothing but luck,” retorted Fred. “I want you to remember that, too.”
The boats were now returning to their moorings and when they had been made fast the crews went ashore and met on the dock to talk things over.
“You boys certainly have the closest finishes I’ve ever seen,” exclaimed Mr. Maxwell. “You don’t try to fix them that way, do you?”
“Not if we can help it, I tell you,” said Thomas laughingly. “I thought we were going to win this last race.”
“So did we,” exclaimed Grant. “You would have won, too, if it hadn’t been for George here. At least that’s what he says, anyway.”
“What did he do?” inquired Mr. Maxwell curiously.
“I scratched the mast,” said George.
“‘Scratched the mast’!” exclaimed Mr. Maxwell. “Why did you do that?”
“To bring us more wind.”
“You must be superstitious,” laughed Mr. Maxwell.
“Well,” said George, “I never used to be, but I am sort of that way now; it worked so beautifully.”
“Where did you ever hear of such a thing?”
“I read about it in some book and as things looked pretty desperate for us I thought I’d try it.”
“You mean to say that all you have to do when you want a breeze is to go up and scratch the mast?”
“Oh, I don’t think it would work every time,” laughed George. “I guess it will give you help only when you need it very badly. If you tried it all the time I suppose you’d soon wear out the charm.”
“Well, you won, anyway,” said Mr. Maxwell laughingly. “That makes you all tied with four and a half points for each team. The swimming race will have to decide it.”
“Is every one ready for that now?” asked Grant.
“The red team is ready for anything,” laughed Thomas.
“All right,” said Mr. Maxwell. “The race will start just as soon as possible and remember that the points will be decided, three for first, two for second, and one for third this time.”
A course had been measured one hundred and seventy-five yards in length. The start was from a large rock that stood out of the water some fifteen yards off shore and the finish was at the dock.
The contestants made their way to the starting point by way of the shore; at least they walked until they came to a spot directly opposite the big rock and then waded out as far as possible, swimming the last few yards. Before many moments had elapsed the eight boys were lined up in a row waiting for the signal. Mr. Maxwell stood on the dock, a pistol in his hand.
“We’re counting on you, Grant,” John had said as they walked along the shore. “You’ve simply got to win.”
“Suppose I do,” said Grant. “That’ll mean three points for us and unless we take one of the other places, too, that’ll give the red team three points. If that happens the meet will end in a tie.”
“Maybe George can get a place. He’s not a bad swimmer, you know.”
“I know he isn’t, but you’re just as good yourself.”
“The trouble is we’ve never seen these other fellows swim and we have no idea whether they’re any good or not.”
“Well, if we do our best we shan’t have any reason to kick, I guess,” laughed Grant.
He was far and away the best swimmer of the four Go Ahead boys, and so often had he proved his superiority over them that it was now taken for granted. He was the only one who had mastered the crawl stroke. He knew it so well that it was almost second nature to him now, but to his three companions it still remained a mystery. That it is not an easy thing to acquire will be vouched for by any one who has attempted it. Fred was a wretched swimmer and knew perfectly well that he stood no chance in the race; he entered merely because he did not wish to miss anything. John and George were about on a par, both of them good average performers, but nothing more.
“All ready?” shouted Mr. Maxwell through his megaphone.
“Everybody ready?” asked Thomas.
Every one said he was and Thomas waved his hand to the judge. All eyes were fixed upon the figure standing on the dock, his right arm upraised with the pistol in his hand.
They had not long to wait. A flash and then the sharp report of the revolver, and almost together eight gleaming white bodies hit the water. Fred was the one exception; his position had been next to George and when the signal for the start was given he had been a trifle slow in diving.
A mad scramble ensued the moment all the contestants were in the water together and there was much splashing and confusion. Fred was behind the others and consequently bore the brunt of the whole mixup. He had not taken two strokes when George, who was ahead of him, struck him violently in the stomach with his foot.
It was a powerful blow and well nigh knocked all the wind right out of Fred’s body. “Ugh!” he groaned and sank from sight.
George turned in alarm to see who it was that had been on the receiving end of his effort and was just in time to see Fred reappear puffing and gasping. This sight seemed to tickle George immensely and he began to laugh. Fred choked and gargled and wheezed and try as he would, George could not control his laughter.
Meanwhile the other six contestants were far ahead and one glance convinced George that he and Fred were hopelessly out of the race.
“What’s the matter with you?” exclaimed Fred angrily.
“I didn’t mean to kick you,” said George, and once more he burst into loud and uncontrollable laughter.
“I’m not talking about that,” cried Fred even more aroused by the spectacle of his friend’s mirth. “Why did you drop out of the race?”
“I got laughing so when I saw your face that I forgot all about the race and everything else. I never saw such a funny sight in all my life.”
“Huh,” snorted Fred. “You’re a nice one. We’ll probably lose the meet on account of you.”
“I couldn’t help it,” cried George, and once more he began to laugh. “I just started laughing and I couldn’t stop.”
“Come ashore before you drown, you idiot!” exclaimed Fred, and side by side they made their way to land.
The other contestants were now strung out in a long line. Grant was easily in the lead and it seemed a foregone conclusion that he would win the race. Like some great fish he plowed through the water. His feet worked fast and evenly while his hands reached out with a great sweep and drove him speedily along. His face was under water most of the time; every few strokes he rolled over on one side, sucked in a great mouthful of air and then continued as before.
The real race was for second place and there were three in it. Hugh, Thomas, and John went along almost abreast. John could see that Grant would win the race easily enough, but he realized that in order to win the meet it was necessary for him to finish at least third. He was a good swimmer but was not a racer. Many times he had covered long distances in the water but had paid scant attention to developing his speed.
He used a powerful overhand stroke and when he was moving slowly he was practically tireless. He now was worried, however. He did not dare look around to see where George was for fear he might lose a few precious inches. He did not expect to see Fred, for he knew that his small comrade was a very poor swimmer. He had considered himself and George about on a par and he wondered how it could have happened that he had outdistanced him so far. Had he known the truth undoubtedly he would have been just as angry as Fred had been and his speed certainly would not have been benefited as a result.
Ahead of him he saw Grant and ahead of Grant he spied the dock and Mr. Maxwell standing on it waiting. It seemed very far away. Beside him swam Hugh and Thomas, one on his right and the other on his left. They were breathing hard and splashing heavily, but still they did not seem to be slowing up.
John put forth every effort. He too was becoming short of wind and his arms and legs began to feel the strain. It had been a hard day and this last contest was a severe test for all the boys.
“I must beat one of them! I must! I must!” John kept saying to himself over and over again. Then the next time he saw his rivals Thomas was several feet ahead of him and gaining.
John groaned. Hugh still kept abreast of him and try as hard as he could John seemed powerless to shake him off. He gritted his teeth and strove desperately to make his arms go still faster. Nature could not be forced however; his arms seemed made of lead and every time he raised them he wondered if it would not be the last.
Far ahead he saw Grant only a few feet from the dock. Thomas, too, was many yards in advance of him now. “I simply can’t keep it up any longer,” thought John, and the next instant, “Don’t quit,” he told himself, and he forced his tired muscles to carry him along a few strokes more. He set his jaw determinedly and decided he’d keep it up till he reached the dock no matter what happened later.
Suddenly an idea struck him. “Perhaps Hugh is just as tired as I am,” he thought. “In that case all I have to do is to keep on swimming at a moderate pace and I’ll beat him.”
Hugh was certainly splashing more than he had been and evidently was in trouble. “I’ll get him yet,” thought John and for a moment he felt stronger. “I’ve forgotten the others though,” he suddenly realized and the fear that some one would creep past him before the finish assailed him all at once. He decided to roll over on his back and look.
He did so and behind him he saw only two swimmers. They were not near enough to be dangerous however and John did not even recognize them. That two of the contestants were missing he did not notice at all.
Often when swimming long distances he had turned over up on his back in order to rest and now he was surprised to find how even a few strokes in that position relieved his aching muscles. The finish was close at hand now, however, and he dared not continue in that fashion any longer. He rolled over and resumed his overhand stroke.
Grant was already on the dock standing beside Mr. Maxwell. Thomas had just reached the goal and was pulling himself up out of the water. To his surprise John noticed that in spite of the fact that he had been swimming on his back Hugh had not gained anything on him. His brief rest had refreshed him considerably and with added confidence he struck out for the finish. Without really noticing it he was aware that Hugh was floundering more than ever. He did not turn to look, however, but concentrated every effort on his swimming, and still struggled on towards the goal.
He lost sight of Hugh; he saw nothing but the dock ahead of him. His lungs cried for mercy and his muscles ached, but vigorously he still kept going. After what seemed centuries he reached the dock, not knowing whether he had beaten Hugh out or not. In fact he did not care much now. He had gained the dock at last and he was happy.
He raised his eyes to look about him and what he saw was very strange indeed. Mr. Maxwell, standing fully clothed on the dock, suddenly dove right over his head into the water.