wagon.  We brought along Harry's bull-dog to watch the camp.
As to how long we'll stay, that depends."

"Depends upon what?" Clara asked.

"On how long our funds hold out," Prescott explained, with a frank
smile.  "You see, all our Wall Street investments have turned
out badly."

"I'm truly sorry to hear that young men of your tender age should
have been drawn into the snares of Wall Street," retorted Clara
dryly.

"So, having had some disappointments in high finance," Prescott
went on, "we can stay only as long as our _dog fund_ lasts."

"Dog fund?" asked Susie Sharp, looking bewildered.

"Dick is talking about the money we made in bark," Greg Holmes
explained readily.

"Then you really expect to be here a fortnight?" Laura asked.

"Yes; if we don't develop too healthy appetites and eat up our
funds before the fortnight is over," Dick assented.

"Oh, you mustn't do that," urged Belle.

"Mustn't do what?" Dave asked.

"Don't eat up your funds too quickly," Belle explained.

"Even if you do," suggested Susie Sharp, teasingly, "you won't
need to hurry home.  We girls know where there are several fine
fields of farm truck that can be robbed late at night.  Potatoes,
corn, watermelons-----"

"It's really very nice of you girls to offer to rob the farmers'
fields to find provender for us," returned Greg.  "But I am afraid
that we boys have been too honestly brought up to allow ourselves
to become receivers of stolen-----"

"Greg Holmes!" Susie Sharp interrupted, her face turning very
red.

"No; it's nice of you, of course," Greg went on tantalizingly,
"but we'd rather have a short vacation, that we can tell the whole
truth about when we go home."

"You boys may starve, if you like," retorted Susie, with a toss
of her head.  "I'm through with trying to help you out."

"You know, Susie," Danny Grin went on maliciously, "farmers' fields
are often guarded by dogs.  Just think how you would feel, trying
to climb a tree on a dark night, with a bulldog's teeth just two
inches from the heels of your shoes."

"Who are up here, in the way of canoe folks?" Dick asked Laura.

She told him about the Preston High School boys and the coming
crew from Trentville High School.

"We ought to be able to get up some good races," remarked Dave.

"You'll disgrace Gridley High School, though, unless you drop
Danny Grin and Greg Holmes," retorted Susie.

"Now, don't be too hard on us, Miss Sharp," tantalized Greg, "just
because we tried to dissuade you from committing a crime with
the otherwise laudable intention of feeding us when our money
runs out."

"If you will only leave Greg and Dan out," proposed Clara, "you
may call on any two of us girls that you want to take their places
in the canoe on race days."

"Whew!" muttered Dick suddenly.

"What's wrong?" demanded Belle.

"Don't mind Prescott," urged Tom Reade.  "Just as we left shore
on the other side someone threw a stone into the lake and raised
a succession of ripples, which rocked the canoe a bit.  So---well,
you've all heard of sea sickness, haven't you?"

"We might feel worse than sea sick," Dick went on, "if we had
raced, and then suddenly remembered that we have no authorization
from Gridley High School to represent the school in sporting events."

Tom's face fell instantly.  Dave Darrin, too, looked suddenly
very serious.

"What's the matter?" asked Laura anxiously.

"Why, you see," Dick went on, "although we are sure enough Gridley
High School boys, we haven't gone through the simple little formality
of getting our canoe club recognized by the High School Athletic
Council."

"You can race just the same, can't you?" asked Susie Sharp, looking
much concerned.

"We may race all we wish, and no one will stop us-----"

"Then it's all right," said Susie, with an air of conviction.

"But we simply cannot race in the name of Gridley High School."

"Oh, but that's too bad!" cried Clara.

"You can write to someone in the Council and secure the necessary
authorization, can't you?" asked Laura.

"Yes, we can write; but it's another matter to get action by the
Council in time," Dick responded.  "You see, it's the vacation
season.  There are seven members of the Athletic Council and I
believe that all seven of the members are at present away from
Gridley.  Likely as not they are in seven different states, and
the secretary may not even know where most of them are."

Eight Gridley High School girls suddenly looked anxious.  They
had been rejoicing in the prospect of "rooting" for a victorious
Gridley crew here at Lake Pleasant.  Now the whole thing seemed
to have fallen flat.

"The thing to do---though it doesn't look very promising---is
to-----" began Tom Reade, then came to dead stop.

"How provoking you can be, when you want to, Tom," pouted Clara.
"Why don't you go on?"

"Because I found myself stuck fast in a new quagmire of thought,"
Reade confessed humbly.  "What I was about to say is that the
first thing to do is to write to Mr. William Howgate, secretary
of the Gridley High School Athletic Council of the Alumni Association.
But that was where the thought came in and stabbed me with a
question mark.  Mr. Howgate is out of town.  Does anyone here
know his address?"

Fourteen Gridley faces looked blank until Dick at last remarked:

"I suppose a letter sent to his address in Gridley would reach
him.  It would be forwarded."

"Thank goodness for one quick-witted boy in Gridley High School!"
uttered Belle.  "Of course a letter would be forwarded."

"And there isn't any time to be lost, either," urged Susie.  "Girls,
we'll take Dick right up to the hotel now, and sit and watch him
while he writes and mails that letter."

"Right!" came a prompt chorus.

"Come along, boys," added Susie, as the girls started away with
their willing captive.

"Let Dave go," spoke up Tom.  "Some of us must stay behind and
stand by our canoe.  It's valuable---to us!"

So Darrin was shoved forward.  He and Prescott had walked a few
yards when the latter stopped in sudden dismay.

"What's the matter?" asked Clara.

"We are dressed all right for our own camp," Dick replied, glancing
down at his flannel shirt, old trousers and well-worn pair of
canvas "sneakers" on his feet.  "We didn't feel out of place in
the canoe, either.  But the hotel is a fashionable place, and
we can't go up in this sort of rig, to discredit you girls.  For
that matter, just think how smart you all look yourselves, dressed
in the daintiest of summer frocks.  While we look like---well,
I won't say the word."

"If our Gridley boys are ashamed to be seen with us just because
they're in rough camp attire," said Laura gently, "then we haven't
as much reason to be proud of them as we thought we had."

"I'm answered," Dick admitted humbly.  "Lead on, then.  We'll
take comfort from our company, and hold our heads as high as we
can."

On to the wide hotel porch, where many well-dressed people sat,
the girls conducted the two delegates from the canoe club.  However,
none of the guests on the porch paid any particular attention
to Dick and Dave.  Both campers and canoers were common enough
at this summer resort.

It was Clara who led the way into a parlor, in one corner of which
there was a writing desk.  Dick seated himself at the desk, and
after a moment's thought began to write, then promptly became
absorbed in his task.  Dave and the girls seated themselves at
a little distance, chatting in low tones.

There were other guests of the Hotel Pleasant in the parlor, while
still others passed in or out from time to time.

One young man, quite fashionably dressed, stepped into the parlor,
looked about him, then started as his glance fell on Dick and Dave.

It was Fred Ripley.

"Hello!" muttered Ripley in a voice just loud enough to carry,
as he stood looking at Dick and Dave.  "I thought I saw, out in
the grounds, a sign that read: 'No tramps, beggars or peddlers
allowed on these grounds or in the hotel.'"

Dick's fingers trembled so that he dropped the pen, though he
tried to conceal his feelings.

Dave Darrin's fists clenched tightly, though he had the good sense
to realize that to start a fight in the parlor was out of the
question.

Ripley's remark had been loud enough to attract the attention
of nearly every person in the big room toward Dick and Dave.

CHAPTER XII

SUSIE DISCOMFITS A BOOR

Laura Bentley bit her lips.  She flushed, then started to rise,
but Susie Sharp gently pushed her back into her seat, then crossed
to an electric button in the frame of a window.

A bell-boy promptly answered Susie's ring.

"Will you kindly ask the manager to come here at once?" asked
Susie.

As it happened, the manager was no further away than the corridor.
He came in quickly, bowing.

"Mr. Wright," asked Susie coldly, nodding toward Fred Ripley,
who stood leaning over a chair, smiling insolently, "will you
kindly have this objectionable person removed?  He is annoying
our guests."

In a twinkling Fred's insolent smile vanished.  Susie's request
had not been voiced in a loud tone, but it had been heard by perhaps
twenty-five strangers in the parlor.

Ripley's face paled, briefly, then became fiery red.  He stood
erect, stammered inarticulately, then looked as though he were
furtively seeking some hiding place.

"I think, Miss Sharp," replied the hotel manager, with another
bow, "that the young man is on the point of leaving, and that
the services of a porter will not be needed."

Fred tried to look unconcerned; he fished mentally for something
smart to say.  For once, however, his self assurance had utterly
deserted him.

"Oh---well!" he muttered, then turned and left the parlor in the
midst of a deep silence that completed his utter humiliation.

"Mr. Wright," said Laura, "I want you to know Mr. Darrin, one
of our most popular high school boys in Gridley.  Dick, can't
you come over here a moment?  Mr. Wright, Mr. Prescott.  Our two
friends, Mr. Wright, have brought up a racing canoe.  They are
camping across the lake.  We hope they will arrange for races
with the Preston and Trentville High School Canoe Clubs."

"I am most glad to meet your friends," said the manager, shaking
hands with Dick and Dave.  "Two of the Preston High School young
men are stopping here in the house, and the others are over at
the Lakeview House.  I hope, Mr. Prescott, that we shall be able
to have some fine high school races.  It will increase the gayety
of the season here."

"Thank you," said Dick.  "But I am afraid, sir, that we have been
worse than neglectful---stupid.

"How so?" asked Mr. Wright, his manner quickly putting both rather
shabby-looking boys wholly at their ease.

"Why, sir," Prescott explained, "we had never thought, until this
morning, to secure authorization from the Athletic Council of
our school to represent Gridley High School.  I am now engaged
in writing a letter asking for that authorization."

"Let me take a hand in this," begged Mr. Wright.  "Is your letter
at all of a private nature?"

"Not in the least, sir."

"May I see it?"

"Certainly, Mr. Wright."

The hotel manager followed Dick to the writing desk, where he
glanced over the letter.

"I have only one suggestion to make," said the manager.  "Why
not ask the secretary, Mr. Howgate, to send his answer by telegraph
to this hotel, collect?"

"That would be all right," agreed Dick frankly, "if his answer
isn't too long, or if he doesn't have to send more than one telegram.
We are not exactly overburdened with funds, Mr. Wright."

"That doesn't cut any figure at all," replied the hotel manager
in a voice so low that none but Prescott heard him.  "Any telegrams
sent here for you will be paid for by the hotel.  There will be
no expense to you, Mr. Prescott."

"I'm afraid I don't understand why you should do this, Mr. Wright,"
said Dick, looking at the other attentively.

"Purely a matter of business, my boy," the hotel manager beamed
down at him.  "Such racing as I hope to have here on Lake Pleasant
constitutes a summer season attraction.  Arrange a schedule of
races, and you may be sure that both hotels will advertise the
fact.  It will be enough to draw a lot of young people here, and
this hotel thrives by the number of guests that it entertains.
So will you do me the favor of asking your Mr. Howgate to telegraph
his answer---collect---addressing it here?"

That began to look like something that Prescott could understand.
He called Dave over to him and told his chum what was being discussed.

"Fine!" glowed Darrin.  "Thank you, Mr. Wright."

So Dick made the suggested addition to the letter.  After he addressed
an envelope and had sealed it the manager took the letter away
to mail.  Then he returned to say, with a tactfulness that won
the hearts of the eight Gridley High School girls:

"Mr. Prescott, you and your friends will oblige me if you will
make this hotel your headquarters when you are on this side of
the lake.  We shall always be delighted to see you here."

Thanking the manager for his courtesy, Dick and Dave accompanied
Laura to the porch; where they were introduced to some of the
other guests.  Then the two boys and the girls started down to
the lakeside once more.

"Mr. Wright was very kind," murmured Dick gratefully.

"He never fails in courtesy toward anyone," replied Laura.  "You
boys will come over every day, won't you?  We must have a picnic
or two."

"And you must all visit our camp." Dick urged.  "It isn't much
of a place, but the welcome will be of the real Gridley kind.
If you dare take the risk, we'll even offer you a camp meal."

"The farmers' gardens are in danger, after all, then," laughed
Susie.  "If you are going to deplete your larders to entertain
us, we girls will surely rob the farmers to make up for what we
eat."

Susie's face had grown so grave that Prescott could not help regarding
her quizzically.

"I mean just what to say about robbing the farmers, don't I, girls?"
Susie asked.

"Yes," agreed Laura Bentley promptly.  She had no idea what was
passing in her friend's head, but she knew Susie well enough to
feel sure that the latter was planning nothing very wicked.

"Can't we take you out, two at a time?" proposed Dick, as the
young people neared the float.

"Now?" inquired Laura.

"Yes; since 'now' is always the best time for doing things," Prescott
replied.

In no time at all the plan had been agreed to.  Clara and Susie
went out for the first ride in the  canoe, Tom Reade taking command,
while Dick and Dave remained on the float.

Two at a time the girls were taken out on the water.  This consumed
nearly two hours of time altogether, but it was thoroughly enjoyed
by every member of the party.

But at last it came close, indeed, to the luncheon hour.

"Now, when are you coming over to that picnic in our camp?" Dick
asked in an outburst of hospitality.

"At what time of the day?" Laura inquired.

"If your mother and Mrs. Meade will come along as chaperons,"
Dick answered, "night would be the best time."

"Why at night?"

"Because, then, you wouldn't be able to see the shabby aspect
of our camp so plainly."

"It would be very jolly to go over and have a picnic meal by the
campfire," Belle agreed.  "Yet, in that case, we would want to
reach your place by half-past four or so in the afternoon."

"Why?"

"So that we girls may have the fun of helping prepare a famous
feast," Miss Meade went on.  "Boys, if we come, we shall pass
luncheon by and bring keen appetites for that evening feast.
What is the principal item on the bill of fare of your camp?"

"Canned goods," replied Tom Reade.

"Don't you believe him," Dick interjected quickly.  "Lake trout,
bass and perch.  This lake is well stocked, and we have already
found one splendid fishing hole.  We got up at five this morning
and caught so many fish in half an hour that we threw some of
them back into the water because we had no ice."

"Will your mothers come, if we have it in the evening?" asked
Dick looking at Laura and Belle.

"Surely," nodded Laura quickly.

"And we'll greatly enjoy it," Dick went on, "if Dr. Bentley will
also come.  Is your father here, Miss Meade?"

"I'm sorry to say that he isn't," Belle answered.  "A real picnic,
in real woods, beside real water, would appeal to him strongly."

"But we haven't fixed upon the date," cried Susie impatiently.

"How would to-morrow night do?" Dick suggested.

"Famously," Laura replied.  "Now, boys, you catch the fish to-morrow
afternoon, and don't bother so much about the other things to
eat.  We won't have any canned stuff in our famous feast.  We
girls will bring all the garden stuff."

"And will steal it from the farmers, at that," added Susie teasingly.

"Yes, you will!" mocked Danny Grin good-humoredly.

"I give you our word that we'll steal everything that we bring
in the garden line," Susie declared vigorously.

"Then you'll arrange it with the farmer in advance," Greg laughed.

"I give you our word that we won't do that, either," laughed Laura,
coming to her friend's support, though she had no idea what was
passing in Susie's busy little head.

"There goes the luncheon bell!" cried Dick reproachfully.  "We're
keeping you girls away from your meal.  Come on, fellows.  Into
the canoe with you."

"But you'll be back here to-morrow morning?" pressed Miss Bentley.

"Yes; at what time?"

"Ten o'clock."

"You'll find us here punctually."

Dick & Co. paddled back to their camp feeling that they were having
a most jolly time, with all the real fun yet to come.

Dick did not think it worth while to go over to the hotel again
that day, to see if a telegram had come.  He was certain that
the letter would not find Mr. Howgate earlier than the next day,
in any event.

But at ten o'clock the next morning Dick & Co., having put the
best possible aspect on their attire, paddled gently in alongside
the float of the Hotel Pleasant.

Even before they had landed, Fred Ripley, who was stopping with
his father and mother at the Lakeview House, alighted from an
automobile runabout in the woods some two hundred yards from the
lakeside camp of Dick & Co.

"Those muckers are away," Fred told himself, as he watched the
war canoe go in at the hotel float.  "Now, if I have half as much
ingenuity as I sometimes think I have, I believe I can cut short
their stay here by rendering that cheap crowd homeless---and foodless!"

CHAPTER XIII

THE RIPLEY HEIR TRIES COAXING

Fred studied the now distant canoe, then glanced carefully about
the camp.

He knew that any sign of his presence, observed by Dick & Co.,
would be sure to result in the swift return of the canoe, with
its load of six indignant boys.

Nor did young Ripley dare to risk discovery as the perpetrator
of the outrage he was now planning.  He feared his father's certain
wrath.

"There are screens of bushes behind which I can operate," Ripley
decided.  "I am glad of the bushes, for, if I use care, not a
living soul can see me.  Now, for some swift work."

It did not take Ripley long to discover where the boys' food supply
was stored.

"These fellows act like boobs!" muttered Fred in disgust.  "Here
they go away and leave everything exposed.  If they didn't have
an enemy in the world, even then some tramp could come along and
clean out the camp.  Humph!  Two tramps, if they wanted to work
for a little while, could carry away all the food there is here.
What a lot of poor, penniless muckers Prescott and his friends
are!"

Again Fred studied the lay of the land, then drew off his coat
and flung it aside.

"Now, to work!" he said to himself gleefully.

First of all, he got the food supplies all together.   Most of this
stuff was in the form of canned goods.  Ripley gathered it up in
one big pile.

Then he stepped over to the tent, from which, at several points
and angles he looked carefully over to the hotel landing float
on the other side of Lake Pleasant.

"They can't see, from the hotel, whether the tent is down or up,"
Fred determined.  "So here goes!"

Opening the largest blade of his pocketknife, Fred cut one of
the guy-ropes.  He passed around the tent, cutting each one in
turn, until the canvas shelter fell over in a white mass.

"Won't they be sore, though?" laughed Fred maliciously, as he
started to carry off the camp supplies.

Gr-r-r-r-r!  Gr-r-r-r!

Just as Fred was straightening up to start off with his load for
a bush-screen near the lake front, Ripley heard that ominous growl.
There was also the sound of something moving through the bushes.

As Fred turned his face blanched.

"Harry Hazelton's bull-dog!" he quivered, now utterly frightened
as he caught sight of the gleaming teeth in that ugly muzzle.
"I didn't know that they had brought that beast with them.  It's
the lake for mine!  If I can only get into the water I can swim
faster than the dog!"

All this flashed through his mind in an Instant.  Young Ripley
started in full flight.

Close behind him, bounding savagely, came the bull-dog, Towser!

Trip!  Fred's foot caught in a root.  Crying out in craven fright,
Fred Ripley plunged to the ground.

There was no time to rise.  Towser, growling angrily, was upon
him with a bound.

Gr-r-r-r-r!

Fred, with a shriek, felt the dog's teeth in the back of his shirt.

"Get out, you beast!" begged young Ripley in a faint voice.

Gr-r-r-r! was all the answer.  Plainly the dog liked the taste
of that shirt, for he held to it tight.

"Get away---please do!" faltered Fred in a broken voice.  "Get
away.  Don't bite.  Nice doggie!  Nice, nice doggie!  Please let
go!"

Gr-r-r-r-r!

But Towser didn't attempt to bite as yet.  For a bull-dog, and
considering how fully he was master of the field at present, Towser
displayed amazing good nature.  Only when young Ripley moved did
the four-footed policeman of the camp utter that warning growl.

"Nice doggie!" coaxed Fred pleadingly.  "Good old fellow!"

To this bit of rank flattery Towser offered no reply.  It began
to look as though he would be quite satisfied if only his captive
made no effort to get away.

"Wouldn't I like to be on my feet, with a shotgun in my hands!"
gritted Fred.

"Gr-r-r-r," replied Towser, as though he were an excellent reader
of human minds.

For a few moments Fred lay utterly quiet, save for the trembling
that he could not control.

During those same moments Towser made himself more comfortable
by shifting himself so that he lay with his paws across Fred's
left shoulder-blade.  His teeth remained firmly fastened in Ripley's
shirt.

"Now, how long are you going to stay here, you beast?" glared
Fred Ripley, though he did not dare emphasize his displeasure
by stirring.  It was an instance in which his own displeasure
amounted to infinitely less than that of the dog.

Over at the hotel Dick Prescott was reading this telegram to his
chums:

"Letter received.  Am communicating with other members of Council.
Will let you know when I have word.  Signed Howgate."

"Oh, you'll get your authorization all right," Laura declared
cheerily.  "It's only a matter of form."

Laura did not tell something she knew---to the effect that at
her request Dr. Bentley had wired Mr. Howgate, urging that the
permission be granted to the boys to race as a high school
organization.

"May we take you young ladies out in the canoe this morning?"
Dick inquired.

"Only a few of us, or for very short, trips," Laura replied.
"The fact is, we girls are to play hostess to you this noon."

"Hostess?" asked Dave, looking puzzled.

"Yes; we are going to be your hostesses at luncheon," Laura smiled.

"But I thought you girls were going to skip luncheon in favor
of the picnic meal to-night."

"Wait until you boys see the luncheon," laughed Susie Sharp, "and
you'll be sure to think we might as well have skipped that meal.
It will be light and shadowy, I promise you.  Toast, lettuce
salad, moonbeam soup, sprites' cake, feather pudding and ghost
fruit."

"Won't there be some dog biscuit?" asked Danny Grin hopefully.

"You shall have a special plate," Susie promised.

So the canoe was hauled up on the float and left there, and a
general chat followed.

At noon, Dr. Bentley joined the young people, talking with them
pleasantly, after which he led the way to the hotel.

There, in a little private dining room, the boys met Mrs. Bentley
and Mrs. Meade.  The luncheon was soon after served.

It was a dainty meal, though far more elaborate than Susie had
led the boys to expect.

At the end of the meal a waiter, looking duly solemn, presented
at Danny Grin's elbow a plate holding three dog biscuits.

"Thank you," said Dan Dalzell politely.  "But I shall keep them
for future use."

Very calmly, notwithstanding Dick's slight frown, Dan placed the
biscuit in his coat pockets, though some of the girls found it
hard indeed not to giggle.

After the meal the party adjourned to the lawn under the shade
of some fine old elms.  A little later a farm wagon, drawn by
a pair of horses, stopped near the group.

"Now, you must excuse us, boys," announced Laura, rising with
a mysterious air.  "We girls have a little errand to perform.
We shall be back before half-past four o'clock."

"Wouldn't it be better to be back a good deal before that time?"
urged Dick.  "You see, we can't carry more than three passengers
at once, and we are to have eleven guests to ferry across the
lake."

"Why, didn't I tell you?" asked Laura, looking astonished.  "My
father said it would be an imposition to ask you boys to make
four round trips this afternoon, and as many more to-night, so
he has engaged one of the hotel launches to take us over, and
to call for us this evening.  You don't mind, do you, boys?  But
we would like to have you here at half-past four o'clock to go
across the lake with us."

"We'll be here," Dick promised promptly.

Six high school boys watched the girls drive off in the farm wagon,
waving handkerchiefs and parasols back to the boys.

"Two o'clock," remarked Dick, looking at his watch.  "Suppose
we take a spin up the lake?"

"Or go back to camp, to make it more ship shape?" suggested Tom
Reade.

"What's the use?" inquired Prescott.  "We fixed everything as
well as we could before leaving there this morning.  As to the
safety of the camp, Harry's dog, Towser, can be depended upon
to look after that."

So Dick & Co. headed up the lake in their canoe.

CHAPTER XIV

THE LIAR HAS A LIE READY

"That's an odd sight, over yonder," announced Dave, pointing shoreward
with his paddle.

They were now nearly three miles above the hotel landing.  They
had entered a section of the country given over to truck gardening.

"Women gathering in the produce," said Dick, after a glance.

"I don't like that," uttered Dave in disgust.

"I thought we had progressed too far, and had become too civilized.
Years ago I know that women used to work in the fields, but I
thought we were above that sort of thing."

"Perhaps the farmer's sons' were all girls," suggested Danny Grin.

"I don't like it, anyway," retorted Dave.

"Nor I," agreed Tom.  "To have women at work in the fields makes
it appear as though the men are too lazy."

The sight on shore was not interesting enough to claim long attention,
so the young canoeists proceeded on their way.

At a little after four o'clock, however, they were back at the
landing.

Not long after, eight young women were sighted riding along in
a farm wagon, while Dr. and Mrs. Bentley and Mrs. Meade strolled
down one of the paths.

The wagon reached the pier first, just as a launch in charge of
one of the hotel employs came puffing out of a boathouse near
by.

"Come here, boys, and help us unload the wagon," called Susie
Sharp.

Dick & Co. sprang in answer to her summons.

"Why, what on earth have you here?" demanded Dave, opening his
eyes wide as he saw the contents of the wagon.

There were dozens of ears of corn, a sack of new potatoes, cucumbers,
tomatoes, a dozen big watermelons and a bushel of early summer
apples.

"Sh!" warned Laura mysteriously.  "Didn't we promise you we'd
rob some farmer for the feast?  Did you think that boys are the
only ones who can go foraging for a country picnic?"

"You girls didn't go foraging---did you?" gasped Dick Prescott.

"We surely did," retorted Susie Sharp.

"Didn't we say we would do so?  And doesn't all this stuff prove
it?"

"Then you paid the farmer for it," guessed Tom Reade wisely.

"We didn't do any such thing," Miss Sharp insisted.  "Did we,
girls?"

Seven other young feminine heads shook in vigorous denial.

"We didn't pay the farmer, and we didn't make any arrangement
with him," said Laura quietly, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
"We simply drove out along the road until we came to the field,
and-----"

"-----Ravaged it," supplemented Belle Meade demurely.  "We went
through that field like war, famine and pestilence combined!"

"Hurry!" called Susie peremptorily.

So the boys made haste with the vegetables and fruit, transferring
everything to the bow of the launch, where it was neatly stacked.

"What do you think of that?" Tom demanded of Dick in a whisper
at the first opportunity.

"The girls are chaffing us," Dick answered knowingly.  "Stole
the stuff, did they?  That is, stole it in earnest?  Nonsense!
They're too nice girls for that!  But I guess even nice girls,
like some decent fellows, find enjoyment, once in a while, in
making believe they are doing something desperate.  Of course
they didn't really steal this stuff."

"If they did," muttered Tom, "they'd be the kind of girls we wouldn't
want to know."

"It's all right," Dick assured him.  "Sooner or later the truth
of this joke of theirs will all come out.  There are no finer
girls in the country than they."

By this time the older people had joined them.  Dr. Bentley's
party embarked in the launch, taking up all the room there was.

"Pass us your bow-line, and we can just as well give you boys
a tow," proposed the doctor.  "There is no use in your paddling."

"Thank you very much, sir," Dick answered, "but paddling is just
the fun for which we bought this canoe.  We do it because we like
it.  And we'll show you how fast we can get across the lake."

With a toot of the whistle the launch started.  Dick gave the
word to his chums.  At first the canoe, even under moderate paddling,
went ahead of the launch, though gradually the launch drew up.

"You boys look as if you were working," called Dr. Bentley.

"We're doing very little work, sir," Dave answered.  "We could
make the canoe go faster than this, but it would hardly do to
run ahead of our guests."

In truth the canoe slipped rapidly through the water with the
expenditure of only a moderate amount of energy on the part of
Dick & Co.

In a few minutes the lake had been crossed.  A point was found
at which the launch could be backed in.  By this time the boys
were on shore, their canoe hauled up, and they stood ready to
help their guests ashore.

"We've landed a little below the camp," said Dick, "but it won't
take us more than a minute  to walk there.  After we've taken
you into the camp we'll return for the garden truck."

Gr-r-r-r-r! came a warning sound through the bushes.

"Towser!" spoke Harry Hazelton sharply.  "I'm ashamed of you!"

"You ought to be!" came the answer in another voice, and a surly
one, at that.

"Fred Ripley?" muttered Dick.  "What on earth can he be doing
here?"

Unconsciously all of the picnickers hastened their steps.  Then
they came upon a truly ludicrous sight.

Fred lay where he had been lying ever since ten o'clock that morning.
He was coatless, stretched out face downward, with Towser still
camped across his shoulder, and the dog's teeth still fastened
in his shirt.

"Come and call this measly dog off!" ordered Fred, in a surly
tone.  "This is a fine reward that I get for trying to do you
fellows a friendly turn!"

Dick, Dave and Tom were the first to get within range and obtain
a glimpse of the extraordinary scene.  They halted, gasping, though
their glances swiftly took in the whole affair.  They comprehended
what Ripley had been doing, and how the dog had come upon the
marauder.

By this time the other members of the party came in sight.  Fred
still lay on the ground,  scowling and fuming over his undignified
position, while Towser still kept an eye open for business.

"Call this dog off!" Fred ordered again.

"How did the dog happen to catch you here?" Dick asked quietly.

"Call this dog off and I'll tell you," snapped Fred.  "I was trying
to do you fellows a good turn, but the dog had to interfere and
get hold of the wrong party."

"You were trying to do us a good turn?" gasped Dick wonderingly.

"Yes---but it will be the last time, unless you call this dog
off," snarled young Ripley.

Perhaps it is hardly necessary to say that not one in the party
believed Fred's extraordinary story.

"Hazelton, get this dog of yours away, or I'll go to court and
secure an order to have the beast shot!" snapped young Ripley.

But at this moment another voice was heard calling from the roadway:

"Fred!  Fred!  Are you there?"

It was Squire Ripley's voice, though the lawyer himself could
not be seen as yet.

"Yes, sir; your son is here," Dick answered.  "Come and see just
how he is here!"

"Get your dog off quickly, Hazelton!" urged Fred.

But Harry, at a slight sign from Dick, didn't stir or open his
mouth to call off his dog.

Through the brush came the sound of hurried steps.  Then Lawyer
Ripley stepped into the group.

"Fred, what on earth does this mean?" demanded the lawyer, staring
hard.

"That's just what we thought you might like to find out, sir,"
Dick replied.  "We've been away from camp all day, and just came
back to this scene, Mr. Ripley.  You are something of an expert
in the matter of evidence, sir.  Will you kindly tell us what
you make out of this?  There is our tent cut down.  There are
all of our food supplies in a pile, except what you see scattered
about on the ground.  Your son appears to have been headed for
the lake when our dog overtook him and pinned him down.  As a
lawyer, Mr. Ripley, what would you conclude from the evidence
thus presented?"

"Call that dog away!" ordered Mr. Ripley.

"Willingly, sir," Dick agreed, "now that you have had opportunity
to look into all the evidence that we found.  Harry, will you do
the honors?"

Smiling slightly, Hazelton stepped forward to speak to Towser.
That four-footed guardian of the camp displayed some resentment
at first over the idea of letting go of Fred's shirt.  After a
little, however, Hazelton succeeded in getting his dog away and
tied to a tree.

Fred rose to his feet, his face fiery red while he trembled visibly.

"What is the meaning of this, young man?" demanded Lawyer Ripley.

"The meaning," choked the lawyer's son wrathfully, "is just this:
I was coming by this place this morning in the runabout, when
I heard a good deal of coarse laughter down here.  I knew the
voices weren't those of boys, and so I knew that something must
be up.  I got out of the car and came over here.  I saw two tramps
in the camp.  They had already cut down the tent, and when I arrived
they were planning to cart the food away.  Then they saw me as
I stepped forward.  I told them what I thought of them for thieving
in such fashion.  Then the tramps got ready to jump on me and
thrash me.  Just as I raised my hands to defend myself this dog
came bounding out of the woods and the tramps ran away.  Having
no more sense than any other fool dog, the cur pinned me down
and held me here."

"All day?" asked his father.

"Yes; I've been a prisoner here for hours," quavered Fred.  "And
now these fellows want to make out, before the high school friends
of mine," nodding toward the girls, "that I was the thief and
destroyer."

"That story is straightforward enough," commented the lawyer,
turning to the others rather stiffly.  "Do any of you wish to
challenge it?"

No one spoke.

"I'll tell you what I wish, father," broke in Fred angrily.  "I
want an order from the court to have that dog seized and shot.
He's a vicious and dangerous brute!"

"I think such a court order will be easily obtained," replied
Mr. Ripley frigidly.

Harry Hazelton turned pale, clenching his fists, though he had
the good sense not to speak just then.  The other boys all looked
highly concerned.

"Were you bitten by the dog?" asked Dr. Bentley quietly.

"I---I don't know yet," replied Fred.  "I can't tell."

"Mr. Ripley," said Dr. Bentley very quietly, "if you contemplate
seeking a court order for having the dog shot, then I suggest
that you permit me to take the young man aside and examine him.
I am a physician, with a good many years of practice behind me,
and any court would pronounce me competent to testify as to whether
your son has been bitten, and, if so, to what extent."

"I don't choose to be examined here," Fred declared sulkily.
"If I want anything of that sort done our own physician can do
it."

"Young man," replied Dr. Bentley, "your father is an eminent lawyer.
He is therefore qualified to inform you that if you decline an
examination now as to the presence or absence of injuries on your
body, your refusal would have to be taken into account in contested
court action for the death of the dog."

"Dr. Bentley is quite right, and he has stated the matter accurately,"
replied Mr. Ripley.  "Fred, do you desire to be examined now?
If so, we can go away to some secluded spot with the doctor,
and with the dog's owner and any other witness desired."

"I don't want to do anything now but to get away from here," replied
Fred sulkily.  "I want to be rid of Prescott and his friends as
soon as possible."

"Very good, then," nodded his father.  "You may do as you like,
but if you refuse Dr. Bentley's suggestion for an immediate examination
you will stand no chance of securing an order dooming the dog."

Fred's further answer was an angry snort as he turned away.  His
father lingered to say:

"If your suspicions that my son was here improperly are anywhere
near correct, then you are entitled to my most hearty apology.
Fred is a peculiar and high-strung boy, but I believe his impulses
are right in the main.  I will add that I believe his account
of how he came to be in this strange plight.  He took the car
early this morning.  I am just returning from a spin in our larger
automobile.  I saw my runabout at the edge of the road and it
occurred to me to stop and see if my son were here.  Is there
anything more to be said about my son's peculiar experience here?"

"Nothing, thank you, Mr. Ripley," replied Dr. Bentley, after a
sidelong glance at Dick.

"Then I will bid you all good afternoon," replied Squire Ripley,
raising his hat to the women.

Dr. Bentley watched the lawyer out of sight, then turned to Hazelton
with a smile.

"Harry," remarked the physician, "your dog won't be shot by order
of the court."

CHAPTER XV

AT THE GREATEST OF FEASTS

It proved a glorious affair, that picnic by the edge of the lake.

Tom and Dan took Clara and Susie out in the canoe to watch them
as they fished.

The other four boys fell to with a will, reweaving in new guy
ropes and erecting the tent again.

Then firewood was gathered in armfuls and several campfires started.

Just before dark the canoe came in with a cargo of nearly four
dozen fish.

These Tom and Dan took to one side and quickly cleaned.  Just
as Dick and Dave were beginning to realize with some embarrassment
that they had nowhere near enough dishes for such an affair, the
man from the launch appeared with two baskets of dishes.  He then
brought up three folding tables and proceeded to set them up,
next bringing on campstools.  Dr. Bentley had overlooked nothing.
Last of all paper lanterns were strung from the trees, and just
at dark these were lighted.

Potatoes were set to boil in a kettle.  Embers were raked down
and corn still in the husks was set in the embers and covered
up to roast.  Some of the girls sliced more tomatoes than the
whole party could eat.  Cucumbers, too, were prepared.

Fish were broiled on grates over the fires.  All was ready just
before dark.

Dick gave the launch man a hearty invitation to join them at supper,
the latter shaking his head, expressed his thanks and hurried
away.

What an appetizing meal it was!  Nothing seemed to have gone wrong.
It was a merry party indeed that sat down around the tables.

Suddenly there came an interruption.  "Camp!  Oh, I say---camp!"
called a gruff voice from the road.

"Here!" called Dick, rising from the table.  "Who is it?"

"Any girls there?" demanded the same voice.

"Several," Dick acknowledged.

"Having a picnic, are you?" demanded the strange voice.

"The best ever!" Dick replied heartily.

"Lots of fresh vegetables, too, eh?"

"Ye-es," Dick assented slowly, and with a peculiar feeling.  He
recalled the laughing talk of the girls about "stealing," and
now wondered what was about to happen.

"I guess they're the girls I want, then," continued the voice
of the unseen speaker.

Dick & Co. felt a swift spasm of uneasiness, for that voice sounded
as though it might belong to the law.

A moment later a roughly dressed man moved down into the circle.

"My name is Dobson," said the new comer, looking hard at the girls.
"I reckon you were in my truck garden this afternoon, weren't
you?"

"Why---er----ye-es," admitted Laura, the first to find her voice.
She rose and faced Mr. Dobson with a look of budding uneasiness.

"Took lot of my vegetables, didn't you?" pressed the farmer.

"Ye-es," faltered Laura, "but-----"

"Excuse me, miss, but there aren't many kinds of 'buts' about a
transaction of that kind," insisted the farmer.

Here, Dr. Bentley, who had looked less concerned than anyone else
present, broke in:

"Your name is Dobson?" he asked.

"Not Gibson, then?" pressed the doctor.

"Course my name isn't Gibson, if it's Dobson," retorted the farmer.
"There is a man named Gibson who lives 'bout a quarter of a mile
from my place."

"Then I imagine I shall have to take you one side and have a little
conversation with you," smiled the doctor, rising.  "Will you
follow me?"

The farmer nodded without speaking and the two men walked away.

Ten minutes later Dr. Bentley returned to the young people.

"I appeased the farmer's wrath," he announced, with a laugh.
"And now, young ladies, if my judgment is worth anything, I think
it is about time to let the cat out of the bag."

Eight high school girls flushed and looked rather confused.

"Why, has anything wrong been going on?" inquired Mrs. Bentley
anxiously, while Mrs. Meade waited breathlessly for the reply.

"Nothing extremely wrong," replied Dr. Bentley.  "I will explain
what happened.  Some of these young ladies, having heard that
boys occasionally rob orchards or gardens for a feast, laughingly
promised the young hosts of this evening that they would steal
the necessary vegetables for to-night's supper.  Now, while some
boys may sometimes do such things, it is needless to add that
no boy with a good home and a mother's training is likely to become
engaged in such petty pilfering.  I don't believe the boys for
a moment credited the girls with any real stealing."

"We didn't," spoke up Dick promptly.  "We knew there was a string
to the joke somewhere."

"These young ladies consulted me," went on Dr. Bentley.  "Of course
they wanted the whole matter kept very quiet, and they made me
promise secrecy.  I told them that I didn't like their plan at
all, but they coaxed, and I will admit that I yielded to their
coaxing very much against my best judgment.  They wanted to be
able to say that they hadn't paid the farmer, or made any arrangement
whatever with him.  That much is true.  They didn't approach the
farmer---they sent me.  I went to Farmer Gibson and made the
arrangement with him for the supplies, paying him in advance a fair
price for whatever the young ladies would take out of his garden.
Yet, in spite of my care in the matter, and my very explicit
directions to them, it seems that they went astray, and descended
upon the truck garden of Mr. Dobson, instead of that of Mr. Gibson.
Mr. Dobson, not having received any pay, very naturally objected to
being looted of his vegetables while Mr. Gibson received the money.
But I have been able to explain matters in a satisfactory manner
to Mr. Dobson, and have sent him on his ways"

Eight very crestfallen high school girls listened to this recital.

The boys, had they not felt a manly sympathy for their discomfited
friends, would have laughed outright.

"I am glad that it is no worse," said Mrs. Bentley in a relieved
voice.  "At the same time, it was a very silly performance."

"It was," nodded the doctor, who turned to the girls to add:

"My dears, as you succeeded this time in making me your very reluctant
accomplice, I am in no position to say very much to you.  But
I trust you all realize the situation and its outcome, and that
you will never allow yourselves to be made ridiculous again in
any such way."

"I don't believe we shall," Laura replied.  "We felt ashamed of
ourselves afterwards, but we were silly enough to feel because
we had pledged ourselves to forage for fruit and vegetables that
the joke must be carried out."

"Tom Reade," snapped Susie Sharp, "you are just bursting with
laughter that you can hardly hold back."

"Not I!" Tom denied promptly.  "I am congratulating myself that
we boys had sense enough not to take seriously your claim that
you had been robbing anyone's garden.  As it happened, you did
that very thing, but you didn't know it, and you didn't mean to."

There was an embarrassed silence.  Then Dick proposed:

"Let's have a good-natured laugh all around and forget the whole
thing."

That relieved the awkwardness of the situation.  After that a
watermelon was cut and brought to the tables.

"Gridley, ahoy!" called a voice across the dark waters.

"Who's there?" called Dick.

"Preston High School Canoe Club.  May we visit your camp?"

"Shall I invite them over?" asked Dick, looking at Mrs. Bentley
and then at the girls.

Receiving their consent, he called out:

"Come in, Preston High School!  Welcome!"

A soft splashing of paddles showed where the visitors were coming
in to shore.  Dan Dalzell taking the camp lantern, ran to meet them.

A moment later six Preston lads were stepping ashore, one after
the other.  Dick, having excused himself at table, came forward
also to greet them.

Two of the Preston High School boys were already acquainted with
Laura Bentley and some of her friends.  Introductions followed
rapidly.

"Drop into the Gridley seats and have some of the watermelon,"
Dick pressed the visitors, he and his chums standing in order
to do the honors of the occasion.

"It looks as though we had been trying to invite ourselves to
a banquet," laughed Hartwell, "big chief" of the Preston High
School "Indians."  "We didn't mean to seem as rude as that, Prescott."

"All I know," smiled Dick cordially, "is that you are all heartily
welcome.  Can we stir up a fire and broil some fish?"

"Don't think of it, thank you," begged Hartwell.  "We've had our
suppers---dinners, the hotel folks insist on calling 'em.  It's
jolly enough for us to be allowed to join you and see the watermelon
passing around."

"Chug!  chug!  Puff!  puff!" sounded the returning launch.  Dick
glanced apprehensively at Dr. Bentley and the ladies.  Did the
coming of the launch mean that it was about time for the pleasant
evening to break up?

"Might I ask where and how you find such delicious watermelons
in this neck of the woods?" inquired Brown, of the Prestons.

"Ask the young ladies," piped up Danny Grin, thereby getting himself
much disliked for at least the next thirty seconds.

"Dr. Bentley and the young ladies obtained the melons from a farmer,"
explained Tom Reade, giving Dan an unseen poke in the small of
the back.

"These melons look good enough to steal," laughed Hartwell, and
was unable to understand the total silence that greeted his assertion.

"Help wanted from a couple of you boys!" called the voice of the
launch man.

Four of Dick & Co. raced down to the water's edge.  They came
back, staggering under a big bucket covered on the top with bagging.

"What is this?" asked Dick.

"Ice cream," explained the doctor.  "Mrs. Bentley's suggestion."

"We fellows of Preston High School feel ashamed of ourselves for
having intruded," exclaimed Hartwell.  "May we be permitted to
withdraw?"

"At any time after ten o'clock," smiled Mrs. Bentley graciously.
"We shall be very much disappointed if you leave us at present."

There was a clatter of dishes and spoons.  Mrs. Bentley and Mrs.
Meade presided over this part of the camp feast.

"We needn't ask you Gridley fellows if you've been having a good
time," declared Hartwell presently.  "But we hadn't any idea that
we should intrude on an affair of this sort.  In fact, while business
must be barred now, I will admit that business was the object
of our call."

"What sort of business?" inquired Dick Prescott.

"We came to challenge you fellows to a race," explained Big Chief
Hartwell.

"A race?" chuckled Dave.  "Queer how you've bit us where we live!"

"Do you think you can beat us in a canoe race?" asked Hartwell.

"Yes," Dick rejoined.  "All we need to arrange is the date.  We'll
beat you on any date that you name!  That isn't brag, please
understand!  It's merely the old, old Gridley High School way."

The young ladies applauded this sentiment merrily.

CHAPTER XVI

A SCALP-HUNTING DISAPPOINTMENT

"Want to try us out, Gridley?" hailed Big Chief Hartwell, from the
Preston High School canoe.

It was nearly ten o'clock the next morning, but Dick & Co. had
just finished putting their camp to rights after breakfast, for
they had slept late after the feast.

"Do we want to try you out?" Dick answered laughingly.  "Why,
we don't have to do that.  We shall be ready to hand you a beating,
though, at any time you ask for it.  We can't help beating you,
you know.  It's the Gridley way!"

"Brag is a good dog," derided Brown from the bow seat of the Preston
canoe.

"We keep both dogs here," Dave shouted tantalizingly.

"Are you coming out to wallop us?" Hartwell insisted.

"Yes; if you insist upon it," Dick agreed.  "But we don't like
to do it."

"Get into your canoe and come out and see how much of your brag
you can make good," was Hartwell's calm reply.

"What?  Now?" Prescott inquired.

"'Now' is always the best time to do a thing," declared Mason,
of Preston High School.

"Oh, no," smiled Dick, with a shake of his head.  "You fellows
have been out for some time this morning.  You'll have to give
us time to warm up properly."

"I didn't suppose Gridley needed a little thing like that," Hartwell
taunted.  "You Gridleyites are such sure winners, you know, that
you ought not to need such a little thing as preparation."

"One of the reasons why Gridley wins," Dick retorted, "is that
we always use common sense when entering sporting events.  So
we'll ask you to oblige us with a gift of our rights in the matter.
In fifteen minutes we'll be ready for you."

Gently the canoe was launched in the water.  Harry, with a remembrance
of yesterday's events, called Towser, saying sternly:

"Stay right here, boy, and watch.  Maybe you'll get the rest of
Rip's shirt to-day."

"And maybe he won't," chuckled Dave.  "That's what I call holding
out false hopes to a dog.  Rip won't venture within five miles
of here to-day.  Yet perhaps Towser will bag some other game for
us."

"Into the canoe with you, you loitering braves!" called Big Chief
Prescott firmly.

Away went the Gridley war canoe, gliding smoothly.

"Our craft is the 'Pathfinder'," called Hartwell, across the water.
"What do you call your boat?"

"The 'Scalp-hunter'," smiled Dick.  As a matter of fact he and
his friends had forgotten to name the canoe, but he supplied the
name on the spur of the moment.  It made a prompt hit with his
chums.

"You don't believe you can win any race with such paddling as
yours, do you?" Hartwell called derisively.

"We don't show all our fine points to the enemy until the battle
is on," was Prescott's amiable answer.  "Even then you won't see
all our best tricks; you'll be too busy paddling to keep in sight
of us."

Only very gradually did Dick allow his crew to warm up to their
work.  The Preston boys soon paddled over to the middle of the
lake, and there lay resting.

"Now, we'll go back and give them a brush," Dick murmured to his
chums.  "Don't exceed any orders that I give in the brush.  Don't
be at all uneasy if we find the Prestons going ahead of us."

"Haven't we got to win?" queried Dave.

"Especially after all the brag we've been throwing in their
direction?" Tom supplemented.

"We'll win if we can do it easily," Dick answered.  "Otherwise
we won't."

"Then what becomes of our Gridley talk?" asked Greg.

"The difference is that this isn't a real race to-day," Prescott
explained.  "This is only a brush, and we're in it only to see
what the Preston boys can show us about canoe handling."

At a rather slow, easy dip, the "Scalp-hunter" ranged up near
the "Pathfinder."

"All ready there, Gridley?" called Hartwell rather impatiently.

"As ready as we're going to be," said Dick.

"Flying start, or from a stop?"

"Either," Dick nodded.

"Then," proposed Hartwell, "move along until your prow is flush
with ours.  When I give the word both crews paddle for all they're
worth.  Steer for the two blasted pines at the lower end of the
lake."

"That's good," Dick agreed.

Very gently the war canoe ranged alongside, her bark sides,
well-oiled, glistening in the sunlight.  The Preston canoe was not
of bark, but of cedar frame, covered with canvas.

Hartwell evidently wanted a wholly fair race, for he even allowed
the "Scalp-hunter's" prow the lead of a couple of feet before
he shouted:

"Go it!"

Amid a great flashing of paddles the two canoes started.  The
Preston High School craft soon obtained a lead of a foot or so,
and held it.  Now the contest was a stubborn one.  Gridley gained
two feet more.

"You see," called Dick in a low voice, "this is the Gridley way."

"Is it?" Hartwell inquired.  "Hanky-pank!"

Plainly enough the last two words were a signal.  Though the Preston
High School boys did not make much visible change in their style
or speed of dip, the "Pathfinder" now gained perceptibly.  Within
a minute she had a lead of a clean ten feet, and seemed likely
to increase the interval.

"Why don't you come along, Gridley?" called back the big chief
in the leading canoe.

"Too early," smiled Dick.  Nor did he allow the Gridley boys to
increase their speed.  Presently the "Pathfinder" led by two lengths.

"Why didn't you tell us," Hartwell demanded over his shoulder,
"that the much vaunted Gridley way is 'way to the rear?"

"We haven't reached the pines yet, have we?" Dick asked.

"No; and you won't, to-day, unless you push that clumsy tub of
yours along faster."

"Don't wait for us," Dick answered goodnaturedly.  "We'll be here
after a little while."

"We'll wait for you when we land," laughed Hartwell.  "Mumble
bumble!"

Another secret signal, surely, for again the "Pathfinder" began
to increase the distance from the Gridley rival.

"We'd better stop, and pretend we're only fishing," muttered Tom
Reade, but Dick kept grimly silent.  He was watching every move
of the Preston paddlers.

"Why, they're leading us four lengths," muttered Darrin, in an
undertone.  But Prescott appeared unworried.

"We'll try to brace our speed, by and by," Dick answered.

"And so will the other fellows," Tom surmised.  "They're not going
at anything like their pace as yet."

For a quarter of a mile the canoes held the same relative position.

"Now, liven up," Dick called softly.  "One, two, three, four!
One, two, three, four!"

Catching the rhythm, Dick & Co. put in some good strokes, their
paddling becoming faster and stronger.  A length and a half of
the interval was closed up.

"Porky-poo!" ordered Hartwell.

Answering, the Preston High School boys paddled as though fury
now possessed them.  They held the pace, too.

"Hit it up hard, now," Dick commanded.  "One, two, three, four!"

Never had Gridley responded more nobly on any field of sport or
other contest than now.  The paddles flew, their wet blades gleaming
in the air, only to disappear under the water again.  Each recovery
was swift, prompt rhythmic!

But Hartwell's crew was also showing the stuff of which it was
made.

"Stop paddling---back water!" shouted Hartwell finally.

The "Pathfinder" lay on the water, motionless, only two yards
from the shore on which stood the blasted pines.

At that same instant the Gridley High School "Scalp-hunter" was
a trifle more than seven lengths astern.

"That was good and warming," smiled Big Chief Dick, as the second
canoe came up.

"Yah, yah, yah!" retorted the Preston High School boys, betraying
their delight in derisive grins.

"Where is that wonderful, all-conquering way you were telling
us about?" chaffed Hartwell.

"You'll find out when we race," smiled Prescott calmly.

"When we race?" repeated Preston's big chief.  "Didn't we race
just now?  Or do you consider that it wasn't a race just because
you weren't in it?"

"It wasn't a race," Dick answered.  "Merely a brush."

"Brush?" repeated Hartwell indignantly.  "Didn't we challenge
you fellows, and didn't you accept?  Also, didn't you lose?"

"We lost the brush," Dick admitted.

"You lost the race to us," Hartwell declared stoutly.  "Preston
High School beat Gridley High School by several lengths!"

"Hardly that," Dick retorted coolly.  "Preston High School merely
distanced some boys from Gridley High School.  You didn't defeat
a Gridley High School canoe crew."

"Why didn't we?" the Preston High School big chief questioned.

"Because, if you recall all the chat we had last night, the
'Scalp-hunter's' crew isn't yet official.  We haven't been
authorized by the Athletic Council of Gridley High School."

"Is that the way you get out of it?" blurted Hartwell.

"No," Dick smiled.  "That's the way we get Gridley High School
out of the charge of defeat.  As soon as we're authorized to represent
Gridley High School as an official canoe crew, then you may claim
any victory you can obtain over us.  But you haven't beaten our
high school yet for the reason that we don't officially represent
Gridley High School.  Isn't that all clear?"

"I suppose so," Hartwell assented disappointedly.  "But we took
it that we were racing the Gridley High School Canoe Club."

"Then after this you want to do more thinking," Dick laughed.
"But don't feel too disappointed, Preston.  Just as soon as we
receive sanction from our Athletic Council we'll give you a race
in earnest, and a chance for all the glory you are able to take
away from us."

There was some further good-natured talk, after which the two
canoe clubs separated.

Dick guided the "Scalp-hunter" back to camp.  There, as soon as
the canoe had been hauled ashore, Dave Darrin threw himself on
the grass, remarking:

"This morning teaches us something!  We're in no class with those
Preston High School boys.  We've no business racing, in the name
of our school, before next summer!"

CHAPTER XVII

THE GOOD WORD BY WIRE

"We'll race within a few days," Dick declared serenely.  "We've
got to race soon, for our funds won't hold out long and we can't
stay here all summer."

"The Athletic Council will thank us for losing the race," murmured
Greg Holmes, ironically.

"We won't lose," Dick maintained, "unless you fellows throw the
race against Gridley."

"Throw the race?" echoed Tom Reade indignantly.  "Dick Prescott,
do you think we'd do a thing like that?"

"I'm sure you wouldn't," their big chief admitted coolly.

"Do you mean to say that we didn't do our best this morning?"
questioned Danny Grin.

"Our very best?" added Hazelton.

"We all did the best that was in us---this morning," Dick went
on.  "But we'll be a lot better prepared when we get into a real
race."

"I don't believe I can paddle any harder than I did at the finish
this morning," Reade argued.  "In fact, I know I can't.  My back
aches yet with the work that I did."

"I don't doubt it," Dick smiled.  "I know that my back aches."

"Then how are we going to win in any other race against Preston
High School?" Darrin asked curiously.

"Did you fellows study the paddling work of the Prestons this
morning?" Prescott asked.

"I saw their paddles ahead of us all the time," Greg murmured.

"That was a good place to have their paddles, for study," Dick
laughed.  "Couldn't you see, from their paddling, why they beat
us with ease?"

"No!  Could you?" challenged Tom.

"Yes.  The Preston fellows dip their paddles better than we do.
They dip so that the blade always cuts the breeze, instead of
meeting it.  When they recover they turn their paddles so as to
slip them out of the water without throwing any back strain on
the canoe's progress.  I was studying their paddling work all
the time, and I hoped that you fellows were doing the same."

"The Prestons have a lighter, swifter canoe, anyway," contended
Dave.

"I think they have some advantage over us, that way," Dick nodded.
"At the same time I am certain that we ought to beat Preston
by beating their style of paddling."

"Beating their style of paddling?" echoed Reade.  "Why, according
to what you've told us we can't even equal their paddling."

"We're going to equal it," Dick answered, "and we ought to beat
it.  At two o'clock, fellows, we're going out for two hours of
drill.  Then I'll try to explain what I think I saw of the Preston
superiority in dipping and recovery.  If I really observed correctly,
then we ought to be able to do much better, for I also think I
see how to improve on the Preston High School paddle work enough
to make their performance look almost clumsy."

"If you can do that," proclaimed Hazelton ungrudgingly, "then
you're a wonder, Dick."

"We shall see," smiled the big chief.

"And if we don't see straight," mumbled Reade, "then Preston will
hand us such a wallop that we won't even have the nerve to take
up a challenge from Trentville High School."

For the rest of the morning Dick & Co. were much more thoughtful
than usual.  They had met defeat---a thing they didn't relish.
Yet they knew, in advance, how much worse they would feel if
they met a defeat when officially entered as a Gridley High School
crew---for the honor of their school was dear to them all.

The noonday meal was over before one o'clock.  Dick would not
allow the "Scalp-hunter" to be put in the water a minute before
two.  He wanted to be sure that digestion had proceeded far enough
so that they might do their best.

At the time appointed, however, he took the crew out on the water,
and there carefully explained what he thought he had learned of
the better paddling style of the Preston High School boys.

"You certainly did see a whole lot that I didn't see," Reade admitted,
"and I believe that you saw it straight, too, Dick."

"We can certainly shoot the old canoe ahead faster, already,"
Dave murmured delightedly.

"Now, Dick, what are the improvements you thought you might have
on the Preston style?" Danny Grin asked eagerly.

"To-morrow will be time enough to try out improvements, or any
kind of frills," Prescott answered patiently.  "For this afternoon
let us confine ourselves to paddling as well as the Preston High
School fellows do it.  To-morrow we'll see if we can't do better
than they do."

After a little more practice it was surprising how much more easily
they took to the new style of paddling.

"Rest on your paddles for a few minutes," Dick ordered.  "Get
in some deep breaths.  Then I'm going to pump up your speed to
the best that you can do with the new stroke.  We'll try to go
to the hotel landing flying."

When all was ready Prescott gave the word.

"Now, your best speed, and all the strength you can properly put
into the work.  Go!  One, two, three, four!  One, two, three, four!"

Across the lake sped the canoe, Dick & Co. fully aware that they
were now traveling at a speed that had been impossible to them
that same morning.

"Stop paddling!  Back water!  Stop backing!"

With deft movements of his own paddle, Dick swung the canoe in
gently against the float.

Out of the boathouse near by came Bob Hartwell.

"I've been watching you fellows," he called.

"That's fair enough," Dick answered.

"You're doing some better than you did this morning," Hartwell
went on.  "You've almost got our stroke."

"Almost?" repeated young Prescott, raising his eyebrows.  "Haven't
we improved a good deal on your Preston High School action?"

Bob Hartwell began to laugh.

"You fellows from Gridley are always world beaters, aren't you?"
he demanded good-humoredly.  "At first, I thought it was all brag
on your part, and that you fellows were suffering from enlarged
craniums complicated with bragitis.  But now I begin to see that
you talk confidently just in order to convince yourselves that
you can't be beaten at anything.  And I don't know that it's such
bad 'dope,' either, as the sporting writers put it."

"Let's hear you try some," urged Dick.

"Brag?" asked Hartwell.  "No; I don't believe I have mastered
the idea well enough to do any really sincere bragging as yet.
However, if you ever beat us at anything except brag, then I'm
going to try to copy your form in the boasting line."

By this time Dick & Co. were dragging their canoe up onto the
float.

"I hope Rip isn't sneaking anywhere about these grounds," muttered
Danny Grin.

"Who's Rip?" Bob Hartwell asked curiously.  Then: "Oh, I beg your
pardon for being too inquisitive," as he saw Dick frown at Dalzell.

"I'm going to remain on the float, while you fellows go up into
the hotel grounds," said Tom.

"All of you go, and I'll stay and watch your canoe," suggested
Bob Hartwell.  "That is, if you're willing to trust me as sentry."

"Of course we're willing," Dick responded.  "But it's only right
that one of our own crowd should do such work.  Are you coming
up with us, Hartwell?"

"Why, yes," Bob answered, "if I can't be of any service to you
here."

Slowly the boys sauntered up through the walks.  Then out on the
porch came Manager Wright, waving a yellow envelope.

"That's probably the answer from the Athletic Council of Gridley
High School," Dick explained, turning to Hartwell.  "You don't
mind if I run on ahead and leave you, do you?"

"You may run on ahead and leave me if you're as handy at running
as you are at bragging," chuckled Bob.  All of the boys in the
group were soon at the porch.  Mr. Wright descended the steps
to hand Dick the envelope.

Dick tore open the envelope hurriedly.

"It's all right!" he called gleefully.  "Mr. Howgate sends this
word:"

_"'Athletic Council approves and sanctions your representing Gridley
High School on the water with your Canoe Club.  Wish you success!
Be careful not to risk lowering Gridley's standard in sports
through recklessness.'"_

"When do Gridley and Preston race in a regular event?" demanded
Bob Hartwell promptly.

"Mr. Wright has been most kind to us about several matters," Dick
answered.  "I'd like to ask him what date will be most satisfactory."

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