e captain excitedly. "That boy deserves to win, but he can
never do it with one man short in the boat."

Coxswain Davis had other views. He was still standing on the seat of
the rocking, plunging boat, snapping out his commands to his men, and
every man in that boat was thrilled with the encouragement that the
little coxswain had instilled into him.

"Go it! Beef it! More steam, number four! Swing further, number
eight! Hip! hip! hip! hip! hip! Hit her up! Faster, faster, I tell
you! You're winning, I tell you! Drive it! Forty-five, stroke oar."

"I--I can't," gasped the stroke.

"Drive it, I tell you!" yelled Dan Davis, grabbing up the boat hook,
brandishing it threateningly over the head of the stroke oar.

"Hip! hip! hip! hip!" he began sharp and quick, setting the pace for
the higher speed. The stroke oar, with the perspiration running down
his body, reached the stroke demanded.

"Now, hold it, or I'll bat you with the boat hook!" threatened Dan.
"Hip! hip! hip! hip! Gaining on the 'Idaho.' We've passed her.
Quarter of a boat length to the good. We've got to make it more, or
she'll spurt us out at the finish. Hold her there. Here she comes.
She's abreast. She's spurting. Hit her up to fifty. Hit it, if it
kills you! You've got to win this race, if every man in the boat drops
dead."

Dan was dancing about on the slender support of the stern seat, yelling
like a madman, though there was not the slightest trace of excitement
to be seen in his face. Those on the flagship could hear him shout and
see his body moving back and forth to set the pace for the stroke oar.
It was a sight that not a man who saw it ever forgot. Discipline on
board the ships near by was almost forgotten. The men were shouting
and yelling in their excitement.

The "Idaho" and the "Long Island" were bow and bow. Scarcely two boat
lengths separated them abeam. Dan knew they were there, but he did not
look. His eyes were on his men. A slip, a mistake now, and all would
be lost.

"Fifty-five for the last time. Every ounce of muscle on the oars,
lads. Go it. Kill 'em! Eat 'em alive! Whoop it up! Hip! hip! hip!
hip!"

The words came out with explosive force, almost with the rapidity of a
Gatling gun's fire.

"Boom!" roared the flagship's six-pounder.

Two boats shot over the line with every siren in the fleet wailing its
greeting to the winning crew.

The men in the "Long Island's" gig did not know they