y."

"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