AN EXCITING FINISH
When, at about two o'clock that afternoon, the sound of the horn, blown
four times by Jack Harvey, announced that the race was resumed, there
was a do-or-die expression on the faces of Tom Harris and Bob White.
Harvey and Henry Burns were a good half mile ahead of them; the Ellisons
fully a mile.
Not that this was disheartening to athletic lads in good training, who
had learned in many a contest of skill and strength to accept a result
fairly won, even though they were beaten. On the contrary, here was a
contest worth the winning, now that the odds were against them. Their
first pique, over the clever move of Henry Burns that had set them back
in the race, having subsided, they were ready to give him credit for
carrying it out.
But they were still bound to win. So that soon, settling down to a
strong, vigorous stroke, which had often carried them over miles of
rough water in Samoset Bay, they gradually drew ahead of George and
Arthur Warren. They seemed tireless. Their muscles, trained and
hardened, worked like well oiled machinery. In vain the Warren brothers
strove to keep up the pace. They were forced finally to fall back. That
quick, powerful thrust of the paddles, as Tom and Bob struck the water
with perfect precision, sent the light canoe spurting ahead in a way
that could not be equalled by less trained rivals.
Henry Burns and Jack Harvey, toiling manfully, seemed to feel that they,
too, were being out-paddled; for ever and again one of them would glance
back over his shoulder; after which he would strike the water with a
sharper thrust, and the canoe would respond to the fresh endeavour.
"They'll gain some," said Henry Burns once, calmly. "We can't help that.
They've had too many years of it, not to be able to set a stronger pace.
But they can't catch us in one afternoon. If they do, we're beaten.
We'll hold some of our advantage, eh, Jack?"
"You bet we will!" exclaimed Harvey, jabbing the water savagely. "I'm
going to make a gain, myself, if only for a spurt."
So saying, he called to his companion to "give it to 'em lively," and
they set a pace for the next fifteen minutes that did, indeed, exceed
the speed at which Tom and Bob were travelling. But spurts such as that
would not win a two days' race. Gradually they fell back into their
normal swing, and Tom and Bob crept up on them once more.
The Ellisons, too, were feeling the strain of the long test of skill and
endurance. Now, as the afternoon hours went by, their stroke fell off
slower and slower. Heavier built somewhat than Tom and Bob, their
muscles, hardened and more sluggish with harder work, did not respond to
the call. Harvey and Henry Burns were gaining on them; and Tom and Bob
were gaining on both.
On went the four canoes; up rapids or around them, as proved necessary
according to the depth of the water. Harvey and Henry Burns, seeing they
were gaining on the leaders, would take no more chances on questionable
rapids, but carried around those that the Ellisons did. Tom and Bob and
the Warrens also took the readiest way around each difficulty.
Had the race a few more hours to run for that afternoon, it is certain
Tom and Bob must have overtaken and passed their rivals. But now the
time for the end of the first day's contest was at hand, and presently
Harvey, after a glance at his watch, lifted the horn to his lips. Four
blasts sounded far up and down the still waters, and four answering
blasts came from each canoe. The first day's race was done. The canoes
headed for shore. It was six o'clock, and the Ellisons were still in the
lead.
But the margin was not now so great. Between them and the nearest canoe
there was not over a quarter of a mile of winding stream. Harvey and
Henry Burns had done well. But Tom and Bob had accomplished even more.
Scarcely more than an eighth of a mile intervened between their craft
and the canoe of Harvey and Henry Burns. The Warrens had paddled
gamely, also, but were fully three quarters of a mile behind the
leaders.
Leaving their canoes drawn up on shore, at precisely the spot where each
had been at the sound of the horn, the boys met together now and shook
hands all around. It was clean, honest sport, and no mean jealousy.
"But look out for to-morrow," said Tom Harris, good-naturedly shaking a
fist at Jim Ellison.
They brought forth now from each canoe a light frame-work of three
bamboo poles, standards and cross-piece, and a thin, unbleached cotton
"A" tent, and quickly pitched the four tents on a level piece of ground,
in a semi-circle. The tents were flimsy affairs, light to carry, and
would not do in rainy weather; but they had picked their day, and it was
clear and no danger of a wetting.
Then, for there had been a careful division of weight, each canoe
furnished some necessary article for getting the supper: a pail for
boiling coffee from one, fry-pan from another, and so on; with bacon for
frying, and bread and potatoes. They soon had a fire going in the open
space in front of the four tents, with a log rolled close to it, and the
coffee-pail hung on a crotched stick, set aslant the log and braced in
the ground. The bacon sizzled later in the pan, set on some glowing
coals. The potatoes were buried in the hot ashes, under the blaze, just
out of reach of burning.
The canoeists stretched themselves on the ground around the fire,
hungry and healthfully wearied. Twilight was upon them when all was
ready, and they had removed the feast away from the warmth of the fire,
piling on more wood and making it blaze up brightly for its cheer.
Then they fell to with amazing appetites; and the amount of crisp bacon
and hot potatoes and bread they made way with would have appalled the
proprietor of the Half Way House, or any other hotel keeper, if he had
had to supply it. Then, when they had startled the cattle in near-by
pastures with a few songs, heartily if not so musically bawled, they
were ready to turn in for the night, almost with the glowing of the
first stars. It was surprising how soon they were off to sleep, each
rolled in his single blanket, slumbering soundly on the bare turf.
"Well?" remarked Henry Burns inquiringly, next morning, sitting up and
looking at his companion, who had scarcely got his eyes open. Harvey
gave a yawn, stretched and roused up. "I feel fine," he answered. "Lame
any?" "Not a bit," replied Henry Burns.
Stepping outside the tent, he found, to his surprise, Tom and Bob
already up and their tent and blankets snugly packed and stowed.
"Have a plunge?" asked Bob.
"Yes," said Henry Burns. "Come on, Jack?"
The four went down to the shore, leaving the others still finishing
their morning naps. One quick plunge and they were out again, ready for
breakfast. It was plain they were ready for the day's race. So said Jim
and John Ellison, when they were out, some minutes later. But Henry
Burns gave a sly wink at Harvey, as his sharp eye observed the motions
of the brothers when they came to strike their tent. Nor did he fail to
note the quickness with which Jim Ellison dropped his right arm, when he
had raised it once over his head.
"Just a bit lame," said Henry Burns, softly. "We'll give it to 'em hard
at the start, before they get limbered up."
Breakfast eaten, and the camp equipments stowed, they all proceeded now
to the spot where the Ellisons' canoe was drawn ashore. There they set
up a pole cut for the purpose. It marked the turning point of the race.
At the signal, the Ellisons could start down stream from there; and each
canoe must go up stream to that point before it could begin its home
run.
It was a race now, as Henry Burns expressed it, for glory and for
dinner. They had eaten their stock of food and would stop for nothing
more till they reached camp. They had covered some fifteen miles of
water, up stream against rapids and the current, in the preceding day's
paddling; but they could make it down stream in about half the time.
They were soon afloat now, for Harvey was impatient to be off, and he
was by consent the one to give the signal. The Ellison brothers would
gladly have delayed, but Harvey, at a word from Henry Burns, was firm.
They took their places, struck the water together at the sound of the
horn, and the second day's race was begun.
Confident as were the occupants of the second and third canoes, it was a
bit disconcerting, at the outset, to see the leaders go swiftly past
them on the way down stream, while they had still to go on against the
current up to the turning point. Moreover, the leading canoe quickly
caught a patch of swift running water, which the Ellisons had carried
around the day before, but could run now, by merely guiding their canoe.
So, at the start, they made an encouraging gain, and turned once, at the
foot of some rapids, to wave back defiance at their opponents.
Skill and training were bound to tell, however. In the miles that were
reeled off rapidly now, the second and third canoes gained on the
leaders in the calm, still, sluggish places. There was more spring and
snap to their muscles. Their canoes moved faster through the water.
Eight miles down stream, they were overhauling the foremost canoe
rapidly, the canoes of Tom and Bob and Henry Burns and Harvey being
nearly abreast, and the four straining every nerve and muscle. The
Warrens had fallen at least a half mile behind them.
Luck had been with the Ellisons, surely; for running rapids in shallow
water is most uncertain work. Tom and Bob, old canoeists, knew well the
appearance of water that denotes a sunken rock, and by sheer skill and
watchfulness turned their canoe aside ever and again with a quick sweep
of the paddles, to avoid a treacherous place, where the water whirled
ominously. Henry Burns and Harvey had lately come down the stream, and
knew by that experience how easy it was to get hung up when it was least
expected.
Yet, with all experience, now and again a canoe would grate and perhaps
hang for a moment in some rapid; and once, when the canoe of Tom and Bob
would have shot ahead of Harvey's, they went hard aground, and lost
precious minutes.
When they were within a mile of the rapids where Henry Burns had won
honours on the preceding day, however, Tom and Bob had shown the proof
of their superior training and skill; they were leading Harvey and Henry
Burns and were close upon the leaders.
"Cheer up, Jack," said Henry Burns, coolly, to his comrade; "they ought
to win, but we've given them a good race, anyway. Something may happen
yet."
And something did happen--but not to the canoe steered by Tom Harris.
The three foremost canoes were now upon the brink of the worst rapids,
and each youth was bracing himself for the run. They saw the Ellisons
shoot quickly over the brink, go swiftly down the smooth incline into
the rougher water. All at once, the canoe seemed to be checked abruptly
and hang for a moment. Then it slid on again. But the damage had been
done. A sharp point of ledge had penetrated the canvas, and the canoe
was leaking.
Down went the two next canoes, one after the other; deftly handled;
sheering a little this way and that, as the watchful eyes detected the
signs of danger; riding gallantly through the frothing, fretting rapids
into clear water beyond. Their pace was not abated much as they got into
their swing again, and, one by one, they passed the Ellisons. The
latter's canoe, encumbered by water that leaked slightly but steadily
through the rent in the canvas, dragged somewhat and had to be bailed
before they had gone a half mile further.
That afternoon, a boy, barefoot and hatless, stood by the shore at a
point a little way above the Ellison dam, anxiously watching up stream
as far as he could see. That he was intensely excited was evident by the
way he fidgeted about; and once he climbed a birch tree that overhung
the water and gazed away from that perch.
"Hello, Tim," said a voice close by him, suddenly. "What are you looking
for?"
"Oh, hello, Bess," responded Tim Reardon, turning about in surprise.
"How you startled me! I'm watching for the canoes--don't you know about
it? Cracky, but don't I hope Jack'll win."
"Why don't you go out on the logs?" queried the girl. "You can see up
stream farther from there. Come on."
Without waiting for a reply, Bess Thornton darted out across a
treacherous pathway of light cedar and spruce logs that lay, confined
by a log-boom, waiting to be sawed into shingle stuff; for the old mill
occasionally did that work, also, as well as grinding corn. Many of the
logs were not of sufficient size to support even the girl's light
weight, but sank beneath her, wetting her bare feet. She sprang lightly
from one to another, pausing now and then to rest and balance herself on
some larger log that sustained her. Little Tim, equally at home about
the water, followed.
The boom confining this lot of logs was made of larger and longer logs,
chained together at the ends, and extending in a long irregular line
from a point up the shore down toward the dam, to a point just above the
landing place for the canoes. Tim Reardon and Bess Thornton ran along
this boom as far as it extended up stream.
Presently Little Tim gave a yell and nearly pitched head-first into the
stream.
"They're coming! they're coming!" he cried. "Who's ahead? Can you see?"
The next moment he gave an exclamation of dismay. Two canoes shot around
a bend of the stream, one not far behind the other--but the second
canoe, to Little Tim's disappointment, that guided by Jack Harvey. Tom
and Bob had a fair lead, and, by the way they were putting life into
their strokes, seemed likely to maintain it.
"Ow wow," bawled Little Tim. "Come on, Jack! Come on, Henry! You can
beat 'em yet. Give it to 'em!"
Bess Thornton, catching the enthusiasm and spirit of her companion, and
espying who the occupants of the second canoe were, added her cries of
encouragement to those of Little Tim.
But the leaders came on steadily and surely, heading in slightly toward
the point on shore where they would disembark to make the carry about
the dam.
Away up the stream, two more canoes could be seen, about abreast, the
four boys plying their paddles with all the strength in them.
So the leading canoe passed the boy and girl, Little Tim yelling himself
hoarse, with encouragement to Harvey and Henry Burns to come on. Surely
if there had been any impelling power in noise, Tim's cries would have
turned the scale in favour of his friends.
The leading canoe touched shore, and Tom and Bob sprang lightly out;
snatched up their craft and were off up the bank, to make the carry.
Henry Burns and Harvey headed in to do likewise. But now Bess Thornton,
catching Tim suddenly by an arm, started back down the boom, saying to
him, "Come on quick." He, surprised, wondering what she meant, followed.
The girl ran swiftly along the line of logs to a point a little way
above the dam. There the line of the boom swung inshore in a sweep to
the left. To the right of them, as they stood, was the deep, black
water, flowing powerfully in the middle of the stream, and with a strong
current, toward an opening in the dam. This was the long flume, a steep,
long incline, down which the water of the stream raced with great
velocity. It was built to carry rafts of logs through from time to
time--a chute, planked in on either side, with the entrance formed by
the cutting down of the top of the dam there a few feet. There was no
great depth of water in the flume--no one seemed to know just how much.
It depended on the height of water in the stream.
Now the girl, waving to Harvey and Henry Burns, cried shrilly for them
to watch. Surprised, they ceased their paddling for a moment and looked
over to where she stood.
To their amazement and Little Tim's horror, the girl, barefoot and
bare-armed, and clad in a light calico frock, gave a laugh and dived
into the stream. A moment more, she reappeared a few feet from the boom,
and was unmistakably heading for the swift water beyond running down to
the flume.
"Come back!" cried Little Tim. "You'll get drowned there. You're going
into the flume."
The girl turned on her side as she swam, calling out:
"Tell 'em to come on. They'll beat the others. I've been through once
before."
Again she turned, while Little Tim stood with knees shaking. Henry Burns
and Harvey, seeing the girl's apparent peril, uttered each an
exclamation of alarm, and headed out once more into the stream.
But they were helpless. A moment more, and they saw the girl caught by
the swift rush of the water. Waving an arm just as she went over the
edge of the incline, she straightened out and lay at full length, so as
to keep as nearly as she could at the surface. She disappeared, and they
waited what seemed an age, but was scarcely more than two minutes. Then,
all at once, there came up to their ears, from far below, the clear,
yodelling cry of Bess Thornton. She had gone safely through.
It was a serious moment for Tim Reardon. There wasn't a better swimmer
of his size in all Benton. Only a few of the larger lads dared to dive
with him from the very top of Pulpit Rock, a high point on the bank of
the stream, some miles below. Now he was stumped by a girl no bigger
than himself, and he felt his knees wabbling in uncertain fashion at the
thought of attempting the flume. And there was his big friend, Harvey,
and Henry Burns, waiting out on the water, uncertain as to what they
should do. He might aid them to win the race. Or he might hang back, be
beaten, himself, by a girl, and Harvey and Henry Burns would lose.
Little Tim gazed for one moment out into midstream, to where the water,
black and gleaming, rushed smoothly and swiftly into the opening of the
sluice-way. Then he got his voice under control as best he could, waved
toward the canoe and shouted:
"Come on, Jack. I'll show yer. It's e-e-asy."
Little Tim shut his eyes, swallowed a lump in his throat, dived from the
boom and made a long swim under water. When he reappeared, he was near
the swift current, a little way below where the canoe lay.
"Come on, fellers," he cried again--and the next moment Henry Burns and
Harvey saw him disappear over the edge of the dam. It seemed as though
there had been hardly time for him to be borne down to the foot of the
descent before they heard his voice, calling triumphantly back to them.
Henry Burns turned and gave one quick, inquiring glance at his
companion. In return, Harvey gave a whistle that denoted his surprise at
the odd turn of affairs, and said shortly, "Got to do it now. We can go
through if they can. Hang that girl! Get a good brace now. Gimminy, look
at that water run!"
They were on the very brink, as he spoke; and, even as he muttered the
last exclamation, the canoe dipped to the incline of the chute and went
darting down its smooth surface. They hardly saw the sides of the flume
as they shot by. Almost instantly, it seemed, they were in the tumbling,
boiling waters at the foot of it, Henry Burns crouching low in the bow,
so as not to be pitched overboard; Harvey bracing for one moment with
his paddle and striking the water furiously the next, to keep it on its
course.
The canoe shipped water, and they feared it would be swamped; but they
kept on. Then, as they swept past a jutting of ledge that bordered the
lower shore, two figures standing together waved to them and cried out
joyously:
"Paddle hard! Go it, Jack! Give it to her, Henry! You're way ahead.
They're not half 'round the bank yet. Hooray!"
Spurred by the cries, the two canoeists plied their paddles with renewed
zeal. So on they emerged into smooth water. Away up the bank, Tom and
Bob, dismayed, saw their rivals take the lead in the long race--a lead
that could not be overcome.
Sitting up proudly, Henry Burns and Harvey raced past the familiar
shores, saw the old camp come into view, shot across the finishing line,
and the race was won. Standing on the bank, they watched the others come
trailing in: Tom and Bob not far behind; the Warren boys third, and the
Ellisons last.
"Yes," said Tom Harris, good-naturedly, as they sat outside the camp a
little later, "but you had to get a girl to show you how to beat us."
"How'd you know you could go through there, anyway?" he added, turning
to the girl who, with Little Tim had come down the shore to see the
finish.
"Did it to get away from gran' once," replied Bess Thornton, her eyes
twinkling. "My, but wasn't she scared. It's easy, though, isn't it,
Tim?"
"Easy! It's nothin'," said Little Tim.