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 d.i.c.k 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," d.i.c.k 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," d.i.c.k called softly. "One, two, three, four!

One, two, three, four!"

Catching the rhythm, d.i.c.k & 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," d.i.c.k commanded. "One, two, three, four!"

Never had Gridley responded more n.o.bly 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 sh.o.r.e 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 d.i.c.k, 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," d.i.c.k 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," d.i.c.k admitted.

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

"Hardly that," d.i.c.k 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," d.i.c.k 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 a.s.sented disappointedly. "But we took it that we were racing the Gridley High School Canoe Club."

"Then after this you want to do more thinking," d.i.c.k 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.

d.i.c.k guided the "Scalp-hunter" back to camp. There, as soon as the canoe had been hauled ash.o.r.e, Dave Darrin threw himself on the gra.s.s, remarking:

"This morning teaches us something! We're in no cla.s.s 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," d.i.c.k 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," d.i.c.k maintained, "unless you fellows throw the race against Gridley."

"Throw the race?" echoed Tom Reade indignantly. "d.i.c.k 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," d.i.c.k 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," d.i.c.k smiled. "I know that my back aches."