That day passed all too soon, and another night arrived, the last they expected to spend in camp up on the Mohunk. The following day the wagon belonging to Judge Colon, an uncle of the tall boy, and put at the service of the young campers, would come to "tote" all the stuff back to town again, and some of the boys in the bargain.
Of course nine of them would go back, as they had come, in the boat. And this time there was no need of any secrecy, so they could expect to excite more or less curiosity when they shot past Mechanicsburg.
The mere thought inspired the boys with eagerness. In imagination they could already see the wondering faces lining the bank, and the people running to see as the word was passed hurriedly along that the new eight-oared shell of the Riverport crew was sighted up the river.
They had become very careful now about the boat, which was growing more valuable in their eyes every hour, as they developed its capabilities. Catch any of them throwing torches around promiscuously now; no one ever touched the fire so that the sparks flew, but half a dozen pairs of anxious eyes followed the course they took, and speculation arose as to the chances of their doing any damage.
During the morning another trial spin was taken, with Colon again in his place, and pulling a strong oar. Brad and Fred both declared that the crew was coming on famously, and would be able to give a good account of themselves when the time arrived to meet their old rivals of Mechanicsburg.
Along about three in the afternoon the wagon arrived. As the tents had been taken down, and all the camp things well packed, it took but a short time to load up. Then the wagon started, escorted by the eight fellows who could not find places in the boat.
The crew gave them a cheer for a send-off, and received as loud a salute in return. After which they took their places in the long, narrow boat, for the run of seven miles down the river home.
Brad was keenly alive to every little thing that took place. Like a wise coxswain he felt that he ought to know each man's weakness, if he had any, so as to build him up into a perfect part of the whole machine. For a boat crew must act as though it were one unit, at the nod and whim of the fellow who sits in the stern, doing the steering, and by his motions increasing or diminishing the stroke. If one cog fails to work perfectly, the entire thing collapses.
"Fine! Great work, fellows!" Brad was saying again and again after they had passed over a couple of miles down-stream. "You're doing yourselves proud; and honest now, I believe you could take a little faster stroke. We must be doing our prettiest when we spurt past Mechanicsburg."
Brad had just finished saying this when he received one of the surprises of his life. His eyes were the only ones that could see down the river, and as he happened to glance over toward the left bank, where there was something of a neck of land shutting a large bay out of sight, judge of his amazement when he discovered the pointed prow of a racing boat thrusting out, and headed toward the middle of the river.