“Plenty of chance, yet, Bleek; don’t lose your nerve!”
“Chance? Why, Bleeker hasn’t a look-in—not with Chip Merriwell paddling like that! Merry’s coming down the stretch like a scared coyote making for home and mother. Hoop-a-la!”
There were five canoes in that race for single paddles. There had been seven, but two had fouled each other and come to grief less than a hundred yards from the starting point. Barzy Blunt and Hotchkiss, of Gold Hill, were the unlucky ones. As soon as they had gained the shore they joined the rooters who were running along the bank. A ducking had not dampened their ardor in the least, and Blunt and Hotch pranced along in their bathing trunks, cheering and encouraging the rest of the racers.
It was late in the forenoon. The bright Arizona sun trailed its beams over the waters of the gulch, gilding each little ripple as it danced about the charging canoes. The only shadow on the stream was at the place where the gentle slopes of the gulch banks were shouldered aside by the steep bluff known as Apache Point.
Above the Point, and around the turn in the gulch, was a white flag. The start of the canoe race had been from this flag. The “elbow” at the foot of the Point was to be rounded by the racers, and the finish line was opposite the white tents of the Gold Hill campers.
Apart from Blunt and Hotchkiss, the contesting paddlers were young Merriwell, his chums, Owen Clancy and Billy Ballard, Bleeker, a leader in the Gold Hill Athletic Club, and Lenaway, another member of the club.
Merriwell, Clancy, and Ballard, crouching in the sterns of their frail craft, had worked easily but steadily from the start. They knew from experience that swiftness in the get-away and a wild expenditure of energy at the beginning caused the loss of many a race—not only on the water but on the cinder track, as well. It is the fellow who carefully and judiciously nurses his powers for a spurt on the home stretch that makes the best showing, when all’s said and done.
The length of the course to be covered in this canoe race was about half a mile. A hundred yards from the starting point, Frank and his chums were some distance behind. Bleeker led, and almost neck and neck with him were Hotchkiss and the cowboy, Barzy Blunt. Lenaway’s canoe filled in the widening gap between the leaders and the Farnham Hall lads in the rear.
Blunt had more strength than skill, and it was his awkwardness that caused the crash with Hotchkiss. The violence of the impact caused both canoes to roll over and fill. With these two contestants out of the way, the race began rapidly narrowing down.
One by one the canoes rounded the foot of the Point, hugging the steep wall closely. Bleeker led the procession, Lenaway followed, and then came Merry, Clancy, and Ballard in the order named.