“Take it easy!” said Blackie. “Don’t get scared! It’ll pass off soon.”
Of a sudden Ken’s muscles relaxed, and he found he could move his arms and support himself somewhat. “What happened?” he gasped. “Did they stop the race?”
A voice through a megaphone from the boats answered his question. “Dunning wins! Mullins, second; Lipsky, third. Shawnee wins the meet—score, 61 to 59!”
From the shore came the wild hurrahs of the victors, and a sportsmanlike cheer from the Lenape campers for those who had vanquished them. In the excitement of the race, few of the watchers had noticed that Blackie had gone to the aid of Ken, and most of them had assumed that the two had merely dropped out, overcome by the cruel demands of the contest.
Ken’s face was a blank. “But—but that’s not fair! We ought to run the race over again—you would have won easy if you hadn’t come to help me, Blackie!”
Blackie shook his head. “The meet’s over. No use kicking up a fuss and having the Shawnee bunch think we’re a gang of poor sports who start crabbing when they lose. It’s our hard luck, and we might as well take our medicine. If you feel better now, come on and I’ll tow you over to the boat.”
CHAPTER XVI
THE END—AND THE BEGINNING
The campers from Iron Lake departed northwards about five o’clock in holiday mood, singing their camp song as they hiked, more than contented to have won the close-fought victory in the water. Some of the Lenape tribe accompanied them a mile or two on the road, and were forced to swallow a lot of good-natured chaffing about their defeat, which they felt keenly.
Blackie did not go with them. He had helped Ken Haviland ashore, and seen him carried off toward the hospital tent and the ministrations of Dr. Cannon; and then he returned to Tent Four and dressed in a clean outfit. He was agreeably tired, but the swim had braced him immensely, and he was comfortable in body for the first time since he had run away. His mind was far from easy, however, as he answered the bugle’s summons and stood Retreat ceremony with the tent groups. He was still in coventry; not a boy spoke to him, and many were the black looks cast in his direction.
It was the same at supper. Wally presided over a quiet table that night. Gallegher sat gloomily next to the vacant chair that belonged to Ken Haviland. Fat Crampton, with his usual good humor, was attacking his food with gusto, rather pleased with himself for winning a first place in the diving; Guppy and Lefkowitz chattered together now and then; but Slater could not forget how easily Lenape might have held the championship had things been a little different.