“Close in! Close in!” yelled Dale, urging his crew around, while Hunt rapidly manipulated his line, cast it loose of Rob’s, and made ready for a fresh cast.
A current had caught the sturgeon and carried it quite a distance from the two boats, and seaward, while this was going on. A sharp dash followed. It was a culminating tussle. Straining every nerve and muscle, the Eagles and the Hawks flew forward, as swiftly almost as their namesakes.
“Now!” shouted Merritt.
Rob’s harpoon whistled through the air and sank, with a “squdge,” into the side of the bobbing, evasive target.
A second later Hunt’s weapon, too, sought a resting place in the elusive thing. But, alas for Hunt’s endeavor! The very energy he threw into his cast unbalanced him, and he toppled with a splash and a great commotion clean over the bow of his craft and into the water.
He could swim like a fish, and came up a second later, puffing and sputtering. With the stream of water he emitted from his lips as he rose to the surface was mingled some savage language. Hastily he grabbed the gunwale of the Hawks’ boat, and started to clamber into it.
To his intense joy, he saw, as he emerged from his ducking, that his spear seemed to be firmly fixed in the wooden fish.
“Hurry up!” urged Dale. “We’ll get them yet.”
The Eagles rapidly passed the line under the keel of their boat till it trailed out astern.
“Give way!” shouted Merritt, and “give way” with a will did the four pairs of healthy young arms. The Eagle boat fairly cut through the water. The maneuver caught the Hawks napping. Before they could do anything their line was drawn taut, and the harpoon Freeman Hunt had planted was jerked out.