“Hooray!” came a deep, swelling roar, surging toward the contestants, from the shore.
“Now then, Eagles, you’ve got them!”
“After them, Hawks!”
“Don’t give up!”
“K-r-ee-ee-ee!”
These cries and a thousand others, mingled in a perfect babel of sound. To the uproar, however, neither of the crews paid any attention. Their efforts and energies were all bent in one direction—to get across the base line first with the fish. The Hawks’ boat made a creditable spurt, while Hunt gathered up his line ready for a fresh cast. He would make an attempt to snatch victory out of defeat. How much his mind was bent upon success, it was easy to see by his lined brow and narrowed eyes. Closer and closer to the flying Eagles crept the Hawks’ boat.
Unencumbered by a wooden fish to tow, they could make much faster time. Now they were almost upon the prey, and Freeman Hunt drew himself up for a supreme effort. His brown arm drew back, showing the muscles bulging and working under the flesh.
The next instant the harpoonist of the Hawks made his last cast and—lost! His weapon flashed into the water, missing the target by the fraction of an inch. An instant later the Eagles’ boat shot across the base line, amid a pandemonium of cheers, yells, tooting of auto horns and sympathetic groans for the losers. The Eagles had won out in the big event of the day.
CHAPTER III.
JACK CURTISS REAPPEARS.
It was one Saturday night following the aquatic field day. The winter term of hard work had commenced at the Hampton Academy, giving the Boy Scouts less time to devote to their organization work than they had found during the summer. Rob Blake, Merritt Crawford, and Tubby Hopkins were on their way home through the gathering dusk from a game of Hare and Hounds, which had wound up by the catching of the hare at a village called Aquebogue, some distance from Hampton.