“Are you ready?” demanded Mr. Wingate, as the occupants of both boats anxiously awaited the signal.
“All right here,” announced Freeman Hunt, on whose face an angry light still showed.
“Go ahead, sir,” cried Rob.
The pistol cracked, and the two boats darted forth once more, now on the second lap of their intense struggle for supremacy.
CHAPTER II.
THE SPEARING OF THE STURGEON.
There were to be three heats in the contest. One having already gone to the Eagles, it behooved the Hawks to exert themselves to the uttermost to even matters up. The short rest at the float had done them good. During the breathing spell, the sturgeon had once more been towed out by Bartley Holmes, and now lay bobbing temptingly, awaiting the young harpooners. Freeman Hunt’s crew, rowing with unwise desperation, were the first at the mark this time. The “sturgeon” gave an awkward wallow and vanished from view for a breath, as Hunt’s harpoon flashed through the air and sank deep into it. An encouraging cheer went up from the shore. Hunt grinned confidently, as Dale Harding ordered his rowers to speed off with their prey.
But Rob’s boat was almost upon the sturgeon as Hunt’s harpoon sank into it. Tautening every muscle the boy hurtled his weapon, less then a second later. But the steel point, instead of sinking in, merely grazed the bobbing, yielding object, and shot into the water with a splash.
“W-e-l-l!”
An ironical groan came from the Hawks’ supporters ashore. The success of the Pink Bird’s patrol encouraged them.
“What did I tell you!” shouted Hunt triumphantly, as Rob, without any expression of anger or chagrin crossing his features, proceeded to haul in his harpoon.