“Sure,” Fred agreed with a grin. He gripped the paddle so tightly that the knuckles of his hands showed white.
“If Ross and Donald take the lead, don’t let it worry you,” Mr. Hatfield added. “Just stroke at your own speed.”
“Which will be plenty slow,” Fred replied. “Den 1 already is starting to celebrate victory.”
It was true that several of the Den 1 Cubs were capering about on the beach, laughing and acting as if the plaque already were theirs.
In the stern of the Den 1 canoe, Ross flashed a confident, almost arrogant smile.
“What we waiting for?” he demanded. “Let’s go!”
Sick at heart, Midge and Fred took their own places in the Den 2 canoe. Both crafts prepared to line up at the starting point for the race.
Paddle poised, Midge chanced to raise his eyes to gaze toward the forest. He stiffened into alert attention. Dare he trust his own vision?
Midge brushed a hand across his eyes and looked again. No mistake. From amid the trees emerged two disheveled figures. Red and Brad!
“Wait!” shouted Midge, letting his paddle clatter into the bottom of the canoe. “Hold everything! They’re here at last!”