“I know it, but we’ve only covered half the course so far.”
Steadily the red team’s canoe drew away. Forty, fifty feet, they were in the lead now. If any one had been in a position to observe, however, he would have seen that its occupants were beginning to show signs of weakening. Their breath came faster and faster, the perspiration rolled off their faces in streams, and their muscles began to ache and throb.
Relentlessly George and Fred followed them. Not one bit did they increase their efforts, though George had great difficulty in restraining his companion. Powerful, even strokes urged their tiny craft on and now they were holding their own. Just ahead of them was the last turn which was to bring them into the home stretch.
“How do you feel, Fred?” asked George.
“Fine.”
“Are you tired?”
“Not very.”
“I hope not. We’ll start a sprint the second we round that turn and we’ll have to put all we’ve got into it.”
The leading canoe was even now turning the point. The boys in it were plainly tired as their frequent splashing showed. They still worked desperately, however, and it would be no mean task to overtake them.
Grant and John sat in their canoe at the starting point eagerly awaiting the appearance of their team-mates. To their dismay, it was Franklin and Herbert who first hove in sight and to the waiting boys it seemed as if hours elapsed before George and Fred rounded the turn. At last they appeared, however, over thirty yards in the rear.