Fifteen yards from the finish Fred’s paddle broke. It snapped off short in his hand and as a result, the canoe almost upset. It seemed as if their splendid effort was to go for nothing. Herbert and Franklin, seeing the plight of their rivals, were endowed with new hope that they might win their relay after all. The hope thus aroused gave them just strength enough to urge their canoe forward across the line. Herbert lifted his paddle and touched the canoe in which Hugh and Thomas waited so impatiently, and then sank back against the thwart exhausted.
The disaster to Fred was nearly fatal. The canoe rocked dangerously and though it did not turn over, it lost every bit of its momentum.
“Sit down, Fred!” shouted George. “I’ll paddle.”
One man against two is a severe handicap, however, even if those two are well nigh exhausted. It must be remembered also that George too, was nearly fagged out. In spite of his usual lightheartedness, he had an indomitable will, however, and not one of the boys had more nerve than he.
He dipped his blade deep into the water, brought the bow of the canoe around so that it pointed in the proper direction, and urged it forward. Meanwhile the other canoe had passed them and crossed the line at least five yards in the lead.
Grant and John were off like a flash, however, and the advantage the red team enjoyed was not insurmountable by any means.
“That was tough luck, boys,” exclaimed Mr. Maxwell earnestly to Fred and George. “You two certainly deserved to win that relay.”
“You surely did,” echoed Franklin Dunbar. “That was about the toughest luck I ever saw.”
“Fred’s too strong,” laughed George. “It’s awfully hard to get any paddle that he won’t break.”
“Don’t pay any attention to what he says, Mr. Maxwell,” urged Fred. “He thinks he can tease me; personally, I think he’s crazy.”