The swimming races were called first. Before the first event Chief Woodhull called the Delawares together. “I haven’t much to say,” he said as he looked into the eager faces of his tribe, “only this: I expect every Delaware to do his best, not for his personal glory, but for the honor of his tribe and the honor of his wigwam. It is a great thing to win for yourself, but it is a greater thing to win for your fellows. When you reach the point where it seems as if you hadn’t another ounce left just remember that the loss is not yours alone, but of the tribe who are pinning their faith to you. Another thing; fight for second and third places just as hard as for first. It’s the small points that are going to win that banner, and it’s up to you individually to get every point you can. And,” he added with a smile, “don’t forget to cheer the other fellows when they win. If we must lose let’s be good losers, but—don’t lose! That’s all.”
The conditions were perfect for the afternoon’s sport. The lake lay like a huge mirror, not a ripple breaking its glassy surface. Clustered about the finish line were the camp canoes and boats and several launches filled with guests from the hotels at the other end of the lake. Several batteaux filled with lumber-jacks from the Durant camp lined the course.
“Gee, ain’t it great?” said Tug Benson as he and Walter paddled out to the raft from which the swimming races were to start.
“You bet!” replied Walter enthusiastically. “How you feeling?”
“Fine and dandy!” responded Tug. “I’m goin’ to take that hundred yards if I never swim another stroke!”
“Wish I felt as sure of a place in my event,” said Walter.
“Look a-here, you’re goin’ to get more than place—you’re goin’ to win that event! You’ve got to! What do you s’pose I’ve been coachin’ you for all summer?” said Tug savagely as he glared at his companion.
They were to the raft by this time and as they hopped out and made their canoe fast they heard the starter announcing the first event, which was the hundred yard race. In all events for the afternoon first would count ten points, second five points and third three points.
There were eight entries for this event, three Hurons, two Delawares, two Senecas and one Algonquin.
“Are you ready?” Bang! There was one splash as the eight boys took the water. At the very first Tug took the lead. The distance was too short to take any chances. He was using the crawl stroke, and his powerful muscles drove him through the water like a fish. But he had need of every bit of strength and skill he possessed. Two of the Hurons were pressing him close, and ten yards from the finish one of them forged up until the two boys were neck and neck. Tug glanced ahead to locate the finish line, and gulped his lungs full of air. Then, burying his face, he tore through the water like some strange amphibian, putting every last ounce of reserve strength into a supreme effort.