The Boy Scouts of Woodcraft Camp

by Thornton W. Burgess

Bang! It was the finish gun, and the wild whoop of the Delawares told him he had won, but he had hardly filled his strained lungs when the second and third guns told him by how narrow a margin he had snatched the victory.

“Two points to the good, anyway,” he said grimly as Woodhull helped him into a boat.

This made the wigwam score 1,470 to 1,458 and the Delawares and Algonquins whooped deliriously. But their triumph was short lived. The two hundred and twenty yard event gave the Hurons first and second and the Senecas third. It was now the turn of the Hurons and Senecas to break loose, and they made the most of it, for this gave Wigwam No. 2 a lead of six points.

“It’s up to you now,” growled Tug in Walter’s ear as they stood side by side awaiting the starting gun in the quarter mile event. “I haven’t a look-in, for that hundred killed me. But I’m goin’ to set the pace for the first half, and you stick right to me. Don’t you pay any attention to the rest of ’em, but stick right to me. When I give the word you dig out, and win. Remember, this is no sprintin’ match!”

The starting gun banged. When Walter had shaken the water from his eyes and looked around he found Tug at his side, swimming easily with a powerful overhand stroke. Off to the right two of the Hurons were using the crawl and were rapidly forging ahead. Already they had a lead that gave Walter a panicky feeling. Tug looked at him and grinned. “Water’s fine,” he grunted, for all the world as if this was nothing more than a pleasure swim. “Get your back into that stroke.”

Tug was still swimming easily, but he was putting more power into his strokes. Walter followed his example and kept neck and neck with him. They were now the last of the field. The sprint of the two Hurons had given them a good lead, and this had had its effect on the other swimmers, all of whom were putting forth every effort to overhaul the leaders. Walter found that it took every bit of will power he possessed not to do the same. The pace was beginning to tell on those in front, but Tug never varied his strong easy stroke and presently Walter noticed that they were slowly but surely closing up the gap between them and the nearest competitors.

They had now covered a third of the course and the leaders were still a long way ahead. Would Tug never hit it up? What was he waiting so long for? Perhaps he was, as he had said, “all in,” and couldn’t go any faster. Ought he to stay back as Tug had told him to? If he should lose out for place the blame would be laid to him, not to Tug. Ha! Tug had quickened the stroke a bit! It was not much, but there was a perceptible gain with each swing of the arms and kick of the legs.

The half-way mark, and still Tug did not give the word. What was the matter with him? He glanced at him anxiously, but the grin on that astute young gentleman’s face revealed nothing, certainly not anxiety. Two or three of the swimmers had begun to splash badly, notably the two Hurons in the lead. Walter had his second wind, and he found that he was holding Tug with less effort than at first. He could hear the shrill yells of the Hurons and Senecas at the finish line as they urged on their braves, and there was an unmistakable note of triumph in every yell. It gave him a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Now go!” screamed a voice almost in his ear. Dimly he realized that Tug had given him the word. Quickening his stroke he put in every ounce of reserve strength, and at once the result began to show. One after another he overtook and passed the other swimmers until there was only one between him and the finish line. The two Hurons who had led so long were splashing in manifest distress. They were behind him now, their bolt shot, but still struggling gamely. But the swimmer ahead was a Huron who had come up strongly in the last quarter.

The pace was beginning to tell. Every muscle in his body ached, and his straining lungs seemed to gasp in no air at all. He was neck and neck with the leader now, but his tortured muscles seemed on the point of refusing to act altogether. If he could only rest them just a second! Ha, what was that? “Whoop! Hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo! Whoop! Hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo! Whoop! Hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo! Upton!”