Suddenly over the water traveled Dick Prescott's command:

"Now, then, Gridley! Break your backs!"

This time there was no counting, nor was there any need of any.
From Dave back to Dick all six bent their full strength and wind
to the task of making the "Scalp-hunter" dart over the water.
It was a grueling, killing pace that Dick had set for his crew,
but it did not need to last long. The finish line was close at
hand.

Hartwell saw the "Scalp-hunter's prow steal up on a level with
the centre of his own canoe.

"Go it, fellows---one last, big spurt!" he yelled.

A sudden yell from shore told another story. The war canoe's
nose was now six feet further along than the bow of the Preston
canoe.

"Come on, Dick! Come on! Come on!"

"Speed! The last swift dash!" yelled Dick Prescott. "Bend to
it!"

Hartwell tried to call to his crew, but could not make himself
heard. The yelling from the shore, and from the boats nearby
drowned out all other sounds.

The two canoes seemed to be rivaling express trains in their speed.