of the big war canoe, which he and Toby were urging against the flowing
current with lusty strokes, and evident keen enjoyment.

"How does it go?" asked Max, who was in a sixteen-foot canvas canoe like
the one Steve handled so dexterously; while Bandy-legs, fearing to trust
to anything so frail, had insisted on getting one of the older type
lapstreak cedar boats, that were so marvelously beautiful in his eyes.

"Fine as silk!" announced Steve, from up ahead.

"Ditto here!" echoed Toby, and Owen added his words of praise.

"It seems like bully good fun!" declared Bandy-legs, who was puffing a
little, his boat being somewhat more weighty than the other two single
canoes, and who consequently was somewhat behind the rest; "but I wish
you'd get a rope on Steve there, and hold him in. He ain't fit to be the
pace-maker. I just _can't_ keep going like wildfire all the time."

"That's right, too" remarked Max. "We ought to let up a little in the
start. It never is good policy to do your best in the beginning of a
race. And we've really got loads of time to make that island before
nightfall."

Of course Steve could do as he pleased; but since the others dropped
back a little so as to accommodate the less skillful Bandy-legs, he had
to follow suit, or be all alone in the van. Steve grumbled more or less
because some fellows never could "get a move on 'em," as he complained;
but outside of making an occasional little spurt, and then resting, he
stuck pretty well by his mates during the next hour or two.