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Right noble was the response, though flesh and blood could not stand this new and savage grilling for long. "Wake up, Trentville!" shouted Ted Pascal, when he saw the "Scalp-hunter" gaining. "Wake up! Let out all of your steam! Push!" Dick Prescott said no more. His straining gaze was now fixed on the finish line. Not one of his chums even glanced at the imaginary line.
At one end of the float lay the "Pathfinder." At the other end lay the "Scalp-hunter," as shining as a thorough overhauling and a coating of oil could make her. Over the latter canoe the Gridley High School girls had posted themselves as a sort of guard of honor. Not that there was any suspicion that either of the canoes would be tampered with. High school and college sports are "clean."
But while he was thinking what wisdom the Vestal Virgins showed in never letting their fire go out, another crash came at the door, followed by the war-whoop of a scalp-hunter. "I seem to recognise that noise," he thought, "but I can't possibly open the door in this condition." Creeping down the passage, he said "Who's there?" through the letter-box. "Milko!" came the repeated yell.
Slowly the "Pathfinder" followed the "Scalp-hunter" out into midlake. "How does your craft go now, Gridley?" hailed the big chief from Preston. "She goes like a canoe now," Dick called back joyously. Then he set his chums to easy paddling. All six of Dick & Co. felt a thrill of joy at realizing the difference in the canoe's behavior. "We'll win, all right," predicted Prescott joyously.
He had so often strewed the plains with human flesh for the carrion birds that the thought had a deep fascination for him. "D'ye hear, scalp-hunter? Feed for buzzards!" He deliberately spat in the hunter's face. "D'ye hear?" he repeated. There was no answer save that which glittered in the hunter's eye. But the renegade could not read it because he did not meet that flaming glance.
That was a wild, splendid finish, but I fear you may have put it too hard to your crew. I want to examine you all, to make sure that not too much harm has been done by your desperate 'kill yourself' order." Dr. Bentley led the way to the boathouse, while a hotel employ took charge of the "Scalp-hunter." He listened briefly at each boy's heart, then made them all sit still for ten minutes.
He promised to enter into particulars concerning you, but the subject was forgotten, the caravan moved on, and we were separated." "You heard, then, that I was Seguin the Scalp-hunter? That I was employed by the citizens of El Paso to hunt the Apache and Navajo, and that I was paid a stated sum for every Indian scalp I could hang upon their gates? You heard all this?" "I did." "It is true."
He had departed on his journey, doubtless on the performance of some red duty connected with his fearful avocation! I lay for a while harassed in mind, thinking of this strange man. Then sweet voices interrupted my meditations; before me appeared lovely faces, and the Scalp-hunter was forgotten. I would compress the history of the ten days following into as many words.
Just as the "Pathfinder" left the line astern there came from the Preston craft a sound like the report of a pistol. One of the Preston braves had snapped his paddle off just above the blade. As the "Scalp-hunter" swung about, Dick saw that broken-off blade floating on the water. "I'm glad that paddle didn't snap until you had crossed the line," Dick panted.
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