People now came crowding down upon the float to such an extent that Mr. Wright had to use the services of four hotel employs in coaxing them to keep back out of the way of the crews.

“No further admittance to the float, ladies and gentlemen!” called the hotel manager.  “Keep it clear for the use of the crews!”

“Remember, Prescott,” shouted a voice, “nothing but a win!”

“That’s the Gridley way,” Dick called back.

“Crew captains!” shouted the referee.  “Ready to launch your craft!  Time for a bit of preliminary practice.”

“Take hold and launch!” cried Bob Hartwell, running forward.

Over into the water went the Preston High School canoe with a splash.  The Preston boys began to fill their places.

“Gridley, stand by to launch!” called Prescott, “Slide her in, easily!”

As graceful as a thing of life the big war canoe slipped into the water, then lay there like a swan.  Dave Darrin took hold of the bow-line, the pretty craft resting lightly against the float.

“Aren’t you going to take your men out and warm them up, Prescott?” asked Referee Tyndall.

“No, sir; only for the last five minutes.  We want only work enough to start the blood to moving well.”

So only Dave stood by the canoe.  Hatless, the Gridley High School boys paced up and down the float, awaiting word from Big Chief Prescott before embarking.

“I wish Dick would put our boys to work at once,” murmured Belle uneasily.  “Look what a fine showing Bob Hartwell’s Preston fellows are making out there.”

In truth the Preston boys were making a splendid showing with their brisk, steady, sturdy paddling.  Many a cheer went up from shore for them.

“Time for us, Gridley,” announced Prescott, when some minutes had passed.

Alertly his chums sprang to their posts.  In a twinkling they were seated, each with his paddle in hand, holding lightly to the float.

“Shove off,” said Dick, in a very low voice.  As the “Scalp-hunter” started for the middle of the lake a wild Gridley yell broke loose.

But none of the boys paid heed.  Each had his ears alert only for the orders of the captain.

Somehow, as the canoe moved out, each one had the same feeling.  The “Scalp-hunter” was not moving quite as it should do.

“There is at least one of you fellows who isn’t doing all he should, or just as he should,” Dick murmured quietly.  “Which one is it?”

There was no immediate response, though all five of the boys gave renewed attention to their work.  Still, all of them had the same uneasy impression that there “was a screw loose somewhere.”

“It’s just as though we had a drag holding us back,” Dick muttered disappointedly.

“Perhaps it’s only because we’re not quite warmed up yet,” Tom hinted.

“No; it isn’t that,” Prescott responded.  “I wish I knew just what does ail us.  Take the second speed, fellows, and each of you watch his dip and recovery.  Remember, it’s the disciplined paddling that wins a canoe race.”