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.  “If it had, the real result would have been in doubt.”

“Your crew won, Prescott!” called Bob Hart well in a husky voice.  “Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” returned Dick.  “You’re surely a generous enemy.”

“Rivals, this afternoon, but enemies never!” protested young Hartwell.

Now a blast from the whistle of the launch recalled the two canoes.  Standing in the bow of the launch, Referee Tyndall announced so that those on shore might hear plainly: 

“Gridley wins by a length and a half!” From the shore came a wild cheer.  There was also a frenzied waving of handkerchiefs and of parasols.  Though the Gridley boosters might be few in number, they were great in enthusiasm.

As the “Pathfinder” started in for the landing float a crowd made a rush to meet the canoes.  It was not, however, the Preston craft, that the crowd wanted, for this was a Gridley crowd.

Noting the fact with his keen eyes, Dick gave the word for easy paddling.  Then he swung the war canoe about, heading toward camp.

That proved not at all to the crowd’s liking.

“Come back, Prescott!  This way, Gridley!  We want you!”

“Why don’t you land, Dick?” queried Tom Reade.

“What!  Land at the mercy of that crowd!” exclaimed Prescott.  “That is a Gridley crowd.  They’re so pleased over our winning that what they’d do to us might be worse than what they’d have done if we had lost.”

“Where are you going?” asked Dave, somewhat disappointed.

“Camp is good enough for us, I guess.  It’s a safe place, anyway,” Prescott replied.

A few minutes later the “Scalp-hunter” touched lightly on the beach in front of camp.

Towser greeted them with a joyous bark.

“So you’ve been watching the race instead of the camp, have you?” demanded Tom, eyeing the dog in mock reproach.

“Oh, but I’m tired!” muttered Darrin, after they had beached the canoe.  “This green grass looks inviting.”

He threw himself down at full length on the grass.

“Up, for yours,” commanded Dick, grasping him by one arm and pulling Dave to his feet.  “Don’t you know that your blood is almost at fever heat after the strain of the race?  Do you want to get a chill that will keep the whole camp up to-night?”

“I want to lie down,” muttered Darrin.  “And I want to sleep.”

“Then get off your racing clothes, put on your other clothes, then roll yourself well in your blankets and lie down in the tent,” Dick ordered.  “That’s what I’m going to do.”

Now that the strain was over every member of Dick & Co. found himself so weary that the putting on of ordinary clothes was a process which proceeded slowly.  After a while, however, all six had rolled themselves in their blankets and lay on the leaf-piled floor of the tent.