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THE CRUISE OF THE CANOE CLUB.

Begun in No. 146, HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.

BY W. L. ALDEN,

Luckily the water was only four feet deep, as Charley found when he tried to touch bottom; so he stopped swimming, and with the water nearly up to his shoulders, stood still and began to think what to do next.

"You'll have to get into one of our canoes," said Harry.

"How am I going to do it without capsizing her?" replied Charley.

"Don't talk nonsense!" exclaimed Charley; "but come here and help me get my canoe afloat again. We can do it, I think, if we go to work the right way."

They could not do it. They managed to lift her off the bottom, but Harry and Tom in their canoes could not lift to any advantage, and so were forced to let her settle down again.

"I've got to unload her," said Charley, gloomily. "I think we can get her up if there is nothing in her except water. Anyhow we've got to try."

The cause of the leak was quickly discovered. There was a hole through her canvas bottom nearly an inch in diameter, made by some blow she had received while on the way to the lake. The wonder was, not that she sank when she did, but that she had floated long enough to be paddled a mile. It is probable that the ballast-bag, which was close by the hole, had partly stopped the leak at first, but had afterward been slightly moved, thus permitting the water to rush freely in.

The canoe still leaked, but the leak could be kept under without difficulty by occasional bailing, and in the course of half an hour the sand-spit for which the fleet had started was reached. It was part of a large island with steep, rocky shores and a beautiful little sandy beach. It was just the place for a camp; and though the boys had expected to camp some miles farther north, the sinking of Charley's canoe had so delayed them that it was already nearly six o'clock, and they therefore decided to paddle no farther that day.

The canoes were hauled out on the beach and unloaded, and shored up with their rudders, back-boards, and a few pieces of drift-wood so as to stand on an even keel. Then came the work of rigging shelters over them for the night. Harry's canoe tent was supported by four small upright sticks resting on the deck and fitting into cross-pieces sewed into the roof of the tent. The sides and ends buttoned down to the gunwale and deck of the canoe, and two curtains, one on each side, which could be rolled up like carriage curtains in fair weather and buttoned down in rainy weather, served both as the doors and windows of the tent. The shelters rigged by the other boys were much less complete. The two masts of each canoe were stepped, the paddle was lashed between them, and a rubber blanket was hung over the paddle, with its edges reaching nearly to the ground. The blankets and the bags which served as pillows were then arranged, and the canoes were ready for the night.

It was a warm and clear night, and a breeze which came up from the south at sunset blew the mosquitoes away. Harry found his tent, with the curtains rolled up, cool and pleasant; but his fellow-canoeists found themselves fairly suffocating under their rubber blankets, and were compelled to throw them aside.

Toward morning, when the day was just beginning to dawn, the canoeists were suddenly awakened by a rush of many heavy, trampling feet which shook the ground. It was enough to startle any one, and the boys sprang up in such a hurry that Harry struck his head against the roof of his tent, knocked it down, upset the canoe, and could not at first decide whether he was taking part in a railway collision, or whether an earthquake of the very best quality had happened. The cause of the disturbance was a herd of horses trotting down to the water's edge to drink. There were at least twenty of them, and had the canoes happened to be in their path, they might have stumbled over them in the faint morning light; in which case the boys would have had the experience of being shipwrecked on dry land.

A gentle southerly breeze wrinkled the water while breakfast was cooking, and the Commodore ordered that the masts and sails should be got ready for use. It was impossible to make an early start, for Charley's blankets had to be dried in the sun, and the hole in his canoe had to be repaired with a new patch in a thorough and workmanlike way. It was therefore ten o'clock before the canoes were ready to be launched; and in the mean time the wind had increased so much that the boys decided to use only their mainsails.

The moment the sails drew, the canoes shot off at a pace which filled the young canoeists with delight. The canoes were in good trim for sailing, as they were not overloaded; and while they were skirting the west shore of the island the water was quite smooth. Each canoe carried a bag partly filled with sand for ballast, and every one except Joe had lashed his ballast-bag to the keelson. This was a precaution which Joe had forgotten to take, and before long he had good reason to regret his error.

The wind continued to rise, and the lake became covered with white caps. "Commodore," said Charley Smith, "I don't mean to show any disrespect to my commanding officer, but it seems to me this is getting a little risky."

"How is it risky?" asked Harry. "You're a sailor, and know twice as much about boats as I do, if I am Commodore."

"It's risky in two or three ways. For instance, if the wind blows like this much longer, a following sea will swamp some one of us."

"Oh, we're going fast enough to keep out of the way of the sea," cried Joe.

"Just notice how your canoe comes almost to a dead stop every time she sinks between two seas, and you won't feel quite so sure that you're running faster than the sea is."

The boys saw that Charley was right. The canoes were so light that they lost their headway between the seas, and it was evident that they were in danger of being overtaken by a following sea.

"Tell us two or three more dangers, just to cheer us up, won't you?" asked Joe, who was in high spirits with the excitement of the sail.

"There's the danger of rolling our booms under, and there is a great deal of danger that Harry's canoe and mine will broach to when our rudders are out of water."

"What will happen if they do broach to?"

"They'll capsize, that's all," replied Charley.

"What had we better do?" asked Harry. "There's no use in capsizing ourselves in the middle of the lake."

"My advice is that we haul on the port tack, and run over to the west shore. The moment we get this wind and sea on the quarter, we shall be all right--though, to be sure, we've got more sail up than we ought to have."

"We can't keep on this way much longer without coming to grief," Charley cried at the top of his lungs, so that Harry, who was some distance to windward, could hear him.

"What do you say?" replied Harry.

"We've got too much sail on," yelled Charley.

"Of course we'll sail on. This is perfectly gorgeous," was Harry's answer.

"He don't hear," said Charley. "I say, Joe, you'd better take in your mainsail, and set the dandy in its place. You'll spill yourself presently."

"The dandy's stowed down, below, where I can't get at it. I guess I can hold her up till we get across."

Tom was by this time far out of hailing distance, and was apparently getting on very well. Charley did not sold him out! There had been rare cases of such things. When money meant more than honor to a veteran. But Milt!

Numbed, Frankie pondered the ghastly thought. After all, Milt was old. Old men needed money for their later years. But how could he? How could he do it?

Suddenly Frankie hated. He hated Nappy and Pop and every one of the millions of people looking silently on around the world. But most of all, he hated Milt. It was a weird, sickening thing, that hatred. But only a mentally sickening thing. Physically, it seemed to make Frankie stronger, because when the bell rang and he got up and walked into a straight right, it didn't hurt at all.

He realized he was on the floor; the gong was sounding; he was getting up, moving in again. There was blood, a ringing in his head.

But above all, a rage to kill. To kill.

He remembered going down several times and getting up. Not caring how he had swung under Milt's control--only wanting to use his fists--to kill the thing weaving in front of him.

Nappy. A grinning, weaving, lethal ghost.

He felt a pain in his right fist and saw Nappy go down. He saw Pop's face go gray as though the old man himself had felt the force of the blow. Saw Nappy climb erect slowly. He grinned through blood. Frankie--ghost-catcher. He had to get him.

He was happy; happy with a new fierceness he had never before known. The lust of battle was strong within him and when Pop weaved Nappy desperately, Frankie laughed, waited, measured Nappy.

And smashed him down with a single jarring right.

The bell tolled ten. Pop got wearily off his stool and walked away. Frankie strode grimly to his corner, ignored Milt, moved on into the dressing room.

He knew Milt would come and he waited for him, sitting there coldly on the edge of the table. Milt walked in the door and stood quietly.

"You sold me out," Frankie said.

There was open pride in Milt's eyes. "Sure--you had to think that."

"What do you mean, think? You didn't pick me up when Pop flattened me. I saw the look between you and Pop."

"Sure." Milt's eyes were still proud. "You had to know. That's how I wanted it."

"Milt--why did you do it?"

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