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."

At the next speed they went forward a little faster, to be sure.
Yet there was a decided lack of speed or a pull-back somewhere.

"Don't lose your nerve, Gridley!" floated Hartwell's voice over
the water as the Preston canoe shot by at a wind-jamming speed.

"Want a tow, Gridley?" hailed someone from shore.

"Next speed, fellows! Hit it up hard," called Dick Prescott.
Perspiration from extreme nervousness broke out on his forehead.

Strive as he would, the crew captain of the Gridleys could not
shake off the gloomy depression that assailed him. Something
was wrong---radically wrong! The "Scalp-hunter" was not showing
a winning gait!

"Best speed---and work, fellows!" called Dick, as quietly as ever,
though in his voice there was a note almost of despair.

Now, indeed, the Gridley craft sped through the water. Yet all
of her crew, and many people on shore, realized that the war canoe
was not showing a prize-taking gait.

How Dick, Dave, Tom and the others worked, bending all their energies
to the task! Yet all felt the same awful doubts.

Bang! The first gun had sounded.

"Down to the line, fellows!" Dick called. "Put in all the steam
you can. I was wrong not to have warmed you up before. Get your
blood to moving. One, two, three, four! Hump it! Hump it!"

Their bodies streaming with perspiration, breath coming fast,
their faces deeply flushed, Dick & Co. bent to their paddling.
They were moving fast, yet not as fast as they should be moving
and back.

"What on earth can ail our boys?" cried Laura Bentley anxiously
as she watched.

"They're moving fast," replied Clara Marshall.

"Yet not the way they should move," Laura insisted. "There's
nothing about them of the easy, brisk form that Preston High School
shows to-day."

"D