CHAPTER XXVIII.HORACE PROVES HIMSELF.Midkiff swung at the first pitched ball, and popped a little fly into the hands of the third baseman. That surprised individual muffed it, which enabled Midkiff to reach first. The Blackport fellows laughed. Kirby sneered at the batter's luck: "He's carrying a rabbit's foot. Swings like a garden gate, and shuts his eyes. I've seen his sort before."Rex felt like punching the fellow, but he wanted to play the game, and so he ignored Kirby, urging Cloudman to hammer Midkiff along.Cloudman struck out. In the meantime, however, Midkiff stole second very neatly.Pence was the next one to bat. He cast one of his sneering smiles at his chum, and got into position. Before going out he had whispered a word or two in Kingdon's ear, and the backstop had nodded."Kirby next," Rex reminded the grouchy one mildly.Horace swung at the first ball, and missed. The visitors had brought an umpire, and he grinned as he called the strike."Oh, Horrors!" groaned Kirby, picking himself up to look for a bat he liked.A moment later Horace surprised nearly everybody by laying down a pretty bunt, and beating the throw to first. At the same time, having caught a signal from Rex, Midkiff scampered safely to third. This was like real baseball, and the Blackporters did not laugh."Now, Mr. Kirby," said Rex, "you have a lovely opportunity to show us that your middle name is Home Run. Rise to the occasion, and we'll have a nice little lead."Kirby glanced at Midkiff and scowled. Then his gaze sought Horace. He knew very well the black-eyed chap's style of base-running. Already Horace was bothering the big pitcher for the visiting nine by taking a lead toward second. To "play the game," it devolved on Kirby to give Pence a chance to steal. Instead of that, however, he swung at the first ball pitched to him, and hit it hard and fair."A bird!" yelled Peewee from the coaching line."Some crack, but poor baseball," muttered Rex.Kirby couldn't make the plate, but he reached third, and the Storm Island nine was one run to the good.Now Kirby would have been reprimanded by most coachers for failing to give the runner on first a chance to try a steal, but Kingdon remained silent.Hicks chattered like a monkey, telling Kirby he was a wonder or else the pitcher was easy.Either Kirby's long slam or the joshing of Peewee disturbed the big pitcher from Blackport, for he walked Phillips. Then Comas rapped out a scratch hit, scoring Kirby. Phillips raced onward to third, and made it by sliding.Kingdon went to bat, and waited while two strikes were called on him. On the second one Comas went to second. Rex had demonstrated to Kirby by example what the batter should do with runners on first and third. Then he smashed the next ball that came over, hitting for three sacks.Phillips and Comas cantered in, and the Storm Islanders were four tallies in the lead.The streak ended there, however, for Hicks and the next men fanned."Nice little bunt, Pence," said Rex to Horace as the nines changed positions. "It cut the ice, Midkiff was waiting for it.""Oh, I know a little something about real base ball," returned Pence somewhat loftily."But Kirby wants to be the whole team," laughed Kingdon.In the next inning, Midkiff held the visitors down to two hits, neither of which counted. Neither side had scored again when the fifth inning came round.At that point, however, Kingdon saw that Midkiff was beginning to show weariness. This was true also of the Blackport pitcher, and the captains of both teams decided to make a change. Yansey himself went in for his club.Yansey put more on the ball from the start than the deposed pitcher had possessed, beginning by striking out the home team in one, two, three order."Pence," Kingdon found time to say while the slaughter was proceeding, "do you think you can hold your own out there on the mound for five innings?""Give me a chance to try," requested the black-eyed chap."Will you work with me, and follow my signals?""If I cross you on signals, you can drop me.""Good! No flashy stuff. Use all your speed only when you have to. A change of pace bothers most batters. I can send Applejack in, but——""Try me!" begged Horace, his eyes flashing."Be it so," Kingdon agreed with mock solemnity. "This day, then, shalt thou be tried."He sent Horace off to one side to warm up with Kirby. The latter brightened at once."Is that yellow-haired chap going to put you where you belong?" Harry cried. "Well, there's hopes for him yet!""But how about me?" drawled Horace."Why, Horrors! You know you've got these would-be pitchers distanced. Just show 'em that fast one of yours, and those Blackport fellows will shut their eyes.""Haven't a bit of confidence in me, old man, have you?" chuckled Pence. "But I'm under Kingdon's orders. Don't expect too much.""Oh, bother him!" ejaculated Kirby. "Once you're in the box, you can do as you please."But Horace had given his word to Rex, and he meant to keep it. For the first time in his life, he was willing to follow the lead of another man. A change was coming over him.By this time Yansey had fanned the third man, and the Storm Island boys took the field. Horace got into position, and threw a few balls to Rex to get the range. Then he nodded that he was ready.The big fellow who had first pitched for the visitors was up. He swung a stick almost as long as a wagon-tongue, and Kingdon signaled to keep the ball close. Pence used a shoot, and the big batsman caught the ball near his knuckles. The ball popped almost directly up into the air, but was a fair hit. Rex was under it when it returned toward mother earth, and the first man to face Horace had been far too easy."Wasn't that a shame!" chuckled the backstop, tossing the ball to Pence.Such luck wasn't to continue. Though Horace started by putting a strike over for the next man, he followed with three balls, seeming unable to locate the plate.The batsman grinned. "Oh, you squawpaw!" he called at Horace. "Just gimme one—only one, so I can lean up against it!"Rex knew that Horace longed to send in one of his fast ones. He rubbed his palm in the dirt. A smoker came over. "Strike two!" barked the umpire, dodging involuntarily.Kirby was delighted. Only for a moment, however. Horace followed with another swift one that made Kingdon stretch himself in order to stop it with one hand. The batter was sent to first."There it goes!" ejaculated Kirby wildly. "I knew how it would be. If Kingdon would give old Horrors his head, he'd win the game for us; but he puts him in a hole before turning him loose, and then it's too late."But Pence was not blaming Kingdon. Seeming to read his mind, Rex had given him a chance to show what he could do with speed. The backstop was willing to be convinced that Horace's fast one was effective, if the pitcher could convince him. He had even admitted that it would be very effective when the time came that Pence could control it finely. Until that time, however, it could be used with safety only to dazzle batter and keep him in a state of uncertainty.Having reached this conclusion, Horace gave close attention to Rex's signals for the remainder of the inning, and the visitors failed to score."That southpaw looks like a pitcher, Kingdon," said Yansey generously, as they changed positions. "But I thought for a moment he was going up in the air.""My dear fellow," returned Rex, loudly enough for Pence to hear, "he couldn't be lifted off his feet with a derrick."Horace grew better with each inning. The Storm Island nine could make only one run off Yansey, and the visitors crept up until the score was 5 to 4 in favor of Storm Island when the latter came to bat in the ninth. Yansey held them down to a goose-egg."Now go in and do likewise, Horrors," Kingdon urged. "Your control has improved steadily, and I'm going to let you try speed again. Want to?""I'd like to," answered Pence. "But if I get wild——""I'll stop you, leave it to me."In spite of speed, the first batter hit the ball, but he merely popped a fly into Pudge MacComber's hands, and the fat youth held it. Up came Yansey, with a quizzical smile. He, at least, had been hitting Pence, and he still hoped to tie the score, at least.The first ball that came his way made the skipper of theNothing To Itgasp. He stepped back, gripped his club tighter and—the umpire declared the second strike!"Say!" called Yansey. "You want to look out or you'll tear your whole arm loose at the shoulder and pitch it right along with the ball."Fully prepared, he was ready to swing at the next one, but he swung too late, nevertheless. "The pill was in my mitt before you started your bat, old man," laughed Rex."You've been letting him hold that speed back to dazzle us with at the finish," complained Yansey.When the third batsman struck out likewise, the Storm Islanders shouted for Horace Pence. He had indeed demonstrated that he was a real pitcher, they claimed. Kingdon smiled to himself. He was quite as well satisfied as anybody.CHAPTER XXIX.SOMETHING IN THE OFFING.Of course, there were days when the Storm Islander crew could not get out the eight-oared shell. When the wind came out of the East the sound was almost sure to be pretty choppy; and, although Kingdon believed a little rough-water practice would not hurt the boys, a shell cannot be successfully handled in a sea that is too rough.Further than that, Horace Pence was captain, and Kingdon never advised now unless invited to do so. The black-eyed chap, it was true, gave his full attention to the work when the shell was out, neglecting nothing that seemed vital to the training of the crew. He believed in them thoroughly, believed they were going to make a brilliant showing. Pence was really over-confident regarding their ability to beat the Blackport crew. Although Rex Kingdon often talked with supreme confidence, his thought was usually well-blended with caution. He was not at all sure in this instance that they had a winning crew.Since that cheerful day when they had whipped the Blackport nine on the ball field, Pence and his friends believed they could beat Yansey and his comrades at any game. Yansey's own pet expression, "Nothing to it!" was forever on the lips of Ben, Pudge and Kirby when they spoke of the coming rowing contest."But you and I have been told, Jawn," Rex drawled, talking the situation over with the big fellow one day, "that rowing races aren't always won in the boat.""Hey?" exclaimed Midkiff. "Who told us that bunk?""They're often won at the training table and in the gym.," chuckled Rex, who dearly loved to get a rise out of his Old Hall room-mate."Oh, scissors!" observed Midkiff."Those chaps aren't training, you know. Neither are we as we should, for that matter. But they all dally with the cunning little coffin-nail, even Pudge. They eat everything and anything—and any-how. They lie around after eating like a boa constrictor assimilating a heifer; and then they take exercise too violently. Some of them puff, like theSpoondrift'sexhaust, two minutes after they get to work.""What did you expect when you handed the crew over to Horrors?" sniffed Midkiff."What I expected has nothing to do with what I want," Kingdon responded with some appearance of gloom. "Don't want it told all along this coast that a bunch of us Walcott Hall fellows joined a rowing crew that won't even have a look-in when we go up against these local chaps.""What you going to do?""What would you suggest, Jawn? Come, Old Wise Head, give us a boost.""Take hold of the crew yourself.""And oust Horrors?""Can't be two captains in one boat.""No," Kingdon said with seriousness. "Verily I itch for the chance to whip the crew up. I believe it can be bettered by shifting some of them about, too. But I fear, Jawn—I fear!""Fear what?" grunted his friend."Of losing all I've gained.""What the dickens have you gained?""I've gained something with Horrors. Notice the figure he cuts on the mound now?""And is that the price he's paying for his job as captain of the crew?" demanded Midkiff scornfully."Whether he's voluntarily and knowingly paying such price," Kingdon rejoined evenly, "doesn't really matter, does it, Jawn? I've got him about where I want him in baseball. Got him interested. I'd hold him if I can, and the rest of you fellows must help me.""What for?" snapped Midkiff."You know well enough," was the cool response. "We need him.""At Walcott?""What a remarkable guesser you are!""You'll never get him! He's one of these swell-heads who think they know all there is to know, anyhow—and what's the use of proving themselves either right or wrong by going to school any more?" Midkiff spoke bitterly. He could not like a fellow of Horace Pence's caliber—or thought he could not."He was like that," agreed Rex."I don't see much change in him since the first day we struck this island. Only he has to be half way decent now, because you let him and his crowd stop here. Now you'd sacrifice the rowing in an attempt to win him over for a pitcher for Walcott Hall. Nothing to it, Rex.""There you go, Jawn," sighed Kingdon. "You've got the habit, too. Yansey's influence on this bunch is something awful. You're all talking just as he does.""Quit fooling," grunted Midkiff. "What are we laying ourselves out on this rowing business for if nothing's to come of it?""Getting good practice, aren't we?" asked Rex. "Only I never did go into a game before without having a feeling of expectation.""If you expect to win with Horrors as captain of the crew, you'll get specks in your eyes.""Will I? Well, we'll see. You're so helpful, Jawn, when a chap has a hard nut to crack. Thanks.""Oh!" cried Midkiff, throwing up both hands. "You always go your own gait anyway, Rex."Which was true in this instance. Kingdon had to solve the problem himself, and he proceeded to go about it by sailing over to Blackport at the first opportunity and putting it into Yansey's mind to challenge the Storm Island crew for a trial match the first week in August.Kingdon kept his own counsel about this, but the next day a motor boat halted long enough at the island for a note to be passed to Horace Pence, embodying the challenge and suggesting that the sound, in the quiet waters off the island, be the scene of the proposed match.For once, Pence showed a measure of uncertainty. He went off by himself, evidently to study on the matter. It was almost supper time when he strolled back by the way of the Walcott Hall camp, and hailed Rex Kingdon."Say, Curly," he said to the backstop, "I've been fishing, and I got a bite.""Who's bit you?" asked Kingdon lightly."Kirby. And he's always been such a household pet that it's surprised me, even if it didn't hurt me much," Pence explained with some gloom. "It's about that rolling stone that came near gathering up all you chaps as a new species of moss.""Sayest thou so?" was Kingdon's interested comment. "Let's hear the worst.""He does suspect, at least, how that avalanche started; but he refuses to give me his confidence.""Yes?" encouraged Rex."Owned up to me last night that he and the Indian camped down there at Clay Head through all that rain.""We knew that already.""But Harry hadn't admitted it before. I put it to him straight if he and Joe left that canoe and came over here during the night.""Well?""Swore he didn't leave the canoe," said Pence, anxiety betrayed in his voice. "Harry's more than ordinarily truthful—so I've always found him. Don't you suppose that the bowlder might have been washed out by the rain, after all?""The rain wouldn't have washed the lever out of the woods and down the hill into the field behind the place where the bowlder lay.""Hardly!" agreed Pence, startled by this reasoning."Kirby says he didn't leave the canoe all night?""That's what he says," was the reply.Kingdon added nothing to what he had already said until finally, with a sigh dismissing the puzzle for the time being, Pence offered him the letter he had received from the skipper of theNothing To It. "What do you think of this?" Horace asked.Kingdon read the challenge with as much apparent interest as though the matter was an utter surprise to him. It was plain that Pence was nervous—a nervousness not attributable to their former topic of conversation."The nerve of them!" said Kingdon. "They've been rowing together all season, and we're just beginning to get our crowd into shape.""But we can't refuse," Pence hastened to say."No," Rex agreed."But—but—Kingdon! Suppose they lick us out of our boots?""What's the odds? It'll show the boys just about how bad—or good we are.""It will discourage them if we're beaten," Pence said. "Haven't practiced enough to make sure of giving a good account of ourselves.""Never know how good we are till we try a race with a real crew, and Yansey's got the best one along the coast—let him tell it.""I know. He's an awful blowhard.""But maybe hehasgot the best crew," chuckled Rex."Yet you say to accept it?""I say nothing. You're the skipper. You don't need anybody to decide for you. If you feel you do, put it to the vote of the crew.""Oh! Our fellows will be eager for it," sighed Horace."Fancy our fellows won't mind a try-out, either," was Kingdon's cheerful rejoinder."Then I might as well say 'Yes,' but between now and then we've got to dosometraining.""We're with you, Horrors," Rex assured him. "We'll win if we can." He felt in secret more serious doubt of winning than even Pence showed in his countenance.CHAPTER XXX.FACING DEFEAT.The fellows in both of the camps on Storm Island were at once excited when Horace Pence announced the trial rowing match with the Blackport crew. All were eager but Joe Bootleg, and he did not count.From the very hour that Kingdon and Midkiff first landed on the island in their bathing suits, the Indian had grown more sullen than was his usual condition. His vindictiveness daily increased against the Walcott Hall boy who had bested him in that fight in the night and the rain. Whenever he was close enough to Rex to make it count, he glared at the curly-headed chap with a malevolence that could not be misinterpreted. In the hatred of Rex he included all the Walcott Hall crowd.The Indian's smoldering hate had convinced Kingdon after the avalanche that Joe had a hand in the starting of the bowlder on its downward course. What puzzled Rex still, as he confessed to Horace Pence, was the part Harry Kirby had taken in the dastardly attempt upon the lives of the boys from Walcott Hall.That the stupid and ignorant Indian had engineered the thing, Rex could easily believe. There are wicked and savage-natured characters among these latter day members of an expiring race, as there are bad men who have white faces. Joe Bootleg undoubtedly had no advantages of upbringing and instruction to make him better than Nature formed him.In Harry Kirby's case it was different. Kingdon shrank from believing that Kirby had aided the Indian in bringing about the thing that might have been, had it not been for Kingdon's premonition of peril, a terrible catastrophe.Had Kingdon secured evidence that pointed to Joe Bootleg alone in this serious affair, he would have been tempted to see Enos Quibb, the constable, and have the Indian removed from Storm Island. Failing in this attempt to injure Kingdon and his friends, the malevolent Indian might try some other means of "getting square."Kirby's possible connection with the regrettable affair, and the surety that to attract the attention of the authorities would arouse the Manatee Lumber Company and cause questioning regarding the two camps established on Storm Island, deterred Kingdon from taking this sane and sensible course.He was always on the lookout for Joe Bootleg, and he continually warned his friends to be watchful of the Indian youth. Besides, Pence, having become suspicious, was keeping Joe well within view. The latter undoubtedly felt that he was watched and, his first attempt being so signally a failure, it was likely he would hesitate about making another. But his look was threatening, just the same, whenever his path and Rex Kingdon's crossed.Being a healthy and hearty youth, with nothing particular on his conscience, Rex had usually slept as soundly as any of his chums. Now his rest was sometimes broken. He got up occasionally and went out of the tent for a look around in the night. When Midkiff or any of the others growled about being disturbed by this, Rex laughed it off.The feeling persisted that peril threatened. When asleep it took hold upon his subconsciousness, and awoke him. He felt that the Indian might be prowling about. He knew that the fellow slept alone in the cook tent at the other camp, and could slip away without arousing Pence or his companions.Sometimes Rex did a little prowling of his own on these midnight ventures. He roamed as far as the other camp on more than one occasion, and was always reassured by hearing the heavy breathing of the Indian lad within the tent."Getting just as nervous as an old maid in a haunted house," Rex told himself on one of these occasions. "If I was sleeping in a folding bed, I'd look under it after I let it down ev'ry night to see if there was a burglar underneath."In the day time they were all so busy now, and there was so much fun and sport afoot, that Joe Bootleg and his intentions did not trouble anybody, least of all Kingdon. He thought the fellow had no chance to do anything desperate by daylight.Rex did not allow his crowd to neglect practice on the diamond because of the added zest given to the rowing by Yansey's challenge; nor did Pence seek to dodge his usual work on the mound. He was no slacker. Once his hand and heart was given to a thing, he kept at it.The eight-oared boat was out every pleasant day for two or three periods of practice. Ben and Pudge, of all the crew most sluggish by nature, worked as well as the others. Like Kirby, they proposed to back up Horace Pence and show the Walcott Hall chaps that there was loyalty elsewhere than in the ranks of the prep. school pupils.Kingdon and Midkiff knew what was wrong with the rowing of the crew. Pence set a long, sweeping stroke that was easy for Rex, Midkiff and Phillips to maintain; but at times the shorter-armed Pudge, and even Kirby, clashed oars with the rower before or behind them. Often their spurts, timed by the caustic Hicks, with a watch strapped to his wrist, were spoiled by these fouls."Oh, get together! Get together!" the coxswain would implore. "Keep stroke! For the love of harmony, keep stroke!"The little chap had a megaphone strapped to his face, and he could have been heard, when he was really excited, half across the sound to Manatee Head.It was expected that Cloudman, who was the greenest of them all, would fail; but the cowboy had taken hold of the work grandly, and, being long-armed and lanky, the stroke Horace Pence set suited him very well.The first week of August came on, bringing the day selected for the trial match between the Storm Island eight and the Blackport crew. It was a beautiful, calm, hazy day, and the conditions for the race could scarcely have been better.The Storm Island campers expected to see theNothing To Itsail out to the island, with the shell in tow. Instead, before noon they saw a squadron of sail beating out of the channel in the light wind, followed by the steam-yacht of the Boat Club's commodore, with the boys' shell on deck."My aunt!" cried Little Hicks when it was realized that the entire flotilla was coming up the sound. "They're going to make a fine show of us.""Slaughtering the innocents to make a Blackport holiday," murmured Rex. "Yansey is evidently confident that there's going to be 'Nothing to it!'"CHAPTER XXXI.HORACE SHOWS THE RIGHT SPIRIT.The Blackporters rowed the Storm Island crew a guessed two miles, and beat the latter so badly that the race was somewhat farcical in its last stages."We'd better have stood on the bank and watched them pull past us," complained Peewee. "We'd been saved a lot of hard work and worry."Yansey and his crew had their beaten rivals over on the commodore's yacht to a great spread. It was really very jolly, and the winning crew was no more patronizing than they could help being. Yet when the squadron of the Blackport Boat Club got under way at seven o'clock, it left behind on Storm Island nine of the sorest youths that ever camped out on the Maine coast."You fellers couldn't even wheel a baby carriage," charged little Hicks. "And you said you could row!""You didn't have to row," flung back Ben Comas. "All you've had to do was shoot off your face.""We tried hard enough," sighed Pudge."Can't blame you, Horrors," Kirby declared."I dunno as I want to learn to row," Cloudman remarked."If we'd had any sort of training!" Midkiff gloomily grumbled."Cheer up, fellows," was Kingdon's laughing adjurement. "The worst is yet to come.""No it isn't!" exclaimed Horace Pence with angry decision."Yes it is," insisted Rex quietly. "We've agreed to enter those races three weeks from to-day. We'll have to meet the Blackport, North Pemberly and Howelson crews. We've agreed to. Don't want 'em to call us quitters, do we?""Of course we'll race," said Phillips, his jaw set doggedly."It isn't that at all," Pence went on, his black eyes flashing and his dark cheeks flushed. "It isn't that. We'll race, but we're going to do better than we did to-day!""I sure do like the sound of your talk just about now," Cloudman drawled. "Seems like you meant it. I'm with you.""Same here!" cried several of the others."What's the use?" demanded Ben Comas. "We won't have a show.""Of course we can't get the best of those fellows, for they're professionals," Pudge groaned."Do you really mean to try it again, Horrors?" murmured Kirby.The black-eyed fellow had waited impatiently for them to subside. Now he stopped Kirby's further speech with a gesture, exclaiming: "That's enough! I don't want to be jollied. I know I'm the failure, not you fellows.""My jinks!" squawked Hicks. "You pull the best oar in the boat—bar Kingdon.""Thanks. You're the cox and you should be able to judge some. Don't matter how good an oar I pull. I can't make the rest of you pull your best, so—I'm a failure.""As stroke?" grunted Red."Exactly," confessed Pence, and none of them—not even Kingdon—knew how it hurt him to make the admission. "I see now that you can't train all crews alike. I've been copying Belding methods.""Good methods under conditions," murmured Kingdon."But they don't fit here," the other said shortly. "There's just as good rowing material in this crew as there was in the freshman eight I was on, and they could have rowed all around us without half trying. I'm a failure as stroke and coach. There's a screw loose somewhere. Just the same I believe we can do a lot better in the big race that is coming off this month.""What makes you so sure?" growled Ben Comas."Because we can all pull a good oar, singly—even Pudge," Pence said. "Cloudman has improved wonderfully. But it needs something besides pulling to win a race. Just what it is, I don't know; but I bet Kingdon knows—or can find out.""Oh, fudge!" muttered Ben. "Kingdon knows everything!""I reckon so," Pence said quickly, with uplifted lip, as he eyed the glum Comas. "Go off somewhere and growl it off alone, Bennie. What does it matter who's captain, if we can only win the race?""That's your idea, is it?" Kirby said."Look here, Horrors," Kingdon questioned uncertainly, "do you mean you want me——""You're the chap to boss the boat," cut in Pence. "You're the fellow to pull stroke."There was a moment of breathless silence. To the surprise of the Walcott Hall boys, none of the others made either complaint or objection."If you say so——" began Rex slowly."I've said it," Pence rejoined."Anybody object?" questioned Kingdon.After another period of silence, Phillips chuckled: "It seems to be unanimous. You're elected, King.""Go to it, Rex," Pence said with heartiness."I shall coach this crew my own way, and to the best of my ability," said Rex earnestly. "I may not do a bit better than Horace, but I have a system I want to try. If you back me up——""Look there!" cried Hicks suddenly, pointing. "What's that fellow doing over on our boat?"Kingdon took one look and started off on a fast run along the steep shore."It's Joe Bootleg," gasped Pudge. "He's coming ashore from theSpoondrift.""He's running!" exclaimed Hicks. "He's been up to something."All had started after Rex, but Harry Kirby was in the lead. "Hey, Kingdon!" he shouted. "Have a care! Look out! He's got it in for you!"Joe Bootleg had already disappeared along the beach beyond the camp of the Walcott Hall boys.As Kirby overtook Kingdon, the latter, still running, gave Harry a glance. "What's he been doing aboard that boat?""I don't know. Perhaps he fixed it to blow up your gasoline tank?""She'd have gone up by this," Kingdon returned as he splashed into the water and clambered over the rail of the moored catboat.She seemed very easy to climb into, for her rail was as low as though she was heavily laden."The rascal!" shouted Rex when he was aboard. He had splashed into a foot of water in the cockpit, and the cabin was all afloat."What's he done? What's he done?" clamored the excited crowd from the shore."He's pulled the plug, or scuttled her," answered Rex savagely. "Come aboard, John. We'll have to find the hole and stop the leak in a hurry, or she'll rest her old keel on the bottom in short order. If she sinks we'll have a fine time getting her afloat again.""If we can't help you, we'll go after that crazy chap," Pence shouted. "Come on, Kirby!"They did not catch Joe Bootleg. The Indian had taken one of the canoes and hidden it farther along the shore of the island. This action had been overlooked by the campers because of the confusion attending the boat race. Joe was far out on the sound, and paddling for Manatee Head in the dusk, when the pursuers caught sight of him.CHAPTER XXXII.IN FORM AT LAST.Kingdon and Midkiff finally found the four holes bored in the bottom of the catboat by the Indian youth. They were able to caulk them well enough so that little more water could seep in.In the morning Pence sent Kirby and Pudge to Blackport in the remaining canoe, and they brought back a pump, with which theSpoondriftwas soon made free of water. In Blackport they learned where Joe Bootleg had abandoned the canoe he had stolen. The Indian had shipped for a summer cruise to the Banks, and he had left the canoe beached under Manatee Head, with a hole in her bottom. Later the canoe was recovered and repaired."Good riddance," Ben Comas said. "I didn't mind paying him his wages, but I'd rather do some of his work myself than have him around.""You're not alone in that feeling, Bennie," drawled Horace, turning away to intercept Kingdon. "Well," he said to the Walcott Hall youth, "I guess I've got the right dope at last.""About what?""That rolling stone that gathered no moss.""Sayst thou so?" exclaimed Rex. "Prithee, go on, fair sir; tell me it.""Kirby told me last night. He was a little afraid of the Indian. You couldn't blame him.""A bad actor, sure," Rex agreed."Joe threatened him. The fellow carried a knife. It seems Joe stole away from the canoe that night just as soon as he thought Kirby was asleep; the night the rock fell, you know.""Go on.""But Harry wasn't asleep. He timed the fellow, and Joe was gone two hours. When he came back, Harry asked him if he'd been over here to our camp, and the Indian flew into a rage.""I see.""Told him if he said a word about it, or even about having been on the island that night, he'd fix him. Nice sort of a bird!""Kirby should have told us.""So I said. But it's done now. There's one thing I haven't told you, Rex.""What's that?""The Indian got back to the canoe long before midnight, and did not leave the spot again, Harry says, till morning. He is sure of this. Four or five hours elapsed, then, before the rock slid down on you fellows. How do you account for that?"Kingdon slapped Pence on the shoulder. "Plain as a pikestaff! Bootleg tried to pry the rock loose, and failed. He meant to squash our tent flat. He cut the lever and dug the hole under the rock. Then he set the stone for a fulcrum. But he couldn't budge the bowlder. Not even that night when he came over here from Clay Head.""Then what——?""The rain did it. The rain, feeding into that hole, worked all around the bowlder and, 'long toward morning, away she went.""Lucky you had that hunch to move," said Horace."More than luck," Kingdon said gravely. But he made no further explanation.That day there was no rowing practice, so Kingdon's idea was not divulged until the day following. The only change in the arrangement of the positions of the crew he made at first was to have Pence and Pudge MacComber shift places."Oh, cracky!" Kirby muttered to the black-eyed chap. "What a chance! Pudge for stroke!"Kingdon had no idea of keeping Pudge there permanently. He wanted the fat boy, who was not so ponderously slow now, exercise having reduced his corpulency to a marked degree, where he could watch his stroke. After a time, Kingdon sent him back to his former position and brought Pence forward to his own place at Number Seven, taking the stroke-oar himself."Now, fellows, I'll give you my idea," Kingdon said. "Length of stroke doesn't always make for power. The longer the stroke, the longer the recovery. For eight men to row successfully in unison, they should use a stroke that is well within the power of the one of the eight who naturally takes the shortest stroke.""Pudge!" cried several."And that weakens the whole bunch," muttered Kirby, still in doubt."I get your point," said Horace Pence. "It's the idea of the chain being only as strong as its weakest link.""Exactly. Gradually the weakest link must be strengthened.""You're right," the black-eyed fellow said. "Pay attention, everybody. We've got a skipper who uses his head, and he's got a head to use!"So they started rowing practice on a much different line for the three final weeks before the big race. Horace Pence's friends were not very enthusiastic at first, having been so badly beaten by the Blackport crew that hope had deserted them.But something happened to revive their spirits and make them all feel good. They went over to Blackport on Saturday afternoon, and beat Yansey's nine 12 to 4. Cloudman pitched five innings, and did well. Then Horace pitched the last of the game, and Rex allowed him to display his speedy ball to his heart's content."There's nothing to it! There's nothing to it!" sang Peewee Hicks, as theSpoondriftsailed out through Blackport Channel that evening. "We're going to walk off with the shell race, just as we did with these chaps who thought they could play ball. There's nothing to it!""We're merely beginning to get into form at last, chums," said Rex, his words and his glance including them all.Kirby whispered to Pence: "Never thought it would make me feel good to have him call me chum.""It makes me feel proud," Horace whispered back.It was a well contented party that landed on Storm Island that evening. The two crowds of young fellows were becoming more friendly than even Rex had foreseen. The next day Pence and his mates struck their tents and brought them over to the plateau above the cove where the catboat and shell lay. They combined forces to save work and get more time for practice.Pudge, his cousin and Kirby, as well as Pence, began to enjoy themselves much better, now that they had an object before them and more work to do. There was less grumbling and scrapping among themselves, and a huge lot of fun with the Walcott Hall fellows.Kingdon worked them hard, no doubt of that. He whipped them along at both rowing and baseball. During the last week of the former practice, however, he let up a little so that, when the great day came, the Storm Island eight went into the big race as fresh and cheerful as though they had every surety of winning.To the amazement of their rivals, they did win. It could not be said that Rex Kingdon was the sole cause of their doing so. Every fellow in the boat felt that the fact was somewhat due to his own personal work. But Kingdon had trained them to pull together like a machine, and had developed a stroke that gave speed enough to enable them to beat the Blackport crew by a length.The other two boats were a long way behind when Storm Island crossed the finishing line. Manatee Sound looked like a yacht-racing day at Newport, only on a smaller scale. Boats of all kinds and descriptions for miles up and down the coast, had come to see the regatta."Jawn," Rex Kingdon told Midkiff, as they rested after the race, "we'll never have better fun than we did to-day—not even at the old Hall." Which goes to show that even the self-confident Kingdon could be mistaken, as the reader will agree if he reads the subsequent volume of this series, entitled "Rex Kingdon and His Chums.""We certainly pulled down the little old cup in this boat race," Midkiff chuckled happily. "That was a prize worth winning."Rex rolled over and seized Midkiff's arm in a tight grip. His eyes were laughing, but his lips were serious as he said:"We've gathered another prize, a bigger one, Jawn.""Huh?" asked Midkiff, puzzled."Horace Pence is going to Walcott Hall with us next term. I've got his promise. I've written the Doctor about him. He'll enter with some conditions, of course, but he is going to help Walcott Hall win baseball games. He is the prize I was after."
CHAPTER XXVIII.
HORACE PROVES HIMSELF.
Midkiff swung at the first pitched ball, and popped a little fly into the hands of the third baseman. That surprised individual muffed it, which enabled Midkiff to reach first. The Blackport fellows laughed. Kirby sneered at the batter's luck: "He's carrying a rabbit's foot. Swings like a garden gate, and shuts his eyes. I've seen his sort before."
Rex felt like punching the fellow, but he wanted to play the game, and so he ignored Kirby, urging Cloudman to hammer Midkiff along.
Cloudman struck out. In the meantime, however, Midkiff stole second very neatly.
Pence was the next one to bat. He cast one of his sneering smiles at his chum, and got into position. Before going out he had whispered a word or two in Kingdon's ear, and the backstop had nodded.
"Kirby next," Rex reminded the grouchy one mildly.
Horace swung at the first ball, and missed. The visitors had brought an umpire, and he grinned as he called the strike.
"Oh, Horrors!" groaned Kirby, picking himself up to look for a bat he liked.
A moment later Horace surprised nearly everybody by laying down a pretty bunt, and beating the throw to first. At the same time, having caught a signal from Rex, Midkiff scampered safely to third. This was like real baseball, and the Blackporters did not laugh.
"Now, Mr. Kirby," said Rex, "you have a lovely opportunity to show us that your middle name is Home Run. Rise to the occasion, and we'll have a nice little lead."
Kirby glanced at Midkiff and scowled. Then his gaze sought Horace. He knew very well the black-eyed chap's style of base-running. Already Horace was bothering the big pitcher for the visiting nine by taking a lead toward second. To "play the game," it devolved on Kirby to give Pence a chance to steal. Instead of that, however, he swung at the first ball pitched to him, and hit it hard and fair.
"A bird!" yelled Peewee from the coaching line.
"Some crack, but poor baseball," muttered Rex.
Kirby couldn't make the plate, but he reached third, and the Storm Island nine was one run to the good.
Now Kirby would have been reprimanded by most coachers for failing to give the runner on first a chance to try a steal, but Kingdon remained silent.
Hicks chattered like a monkey, telling Kirby he was a wonder or else the pitcher was easy.
Either Kirby's long slam or the joshing of Peewee disturbed the big pitcher from Blackport, for he walked Phillips. Then Comas rapped out a scratch hit, scoring Kirby. Phillips raced onward to third, and made it by sliding.
Kingdon went to bat, and waited while two strikes were called on him. On the second one Comas went to second. Rex had demonstrated to Kirby by example what the batter should do with runners on first and third. Then he smashed the next ball that came over, hitting for three sacks.
Phillips and Comas cantered in, and the Storm Islanders were four tallies in the lead.
The streak ended there, however, for Hicks and the next men fanned.
"Nice little bunt, Pence," said Rex to Horace as the nines changed positions. "It cut the ice, Midkiff was waiting for it."
"Oh, I know a little something about real base ball," returned Pence somewhat loftily.
"But Kirby wants to be the whole team," laughed Kingdon.
In the next inning, Midkiff held the visitors down to two hits, neither of which counted. Neither side had scored again when the fifth inning came round.
At that point, however, Kingdon saw that Midkiff was beginning to show weariness. This was true also of the Blackport pitcher, and the captains of both teams decided to make a change. Yansey himself went in for his club.
Yansey put more on the ball from the start than the deposed pitcher had possessed, beginning by striking out the home team in one, two, three order.
"Pence," Kingdon found time to say while the slaughter was proceeding, "do you think you can hold your own out there on the mound for five innings?"
"Give me a chance to try," requested the black-eyed chap.
"Will you work with me, and follow my signals?"
"If I cross you on signals, you can drop me."
"Good! No flashy stuff. Use all your speed only when you have to. A change of pace bothers most batters. I can send Applejack in, but——"
"Try me!" begged Horace, his eyes flashing.
"Be it so," Kingdon agreed with mock solemnity. "This day, then, shalt thou be tried."
He sent Horace off to one side to warm up with Kirby. The latter brightened at once.
"Is that yellow-haired chap going to put you where you belong?" Harry cried. "Well, there's hopes for him yet!"
"But how about me?" drawled Horace.
"Why, Horrors! You know you've got these would-be pitchers distanced. Just show 'em that fast one of yours, and those Blackport fellows will shut their eyes."
"Haven't a bit of confidence in me, old man, have you?" chuckled Pence. "But I'm under Kingdon's orders. Don't expect too much."
"Oh, bother him!" ejaculated Kirby. "Once you're in the box, you can do as you please."
But Horace had given his word to Rex, and he meant to keep it. For the first time in his life, he was willing to follow the lead of another man. A change was coming over him.
By this time Yansey had fanned the third man, and the Storm Island boys took the field. Horace got into position, and threw a few balls to Rex to get the range. Then he nodded that he was ready.
The big fellow who had first pitched for the visitors was up. He swung a stick almost as long as a wagon-tongue, and Kingdon signaled to keep the ball close. Pence used a shoot, and the big batsman caught the ball near his knuckles. The ball popped almost directly up into the air, but was a fair hit. Rex was under it when it returned toward mother earth, and the first man to face Horace had been far too easy.
"Wasn't that a shame!" chuckled the backstop, tossing the ball to Pence.
Such luck wasn't to continue. Though Horace started by putting a strike over for the next man, he followed with three balls, seeming unable to locate the plate.
The batsman grinned. "Oh, you squawpaw!" he called at Horace. "Just gimme one—only one, so I can lean up against it!"
Rex knew that Horace longed to send in one of his fast ones. He rubbed his palm in the dirt. A smoker came over. "Strike two!" barked the umpire, dodging involuntarily.
Kirby was delighted. Only for a moment, however. Horace followed with another swift one that made Kingdon stretch himself in order to stop it with one hand. The batter was sent to first.
"There it goes!" ejaculated Kirby wildly. "I knew how it would be. If Kingdon would give old Horrors his head, he'd win the game for us; but he puts him in a hole before turning him loose, and then it's too late."
But Pence was not blaming Kingdon. Seeming to read his mind, Rex had given him a chance to show what he could do with speed. The backstop was willing to be convinced that Horace's fast one was effective, if the pitcher could convince him. He had even admitted that it would be very effective when the time came that Pence could control it finely. Until that time, however, it could be used with safety only to dazzle batter and keep him in a state of uncertainty.
Having reached this conclusion, Horace gave close attention to Rex's signals for the remainder of the inning, and the visitors failed to score.
"That southpaw looks like a pitcher, Kingdon," said Yansey generously, as they changed positions. "But I thought for a moment he was going up in the air."
"My dear fellow," returned Rex, loudly enough for Pence to hear, "he couldn't be lifted off his feet with a derrick."
Horace grew better with each inning. The Storm Island nine could make only one run off Yansey, and the visitors crept up until the score was 5 to 4 in favor of Storm Island when the latter came to bat in the ninth. Yansey held them down to a goose-egg.
"Now go in and do likewise, Horrors," Kingdon urged. "Your control has improved steadily, and I'm going to let you try speed again. Want to?"
"I'd like to," answered Pence. "But if I get wild——"
"I'll stop you, leave it to me."
In spite of speed, the first batter hit the ball, but he merely popped a fly into Pudge MacComber's hands, and the fat youth held it. Up came Yansey, with a quizzical smile. He, at least, had been hitting Pence, and he still hoped to tie the score, at least.
The first ball that came his way made the skipper of theNothing To Itgasp. He stepped back, gripped his club tighter and—the umpire declared the second strike!
"Say!" called Yansey. "You want to look out or you'll tear your whole arm loose at the shoulder and pitch it right along with the ball."
Fully prepared, he was ready to swing at the next one, but he swung too late, nevertheless. "The pill was in my mitt before you started your bat, old man," laughed Rex.
"You've been letting him hold that speed back to dazzle us with at the finish," complained Yansey.
When the third batsman struck out likewise, the Storm Islanders shouted for Horace Pence. He had indeed demonstrated that he was a real pitcher, they claimed. Kingdon smiled to himself. He was quite as well satisfied as anybody.
CHAPTER XXIX.
SOMETHING IN THE OFFING.
Of course, there were days when the Storm Islander crew could not get out the eight-oared shell. When the wind came out of the East the sound was almost sure to be pretty choppy; and, although Kingdon believed a little rough-water practice would not hurt the boys, a shell cannot be successfully handled in a sea that is too rough.
Further than that, Horace Pence was captain, and Kingdon never advised now unless invited to do so. The black-eyed chap, it was true, gave his full attention to the work when the shell was out, neglecting nothing that seemed vital to the training of the crew. He believed in them thoroughly, believed they were going to make a brilliant showing. Pence was really over-confident regarding their ability to beat the Blackport crew. Although Rex Kingdon often talked with supreme confidence, his thought was usually well-blended with caution. He was not at all sure in this instance that they had a winning crew.
Since that cheerful day when they had whipped the Blackport nine on the ball field, Pence and his friends believed they could beat Yansey and his comrades at any game. Yansey's own pet expression, "Nothing to it!" was forever on the lips of Ben, Pudge and Kirby when they spoke of the coming rowing contest.
"But you and I have been told, Jawn," Rex drawled, talking the situation over with the big fellow one day, "that rowing races aren't always won in the boat."
"Hey?" exclaimed Midkiff. "Who told us that bunk?"
"They're often won at the training table and in the gym.," chuckled Rex, who dearly loved to get a rise out of his Old Hall room-mate.
"Oh, scissors!" observed Midkiff.
"Those chaps aren't training, you know. Neither are we as we should, for that matter. But they all dally with the cunning little coffin-nail, even Pudge. They eat everything and anything—and any-how. They lie around after eating like a boa constrictor assimilating a heifer; and then they take exercise too violently. Some of them puff, like theSpoondrift'sexhaust, two minutes after they get to work."
"What did you expect when you handed the crew over to Horrors?" sniffed Midkiff.
"What I expected has nothing to do with what I want," Kingdon responded with some appearance of gloom. "Don't want it told all along this coast that a bunch of us Walcott Hall fellows joined a rowing crew that won't even have a look-in when we go up against these local chaps."
"What you going to do?"
"What would you suggest, Jawn? Come, Old Wise Head, give us a boost."
"Take hold of the crew yourself."
"And oust Horrors?"
"Can't be two captains in one boat."
"No," Kingdon said with seriousness. "Verily I itch for the chance to whip the crew up. I believe it can be bettered by shifting some of them about, too. But I fear, Jawn—I fear!"
"Fear what?" grunted his friend.
"Of losing all I've gained."
"What the dickens have you gained?"
"I've gained something with Horrors. Notice the figure he cuts on the mound now?"
"And is that the price he's paying for his job as captain of the crew?" demanded Midkiff scornfully.
"Whether he's voluntarily and knowingly paying such price," Kingdon rejoined evenly, "doesn't really matter, does it, Jawn? I've got him about where I want him in baseball. Got him interested. I'd hold him if I can, and the rest of you fellows must help me."
"What for?" snapped Midkiff.
"You know well enough," was the cool response. "We need him."
"At Walcott?"
"What a remarkable guesser you are!"
"You'll never get him! He's one of these swell-heads who think they know all there is to know, anyhow—and what's the use of proving themselves either right or wrong by going to school any more?" Midkiff spoke bitterly. He could not like a fellow of Horace Pence's caliber—or thought he could not.
"He was like that," agreed Rex.
"I don't see much change in him since the first day we struck this island. Only he has to be half way decent now, because you let him and his crowd stop here. Now you'd sacrifice the rowing in an attempt to win him over for a pitcher for Walcott Hall. Nothing to it, Rex."
"There you go, Jawn," sighed Kingdon. "You've got the habit, too. Yansey's influence on this bunch is something awful. You're all talking just as he does."
"Quit fooling," grunted Midkiff. "What are we laying ourselves out on this rowing business for if nothing's to come of it?"
"Getting good practice, aren't we?" asked Rex. "Only I never did go into a game before without having a feeling of expectation."
"If you expect to win with Horrors as captain of the crew, you'll get specks in your eyes."
"Will I? Well, we'll see. You're so helpful, Jawn, when a chap has a hard nut to crack. Thanks."
"Oh!" cried Midkiff, throwing up both hands. "You always go your own gait anyway, Rex."
Which was true in this instance. Kingdon had to solve the problem himself, and he proceeded to go about it by sailing over to Blackport at the first opportunity and putting it into Yansey's mind to challenge the Storm Island crew for a trial match the first week in August.
Kingdon kept his own counsel about this, but the next day a motor boat halted long enough at the island for a note to be passed to Horace Pence, embodying the challenge and suggesting that the sound, in the quiet waters off the island, be the scene of the proposed match.
For once, Pence showed a measure of uncertainty. He went off by himself, evidently to study on the matter. It was almost supper time when he strolled back by the way of the Walcott Hall camp, and hailed Rex Kingdon.
"Say, Curly," he said to the backstop, "I've been fishing, and I got a bite."
"Who's bit you?" asked Kingdon lightly.
"Kirby. And he's always been such a household pet that it's surprised me, even if it didn't hurt me much," Pence explained with some gloom. "It's about that rolling stone that came near gathering up all you chaps as a new species of moss."
"Sayest thou so?" was Kingdon's interested comment. "Let's hear the worst."
"He does suspect, at least, how that avalanche started; but he refuses to give me his confidence."
"Yes?" encouraged Rex.
"Owned up to me last night that he and the Indian camped down there at Clay Head through all that rain."
"We knew that already."
"But Harry hadn't admitted it before. I put it to him straight if he and Joe left that canoe and came over here during the night."
"Well?"
"Swore he didn't leave the canoe," said Pence, anxiety betrayed in his voice. "Harry's more than ordinarily truthful—so I've always found him. Don't you suppose that the bowlder might have been washed out by the rain, after all?"
"The rain wouldn't have washed the lever out of the woods and down the hill into the field behind the place where the bowlder lay."
"Hardly!" agreed Pence, startled by this reasoning.
"Kirby says he didn't leave the canoe all night?"
"That's what he says," was the reply.
Kingdon added nothing to what he had already said until finally, with a sigh dismissing the puzzle for the time being, Pence offered him the letter he had received from the skipper of theNothing To It. "What do you think of this?" Horace asked.
Kingdon read the challenge with as much apparent interest as though the matter was an utter surprise to him. It was plain that Pence was nervous—a nervousness not attributable to their former topic of conversation.
"The nerve of them!" said Kingdon. "They've been rowing together all season, and we're just beginning to get our crowd into shape."
"But we can't refuse," Pence hastened to say.
"No," Rex agreed.
"But—but—Kingdon! Suppose they lick us out of our boots?"
"What's the odds? It'll show the boys just about how bad—or good we are."
"It will discourage them if we're beaten," Pence said. "Haven't practiced enough to make sure of giving a good account of ourselves."
"Never know how good we are till we try a race with a real crew, and Yansey's got the best one along the coast—let him tell it."
"I know. He's an awful blowhard."
"But maybe hehasgot the best crew," chuckled Rex.
"Yet you say to accept it?"
"I say nothing. You're the skipper. You don't need anybody to decide for you. If you feel you do, put it to the vote of the crew."
"Oh! Our fellows will be eager for it," sighed Horace.
"Fancy our fellows won't mind a try-out, either," was Kingdon's cheerful rejoinder.
"Then I might as well say 'Yes,' but between now and then we've got to dosometraining."
"We're with you, Horrors," Rex assured him. "We'll win if we can." He felt in secret more serious doubt of winning than even Pence showed in his countenance.
CHAPTER XXX.
FACING DEFEAT.
The fellows in both of the camps on Storm Island were at once excited when Horace Pence announced the trial rowing match with the Blackport crew. All were eager but Joe Bootleg, and he did not count.
From the very hour that Kingdon and Midkiff first landed on the island in their bathing suits, the Indian had grown more sullen than was his usual condition. His vindictiveness daily increased against the Walcott Hall boy who had bested him in that fight in the night and the rain. Whenever he was close enough to Rex to make it count, he glared at the curly-headed chap with a malevolence that could not be misinterpreted. In the hatred of Rex he included all the Walcott Hall crowd.
The Indian's smoldering hate had convinced Kingdon after the avalanche that Joe had a hand in the starting of the bowlder on its downward course. What puzzled Rex still, as he confessed to Horace Pence, was the part Harry Kirby had taken in the dastardly attempt upon the lives of the boys from Walcott Hall.
That the stupid and ignorant Indian had engineered the thing, Rex could easily believe. There are wicked and savage-natured characters among these latter day members of an expiring race, as there are bad men who have white faces. Joe Bootleg undoubtedly had no advantages of upbringing and instruction to make him better than Nature formed him.
In Harry Kirby's case it was different. Kingdon shrank from believing that Kirby had aided the Indian in bringing about the thing that might have been, had it not been for Kingdon's premonition of peril, a terrible catastrophe.
Had Kingdon secured evidence that pointed to Joe Bootleg alone in this serious affair, he would have been tempted to see Enos Quibb, the constable, and have the Indian removed from Storm Island. Failing in this attempt to injure Kingdon and his friends, the malevolent Indian might try some other means of "getting square."
Kirby's possible connection with the regrettable affair, and the surety that to attract the attention of the authorities would arouse the Manatee Lumber Company and cause questioning regarding the two camps established on Storm Island, deterred Kingdon from taking this sane and sensible course.
He was always on the lookout for Joe Bootleg, and he continually warned his friends to be watchful of the Indian youth. Besides, Pence, having become suspicious, was keeping Joe well within view. The latter undoubtedly felt that he was watched and, his first attempt being so signally a failure, it was likely he would hesitate about making another. But his look was threatening, just the same, whenever his path and Rex Kingdon's crossed.
Being a healthy and hearty youth, with nothing particular on his conscience, Rex had usually slept as soundly as any of his chums. Now his rest was sometimes broken. He got up occasionally and went out of the tent for a look around in the night. When Midkiff or any of the others growled about being disturbed by this, Rex laughed it off.
The feeling persisted that peril threatened. When asleep it took hold upon his subconsciousness, and awoke him. He felt that the Indian might be prowling about. He knew that the fellow slept alone in the cook tent at the other camp, and could slip away without arousing Pence or his companions.
Sometimes Rex did a little prowling of his own on these midnight ventures. He roamed as far as the other camp on more than one occasion, and was always reassured by hearing the heavy breathing of the Indian lad within the tent.
"Getting just as nervous as an old maid in a haunted house," Rex told himself on one of these occasions. "If I was sleeping in a folding bed, I'd look under it after I let it down ev'ry night to see if there was a burglar underneath."
In the day time they were all so busy now, and there was so much fun and sport afoot, that Joe Bootleg and his intentions did not trouble anybody, least of all Kingdon. He thought the fellow had no chance to do anything desperate by daylight.
Rex did not allow his crowd to neglect practice on the diamond because of the added zest given to the rowing by Yansey's challenge; nor did Pence seek to dodge his usual work on the mound. He was no slacker. Once his hand and heart was given to a thing, he kept at it.
The eight-oared boat was out every pleasant day for two or three periods of practice. Ben and Pudge, of all the crew most sluggish by nature, worked as well as the others. Like Kirby, they proposed to back up Horace Pence and show the Walcott Hall chaps that there was loyalty elsewhere than in the ranks of the prep. school pupils.
Kingdon and Midkiff knew what was wrong with the rowing of the crew. Pence set a long, sweeping stroke that was easy for Rex, Midkiff and Phillips to maintain; but at times the shorter-armed Pudge, and even Kirby, clashed oars with the rower before or behind them. Often their spurts, timed by the caustic Hicks, with a watch strapped to his wrist, were spoiled by these fouls.
"Oh, get together! Get together!" the coxswain would implore. "Keep stroke! For the love of harmony, keep stroke!"
The little chap had a megaphone strapped to his face, and he could have been heard, when he was really excited, half across the sound to Manatee Head.
It was expected that Cloudman, who was the greenest of them all, would fail; but the cowboy had taken hold of the work grandly, and, being long-armed and lanky, the stroke Horace Pence set suited him very well.
The first week of August came on, bringing the day selected for the trial match between the Storm Island eight and the Blackport crew. It was a beautiful, calm, hazy day, and the conditions for the race could scarcely have been better.
The Storm Island campers expected to see theNothing To Itsail out to the island, with the shell in tow. Instead, before noon they saw a squadron of sail beating out of the channel in the light wind, followed by the steam-yacht of the Boat Club's commodore, with the boys' shell on deck.
"My aunt!" cried Little Hicks when it was realized that the entire flotilla was coming up the sound. "They're going to make a fine show of us."
"Slaughtering the innocents to make a Blackport holiday," murmured Rex. "Yansey is evidently confident that there's going to be 'Nothing to it!'"
CHAPTER XXXI.
HORACE SHOWS THE RIGHT SPIRIT.
The Blackporters rowed the Storm Island crew a guessed two miles, and beat the latter so badly that the race was somewhat farcical in its last stages.
"We'd better have stood on the bank and watched them pull past us," complained Peewee. "We'd been saved a lot of hard work and worry."
Yansey and his crew had their beaten rivals over on the commodore's yacht to a great spread. It was really very jolly, and the winning crew was no more patronizing than they could help being. Yet when the squadron of the Blackport Boat Club got under way at seven o'clock, it left behind on Storm Island nine of the sorest youths that ever camped out on the Maine coast.
"You fellers couldn't even wheel a baby carriage," charged little Hicks. "And you said you could row!"
"You didn't have to row," flung back Ben Comas. "All you've had to do was shoot off your face."
"We tried hard enough," sighed Pudge.
"Can't blame you, Horrors," Kirby declared.
"I dunno as I want to learn to row," Cloudman remarked.
"If we'd had any sort of training!" Midkiff gloomily grumbled.
"Cheer up, fellows," was Kingdon's laughing adjurement. "The worst is yet to come."
"No it isn't!" exclaimed Horace Pence with angry decision.
"Yes it is," insisted Rex quietly. "We've agreed to enter those races three weeks from to-day. We'll have to meet the Blackport, North Pemberly and Howelson crews. We've agreed to. Don't want 'em to call us quitters, do we?"
"Of course we'll race," said Phillips, his jaw set doggedly.
"It isn't that at all," Pence went on, his black eyes flashing and his dark cheeks flushed. "It isn't that. We'll race, but we're going to do better than we did to-day!"
"I sure do like the sound of your talk just about now," Cloudman drawled. "Seems like you meant it. I'm with you."
"Same here!" cried several of the others.
"What's the use?" demanded Ben Comas. "We won't have a show."
"Of course we can't get the best of those fellows, for they're professionals," Pudge groaned.
"Do you really mean to try it again, Horrors?" murmured Kirby.
The black-eyed fellow had waited impatiently for them to subside. Now he stopped Kirby's further speech with a gesture, exclaiming: "That's enough! I don't want to be jollied. I know I'm the failure, not you fellows."
"My jinks!" squawked Hicks. "You pull the best oar in the boat—bar Kingdon."
"Thanks. You're the cox and you should be able to judge some. Don't matter how good an oar I pull. I can't make the rest of you pull your best, so—I'm a failure."
"As stroke?" grunted Red.
"Exactly," confessed Pence, and none of them—not even Kingdon—knew how it hurt him to make the admission. "I see now that you can't train all crews alike. I've been copying Belding methods."
"Good methods under conditions," murmured Kingdon.
"But they don't fit here," the other said shortly. "There's just as good rowing material in this crew as there was in the freshman eight I was on, and they could have rowed all around us without half trying. I'm a failure as stroke and coach. There's a screw loose somewhere. Just the same I believe we can do a lot better in the big race that is coming off this month."
"What makes you so sure?" growled Ben Comas.
"Because we can all pull a good oar, singly—even Pudge," Pence said. "Cloudman has improved wonderfully. But it needs something besides pulling to win a race. Just what it is, I don't know; but I bet Kingdon knows—or can find out."
"Oh, fudge!" muttered Ben. "Kingdon knows everything!"
"I reckon so," Pence said quickly, with uplifted lip, as he eyed the glum Comas. "Go off somewhere and growl it off alone, Bennie. What does it matter who's captain, if we can only win the race?"
"That's your idea, is it?" Kirby said.
"Look here, Horrors," Kingdon questioned uncertainly, "do you mean you want me——"
"You're the chap to boss the boat," cut in Pence. "You're the fellow to pull stroke."
There was a moment of breathless silence. To the surprise of the Walcott Hall boys, none of the others made either complaint or objection.
"If you say so——" began Rex slowly.
"I've said it," Pence rejoined.
"Anybody object?" questioned Kingdon.
After another period of silence, Phillips chuckled: "It seems to be unanimous. You're elected, King."
"Go to it, Rex," Pence said with heartiness.
"I shall coach this crew my own way, and to the best of my ability," said Rex earnestly. "I may not do a bit better than Horace, but I have a system I want to try. If you back me up——"
"Look there!" cried Hicks suddenly, pointing. "What's that fellow doing over on our boat?"
Kingdon took one look and started off on a fast run along the steep shore.
"It's Joe Bootleg," gasped Pudge. "He's coming ashore from theSpoondrift."
"He's running!" exclaimed Hicks. "He's been up to something."
All had started after Rex, but Harry Kirby was in the lead. "Hey, Kingdon!" he shouted. "Have a care! Look out! He's got it in for you!"
Joe Bootleg had already disappeared along the beach beyond the camp of the Walcott Hall boys.
As Kirby overtook Kingdon, the latter, still running, gave Harry a glance. "What's he been doing aboard that boat?"
"I don't know. Perhaps he fixed it to blow up your gasoline tank?"
"She'd have gone up by this," Kingdon returned as he splashed into the water and clambered over the rail of the moored catboat.
She seemed very easy to climb into, for her rail was as low as though she was heavily laden.
"The rascal!" shouted Rex when he was aboard. He had splashed into a foot of water in the cockpit, and the cabin was all afloat.
"What's he done? What's he done?" clamored the excited crowd from the shore.
"He's pulled the plug, or scuttled her," answered Rex savagely. "Come aboard, John. We'll have to find the hole and stop the leak in a hurry, or she'll rest her old keel on the bottom in short order. If she sinks we'll have a fine time getting her afloat again."
"If we can't help you, we'll go after that crazy chap," Pence shouted. "Come on, Kirby!"
They did not catch Joe Bootleg. The Indian had taken one of the canoes and hidden it farther along the shore of the island. This action had been overlooked by the campers because of the confusion attending the boat race. Joe was far out on the sound, and paddling for Manatee Head in the dusk, when the pursuers caught sight of him.
CHAPTER XXXII.
IN FORM AT LAST.
Kingdon and Midkiff finally found the four holes bored in the bottom of the catboat by the Indian youth. They were able to caulk them well enough so that little more water could seep in.
In the morning Pence sent Kirby and Pudge to Blackport in the remaining canoe, and they brought back a pump, with which theSpoondriftwas soon made free of water. In Blackport they learned where Joe Bootleg had abandoned the canoe he had stolen. The Indian had shipped for a summer cruise to the Banks, and he had left the canoe beached under Manatee Head, with a hole in her bottom. Later the canoe was recovered and repaired.
"Good riddance," Ben Comas said. "I didn't mind paying him his wages, but I'd rather do some of his work myself than have him around."
"You're not alone in that feeling, Bennie," drawled Horace, turning away to intercept Kingdon. "Well," he said to the Walcott Hall youth, "I guess I've got the right dope at last."
"About what?"
"That rolling stone that gathered no moss."
"Sayst thou so?" exclaimed Rex. "Prithee, go on, fair sir; tell me it."
"Kirby told me last night. He was a little afraid of the Indian. You couldn't blame him."
"A bad actor, sure," Rex agreed.
"Joe threatened him. The fellow carried a knife. It seems Joe stole away from the canoe that night just as soon as he thought Kirby was asleep; the night the rock fell, you know."
"Go on."
"But Harry wasn't asleep. He timed the fellow, and Joe was gone two hours. When he came back, Harry asked him if he'd been over here to our camp, and the Indian flew into a rage."
"I see."
"Told him if he said a word about it, or even about having been on the island that night, he'd fix him. Nice sort of a bird!"
"Kirby should have told us."
"So I said. But it's done now. There's one thing I haven't told you, Rex."
"What's that?"
"The Indian got back to the canoe long before midnight, and did not leave the spot again, Harry says, till morning. He is sure of this. Four or five hours elapsed, then, before the rock slid down on you fellows. How do you account for that?"
Kingdon slapped Pence on the shoulder. "Plain as a pikestaff! Bootleg tried to pry the rock loose, and failed. He meant to squash our tent flat. He cut the lever and dug the hole under the rock. Then he set the stone for a fulcrum. But he couldn't budge the bowlder. Not even that night when he came over here from Clay Head."
"Then what——?"
"The rain did it. The rain, feeding into that hole, worked all around the bowlder and, 'long toward morning, away she went."
"Lucky you had that hunch to move," said Horace.
"More than luck," Kingdon said gravely. But he made no further explanation.
That day there was no rowing practice, so Kingdon's idea was not divulged until the day following. The only change in the arrangement of the positions of the crew he made at first was to have Pence and Pudge MacComber shift places.
"Oh, cracky!" Kirby muttered to the black-eyed chap. "What a chance! Pudge for stroke!"
Kingdon had no idea of keeping Pudge there permanently. He wanted the fat boy, who was not so ponderously slow now, exercise having reduced his corpulency to a marked degree, where he could watch his stroke. After a time, Kingdon sent him back to his former position and brought Pence forward to his own place at Number Seven, taking the stroke-oar himself.
"Now, fellows, I'll give you my idea," Kingdon said. "Length of stroke doesn't always make for power. The longer the stroke, the longer the recovery. For eight men to row successfully in unison, they should use a stroke that is well within the power of the one of the eight who naturally takes the shortest stroke."
"Pudge!" cried several.
"And that weakens the whole bunch," muttered Kirby, still in doubt.
"I get your point," said Horace Pence. "It's the idea of the chain being only as strong as its weakest link."
"Exactly. Gradually the weakest link must be strengthened."
"You're right," the black-eyed fellow said. "Pay attention, everybody. We've got a skipper who uses his head, and he's got a head to use!"
So they started rowing practice on a much different line for the three final weeks before the big race. Horace Pence's friends were not very enthusiastic at first, having been so badly beaten by the Blackport crew that hope had deserted them.
But something happened to revive their spirits and make them all feel good. They went over to Blackport on Saturday afternoon, and beat Yansey's nine 12 to 4. Cloudman pitched five innings, and did well. Then Horace pitched the last of the game, and Rex allowed him to display his speedy ball to his heart's content.
"There's nothing to it! There's nothing to it!" sang Peewee Hicks, as theSpoondriftsailed out through Blackport Channel that evening. "We're going to walk off with the shell race, just as we did with these chaps who thought they could play ball. There's nothing to it!"
"We're merely beginning to get into form at last, chums," said Rex, his words and his glance including them all.
Kirby whispered to Pence: "Never thought it would make me feel good to have him call me chum."
"It makes me feel proud," Horace whispered back.
It was a well contented party that landed on Storm Island that evening. The two crowds of young fellows were becoming more friendly than even Rex had foreseen. The next day Pence and his mates struck their tents and brought them over to the plateau above the cove where the catboat and shell lay. They combined forces to save work and get more time for practice.
Pudge, his cousin and Kirby, as well as Pence, began to enjoy themselves much better, now that they had an object before them and more work to do. There was less grumbling and scrapping among themselves, and a huge lot of fun with the Walcott Hall fellows.
Kingdon worked them hard, no doubt of that. He whipped them along at both rowing and baseball. During the last week of the former practice, however, he let up a little so that, when the great day came, the Storm Island eight went into the big race as fresh and cheerful as though they had every surety of winning.
To the amazement of their rivals, they did win. It could not be said that Rex Kingdon was the sole cause of their doing so. Every fellow in the boat felt that the fact was somewhat due to his own personal work. But Kingdon had trained them to pull together like a machine, and had developed a stroke that gave speed enough to enable them to beat the Blackport crew by a length.
The other two boats were a long way behind when Storm Island crossed the finishing line. Manatee Sound looked like a yacht-racing day at Newport, only on a smaller scale. Boats of all kinds and descriptions for miles up and down the coast, had come to see the regatta.
"Jawn," Rex Kingdon told Midkiff, as they rested after the race, "we'll never have better fun than we did to-day—not even at the old Hall." Which goes to show that even the self-confident Kingdon could be mistaken, as the reader will agree if he reads the subsequent volume of this series, entitled "Rex Kingdon and His Chums."
"We certainly pulled down the little old cup in this boat race," Midkiff chuckled happily. "That was a prize worth winning."
Rex rolled over and seized Midkiff's arm in a tight grip. His eyes were laughing, but his lips were serious as he said:
"We've gathered another prize, a bigger one, Jawn."
"Huh?" asked Midkiff, puzzled.
"Horace Pence is going to Walcott Hall with us next term. I've got his promise. I've written the Doctor about him. He'll enter with some conditions, of course, but he is going to help Walcott Hall win baseball games. He is the prize I was after."