few seconds later thirteen active young fellows in showy uniforms sprang off the wharf one after the other, shoved their canoes into the water, and paddled away to take the positions assigned them by the numbers they had drawn from the tin box. As luck would have it, Tom Bigden found himself near the center of the line, with his Cousin Loren on one side of him and Frank Noble on the other. Joe Wayring was on the right, nearest the shore, and Arthur Hastings on the extreme left, near the middle of the lake.
"It's a bad outlook for us," whispered Loren, after he had run his eye up and down the line. "Joe and Arthur are so far away that you can't touch them."
"Never mind," replied Tom, in the same cautious whisper. "They will have to come closer together when we get to the stake-boat, and then, perhaps, we can do something. Keep your weather eye peeled for Noble. He'll spoil your chances if he can. He's bound to win or kick up a row."
"Are you all ready?" shouted Mr. Hastings, from his place on the wharf.
