CHAPTER III.

ON THE TOTTERING BRIDGE.

There must have been a couple of hundred people, men, women, and children, watching the raging torrent sweep past. A flood possesses some sort of wonderful fascination over most persons, who will stand and gaze and even shudder, yet be unwilling to turn away.

New things were apt to happen at any time, as the water crept higher and higher, with the worst still to come. Upon the heaving bosom of the raging river, queer floating objects were to be discovered. Loud shouts, for instance, greeted the appearance of a hen-coop with a couple of terrified fowls perched on its roof; and great was the glee of the thoughtless onlookers when, at the crash of this strange craft against the bridge, the chickens with loud squawks flew to safety, and were pursued and caught by some of the younger lads.

“There’s our chance, Hugh,” remarked Billy Worth, soon after they had agreed to try and scrape up an acquaintance with several of those who wore the magical khaki of the scouts. “Three of them are jawing away over yonder as if they had some sort of idea they ought to be doing _something_, but couldn’t hit on a scheme. The field is ripe for the sowing, Hugh. Get busy with that convincing patter of yours.”

They hurried toward the three boys, who, discovering their presence, awaited the coming of the strangers in town with looks of both curiosity and wonder.

“Howdye, fellows,” said Hugh, in his pleasant way, at the same time giving the scout salute, which all of the others immediately returned. “My name’s Hugh Hardin, and that of my friend is Billy Worth. We’re from Oakvale, over here on business, and we find ourselves marooned because all trains have been abandoned until further notice. Please introduce yourselves.”

One of the trio of local scouts, who was a tall, thin chap with an odd squint in his eyes, but rather a humorous expression in his face, took it upon himself to do the honors.

“I’m Tipton Lange, commonly called ‘Tip.’ This is our bugler, Wash Bradford, who never gets a chance to blow his own horn any more since we’ve about disbanded the First Lawrence Troop; and this runt is Teddy McQuade. When you say you come from Oakvale, do you mean to tell us you belong to the same troop that has that celebrated Wolf Patrol we’ve been reading so much about in the papers?”

Billy Worth involuntarily puffed out his already full chest a little more on hearing this remark. So the papers had been printing some of their exploits, had they? Even in far-off Lawrence it was known that Oakvale had the prize troop of the State.

Hugh smiled as he replied to the other’s question.

“I never knew before that our patrol had become celebrated, though we certainly have had the good luck to be mixed up in a number of affairs that helped to broaden our knowledge of certain things scouts ought to know. Yes, we are members of that same Wolf Patrol, it happens.”

“Hugh Hardin, hey?” exclaimed the boy who had been mentioned as the bugler without a vocation. “Seems to me, Tip, that was the name of the leader of the Wolf Patrol we read about. Yes, and I remember Billy Worth, too. Say, it’s fine to meet you both. And I reckon now you do things over in your town. Shucks! the bottom’s dropped out of the scout movement in sleepy old Lawrence.”

“Put a new one in, then, why don’t you?” said Hugh eagerly.

Somehow his energy seemed to affect the other boys. They exchanged hurried glances, and their faces even lighted up a little with expectancy.

“What might you mean by that, Comrade Hardin?” asked Tip Lange ponderously.

“Wake the town up!” said Hugh. “Show them what scouts can do when they have half a chance. They lost faith in you, I take it, because there may have been jealousy in the ranks, and quarreling. Get together and astonish your people here. Make them sit up and take notice of what you can accomplish. That’s what we had to do over our way, to get to the top. And now we have our fifth patrol forming, and Oakvale isn’t nearly as big a place as your town.”

Tip Lange drew a long breath, and sighed dismally as he shook his head.

“It’s nice of you to tell us that, Hardin, and goodness knows we’d like to carry out the idea, but you don’t understand how dead a place Lawrence is these days. Every effort we made to hold an exhibition turned out a failure. It begins to look as if this was no scout town. The boys have lost all heart. I’m nearly ready to throw up the sponge myself.”

“Yep, that’s what ails us fellows; we haven’t got the opportunity to distinguish ourselves that you Wolf Patrol boys ran across,” grumbled Wash Bradford.

“No opportunity!” cried Billy Worth. “Oh! my stars. Take the scales off your eyes, fellows!”

“No opportunity!” echoed Hugh, amazed at the explanation that had been given to account for the lack of an organization in Lawrence. “Why, I never ran across such a splendid opening for scouts to make themselves useful as there is right at this very minute. With your town threatened by the most terrible flood ever known, don’t you see that you can do dozens of things to help people in trouble? No opportunity, when foolish crowds line a quivering bridge that is likely to go down if a floating tree crashes against it like that barn did. Oh! if only you’d let us join in with you, we’d _find things_ to do that would make your folks sit up and take notice.”

“And from this day on they would cheer a scout every time they saw one on the street in his khaki suit,” added Billy, with enthusiasm.

The three local boys had stood there and stared as Hugh poured out his words. His manner was so vehement that they must have been thrilled through and through. First of all they turned and looked at each other; then the expression of amazement on their faces began to give way to growing interest that quickly ripened into what began to approach enthusiasm.

“Wash, Teddy, what say? Sounds good to me, I tell you! These fellows have got the right kind of notion. Let’s wake Lawrence up; let’s show these people what a scout is worth when he really tries! Say, Hugh Hardin, and you, too, Billy Worth, we’ll back you up in anything you’ve a mind to try; and here’s my hand on it, too.”

The feeling of exaltation grew by bounds, it seemed. Both Wash and Teddy followed the example set by Tip Lange in squeezing the hands of the boys from Oakvale.

“Good for you!” said Hugh. “We’ll see what we can do to help you out. And first of all we ought to find some way to clear that crowd off the bridge. Some of them are reckless, and others don’t seem to realize the danger they’re in. Let’s start in by acting as though we’ve had orders from your Chief of Police, who ought to be here on the spot, but isn’t. Don’t let a solitary one stay; and tell them all there’s danger of the bridge going out at any minute.”

“Bully idea!” exclaimed Wash Bradford. “Let’s keep together, so we can crowd off any who want to put up a kick and stay. Tell us what to do, Hugh, and we’ll be only too glad to carry it out. I’m tickled to death at the idea of somebody coming to town who’s got some sense and snap about him.”

“Wish we could coax you to stay with us till we got the old crowd started up again, that’s right!” said Teddy McQuade, with sincere admiration in his manner.

The five of them started toward the approach of the bridge.

“There’s Wallie Cramer on the bridge; he’s one of our bunch, too. Shall I pull him along with us, Hugh?” remarked Tip Lange, as they drew near the structure.

“The more scouts you can get together, the better,” admitted the patrol leader.

“‘In union there is strength!’” quoted Billy wisely.

They pushed along the bridge, and were thrilled to find that it did actually tremble from time to time. Hugh also noticed that there was a slight swaying movement that was dreadfully suggestive.

“We can’t clear this old death trap any too soon, it strikes me,” stammered Teddy McQuade, “and I never was much of a swimmer anyhow.”

“That wouldn’t bother you any if so be you went over into that soup,” declared Wash Bradford, who himself looked a trifle “white about the gills,” as Billy would have expressed it, when gazing down at the foaming flood that swept just under the flooring of the bridge used for vehicles and foot passengers, and which was much lower than the railroad span.

Meanwhile Tip Lange had been hurriedly speaking with the fourth scout whom he called Wallie Cramer. Hugh rather liked his looks. He believed that once he understood what they had in view this new addition to their number was likely to prove a valuable ally. He seemed to have the appearance of a fellow possessed of nerve and “get there” qualities.

Apparently whatever Tip Lange told him in that minute of time must have aroused Wallie considerably; for he turned on the two Oakvale scouts and held out his hand to them without the formality of an introduction.

“Count on me to back you up, fellows,” was what Wallie Cramer said. “I was just thinking myself that we were silly to take chances on this tottering old bridge. People can be such fools. Shall we start yelling that it’s going to go out, and scare the bunch half to death? Any old thing ought to pass, so long as we accomplish our object. The end and not the means is what counts.”

“That’s pretty straight,” said Hugh, “but we’ll try to shoo them off first. If they won’t go in that way we might try the scare racket. Just as you say, some people have to be saved against their will.”

So the six boys in khaki continued on toward the opposite end of the bridge until they had passed the last spectator. A number gave them an idle look as if wondering who the two strange boys in khaki might be, since they did not recognize them as belonging to Lawrence.

“Now, close up, and form a solid line across the bridge!” called out Hugh, for the roar of the water whirling about the abutments sounded so loud that it was next to impossible to hear anything spoken in an ordinary tone.

Some of those who were enjoying the thrilling sight of the dizzy flood passing under the flooring of the bridge, on finding that they were being forced to vacate did so good-naturedly. Especially was this the case when they heard some of the scouts saying that the police had ordered the bridge vacated because it was liable to be carried away at any minute. Possibly these parties awakened to the risk they had been running, and doubtless would have continued to run only for the fact of the line of scouts grimly clearing the roadway, and allowing no one to remain.

Now and then some one grumbled and even threatened. At such times Hugh pushed up and gave the man, or boy, as the case might be, to understand that unless he complied with the order, an arrest would swiftly follow.

The concealed threat answered every time. Even a pugnacious fellow who had long been known as the bully of Lawrence, as Hugh afterward learned, on looking straight into that calm yet determined face of Hugh Hardin finally gave his head a little sneering flirt, and as he shuffled along was heard to mutter:

“Guess you ain’t no Lawrence scout, young feller. They ain’t built like you. But it’s so, an’ the old bridge _is_ gettin’ mighty shaky. I’m a-goin’ because I want to, an’ not on ’count of bein’ told to skip out, see?”

Hugh was perfectly satisfied. Little he cared why people abandoned the dangerous span so long as they did do it. And when he reached the near side with his little company, and looking back could see that not a single man, woman, or child remained on the bridge, he felt that for once the scouts of Lawrence had accomplished something worth while.

“Now we must stand guard here, so as to keep it clear!” was what Hugh said to his little band, as they gathered in a group, the Lawrence fellows looking exceedingly proud, as though conscious of having done something worth while at last.

Hardly had they taken up their positions than the same town bully whom they had influenced to leave the threatened span, shoved up in front of Tip Lange.

“Hold on there, you can’t go back on the bridge, Tug Wilson!” the scout told him, as he blocked the way.

“Hang the luck, I tell ye I dropped my belt out there, an’ I jest got to git it. Step aside, Tip Lange, an’ let me pass!” the big overgrown bully said.

“Nobody is to be allowed to go on the bridge again, Tug!” urged the Lange boy.

At that the bully, not accustomed to having his actions questioned, and by a town boy at that, thrust Tip aside with half an effort, and in another instant was seen hurrying along the bridge. He even turned, and, looking back, put out his tongue in a fashion that spoke louder than words could have done concerning his feelings.

Billy Worth, always impulsive, was for dashing after him, and attempting to accomplish by force what words had failed to do.

“Come on, Tip. We’ll get him, all right!” he called out, when a hand was clapped on his shoulder and Hugh shouted in his ear:

“Don’t be foolish, Billy! If he chooses to take the chances that’s no reason you should follow suit. He may never come back again. Look, there is the floating tree coming down with a rush that we feared might strike the bridge and send it over!”

Billy stood in his tracks as though frozen. He realized in that instant how once more his impetuous nature had come close to getting him into a peck of trouble, as had happened on numerous past occasions.

Yes, there was a huge tree floating in the midst of a mass of wreckage, the whole making a terrible ram that, if brought suddenly against the already weakened bridge, must complete its downfall. And, apparently unaware of his danger, Tug Wilson was sauntering carelessly across the span, conscious only of the fact that hundreds of eyes must be centered on him just then.

Voices began to roar out at him. They were sending all sorts of warnings; but it might be that the boy took it for granted these were cheers because of the nerve he was exhibiting; for he never gave a single glance up-river way to where that monster floating tree and its attendant mass of wreckage was bearing down toward the tottering span of the bridge, with the force of a great battering ram.