CHAPTER IV.

AN HONOR TO THE WOLF PATROL.

“He’s crazy!”

“That’ll be the last of Tug Wilson!”

“Got just about one chance in three to skip back!”

These were some of the exclamations that broke from the boys whom energetic Hugh Hardin had gathered around him at the approach to the doomed bridge. Those fellows saw what a foolhardy thing it was the big bully of Lawrence had attempted.

The fact of the matter was that Tug had so long been accustomed to having his way through force that he could not brook opposition. He had been furious at himself for having yielded to the demands of these silly scouts while on the threatened structure; and tempted to defy their authority.

The sudden discovery connected with the loss of his belt had given him a cue; and with the result that he was now out there on the bridge, making his way toward the spot where he could see the object of his search lying on the planks.

Tug Wilson did not often find himself in the spotlight. Public opinion in Lawrence had almost invariably been heavily against him, because he was on the wrong side of every undertaking.

And so, when he realized that all those shouts and half cheers were intended for him, the boy became more reckless than ever. Instead of making as much haste as possible out to his belt, snatching the article up, and sprinting back to safety, he even slackened his pace.

That noisy applause was sweet music to his ears. He wanted to stretch it out just as long as he could. Measuring the distance the approaching floating tree had still to cover, Tug believed he would have time to accomplish his errand and even seconds to spare.

He meant to show those weak-kneed Boy Scouts that there were others who did not know the meaning of the word fear, even though they might not wear khaki suits, and boast of medals and badges galore.

“Hurry, Tug!”

“You’ve got to run, and run fast, old boy!”

Those were possibly some of his boon companions shouting at the top of their voices to him. Tug heard and took notice. He realized that they were genuinely alarmed for his safety. That would mean he might be risking too much; and so Tug did start to running at last.

Most of those who stood ten deep on the shore only knew the boy as a town nuisance, who had given them a great deal of trouble in times past; still just then they were forced to feel more or less admiration for his reckless daring. And so they shouted encouragement, as though they wanted to see him carry his desperate and foolhardy venture through to a successful termination.

The drifting mass was now very near. Many an anxious eye turned toward it, and mental calculations that were made gave the boy but scant time to return to safety before the crash must come.

Tug reached the spot where his belt lay. He made out to snatch it up, but, in his haste, managed to drop it again. Of course that only necessitated another movement, but it broke into the even tenor of his way.

Besides that, in thus bending he seemed to gauge the coming danger at a more acute angle than at any previous time. Hugh judged that something warned Tug he might have made a slight miscalculation that would cost him dear unless he mended his ways and increased his pace.

“Now he’s on the jump!”

“Go it, Tug; you’ve got to hump yourself, old man!”

They were shouting at him again, but if Tug heard he gave no evidence of the fact. He was keeping one eye turned toward the threatening danger, which was in truth the worst thing he could have done, as Hugh might have warned him, if given the chance.

Tug was running faster, probably, than he had ever done before in all his adventurous life. On previous occasions it may have been some angry farmer who was in pursuit of him as a trespasser, but now he was racing with death itself.

The realization of his foolishness must have pierced his heart, for, despite the violent exertions he was making, Hugh could see that his face was very white.

Hugh himself had taken several paces along the planks of the approach to the bridge. If any of his companions noticed the action at all, which is doubtful, as their attention was riveted on the running Tug, they could hardly have guessed what was passing through the mind of the patrol leader.

Suddenly a concerted groan burst from many lips. No cheer captain at a struggle on the gridiron between rival college teams could ever have produced such a concentrated expression of dismay.

What Hugh had been fearing had actually happened. Tug, foolishly dividing his attention between what lay before him and that oncoming mass of wreckage, had stubbed his toe on some projecting plank and been thrown heavily forward.

They heard the crash of his fall. There was a second or two given up to watching for him to scramble to his feet and continue his mad race. Then came another loud groan from the now awed crowd.

Tug never moved. He must have struck his head in falling and lost his senses. Apparently he was now doomed, if, as seemed probable, the mass of floating material about to come into collision with the weakened span carried the bridge down with it.

Then a faint cheer broke forth. It gathered headway, halted again, and after that kept on increasing until it seemed to dominate every other sound.

Billy Worth knew what had happened, for he had seen Hugh leave the spot he had been occupying. Like an arrow from the bow Hugh ran forward, his one design being to seize upon the senseless Tug, and in some way drag or carry him to safety before the bridge fell.

There was a gallant object in this bold attempt—that of saving life—whereas with Tug it had only been entered into so as to indulge in his willfulness and display contempt for authority of all kinds.

Billy held his breath. He was never so frightened in all his life. At first he was tempted to chase after Hugh, but the realization that he could give his chum no assistance whatever, chained him to the spot.

Now the cheering had ceased. Everyone seemed to be stricken with the same realization that it was ill-timed, and might serve to distract the attention of the intended rescuer. So it happens that in a desperately fought game on the diamond, or the football field, the mass of spectators will swing from loud acclaim to utter silence as if by magic.

They saw Hugh pick up the heavy figure of the senseless Tug. Why, the boy must be wonderfully strong to do that, or else given unnatural powers when facing such a desperate condition, the crowd probably thought.

Few of those who looked on believed the brave scout could ever get back in time to avert a catastrophe. Perhaps those who hoped for the best were pinning their faith to the fact that as yet it was not absolutely positive that the bridge would yield to the pressure of the impending collision.

It actually looked as though some unseen power had thrust out a hand to give Hugh the few additional seconds he required in order to make good. Some snag, that might have been a tree-trunk standing upright in the water, caught the oncoming mass and held it suspended for just a brief space of time. Then it overcame the obstacle to its progress and started once more toward the bridge.

That short truce was enough. It enabled Hugh to drag his burden to where eager hands seized upon them both. Thus they were drawn from the approach to the bridge, with every spectator shrieking his or her approval.

And, while this tumult was going on, the floating tree and its attendant mass of wreckage was seen to come against the middle of the endangered span. The entire fabric trembled, and gave way. There was a crash that thrilled every heart, a stupendous shudder, as of keen regret over parting from old and valued friends, and with that the bridge vanished into the maw of the flood.

Where it had stood now lay a horrid gap. Fragments projected from the opposite shore, telling where the bridge had once been anchored. And floating down-stream on the yellow torrents, were parts of the structure, intermingled with the wreckage that had been the means of its dissolution.

Hugh had sank to the ground out of breath as soon as he realized that he was safely off the endangered structure. Some of the scouts bore Tug Wilson away to the nearest house. The boy had had a close call, and everybody was talking about it.

“Who was that young chap?”

“He was a scout, you could see!”

“Must have been a stranger in Lawrence, then, because I know all our boys, and it wasn’t one of them!”

“The bravest thing I ever saw done, barring none!”

“He ought to get a silver medal for that, sure thing!”

Could Hugh have heard these and many other remarks that passed from mouth to mouth among the people on the river bank, he would have blushed with embarrassment. But Hugh was not giving one thought to anything of the sort. He had managed to recover his breath, and was once more on the move. This incident of the stricken bridge was now a thing of the past, and should not engage their attention any further. The present and the future had to be looked after; in other words, the “mill will never grind again with the water that is past.”

Hugh found that a great change had taken place in the scouts of Lawrence. They were now wide-awake and enthusiastic. Those shouts of acclaim had acted like magic to arouse them. All that was necessary now was for someone to tell them what to do; they needed a leader, and every boy would be found willing and eager to do his level best for the good of the stricken people of the flooded town and vicinity.

“What next, Hugh?”

“Show us something you think we ought to tackle!”

“We’re ready for any old job, it doesn’t matter how hard. We’re going to show the Lawrence people that scouts amount to something, after all!”

“Hurrah! you just bet we are, fellows!”

Hugh allowed this enthusiasm to grow spontaneously for a bit. He knew it would assume additional strength, if not nipped too soon. When he considered that the right time had arrived to strike he gathered the little knot of boys about him.

“Then the first thing to be done,” was what Hugh said, “is to get as many scouts together as we can. Scatter around the town, and wherever you can lay hold of a fellow who belongs to your crowd, fetch him here. We’ll need all we can get to try out the many things there are waiting for us to tackle. Will you do this, fellows?”

They would have promised him anything just then, for Hugh had taken the entire lot by storm. They greatly admired the way in which he had dashed out to save the foolish Tug Wilson, who was accounted the worst boy in town; and Hugh had been aware of that fact at the time, which in itself impressed Tip and Wash and the other local scouts as all the more remarkable.

So there was an immediate scattering, and the only one left alongside Hugh was his faithful chum, Billy Worth. That worthy was surveying Hugh earnestly, and nodding his head again and again in approval, as he muttered to himself:

“I just knew it would happen that way. I knew it would be the luckiest day Lawrence ever saw when _you_ struck town, Hugh Hardin. And, my word for it, they’ll never forget the handsome way you yanked that loafer of a Tug Wilson off that bridge. Once more the honors go to the good old Wolf Patrol, to which I’m proud to say I, too, belong!”