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!”