The bus came to a stop a hundred feet or so from the ruined bridge and its passengers, going forward cautiously, looked down shudderingly into the yawning chasm. For a few seconds the very thought of what might have happened filled them with silent awe.

Goliath was the first to speak. "It's good Tyson saved our lives, isn't it?" he piped up. "We'd all be dead, 'wouldn't we?"

"Very dead," said one of the scouts; "so dead we probably wouldn't know it."

"Wouldn't know it?" asked Goliath, puzzled.

For answer the scout gave him a bantering push and tousled his hair for him. The little fellow took refuge with one of the scoutmasters.

"Will we get to that camp soon?" he asked.

"Pretty soon, I hope. Perhaps some one will come down and show us the way."

"Are we lost?"

"No, we're saved."

"I'm glad we're in Tyson's troop, aren't you?"

The scoutmaster laughed. "You bet," he said.

"Are there wild animals in that camp?"

"Scouts are all wild animals," the scoutmaster laughed again.

"Am I a wild animal?"

"Surest thing you know."

"Are you?"

"That's what."

"Is that fellow that's inside lying on the seat—is he dead?"

"No—not dead. But you mustn't go in and bother him."

The scene about the bridge was one of utter ruin. No vestige of the rustic structure was left; it had probably been carried away in the first overwhelming rush of water. The flood had subsided by now, and only a trickle of water passed through the gully. In this, and upon the sloping banks and the wreckage which had been Ebon Berry's garage, the scouts climbed about and explored the scene of devastation.

After a while a scoutmaster and several boys arrived from camp by way of the road. They had fought their way through mud and storm, bringing stretchers and a first aid kit, in expectation of finding disaster.

"This is not a very cheerful welcome to camp," one of the scoutmasters said. "The lake broke through up yonder. The boys have checked the flood with a kind of makeshift dam. We were afraid you had met with disaster. All safe and sound, are you?"

"Oh, yes, several of our boys went ahead and one of them shouted for us to stop——"

"That's the one right there," piped up the little fellow. "Maybe he'll get a reward, hey? Maybe he'll get a prize."

"I guess we're all safe and sound," said the other arriving scoutmaster; "but wet and hungry——"

"Especially hungry," one of the scouts said.

"That's a common failing here," said the man from camp.

"There's a funny fellow inside; want to see him?" piped up Goliath. "He hasn't got any clothes hardly, and he don't know what he's talking about; he hasn't got any conscience——"

"He means he's unconscious," said the scoutmaster. "We ran into him on the road. He really hasn't spoken yet, so we don't know anything about him. He seems a kind of victim of the storm—crazed. I think it just possible he intended—Come inside, won't you? I think we'll have to take him with us on a stretcher. I suppose he belongs in the countryside hereabouts."

Thus it was that Hervey's own scoutmaster looked down upon the unconscious form of his most troublesome and unruly scout. It was no wonder that the others had not thought him a scout. He looked more like a juvenile hobo. But sticking out of his soaking pocket was that one indubitable sign of identification, his rimless hat cut full of holes and decorated with its variety of badge buttons. Ruefully, Mr. Denny lifted this dripping masterpiece of original handiwork, and held it between his thumb and forefinger.

"This is one of our choicest youngsters," he said. "He is in my own troop. The last time I saw him, I explicitly told him not to leave camp without my permission. I suppose he has been on some escapade or other. I think he's about due for dismissal——"

"I don't think he's seriously injured, sir."

"Oh, no, he has a charmed life. Nine lives like a cat, in fact. Well, we'll cart him back."

"He doesn't look like a scout fellow," Goliath said.

"Well, he isn't what you would call a very good scout fellow, my boy," Mr. Denny said. "Good scout fellows usually know the law and obey it, if anybody should ask you."

"If they ask me, that's what I'll tell 'em," said Goliath, "hey?"

"You can't go far wrong if you tell them that," Mr. Denny said.

"And they have to save lives too, don't they?" the little codger piped up.

"Why, yes, you seem to have it all down pat," Mr. Denny said.

"We've got one of them in our troop," the little fellow said; "he's a hero."

"Well, I hope he reads the handbook and obeys the scout laws," said Mr. Denny significantly.

"I'm always going to have good luck," the little fellow said, rather irrelevantly. "I got a charm, too. Want to see it?"

"I think we'd better see if we can get to camp and find some hot stew," said Mr. Denny.

"That's the kind of a charm for me," said one of the scouts.

So it fell out that on this occasion, as on most others, Goliath was not permitted to dig down into the remote recess of his pocket to show that wonderful charm.