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.

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