“What’s the matter?” asked Steve Brown, as, helping Sam to his feet, he heard the latter groan. “I twisted my knee,” muttered Sam, testing his right leg and flinching as he put his weight on it. “Threw it out of joint, I guess, when he slid into me. It will be all right in a minute.” “Here, come over to the bench and sit down. I’ll rub it for you. Hold on, fellows! Mr. Craig’s hurt his knee. Don’t crowd around, please.” “What’s that?” demanded Mr. Langham’s voice. “Sam Craig hurt?” The Chief pushed his way to the bench where Steve was already briskly massaging the injured limb. “Anything broken, Sam?” he asked anxiously. “No, sir, not a thing. I just slipped my knee out of place and it’s sort of sore. It will be all right in a minute, I think.” “Better come up to the camp,” said Mr. Scovill, who had followed Mr. Langham. “We can help you up there and then you can get your things off and put some cold water on it. You can hobble up if we give you a lift, can’t you?” “Yes, sir, thanks. Don’t bother, please. It’s all right. Did anyone pick up my mask?” “I got it,” said Tom Crossbush. “I don’t know what became of the ball, though. Did you drop it, Mr. Craig?” Sam smiled a little and held out one hand, and the others laughed, for there was the battered ball, very tightly clenched. Sam yielded it then, allowed Steve to unbuckle his protector and, between Steve and Mr. Gifford, followed the throng up the hill. Mount Placid had cheered The Wigwam and The Wigwam had cheered its defeated host; and Greenwood had impartially cheered both. And now, talking excitedly, explaining, laughing, the boys were climbing the path to camp. Mr. York joined the “ambulance corps,” as he called it, and expressed regrets for Sam’s injury. “I know what it’s like,” he said as he walked alongside. “I used to have a way of putting my wrist out of joint every little while when I was a youngster, and I still remember just how nasty it felt when it slipped into place again and how sore the muscles used to be afterwards. A cold compress is what you want, Craig, and then, to-morrow, a good rubbing with liniment. Better not try to walk on it for a day or so, though.” “I’m afraid I’ll have to,” responded Sam cheerfully. “You see, we’re going on to-morrow morning, Mr. York. Going to hike back to Indian Lake.” “I guess you won’t do much hiking,” was the reply. “Certainly not,” confirmed Mr. Langham. “We’ll put it off a day. That is----” He stopped and frowned. “Well, we’ll talk about it later.” “I think I’ll be all right by morning, Chief,” said Sam. “We’ll see, we’ll see, Sam. Mr. York, I want to thank you, sir, for the service you performed for us. It was very kind of you, very kind indeed. And I don’t believe anyone could have umpired more--er--more impartially, sir.” “Oh, I enjoyed it,” answered Mr. York, with a jovial laugh. “You couldn’t have kept me away if you’d tried. By the way, Mr. Langham----”