"That's right," called Toby immediately. "It's Tom Cropsey, and he's trying to put a plug in his tire. He's got a puncture, and that ended his run as inspector." The boy looked up as they drew near, and shook his head even as he grinned. "All in, I reckon, Elmer, can't seem to fix her!" he called, as the scout leader flashed past. Possibly he would have been glad if they had stopped in order to assist him repair the obstinate break; but Elmer had other fish to fry just then, and time was too valuable to waste in gaining a recruit who could never keep up with them for even half a mile. So they presently saw the last of poor Tom, marooned so far away from home, and with night coming on apace. Elmer knew that they might expect to overtake some of the others at any minute now, and every time he turned a bend he looked closely to see if there were not figures on the road ahead. Nor was he mistaken. A few more miles, and he saw a lone pedestrian manfully struggling onward, with a stout stick, which he had stopped to cut, assisting him. At first Elmer thought it was an old man hobbling along, until coming up on the party, the other wheeled. "Hello, Jack, old fellow! making a game push for it, eh?" called Elmer, who had slowed down considerably, so as to give the contestant a cheery word to encourage him in persisting. "Wow, but I guess I'm pretty near the limit, Elmer," answered the other, who turned out to be Jack Armitage. "How far have I come since morning, hey?" "About twenty-four miles," answered Elmer, as he passed. "Gee, is that all? Thought it was near fifty!" lamented the scout, as he waved his cane at both Toby and Nat as they went by and doubtless cast an envious look at the machines that were carrying them over the ground so easily, while he was completely done up, and ready to cry quits. "Next!" shouted Nat, who was really enjoying this thing of overhauling the various used-up walkers more than anything that had come his way for a long time; it is always so nice to spin along on a wheel, or a motorcycle, or in a car, and _pity_ the poor fellows who have to walk! "Well, there he is, right beyond," said Toby over his shoulder. "Who under the sun is it?" demanded the rider in the rear, whose view was somewhat obstructed by his companions. "Blest if I know; looks a little like our Ty Collins!" Toby shot back. "It is Ty; anybody ought to recognize that old red sweater of his," Elmer announced; "and he's got a fine stone bruise on his foot, if that limp means anything!" The contestant stepped out of the road as they drew near. He stiffened up to salute, game to the last, and chasing away the look of pain that had been on his boyish face. One of his shoes was held in his hand, and he had been walking along in this way, determined not to give up until the last gasp. "Better throw up the sponge, Ty," called Elmer, who had the authority to order anyone out of the race who in his judgment was unfit to continue further.