He neither moved nor spoke. He seemed transformed into an iron brace. Across the calves of his legs lay a heavy timber, which had cut his trousers and which must almost have crushed his legs when it fell. As they lifted it blood trickled away. They noticed that he moved both feet spasmodically as if they had been asleep. There could have been no circulation there, for the timber across his legs had acted like a great tourniquet. He remained immovable, silent, until the scouts had released Roy's foot and helped him out from under that human roof. That roof, at least, had not collapsed. Bruised and bleeding as Blythe was, he remained in his attitude of Herculean resistance as if he had died and become petrified there. Then he spoke, his voice weak but tense, "Is he all right?" "Yes, I'm all right," said Roy; "how about you?" Blythe did not answer. He drew himself to his feet, reeled, clutched at Westy who stood nearest, and fell to the ground insensible. Just at that moment Warde Hollister noticed something, and without speaking indicated it to one or two others. It was a trifling coincidence and held his glance and thought for but a second. On an end of fallen beam which protruded from the wreckage sat a robin with head cocked sideways watching the stricken, unconscious hero. It seemed odd that right in that minute of his heroic abandonment, his companions should be reminded of his villainy and of his gentleness.... CHAPTER XXVI MR. FERRETT'S TRIUMPH Roy's injury was but a strained ankle. For a moment he seemed dazed and unable to realize what had happened. That the whole collapsed roof had been held above him by superhuman effort of Blythe only dawned on him when he saw the bleeding, unconscious form of his friend lying clear of the wreckage, Doc Carson kneeling by him, the others standing silently about. It did occur to Roy, as odd thoughts do come in tense moments, how pleased and content Blythe would be could he but know that "Doctor Cawson" was in attendance. His faith in scout first aid was so great, so flattering.... They made sure that his back was not broken and that his heart action was not dangerously weak. Doc bathed the streaked hair and sterilized the cut which he thought was not necessarily mortal. "Someone will have to get a doctor," he said. He seemed the calmest one present. "Hustle to Dumont or Haworth, one of you, and get to a 'phone. If you can find a doctor send him, but anyway call up Bridgeboro; call up the hospital and tell them someone is hurt up here." Roy was starting but Artie Van Arlen pulled him back. "It's all you can do to limp," he said. "I'll go." "If it's a hospital emergency call, the police will come," Westy warned. "Never mind," said Doc, "get to a 'phone, that's all I care about. And hustle."