The boy seemed in a frenzy; it was evident that he was nearly exhausted with only his will power to keep him going. The man, apprehensive of disaster, sculled alongside him. Soon the little fellow's feet were on the bottom and as he staggered through the shallow water it was evident that he was at the point of collapse. "_Keep away, don't touch me!_" he kept saying. Then he groped blindly for the branch of a projecting tree, and so guided his tottering way to the steep bank, where he sank down unconscious. He could not quiver in every nerve as he did in his former triumph, for oblivion came and he knew not that he, Skinny McCord, had won the Hiawatha prize canoe! The fisherman did not know that this drenched and ghostly pale boy had done anything more than a rash stunt. He lifted him gently and laid him in the boat and started to row across toward camp. But he did not have to go far. Across the lake at top speed the camp launch came chugging, filled with eager, shouting passengers. "Is he all right?" a voice called. "Isn't drowned, is he?" "No, but he's fainted," the man called back. "Did you pick him up?" "No, he made the shore." Up she came to the old flat-bottomed boat that rocked in the swell as Councilor Wallace caught hold of the unpainted rail while two scouts lifted Skinny into the launch. All the Elks were there, and Doc Carson, first aid scout of the Ravens, and Tom Slade, the young camp assistant. Yes, the little devil was all right. He opened his eyes and closed them again. Connie Bennett, his patrol leader, brushed the soaked hair away from the small white forehead, and the eyes opened again and the quivering lips smiled at Connie. "You're all right, kid!" said he gently. He pulled away a bit of water-weed that was plastered across the little fellow's face. "Want to try to sit up?" "I see him a comin'," said the fisherman, "an' I kinder surmised somethin's wrong. He wuz swimmin' all ragged--I never see nuthin' like it. But he yells to me not ter touch 'im. Just screeches at me. Then he goes reelin' up the shore 'n' grabs hold on a tree 'n' goes twistin' roun' 'n' down he goes. Maybe he wuz escapin' thinks I." "No, he wasn't escaping," said Connie. "He just had a kind of a craze on. He did a stunt and he thought he'd like to try a still bigger one." "He's a lucky kid," said the fisherman as he rowed away. "Lucky patrol," said one of the boys.