The scene about the bridge was one of utter ruin. No vestige of the rustic structure was left; it had probably been carried away in the first overwhelming rush of water. The flood had subsided by now, and only a trickle of water passed through the gully. In this, and upon the sloping banks and the wreckage which had been Ebon Berry's garage, the scouts climbed about and explored the scene of devastation. After a while a scoutmaster and several boys arrived from camp by way of the road. They had fought their way through mud and storm, bringing stretchers and a first aid kit, in expectation of finding disaster. "This is not a very cheerful welcome to camp," one of the scoutmasters said. "The lake broke through up yonder. The boys have checked the flood with a kind of makeshift dam. We were afraid you had met with disaster. All safe and sound, are you?" "Oh, yes, several of our boys went ahead and one of them shouted for us to stop----" "That's the one right there," piped up the little fellow. "Maybe he'll get a reward, hey? Maybe he'll get a prize." "I guess we're all safe and sound," said the other arriving scoutmaster; "but wet and hungry----" "Especially hungry," one of the scouts said. "That's a common failing here," said the man from camp. "There's a funny fellow inside; want to see him?" piped up Goliath. "He hasn't got any clothes hardly, and he don't know what he's talking about; he hasn't got any conscience----" "He means he's unconscious," said the scoutmaster. "We ran into him on the road. He really hasn't spoken yet, so we don't know anything about him. He seems a kind of victim of the storm--crazed. I think it just possible he intended--Come inside, won't you? I think we'll have to take him with us on a stretcher. I suppose he belongs in the countryside hereabouts." Thus it was that Hervey's own scoutmaster looked down upon the unconscious form of his most troublesome and unruly scout. It was no wonder that the others had not thought him a scout. He looked more like a juvenile hobo. But sticking out of his soaking pocket was that one indubitable sign of identification, his rimless hat cut full of holes and decorated with its variety of badge buttons. Ruefully, Mr. Denny lifted this dripping masterpiece of original handiwork, and held it between his thumb and forefinger. "This is one of our choicest youngsters," he said. "He is in my own troop. The last time I saw him, I explicitly told him not to leave camp without my permission. I suppose he has been on some escapade or other. I think he's about due for dismissal----" "I don't think he's seriously injured, sir." "Oh, no, he has a charmed life. Nine lives like a cat, in fact. Well, we'll cart him back." "He doesn't look like a scout fellow," Goliath said. "Well, he isn't what you would call a very good scout fellow, my boy," Mr. Denny said. "Good scout fellows usually know the law and obey it, if anybody should ask you."