CHAPTER X

WON

Over near the opposite shore of the lake there was a man fishing from a boat that morning. He sat motionless in the early solitude, a lonely figure against the somber background of wooded shore. Across the lake was a ribbon of light, like a silvery stream flowing in the dark water. It seemed to scatter into bits of tinsel where it touched the base of the densely covered heights. The lone fisherman was not in its path.

Suddenly he raised his rod, swinging the long line far off from the opposite side of his boat, and just then something caught his eye. About fifty yards distant an object was moving across the shimmering band. At first he thought it was a freakish manifestation of this glimmering sheen. Then he saw that it was a foreign object, progressing slowly, steadily. It reached the clearly defined border of this shining area; then he lost it for a few moments.

Now it appeared again coming straight toward him; by-times he caught a glimpse of a face; an arm appeared and disappeared regularly. On, on the swimmer came with slow, unswerving progress. The fisherman heard a distant bell; like an answering peal it echoed from the solemn heights near by. Distant voices could be heard, thin and spent. The man could not hear what they said as they seemed to dissolve in the air. But the bell continued ringing. He felt rather than heard distant excitement. The ringing and the voices were mellowed by the intervening space, yet he sensed that something was wrong over at the big camp.

The swimmer was now in plain view of the fisherman--close at hand. He did not seem to be in trouble, but a swim across Black Lake was by no means an easy feat, and the man hauled in his line and sculled over to intercept him.

"Don't touch me--keep away!" Skinny fairly yelled.

"Don't you want to come aboard?"

"No, you keep away from me!"

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.

They took him over to camp and into Administration Shack and laid him on the couch there. And in a little while he was quite restored and able to go up the hill to his patrol cabin. His slim little form looked funny in a bathrobe as he trudged along, tripping now and again. The Elks clustered all about him proudly. Stut Moran playfully pulled the tasseled cord tight about him and tied it in a knot; it made him look still funnier, and he smiled that bashful smile of his to see them amused at his expense. "Looks like a champion prize-fighter on his way to the ring," said Stut.

"Well you've got a nice new dry suit anyway," said Connie. "And you're going to put it on and have your picture taken for both things that you did. Jumping jiminies, kid, you sure did break loose! What are you going to do next? Why, you crazy little midnight sneak! How the dickens did you suppose you were going to prove you swam across the lake when you got up at about fourteen-twenty A.M. and started off without any escort. Suppose that man hadn't been there. It's all right, kid, we're not kicking; we've got the Hiawatha canoe, gee we've got no kick. I'll say that. But cut out the hero stuff for a couple of days. Why, you skinny little grasshopper, you've been running wild!"

"Can I get it right away?" Skinny asked. "The canoe, can I get it right away quick? Right away now, can I get it?" he persisted, tripping over the bathrobe which was as much too big for him as his lost scout suit. "Can I honest and true get it right away _now_?"

"Who's going to stop us!" laughed Connie.

"We'll be out paddling in it this afternoon," said Vic Norris.

"Do you know what I was thinking?" Bert McAlpin asked.

"Skinny doesn't think, he acts," said Connie.

"No, but on the level," said Bert. "I never took such an awful lot of interest in it before--I mean the regatta--but, _jiminies_, as long as we've got the Hiawatha canoe why can't a couple of us train up and go in for the Mary Temple Cup? Skinny's too small, but it's all in the patrol anyway. You know what Roy Blakeley's all the time saying--united we stand, divided we sprawl. I say let's a couple of us train for the canoe races. Skinny's got us started now and we'll do big things. _Oh boy_, the white pennant! And now the canoe. Oh boy, Skinny's the big noise in camp."

He did not make much noise as he sat down on the edge of his cot, his clamorous comrades all about him. He had never tasted glory before. He had not only made a sensational hop, slap and jump into fame; he had aroused in his patrol the thirst for still greater achievement. He was bewildered, frightened.

"Listen here, kid," said Connie, "I'm so blamed excited I can hardly talk straight. Listen here. The breakfast horn will be sounding in a few minutes. We're not washed up yet, we got called up in such a hurry. While we're getting ready for breakfast you get on your new scout suit and we'll meet you over at 'eats.' Now no more blamed nonsense, you do what I tell you and put on your scout suit, and come over to 'eats' all dolled up right so the bunch will know the fellow that did these things is a scout. Understand?"

Skinny understood, and he just sat on the edge of his cot, nervous and anxious to be left alone. To these enthusiastic, planning comrades, his achievement was a climax. But it was no climax to him; it was just one step in what he intended to do. He was bewildered and nervous at their talk about future triumphs with the prize canoe. Connie's order to him about the new scout suit troubled him. You see, Skinny had not intended to be a hero. He was a hero worshipper, and his hero was Danny. He had never thought to complicate matters by being a hero himself. Now he saw that being a hero was a nuisance.