Don shook his head. He was afraid of that first tight splint. It was no surprise to him when Mr. Wall gave first place to the Foxes. But his heart leaped as he heard the Wolves rated second.

"We're ahead," Alex cried jubilantly. He pushed a paper in front of Don's eyes.

Wolf 8 Fox 6 Eagle 4

Tim wet his lips. His turn was next--his, and Bobbie's, and Andy's.

"Artificial respiration," called Mr. Wall.

Bobbie lay on the floor, face down, and stretched his arms above his head. Andy held his wrists lightly. Tim knelt astride the p.r.o.ne figure and placed trembling hands between the short ribs.

Mr. Wall, holding a watch, walked back and forth. Tim's heart thumped.

Would he go too fast or too slow? He wondered how the other patrols were making out, but he dared not look. Presently the Scoutmaster called, "That's enough," and he scrambled to his feet.

"Gosh!" Bobbie said ruefully. "You surely put some pressure on."

"Wonder how we made out," said Andy.

Tim wondered, too. When the call came for a demonstration of fireman's lift, he shut his teeth hard. He wouldn't fall down on this!

Two minutes later the lift was over.

"You were quicker than any of them," cried Andy in his ear.

"Stretchers," called Mr. Wall. "Lift the patient in and stand at attention. Patients must not help themselves. Got your staves? Ready?

Go!"

A yell burst from the watchers.

"Go on, you Eagles!"

"Chew them up, Foxes; chew them!"

"Faster, Tim; faster!"

Tim's coat was off and on the staves. His fingers fumbled with the b.u.t.tons.

"I'm ready," came Andy's voice. "Ready, Tim."

His fingers hesitated. Were the b.u.t.tons all right? He saw the Eagle stretcher-makers begin to straighten up. He swung around to Bobbie.

"All right, Andy, lift him. Up! Now down on the stretcher. Quick! There go the Eagles. Lift it. _Lift it!_"

They lifted their burden. Mr. Wall came down to inspect.

"b.u.t.tons out," cried a voice from the watchers. "b.u.t.tons out on the Wolf stretcher."

It was true. Tim's coat, under Bobbie's weight, had popped open. Tim's face turned fiery red. Was he always going to be the fellow who made his patrol lose? Why hadn't he made sure of those b.u.t.tons instead of taking a chance?

"Maybe some of the others have coats open," Bobbie whispered.

But none of the other coats were open.

Somebody cried that the contest was over. The scouts formed a pushing, excited ring around Mr. Wall and the stretchers. The Scoutmaster shook his head gravely.

"I'm afraid I cannot make a decision yet. Each patrol has excelled in some one thing and has done poorly in some other."

The pushing and the clamor ceased.

"One more test," Mr. Wall added.

The scouts fell back. The big moment of the night had come. This next event would probably seal the doom of some one patrol.

"Each team," said Mr. Wall, "will go to the rear of the room down near the door. At the word it will make its stretcher, lift in the patient, and bring him to me as though I were the doctor. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Clear the room."

The watchers pushed back along the side wall in a straggling line. There was no such thing now as each scout keeping with his own patrol. Eagles, Wolves and Foxes found themselves hopelessly mixed. Don squeezed in next to Alex Davidson.

"Look at Tim," said Alex.

Tim's lips were stern. Here was _the_ chance. The palms of his hands began to sweat. If they could win this--

"Watch your b.u.t.tons," whispered Andy.

"Go!" came the word of command.

This time Tim took no chances. His fingers were cold, and every nerve cried to him to go faster, faster, faster, but he forced himself to make sure that every b.u.t.ton was snug. Then he hitched forward on his knees and helped Andy.

"All right," Andy cried excitedly. "Get him by the shoulders, Tim."

It took them but a moment to lay Bobbie in the stretcher. Tim sprang to the front of the staves, Andy to the rear. They swung the stretcher from the ground.

"'Ray for the Wolves!" cried Wally's voice.

All Tim thought about was getting to Mr. Wall with his burden. He broke into a walk that was almost a run.

"Look at the Wolves!" The cry could be heard above the noise. "That's no way to carry an injured person."

Tim looked around, startled. What was wrong? He saw the Eagles and the Foxes carrying their loads slowly, with precious care. All at once he understood. Oh, what a blunder he had made!

He slowed up abruptly. He could hear tense voices shouting that the Wolves were out of it. He came to a stop in front of Mr. Wall.

The scouts rushed forward from the wall. Somebody's hot breath was on his neck and a squirming elbow was poked in his side. He did not look around.

Mr. Wall's whistle shrilled, and the gathering became quiet.

"I am glad this happened," the Scoutmaster said. "I do not mean I am glad because a patrol has failed, but glad because now the lesson will be driven home. An injured person must always be carried carefully. That's what I had in mind when I said speed would count, but that I wanted you to think."