He looked sideways at Tom, rather curiously. He liked Tom but he could never make up his mind about him. It always seemed to him, as indeed it seemed to others, that Tom's cheery, simple, offhand talk bespoke a knowledge of many things which he did not express. It was often hard to determine what he was really thinking about.

"I think I'll see that face whenever it storms," Tom said.

"What face?"

"Harlowe's; he was just staring up in the air. Ever see a person who has suffered violent death, Hood?"

"Once."

"Funny thing, did you ever hear how the eyes of a dead man reflect the last thing he saw? I know over in France they often saw images in the eyes of dead soldiers. Near Toul, where I was stationed, they carried in a dead Frenchy and you could see an airplane in his eyes just as sure as day."

"Did _you_--did you ever see anything like that?"

"Oh, sure. Ask any army surgeon or nurse."

Hood did not seem altogether satisfied with the answer. He was clearly perturbed. But he did not venture another question, and for a few minutes neither spoke.

"Another thing, too, speaking of France," said Tom. "We could always pick out a fellow that came over from England as soon as they set him to driving an ambulance. He'd always go plunk over to the left side of the road. You know they have to keep to the left over there instead of to the right----"

"Yes, I know----" Hood began, and stopped short.

"Been over there, eh?"

"I'm not English, but I lived there several years, and drove a car."

"Yes?" Tom laughed. "Well, now, I just noticed how _you_ kept edging over to the left. I didn't think anything about your coming from England, but I just happened to notice it. Takes a long time to get a habit out of your nut, doesn't it? People might say you were reckless and all that when really it would just be that habit that you couldn't get away from. I've got so as I can tell a Pittsburgh scout, or a Canadian scout just from little things--little habits."

"You're a pretty keen observer," said Hood; "that about the eyes of a dead person interests me. When you made that discovery up on the mountain, do you mean----"

"Your engine isn't hitting on all four, Hood," Tom interrupted.

They both listened for a minute.

"Guess not," said the driver.

"Wire off, maybe," Tom suggested.

Hood stopped the machine and got out. It would have been more like Tom to jump out and investigate for himself, especially since he had run the old truck long before Hood had ever seen it. But he did not do it.

Instead, he remained seated. Hood was right, there was nothing whatever the matter with the engine. He wondered how Tom could have thought there was.

Tom seemed not greatly interested until his companion climbed in, then he craned his neck out and looked down where Hood had been standing.

"All right," he finally said; "I was wrong, as usual."

"I think you're usually right," laughed Hood.

Whatever the cause, Tom seemed thoughtful and preoccupied for the rest of the journey. He whistled some, and that was a sign that he was thinking. Once he seemed on the point of saying something.

"Hood, do you----" he began. Then fell to whistling again.

And so in a little while they came to the cove.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV

THE MESSAGE

The altogether thrilling and extraordinary occurrence which is all that remains to be told in this narrative, was witnessed by a dozen or more scouts. It happened, as deeds of heroic impulse always happen, suddenly, so that afterwards accounts differed as to just how the thing had occurred. There are always several versions of dramatic happenings. But on one point all were agreed. It was the most conspicuous instance of outright and supreme heroism that Temple Camp had ever witnessed or known. And because there was no scout award permissible in the occasion, the boys of camp, with fine inspiration, named the new dam after the hero, who with soul possessed challenged the most horrible monster of which the human mind can conceive, threw his life into the balance with an abandon nothing less than sublime, and found his reward in the very jaws of horrible and ghastly death.

And the dam was well named, too, for it represented strength superseding weakness. If you should ever visit Temple Camp you should end your inspection in time to row across the lake in the cool of the twilight, when the sun has gone down behind the mountain, and take a look at _Robin Hood's Dam_.

The scene was the usual morning scene. The slanting sifter was dropping its rain of dirt through the grating and sending the stones rolling down. The mixer was revolving. A hundred feet or so from the sh.o.r.e the clumsy old dredge was drawing up sand from the bottom of the lake, and the big pipeline running to sh.o.r.e was pulsating so that the floats supporting it rocked in the water. At the end of this pipeline was a big pile of wet sand from the lake. Men were carrying this sand off in wheelbarrows.

A few of the scouts were busy at their favorite pastime of walking along this shaking pipeline to the dredge from which they would dive, then swim to the nearest point on sh.o.r.e and proceed again as before. Hervey Willetts had been the Christopher Columbus to discover this endless chain of pleasure and he had punctuated it with many incidental stunts.

It was not altogether easy to walk on the trembling wet piping, but those who did it were of course in bathing attire, and with bare feet it was not so hard, once one got the hang of it.

The sight of this merry procession proceeding on its endless round proved too much for one pair of eyes that watched wistfully from the sh.o.r.e. One after another the dripping scouts came scrambling up out of the water, proceeded to the sh.o.r.e end of the pipeline, walked cautiously along it, feet sideways, crossed the dredge, dived and presently appeared again. "_Follow your leader_" they were singing and it was funny to hear how they picked up the tune and got into time upon emerging.

This kind of thing was hard to resist. It is hard not to dance when the music is playing. There was an alluring fascination about it.

Suddenly, to the consternation of every one, there was Goliath in the procession, moving along the pipeline, keeping his foothold by frantic gesticulations with his arms. He was laughing all over his little face.

He swayed, he bent, he almost fell, he got his balance, almost lost it, got along a few steps, and then down he went with a splash into the water.

This climax of his wild enterprise occurred in a gap of the procession.

Some scouts had fallen out, others were clambering out the other side of the dredge. So it happened that the splash was the first thing to attract attention.

Goliath did not reappear and before any one had a chance to dive or knew just where to dive, something was apparent, which sent a shudder through Tom Slade, who was standing near the end of the pipeline. The pouring forth of the wet sand out of the pipe ceased, or rather lessened and the substance shot out in little jerks. Tom, ever quick to see the significance of a thing, knew this for what it was. It was an awful message from the bottom of the lake.

Something was clogging up the suction pipe there.

CHAPTER x.x.xV

THE HERO

This thing, as I said, all happened in a flash. There was shouting, there was running about....

"Stop the machinery!" some one yelled.

"Reverse your engine!"