t down upon the
brake lever.

Then bang--! the brake band snapped and the truck lurched forward again!
Bruce had applied the brake too suddenly, and the next moment he found
himself in a runaway motor truck that could not be stopped until it
reached level ground.

The patrol leader felt like he was turning cold. Before him stretched a
long grade, and at the end a sharp turn! If he did not make that turn
the motor truck would crash against a rock or tree and kill him, or at
best it would plunge into the Lake and then the film would be lost!
Could he make the turn?

On rushed the massive truck. It had developed express train speed now
and it rocked from side to side like a ship in a gale as it tore down the
rough country road! Bruce clutched the big steering wheel with deathlike
grip and tried his mightiest to keep the cumbersome vehicle straight!
He realized that a loose stone or a deep rut meant death to him and
destruction to the motor car! His teeth were clenched and his face was
white! The wind had whisked away his coonskin cap.

"Oh, if I can only make that turn! I must! I've _got_ to!" he told
himself, as he saw the distance to the foot of the hill being eaten up by
the flying motor car. Nearer and nearer came the turn. It was a hundred
yards away. Now seventy, fifty, forty! Would the truck stay on all four
wheels or would it go plunging on madly, end over end, into the lake?
Could he make it? The road bent slightly now. Brace followed the curve.
Now came the turn. Bruce tugged at the wheel. The big truck swerved.
It was skidding! It was two wheels and ploughing up the dust in great
clouds! It was almost around! It was around! The road ahead of him was
straight and clear!

Bruce breathed a great sigh of relief. And so did fifty individuals who
had been watching the terrible race from the top of the hill. They
cheered loud and long when the big truck shot safely around the bend and
headed up the level road toward Woodbridge. Then all of them started
down the grade pell mell, nor did they stop until they reached the place
where the truck had finally stalled. Then every one tried to shake the
boy's hand.

"By Jove, but for your nerve, Bruce, my boy, we'd have been minus film
and motor truck. For pure grit, I think you scouts take the prize. I
wish I could think of some way to repay you," cried Mr. Dickle, pumping
Bruce around somewhat roughly.

"Why--er--you see--we don't want any pa