Brad was huddled on the top bunk clutching his knees to his chest. The man's scraggly head was just visible; one crinkled strand of hair flicked back and forth as he turned around the room pointing his gun. Chelsie's face was wet with tears, but she wasn't making a sound.

The strand of hair, bobbing back and forth on the criminal's head reminded Brad of the light feeling of arching through the air in a double flip; he felt the old urge growing deep in his belly, with it was a taste of his old confidence and daring. But another voice was still nagging in his head, "If you haven't the proper equipment and years of professional training, you cannot tumble." He still heard the rasp of Mr. Spensor's voice.

Chelsie's eyes were opened now. She was looking right at Brad.

Her eyes reminded him of the squirrel perched on the branch of the tree. It seemed he could hear the squirrel singing, “Chich-chich-chich.”

There was a loud knock at the door. "Tom! Alice! You in there?" it was Sheriff Box's voice.

"Back off Sheriff!" screamed the criminal. "I call the shots from here on in. That is, if you ever want to see any of these cute kids again!" He yanked Chelsie closer and Brad could hear her muffled scream.

"Tom? Tom? What's going on? Are you okay?" yelled the sheriff through the door.

The man pointed his weapon at Tom. "Talk to him," he growled low in his throat.

"We're okay, Sheriff," yelled Tom. "Just do as he says."

The man gave Tom an evil smile which showed a gap of missing teeth. "I want that truck," he yelled through the door. "And you all throw down your guns."

"Billy Bob?" came the faint voice of the sheriff. "Give up and let the kids go."

"Not until you bring me that truck and throw in all your guns." Brad's vision was getting smaller, pinpointed. He didn't see the whole man anymore, just a scraggly head screaming, hair bobbing.. "I'll kill every one of these kids!" Brad saw the gun held to Chelsie's head. Her big eyes were pleading.

The urge was spreading up Brad's chest now and down through his knees. His heart thumped against his chest. "You cannot tumble!" Mr. Spensor's voice bellowed in his head. "It is impossible." Brad's elbows started to tingle.

A cry came from the girl's side of the room as one of Chelsie's friends burst into tears. Alice rushed to her side and shushed her with her arms. Maynard was out of control now, bouncing in his bunk and pounding his head with his hands. Brad could hear a low wine starting to come from the big bully.

"What's going on in there?" the sheriff demanded. "Is everyone okay?"

"They won't be in exactly one minute," growled the man. "The squealing kid goes first." He drug Chelsie over to bunk `D' and pointed the gun right at Maynard Griggs. That strand of black dirty hair was bobbing just below Brad's bunk.

Brad's arms slipped from his knees and he could feel life surge through his legs. His mind was quiet, silent. The nagging voices in his head evaporated into thin air. His feet pushed against the bunk and he swung out, just grazing the ceiling. Suddenly he was arched in the air - a flip - a double flip - he gained speed as he spun - and a twist; his feet caught the man right on his ugly nose and slammed him to the floor.

As the man hit the ground Petes came to life. He rolled off his bunk and heaved himself onto the man's stomach pinning him to the ground. The gun spun across the floor. With a mad rush, kids dog-piled on the killer.

At that, Maynard leapt from his bunk and yanked open the cabin door. "We got him, sheriff!" he yelled. Maynard dashed out of the door.

Billy Bob thrashed around on the floor. Little Willie was riding one of his giant hands as it felt back and forth for the gun. He let go as the sheriff and his men grabbed the beefy arms. It took four strong men to flip him to his stomach. They pinned his wild arms behind his back and cuffed him.

"Anybody hurt?" asked Sheriff Box.

Will was holding a hand to a bleeding lip. "We're fine," he declared. "Thanks to Brad."

Chelsie was blowing her nose and holding tight to Alice.

The criminal shook his shaggy head and moaned, "What hit me?"

More headlights streamed through the cabin windows and in a moment Mr. Spensor came striding into the room. "Thank goodness you are all safe," he rasped.

"It was Brad!" cheered Petes. "Brad double flipped off the top bunk and zapped that man right on the head. That's my buddy! He bounced us free!"

Mr. Spensor looked at Brad in surprise. "You double flipped off the bunk?" he asked.

Brad hung his head. Grayness was in his bones again. "It was only a double flip, but the impact from that height was still enough to knock the guy over." he said. "I just forgot for a moment that I couldn't do it."

"Oh, bosh!" swore Petes. "Brad's always been able to flip. He tumbles better than he walks."

Mr. Spensor took Brad's hand and gave it a shake. "I was wrong, boy." he said. "You are just NA-turally the best tumbler at camp Wugga Mugga. Fact is, what you need is a trophy and we have a gold one that'll do just fine down at the lake."

"Whoopee!" yelled Brad.

The other kids cheered and pounded each other's backs.

Brad flipped across the room and scrambled onto his bunk. There were no voices in his head, no thinking at all. He curled in a ball to miss the ceiling, then rolled fast, slamming against the wall for momentum and sprang off the lower mattress into the air, slowly he arched a circle in the air, one - two, he bounced off the neighboring bunk, hit the floor and handsprung across the cabin floor up without a waver.

A double bunk whammy from the forth bunk and he landed on his feet!