“‘Fold their tents like the ArabsAnd silently steal away.’”
“‘Fold their tents like the ArabsAnd silently steal away.’”
“‘Steal’ is a very good word to use in that connection, Dick,” said Mr. Hollis, as he joined the group, when after an abundant supper they sat around the campfire; “for if what we hear of gipsies in general is true, they spend most of their time in stealing.”
“Perhaps, though,” he went on, “that is putting it a little too harshly. There is a strong prejudice against them because of their vagrant mode of life, and there is no doubt that the distinction between ‘mine’ and ‘thine’ is very vague in their minds. Hen-roosts are apt to be mysteriously thinned out when they are in the neighborhood, and many a porker has uttered his last squeal when gripped by a gipsy hand. Horses, too, occasionally vanish in a way that would mean a short shrift and a rope in the Western country, if the thief were caught. But, on the other hand, they seldom commit deeds of violence. You never hear of their blowing open a safe, and, though they are passionate and hot tempered, they are not often charged with murder. The Bowery thug and yeggman are much more dangerous enemies to society than the average gipsy. Perhaps the worst indictment to be brought against them is that in years past they were frequentlyguilty of kidnapping. But that was in the earlier days, when the country was sparsely settled and communication was difficult. Then, if they got a good start, it was often impossible to overtake them. But to-day, with the country thickly populated and the telegraph and telephone everywhere, they would most certainly be caught. No doubt the elders of the tribe shake their heads sadly as they reflect that the kidnapping industry is no longer what it has been.”
“How do they make a living, anyway?” interjected Dave. “What they steal isn’t enough to keep them alive.”
“Well,” returned Mr. Hollis, “the men are very keen traders in horses. They know a horse from mane to hoof. They can take a poor old wreck of a cart horse and doctor him up until he looks and acts like a thoroughbred. Very few men can get ahead of them in a trade, as many a farmer has found to his cost. The women are often very expert in embroidery and find a ready sale for their really beautiful work. Then, too, as fortune tellers they are proverbial the world over. Cross a gipsy’s palm with gold or silver and she’ll predict for you a future that kings and queens might envy. It is safe to say that during their stay here they will reap quite a harvest—enough at least to suffice for the simple needs of to-day. As for to-morrow, they don’t care. Thatcan take care of itself. They are as irresponsible as crickets or butterflies. They ‘never trouble trouble till trouble troubles them.’”
“Well,” said Dave, “they get rid of a whole lot of needless worry, anyway. They don’t suffer as much as the old lady did who said that she had had an awful lot of trouble in her life and most of it had never happened.”
The boys laughed, and Tom asked:
“Where do they get their name from? Why do they call them gipsies?”
“Because,” answered Mr. Hollis, “they were supposed to be descended from the old Egyptians. They resemble them in features, and many words in their language are derived from Egypt. Many scholars think, however, that their original home was India. Europe has been familiar with them for the last four hundred years. They have always been Ishmaelites—their hand against every man and every man’s hand against them—and by some they have been believed to be the actual descendants of Ishmael, the outcast son of Abraham. Everywhere they have been despised and persecuted. In the old days they were accused of being sorcerers and witches. They have been banished, burned at the stake, broken on the wheel, hung, drawn and quartered. It is one of the miracles of history that they have not been wiped out altogether. But they have alwaysclung closely together and persisted in their strange, wandering way of life. They have a language of their own and certain rude laws that all the tribes acknowledge. The restless instinct is in their blood and probably will be there forever. They are a living protest against civilization as we understand it. Occasionally, one of them will join the ranks of ordinary men, but, far more frequently, they gain recruits from those who want to throw off the shackles and conventions of the settled life. More than one man and woman have listened to the ‘call of the wild’ and followed the gipsies, as the children in the fable followed the Pied Piper of Hamelin. But now, boys,” he said, rising, “it’s time for ‘taps.’ To-morrow evening we’ll all go over and take a closer look at these gipsies of yours.”
All through the following day the boys, though attentive to what they were doing, were keenly alive to the promised treat that night. There was an early supper, to which, despite the under-current of excitement, they did full justice, and then in the gathering dusk the boys set out for the grove. Since not all could go in the automobile, it was decided that all should go on foot, and with jest and laughter they covered the three miles almost before they knew it.
Quite different from that of the day before was the sight that burst upon them as theyrounded a curve in the road and came upon the picturesque vagrants. Here and there were torches of pitch pine that threw a smoky splendor over the scene and hid all the squalor and sordid poverty that had been so evident in the broad light of day. By this time it was fully dark, but a full moon cast its beauty over the trees and flecked the ground with bright patches that added to the torches made the whole grove like a fairyland. The news of the gipsies’ coming had reached the surrounding towns, and there was quite a gathering of pretty girls and country swains, whose buggies stood under the trees at the roadside, while youths and maidens wandered among the wagons of the caravan. At the open door of one of the vans a young gipsy drew from a violin the weird, heart-tugging strains that have made their music famous throughout the world. Others sat around their fire and talked together in a low tone, casting furtive glances at the visitors, whose coming they seemed neither to welcome nor resent. With their instinctive appreciation of the fine points in any animal, the eyes of some of them brightened as Don threaded his way through the different groups, but, apart from that, they gave no sign that they were conscious of the newcomers.
With the gipsy women, however, it was different. This was their hour and they improved itto the utmost. Withered crones and handsome girls with curious turbans wound about their heads went from group to group, offering to tell their fortunes, provided their palms were crossed. There was no difficulty about this, as most of the girls had come there with that one desire and the gallant youths who escorted them urged them to gratify it regardless of expense. If the recording angel put down that night all the lies that were told, all the promises of wealth and title and position that sent many a giddy head awhirl to its pillow, he was kept exceedingly busy. Just for a lark, the boys themselves were willing patrons of these priestesses of the future; but little of what was promised them remained in their memory, except that Tom was to meet a “dark lady” who was to have a great and happy influence upon his life. The boys chaffed him a good deal about this mystical brunette, but he maintained with mock gravity that “one never knows” and that perhaps the swarthy soothsayer “knew what she was talking about after all.”
In view of the unusual circumstances, Mr. Hollis had not insisted upon the ordinary rules, and it was nearly midnight when the boys, having trudged back to camp, prepared to retire.
“What time is it, anyway, Dick?” yawned Bert, as they started to undress.
“I’ll see,” said Dick, as he reached for his watch; “it’s just——”
He stopped aghast as the chain came out of his pocket with a jerk. His watch was gone.
At this instant a shout came from Bob Ward’s tent: “Say, fellows, have any of you seen my scarfpin? I can’t find it anywhere. I’m sure I had it on when I started.”
Bert looked at Dick and Dick stared back at Bert. The same thought came into their minds at once.
“Stung,” groaned Dick, as he sank down heavily on his bed.
At once the camp was in commotion. Everyone made a hasty inventory of his belongings and the relief was general when it was found that nothing else was missing. Their hearts were hot with indignation, however, at the loss of their comrades. Dick’s gold watch had been a graduation present and Bob’s scarfpin had held a handsome stone, so that the money loss was considerable. But deeper yet was the sense of chagrin voiced by Jim Dawson:
“Well,” said he, disgustedly, “if this isn’t the limit. Here we are, city fellows who think we are up to snuff. We are surrounded by pickpockets every day and nothing happens. Then we come out in the country and are roasted brown by a band of wandering gipsies.”
By this time Mr. Hollis, aroused by the unusual stir, had hastily dressed and joined the excited group. The facts were quickly detailed to him, and, as he listened, his face set in hard lines that boded ill for the thieves. He first directed that a thorough search be made in order to be perfectly sure that the missing articles were not somewhere about the camp. When careful examination failed to reveal them, doubt became certainty. If only one thing had been lost it might have been set down to carelessness or accident, but that two should disappear at the same time pointed to but one explanation—theft. And it was a foregone conclusion that the thieves were to be found in the gipsy camp.
The more hot-headed were for starting out at once to regain the watch and pin at any cost. But this was vetoed by Mr. Hollis, who recognized the futility of attempting anything at so late an hour. He promised that early in the morning they should all go together, and with that promise they were forced to be content.
There was very little sleep for the boys that night, and at the first streak of dawn the whole camp was astir. Breakfast was swallowed hastily, and Bert whistled for Don as the boys made ready to start.
“Here, Don, old fellow, good dog,” he called when the whistle failed to bring him; but no Donappeared. Then a thought suddenly struck Bert. When had he last seen the collie? In the excitement last night he and the other boys had given no thought to the dog. He recalled with a sudden sick feeling that he had last seen him in the light of the gipsy torches. His heart smote him for his forgetfulness. Was it possible that the gipsies had stolen Don also? Why not? He never would have stayed away of his own accord. The collie was a splendid animal of the purest breed and would easily bring a large price if offered for sale anywhere. A fierce rage flamed in Bert—a rage shared by all the others when he hastily told them of the suspicion that every moment was becoming a conviction—and it was lucky for the abductor of Don that he did not at that moment meet Bert Wilson face to face.
With Dick, Tom and Bob, he leaped into the “Red Scout,” and taking up Mr. Hollis as they came to the door of his tent, they swung into the broad high road, leaving the others to follow as fast as they could.
“Now, purr, old Scout,” said Bert as he threw in the clutch; and the “Red Scout” purred. It leaped forward like a living thing, as though it pulsed with the indignation and determination of its riders. They fairly ate up the three miles in as many minutes, turned the curve of the road just this side of the gipsy camp and—
The camp was gone!
Gone as though it had dropped into the earth. Gone as though it had melted into the air. Utterly and completely gone. The ashes of last night’s fires, some litter scattered here and there, alone remained to mark the spot that a few hours before had been so full of life and animation.
They leaped from the car and scattered everywhere looking for signs to indicate the direction the caravan had taken. They had certainly not come south by the boys’ camp. It was equally certain that they had not gone directly north, as this led straight to a large town that they would instinctively avoid. This narrowed the search to east and west roads, from which, however, many byroads diverged, so that it left them utterly at sea.
“The telephone,” cried Bert; “let’s try that first.”
They bundled into the car and a few minutes brought them to the nearest town. Picking out half a dozen addresses along different roads, they called them up. Had they seen a band of gipsies going by? The answer “No” came with exasperating monotony, until suddenly Bert leaped to his feet.
“Here we are, boys,” he cried. “Bartlett on the Ashby road, eight miles from here, saw them go by two hours ago. Now let’s get busy.”
They flew down the Ashby road and in a few minutes came to the Bartlett farm. Yes, they had passed there and they certainly were traveling some. A couple of miles further on the road forked. There was a negro cabin at that place and they might get some information there. He hoped so, anyway. Good luck, and with a word of thanks, the boys rushed on.
A stout negress washing clothes under the tree at the fork of the road wiped the suds from her hands with her apron as she came forward.
“Dey sholy did go pass hyar, gemmun, and dey wuz drivin’ as do de ole Nick was affer dem. Dat’s a pow’ful po’ road up dataway and der hosses wuz plum tired. Dey kain’t be ve’y far ahaid, I specs.”
Exultingly Bert threw in the high speed. Their quarry had been run down at last. The motor fairly sang as they plunged up the road. Turning a curve to the right they came upon the procession of carts, now toiling along painfully. Bert never hesitated a second, but rushed past the line of wagons until he had reached the head of the caravan.Then he swung the “Red Scout” squarely across the roadand with Mr. Hollis, Dick, Tom and Bob, sprang to the ground.
Then he swung the “Red Scout” squarely across the road.Then he swung the “Red Scout” squarely across the road.—(See page 89)
Consternation plainly reigned in the halted carts. The men crowded forward and hastily consulted. A moment later an old man, evidentlythe chief, came forward. He was prepared to try diplomacy first, and with an ingratiating smile held out his hand to Mr. Hollis. The latter, ignoring the extended hand, came straight to the point.
“I want three things,” he said, “and unless you are looking for trouble, you’ll hand them over at once. I want the pin and watch and dog your people stole from us last night.”
The leader’s smile faded, to be replaced by an ominous scowl.
“It’s a lie,” he said sullenly, “my people stole nothing. Get out of our road,” he snarled viciously, while his followers gathered threateningly around him.
The air was surcharged with danger and a fight seemed imminent, when suddenly a familiar bark came from one of the vans. Bert dashed forward, thrusting aside a young gipsy who sprang to intercept him. He threw open the van door, and out rushed Don, mad with delight. He had chewed in half the rope that held him and the frayed remnant hung about his neck as he leaped on Bert and capered frantically about him.
The game was up! Fear and chagrin were painted on the gipsies’ faces. They might have bluffed through as regards the stolen articles and it would have been almost impossible to provetheir guilt. But here was the living proof of theft—proof strong enough to land their party behind the bars. Moreover, the great dog was no mean addition to the little force that faced them so undauntedly. It was plainly up to them to temporize. As Bob with regrettable slanginess, but crisp brevity, summed up the case: “They had thought to make a quick touch and getaway, but fell down doing it.”
The chief held up his hand. “Wait,” he said, “while I talk to my people. Perhaps they have found something. I will see.”
A whispered conversation followed and then he came forward sheepishly, holding out the watch and pin. “They found them on the grounds. I did not know,” he mumbled.
Mr. Hollis took them without a word and motioned Bert to get the auto ready. He had gained his point and did not care to press his advantage further. After all, they were almost like irresponsible children, and, despite his resentment, he felt a deep pity for these half-wild sons of poverty and misfortune. Their code was not his code, nor their laws his laws. They were the “under dogs” in the fight of life. Let them go.
The motor began to hum. The party piled in, with Don between them, barking joyfully, and they swept down the shabby line of carts withnot a glance behind them. They waved gaily to the old black mammy, who beamed upon them as they went by. A thought struck Bert, and turning to Tom, he shouted:
“The dark lady, Tom. The dark lady that the gipsy prophesied would bring you luck.”
“Sure thing,” grinned Tom. “It certainly is luck enough to get old Don back, to say nothing of the watch and pin. Isn’t it, old fellow?” and he patted the dog’s head lovingly.
So thought the rest of the boys, also, when the “Red Scout” reached camp. Don was overwhelmed with caresses and strutted about as though he had done it all. As Jim put it: “Napoleon on his return from Elba had nothing on Don.” It was late when the excitement subsided and the campers went weary but happy to bed.
Mr. Hollis, Bert and Dick lingered about the fire. Only these older ones had realized how ticklish a situation they had faced that day. They didn’t like to think what might have happened if it had come to an open fight.
“The way you faced that crowd was the pluckiest thing I ever saw, Mr. Hollis,” said Bert; “but suppose it had come to a showdown?”
“Well,” laughed Mr. Hollis, “it was a case of touch and go for a minute. But I counted on the fact that we were right and they were wrong. ‘Conscience makes cowards of us all.’ Behindus were law and order and civilization. Behind them crowded nameless shapes of fear and dread that robbed their arms of strength and turned their hearts to water. It was simply a confirmation,” he concluded, as he rose to say good night, “of the eternal truth:
“‘Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just.’”
“‘Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just.’”
The morning of the long anticipated day in the “Red Scout” dawned bright and clear, and the campers who were to go were astir soon after dawn. Most of them would willingly have dispensed with breakfast, but Mr. Hollis insisted that they take their time and eat a hearty meal. However, everything comes to him who waits, and at last they were ready to start. It had been arranged that on their trip they were to stop in town, and get supplies and some camp appliances that Mr. Hollis required. Otherwise they were to do as they pleased, subject only to Bert’s authority.
The car was ready to start, and Bert had received Mr. Hollis’ last instructions.
“Well, fellows,” said Bert, “pile in, and we’ll start for town right away. It rather looks now as though we might have a little rain before the day is over. I don’t like the looks of the sky over there any too much, but we’ve got to have grub anyway, even if we have to go after it in boats.”
“Yes, or we might swim, I suppose,” suggested Shorty, sarcastically.
“In that case, we’d let you try it, as its only a matter of twenty miles or so each way, and see if you are as strong as your name,” retorted Bert, and Shorty subsided.
Meanwhile the others had taken their appointed places in the auto, and, after adjusting spark and throttle levers, Bert walked to the front of the machine and cranked the motor.
On the first turn, such was the beautiful condition in which he kept the car, the engine started with a roar, and he quickly climbed into the driver’s seat and threw in the clutch. Without a tremor the big car glided away as if moving on air, which indeed it was, in a way, if the air in the tires could be counted.
With the ease of a driver who thoroughly understands his car, Bert steered the machine around and between the bumps in the road, and even one who had never ridden in an automobile before would have appreciated his masterly handling of this machine.
Suddenly Tom, who, as usual, was riding in the seat beside Bert, leaned over and said, “Say, Bert, do you suppose she would take Dobb’s hill?”
Now, the hill to which Tom referred was one notorious in the neighborhood. More than onegray-haired farmer had shaken his head dubiously while inspecting the “Red Scout,” and said, “Yes, that there contraption may be all right on the level, and there’s no getting over the fact that it can run circles around a streak of greased lightning, but I’ll bet a dollar to a doughnut that it could never get up Dobb’s hill.”
So Bert thought a moment before answering Tom’s question, and then said, “Well, that’s an awfully steep hill, but the old ‘Scout’ has never balked at anything yet, and I have a sneaking feeling that it wouldn’t even stop at Dobb’s hill. However, there is only one way of finding out about it, and that is to try it. What do you say, fellows, shall we try it and show these people around here just what our machine can do?”
There was a unanimous chorus of assent from the other occupants of the car, so at the next crossing Bert turned off the main road in the direction of the famous Dobb’s hill. Soon the hill itself loomed up in front of them, and Bert opened the throttle a trifle. The machine immediately picked up speed, but to the occupants of the machine it seemed almost impossible that anything but an elevator could get up that hill. It looked to them almost like a high wall. Bert, however, was thinking more of the machine than of the hill. He had been gradually giving theengine more gas, and now, when they were almost at the foot of the hill, he realized that the moment had come to call forth the supreme effort of the motor. He opened the muffler so as to get rid of all back pressure, and opened the throttle to its widest extent. With a bound and a roar the powerful machine took the hill, and to the boys in the car it seemed as though they had some powerful, willing animal working for them. Up the great machine climbed, with scarcely diminished speed, the engine emitting unbroken and exhilarating music, or at least that is what it sounded like to the tense boys in the auto. At last with a final roar of the motor, and rumble of the straining gears, the machine topped the hill and started on its long downward coast. Bert threw out the clutch, and giving the engine a well-earned rest after its strenuous work, allowed the “Red Scout” to glide rapidly and smoothly down the hill.
Every boy in the car seemed half-crazy with delight over the performance of their mechanical pet. Some even went so far as to pat the sides of the car, and Bob expressed the general feeling when he said, “Well, I’d rather be a camper and be able to say I held part ownership in a car like this, than to be King of England.”
The boys also realized that a lot of credit was due Bert for the success of their climb, as evensuch a car as the “Red Scout” could never have gotten up that hill without expert handling.
Down the long hill glided the “Red Scout” with constantly increasing momentum, and long before they reached the bottom Bert had to apply the powerful brakes with which the machine was equipped, and check its speed.
Gradually he slowed it down to a safer, but less exciting speed, and at the bottom eased in the clutch and the willing motor took up the load.
In the meantime the sky had taken on a more threatening appearance, and while the happy-go-lucky boys in the tonneau gave it little thought, Bert, to whom the care of the car and its occupants were intrusted, cast more than one dubious and anxious glance in the direction in which the storm might be expected to break. He hoped that they might at least make the necessary trip to town and back before the rain could catch them, however, and so held a steady pace, and they were soon rolling down the main street.
Bert got out his list of the things they would need, and detailed the boys to different stores so that they could get started again as soon as possible.
Bert’s last remark to them was, “Now, fellows, step just as lively as you know how, and whatever else you do, don’t come back drunk.”This raised a general laugh, as, it is needless to say, the boys had had no such intentions.
Bert and Tom remained with the car, and while Bert said less than the other boys about his love for the machine, it was easy to see that he had a real affection for it, and took pleasure in cleaning and adjusting it.
“Say, Tom,” he called after a few minutes, “bring me grandfather, will you?” Now, “grandfather” was not what that word usually means, but an immense monkey-wrench, with jaws on it like a vise. It was called grandfather for no particular reason that anybody knew of, but someone had called it that once, and the name had stuck. The boys sometimes used it to exercise and perform feats of strength with, so heavy was it. So now, when Tom got it out of the tool box on the running board and handled it with loving care, Bert took it from him, and for several minutes was busy adjusting and tightening bolts and nuts around the motor and transmission case. Finally he handed the wrench back to Tom with a sigh of relief.
“Well!” he exclaimed. “There’s a good job well done. I’ll bet we could take that hill now even a little better than we did, if that’s possible.”
“I don’t know about that,” replied Tom, “this old Scout went up that hill better than I thoughtit could, and I guess you ought to have as much credit as the machine. After this I will back you and the ‘Red Scout’ against all comers.”
From this it may be seen that there was more than a little hero worship mingled with Tom’s love for Bert, and no wonder. Bert was the sort of fellow that everyone had to admire and like.
By this time the boys had begun to return with their bundles and boxes, and soon everything was safely stored in the tonneau, and the boys had time to wonder how they were going to get themselves in too, as the supplies seemed to take up about all the room.
Finally it was arranged that Jim and Dave should stay in the tonneau to see that nothing was shaken overboard, while Bob and Frank ranged themselves on the running board.
In this fashion they started, but it soon became evident to everybody that they would never be able to get back to camp before the storm broke, even with the help of the “Red Scout.”
Thunder could be heard coming nearer and nearer, and soon they felt the first warm drops of rain. Bert wished then that they had a top to their car, but unfortunately the leather covering ordered by Mr. Hollis had not yet arrived at the camp.
“What do you think we’d better do, Bert;make a run for camp or hunt shelter around here?” asked Tom.
“Why, this road is pretty rough, and we can’t make much speed,” replied Bert. “I guess we’d better hunt cover right away,” as a vivid streak of lightning split the sky, followed by a crash of thunder.
“We noticed an old barn over toward the right when we were on a botany expedition the other day,” said Frank, “and I think that if you swing into that dirt road we’re coming to, it will lead us right to it.”
“Well, here goes,” said Bert, and swung the “Red Scout” into the old road. Sure enough, before they had gone a quarter of a mile they sighted the old barn, and were soon snugly established in it. To be sure, the roof leaked in places, but it was fairly tight, and what did a bunch of hardy campers, in the pink of condition, care for a few drops of rain?
There was some hay left in the barn, and they lounged comfortably around on this, talking and listening to the rain, which by this time had increased to a downpour, and beat fiercely on the roof and sides of the old barn.
The boys started a discussion about the hill-climbing feat of the “Red Scout,” and while all agreed that it had been a splendid performance, Bob seemed to be inclined to sneer at Bert’shandling of the car. He firmly believed that he knew more about automobiles than Bert, and was sometimes a little jealous of the praise given him by the other boys.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he finally remarked, when Tom remarked that some people seemed able to coax more out of a car than others, “I don’t see that that makes much difference. I’ll bet that if I had been running the ‘Red Scout’ this morning it would have gone up that hill just the same. Why, when I used to run my uncle’s car——” but here he was interrupted by cries of derision, and Tom remarked:
“I suppose that if Bob had been running the ‘Red Scout’ he would have run it up the hill backwards so that it would think it was going downhill, and so got to the top without any trouble.”
This sally caused a general laugh at Bob’s expense and he subsided, but was heard to mutter about “getting the right mixture,” and “easing her down to second speed,” which nobody but Bert understood, but which seemed to make him feel much better.
In justice to Bob, it must be said, however, that he did know quite a little about automobiles, but usually lacked nerve when it came to putting his knowledge into practice.
By this time the boys were all hungry, and asthere seemed to be a small chance of the rain letting up for a while, Bert proposed that they have lunch. There was plenty of food in the automobile, and Bert started the boys to fishing out crackers and jam.
Suddenly a thought struck him. “Say, fellows,” he called, “how about making some cornbread and having a real bang-up meal? We’ve got bacon and all the fixings here, and we all know how to cook, thanks to our experience as campers. I’ll make the corn bread, and Tom here will fry the bacon.”
There was such a joyous and noisy consent to this plan that Bert could not help laughing. “All right,” he cried, “some of you fellows dive into the car and bring out the new frying pan and the Dutch oven we bought to-day. We’ll build a fire on that slab of stone over there, and have something to eat in next to no time.”
This was no sooner said than done, and as the odor of frying bacon and hot “corn pone” filled the old barn, the boys thanked their lucky stars for the thousandth time that they had come on this camping trip.
In a short time everything was ready, and they seated themselves near the fire. Tom dished out the sizzling bacon and steaming “corn pone.”
Under the cheering influence of this feast even Bob Ward forgot his grudge of the morning, andwhen he shouted, “What’s the matter with Wilson?” the resulting “He’s all right!” almost lifted the roof off the old barn.
Soon they had finished and cleared away the meal, and when they opened the barn door were surprised and delighted to find that the sun had struggled through the clouds and was now shining brightly. Quickly they packed the tonneau, and were soon ready to start.
“All right, fellows, get to your places,” sang out Bert, and soon they were chugging out of the old barn that had offered them such timely shelter.
Once outside and fairly on the disused road, however, it soon became apparent that only with great difficulty could they make any progress at all. The rain had converted the road into a quagmire, and although Bert brought the “Red Scout” from third speed to second, and finally to first, he saw that they must soon stop altogether, and indeed this soon proved to be the case.
The faithful motor apparently had plenty of power, but the car sank into the mud up to its axles, and the rear wheels simply turned around without propelling it. Bert finally threw out the clutch and the “Red Scout” stopped as though he had applied the brakes, so great was the opposition formed by the mud.
“Well, this is a pretty fix, to be sure,” exclaimed Bert. “We’re going to have the time of our lives getting this machine out. What you need for this road is not so much an automobile as a boat. However, it wouldn’t speak well for us if we couldn’t get our car out of this scrape after all it has done for us, so let’s get busy.”
“That’s all very well,” said Jim, “but the question is, how are you going to do it? This isn’t exactly a flying machine, although it can go pretty fast, and it seems to me that we will need something like that to get us out of here.”
“Say, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, Jim Dawson,” exclaimed Tom, indignantly, “here you call yourself one of the crowd, and yet you are willing to give up before you have fairly begun to try. That isn’t the right spirit.”
“Oh, it’s easy enough to talk,” answered Jim, sulkily, “but I’d just like to know how you are going to do it, that’s all.”
“Well, I can’t say I have a plan right now, but I’m sure that our old ‘Red Scout’ isn’t going to leave us in the lurch now after all it has done so far,” and here he patted the vibrating car lovingly.
Meanwhile Bert had been thinking deeply, and had finally hit on a plan. “Here, some of you fellows, run back and bring me all the hay you can carry from that barn, will you? We wantto get out of here as soon as we can, because Mr. Hollis will be anxious about us. Lively’s the word.”
Tom, Bob, and Frank ran back to the barn and soon reappeared, carrying armfuls of hay. When they reached the car Bert took charge of it, and placed it carefully under the rear wheels, and made a path in front of each wheel for about six feet.
“If we can only get over to the side of the road and up on that grass there,” he explained, “we will be on firmer ground and can get better traction. I only wish we had tire chains.”
“What are tire chains, Bert, and what are they for?” inquired Frank.
“Why, you see how it is,” replied Bert, “we have plenty of power, but the wheels can’t get a grip on the ground, and just skid around. If we had a network of chains over the tires they would bite through the mud to solid ground and get the grip we need. Understand?”
“Sure thing, and much obliged for the explanation,” said Frank, heartily.
By this time Bert had arranged things to his satisfaction, and now climbed into the driver’s seat, while the boys looked on expectantly.
Bert threw out the clutch, advanced the spark slightly, and opened the throttle a few notches. Immediately the motor increased its revolutions,and when it had reached a good speed Bert gently eased in the clutch. There was a grinding sound of clutch and gears as the power was transmitted to the rear wheels, and the “Red Scout” lunged forward.
The front wheels were so firmly embedded by this time, however, that even the “Red Scout” was helpless. Again and again Bert raced his engine and let in the clutch, and each time the machine made a gallant attempt to free itself, but could never quite make it. Finally he reversed, but with no better result. At last he gave up the attempt, and leaving the motor turning over slowly, descended to hold a consultation with the other boys.
“Have you any suggestions to make, fellows?” he asked, “I confess I’m up a tree just at present. What do you say, Bob? Can you think of anything?”
“Why, I was thinking,” answered Bob, flattered by this direct appeal to his vaunted experience, “that if we could dig out a path in front of the machine up onto the grass we might get it out that way.”
“Say! you’ve hit the nail on the head this time!” exclaimed Bert, enthusiastically. “That’s just what we’ll do. Get that spade out of the tonneau, will you Frank, and we’ll get to work.”
Frank immediately complied, and in an incredibly short space of time the boys had a path dug in front of the auto down to hard gravel, and were ready for another attempt to extricate their beloved car.
Bert climbed into his seat with a do-or-die expression on his handsome young face, and repeated his former tactics, but this time with greater success. The “Red Scout” surged forward with a roar, like some imprisoned wild creature suddenly given its liberty. Bert took no chances this time, but plugged steadily onward until he reached high, firm ground. Here he stopped the panting machine, and waited for the cheering boys to catch up.
They soon reached the faithful car, and quickly jumped into their places. Before starting again Bert turned around and said, “Fellows, I think we owe Bob a vote of thanks. All who agree please say ‘Aye’.”
There was a hearty chorus of “Ayes,” and Bob flushed with pleasure at this tribute from his comrades. He thought, and with reason, that he had demonstrated his knowledge of automobiles to good advantage, as well as his ability to meet emergencies.
By this time it was getting near dusk, and Bert knew that Mr. Hollis would be worried over their continued absence. Accordingly, when hegot on to the main road, he threw the gears into high speed, and soon they were bowling along at a rapid, but safe, pace toward their camp.
It would be hard to imagine a happier set of boys in the world than those who sat in the big red automobile in the silence of good fellowship and listened to the contented purring of the “Red Scout’s” powerful motor.
As they revolved in their minds the exciting occurrences of the day, and thought of other equally happy days yet to come, it seemed to them that there was indeed nothing more desirable in life than to be campers with such leaders as Mr. Hollis, Bert Wilson, and Dick Trent. It is safe to say that they would not have changed places with any other set of boys on earth.
“Say, Bert,” said Jim Dawson, breaking the long silence, “that race is as good as won already. I’m sure that with this machine and you driving it, we couldn’t lose if we tried. What do you think?”
Bert did not answer for a moment, and when he did his eyes twinkled merrily. “Well, Jim,” he said, “I don’t know whether we’ll win or not and that ‘Gray Ghost’ is certainly some racer. From what I have seen of our old ‘Red Scout’ to-day, however,—but there, I’m not going to say any more just now. There is no use raising your hopes, and then perhaps have nothing comeof that in the end.” And with that they were forced to be content.
By this time they had almost reached the camp, and could see the smoke of the fire. Soon they rolled smoothly into camp, and Mr. Hollis came to meet them with a relieved look on his face. At first he seemed inclined to blame them, but Bert soon explained matters to his entire satisfaction.
The boys mingled with their comrades, and many were the exclamations of wonder over their day’s experiences. After a short rest, supper was prepared, and while they all voted it delicious, still they claimed that nothing had ever tasted quite as good as their lunch in the old barn.
As Tom and Bert were dropping off to sleep that night, Tom murmured drowsily, “Say, Bert, did we or didn’t we have a bully time to-day, eh?”
“Just bet your hat we did.”
“Well, say, isn’t the old ‘Red Scout’ about the greatest automobile that ever turned a wheel?”
“That’s whatever it is,” concurred Bert, and dropped off to sleep with a smile on his face, and the image of a big red automobile enthroned in his heart.
“You fellows get it all,” complained Steve Thomas, with as ugly a look as such a round good-natured face as his could wear.
“You sure do seem to move in a charmed circle,” chimed in another grumbler.
“Don’t they?” echoed a third. “They ought to be called the lucky three. This is the fourth time in less than two weeks that they’ve had the auto.”
The “lucky three,” to whom these remarks were addressed, stood grinning happily at the disgusted faces of the other fellows in camp.
The question to be settled was as to what ones should take the auto into town for some supplies that were unexpectedly but urgently needed. There had been quite a lively dispute, waxing louder and louder until it threatened to end in a genuine quarrel.
Mr. Hollis, busily finishing some letters that he wanted to send into town by the boys, was at first too absorbed in his writing to notice the unusual disturbance, but as the recriminations grewhotter he saw that immediate action was necessary.
Rising hastily and taking in his hand a sheet of paper on which he had been writing, he stepped from his tent into the group of heated boys.
The clamor ceased at once and when he learned the cause of the discussion, Mr. Hollis proposed to draw lots. The fellows who should draw the numbers one, two and three were to be the autoists for the trip.
This seemed fair to all, and cutting the paper into equal strips Mr. Hollis wrote a number on each and, shaking them well in a hat passed them around. When they had all been drawn, each one turned over his slip and looked eagerly for the sign that fate had been good to him.
The lot had fallen to Bert, Tom, and Ben. There was no appeal and the rest of the camp had to submit, some, however, with so poor a grace that Mr. Hollis, smilingly genially remarked:
“Come, boys, be sports. Any fellow can growl but it takes an all-around manly one to bear defeat smilingly. There’s always the chance of better luck next time.”
His words and manner speedily dissipated what shreds of ill-temper remained, so that the boys gave a rousing cheer for a send-off as the car, gleaming like red gold in the brilliant morningsunshine, shot off up the road and disappeared from their longing eyes.
As for the fortunate three in the car, everything unpleasant was forgotten in the twinkling of an eye. A great splendid flying auto is no place for disagreeable memories, and the woods rang with song and jokes and laughter as the car flew on.
Out of the woods at last they swept into a wide well-kept turnpike, where they could safely ride at greater speed.
Bert opened up the throttle and the “Red Scout” fairly “burned up the ground.” They passed a number of lumbering ox carts and farm wagons drawn by sedate old horses, whom nothing could dismay. Now just in front of them they saw a runabout, drawn by two spirited bay horses evidently of the thoroughbred type.
As they came up behind the carriage, Tom noticed that one of the horses began to prance and that the lady who held the reins glanced behind nervously.
“Wouldn’t you better go rather slow,” he cautioned Bert; “one of those horses doesn’t seem to have any love for automobiles.”
Accordingly, Bert was very careful as he attempted to pass the runabout; but at the first glimpse of the car the prancing horse reared up on his hind legs and lurched heavily against hismate. Startled, the other horse plunged forward, jerking the reins from the driver’s hands. The feel of the loose reins on their backs completed their panic, and before anyone realized what was happening, the horses had taken the bit between their teeth and were dashing down the road, utterly beyond control. The carriage swayed frightfully from side to side, and the two ladies, their faces blanched with fear, clung desperately to the seats.
The “lucky three,” feeling not a bit lucky at that moment, were filled with dismay.
“I suppose that’s our fault,” groaned Tom, “although I don’t for the life of me see how we could have helped it.”
“That’s not the question,” said Bert, anxiously, “the only thing now is how to help them.”
“It seems to me,” said Tom, “that the thing to do is to overtake them, range up alongside and then one of us jump into the carriage and get hold of the reins.”
This seemed the only feasible thing and the speeding auto soon came within a few feet of the runaways. Bert waited till the road widened and then shot the auto over the intervening space and drew alongside. Tom grasped the wheel and Bert, watching his chance, sprang into the carriage. The double motion hurled him backwardand almost out on the road, but with a desperate effort, he succeeded in grasping the back of the seat and held on. Then climbing over, he made his perilous way out upon the shaft between the flying horses and snatched the reins. Upon these he pulled and sawed with all his strength until he at last brought the frightened beasts under control.
Tom and Ben, seeing their opportunity, stopped the machine, and, running to the horses’ heads, brought them to a standstill. They helped the trembling women to alight and with cushions and robes hastily brought from the auto made them a comfortable seat at the foot of a tree by the roadside. Ben, bethinking himself of the drinking cup that was part of the auto’s equipment, filled it with water from a nearby spring, and under these attentions the ladies somewhat recovered from their terrifying experience. The elder of the two turned to the boys and tried to express her heartfelt gratitude, while, if the younger was to be believed, they had proved themselves veritable heroes. This they modestly disclaimed and declared they were only too delighted to have been able to stop the team before any serious harm had been done.
Meanwhile the horses stood panting and trembling at the side of the road. Evidently it would not be safe to attempt to drive them againat present, and they were greatly relieved when a young farmer, who had seen the runaway, came up and offered to keep them overnight in his barn.
The horses thus disposed of, the “lucky three” offered gallantly to drive the ladies home in their car. So, fastening the runabout to the rear of the auto and seating their guests comfortably in the tonneau, the boys crowded into the driver’s seat and were soon gliding up a broad avenue of elms that ended at the spacious and elegant home to which they had been directed. Declining a pressing invitation to enter, the boys, followed by their repeated thanks, started off with redoubled speed on their original errand.
Without further adventure they secured their supplies and turned toward home. What was their surprise as they neared the camp to see a procession of the fellows coming down the road, some beating on imaginary drums, others blowing on horns, still others with harmonicas and jewsharps, but managing in some unaccountable way to evolve the well-known air of
“Hark! The Conquering Hero Comes!”
It was evident that the news of their adventure had preceded them.
The “Gray Ghost,” coming over to the camp to discuss some detail of the forthcoming race,had overtaken the farmer leading the runaway horses and had learned the particulars. Hence the impromptu band and the nerve-racking rendition of the triumphal welcome. It was comical but cordial, and the boys would not have been human had they failed to appreciate it. And later on their hearts thrilled with still greater pleasure at Mr. Hollis’ earnest words of commendation.
They were soon seated at the table with their guests from the rival camp, and in the discussion of the anticipated race all else was forgotten. They had not finished before a strange automobile rolled up and the colored chauffeur lifting a large basket from the car and bowing low, announced that it was for Mr. Bert Wilson and his friends from the ladies whom they had rescued that day from deadly peril.
Many and loud were the exclamations of delight when the basket was found to be filled with the mostly costly and delicious fruit. Before the onslaught of the crowd it vanished like magic and Jim urged the boys to stop a team of runaways every day that summer.
The fruit seemed to the boys the last souvenir of that memorable day, so crowded with incident and accident. But it was not. The “lucky three” were to be reminded of this day’s adventure in a most unexpected manner before the season ended.
“Don, boy, look here,” cried Bert, coming out of the mess tent after dinner with a plate of scraps. “Now how are you going to thank me for it?” he asked as Don pranced up, barking and wig-wagging with his tail.
Don’s answer was to stick his cold muzzle into Bert’s hand and to wig-wag a little harder.
“Now, old fellow,” said Bert when Don had cleared the plate, “some of the boys are hunting butterflies over there and I want you to get this note to them right away. Do you understand, Beauty?”
The dog looked up with full understanding in the eyes that said so much and barked joyfully as Bert tied the note to his collar. He started off in the direction pointed out to him perfectly happy in the thought that he was serving his master.
Bert looked fondly after the proudly lifted head and waving silver brush of his favorite. The dog had been a mystery to the whole camp. He seemed to know what was said to him and scarcely ever failed to carry out any directionsgiven him. He had learned a great many tricks in the few days he had been in camp besides displaying some he had mastered previously. With one accord they decided that he must have been stolen by the tramps, who, in the discomfort and excitement of the other day, had forgotten all about him.
A squad of the boys had that morning been sent over to the hills on an all-day hike to hunt for butterflies and to study ants—the last had become a favorite amusement among them since Dick’s talk of a few days before. Bert had expected to go with them, but, as more supplies were needed from the village, he had volunteered to go over for them in the “Red Scout,” although he would much rather have gone with the “bug squad.” The note that he had entrusted to Don contained a warning to the boys to come home by the main road and not attempt to come over the hills as they contained many dangerous holes and pitfalls. He was sure that Don could find the boys because he had gone with them more than once on their hikes among the hills.
Meanwhile, up in the hills, one of the boys, Arthur Gray by name, had wandered way off from his fellows before he realized it. A strikingly beautiful butterfly had led him on and on, now lingering on one flower, now on another, always flitting away at the very instant when Arthurfelt sure of success. Finally, with a lazily graceful motion of its delicately marked wings, it flew away and was lost to sight, leaving Arthur to “mop his fevered brow,” as Dick would have said.
Looking around him he discovered that the boys were nowhere to be found. He reached for his pocket compass and found, to his great surprise and dismay, that it wasn’t there.
By this time, really worried, he tried to remember where he was and which way he had come, but all with no result. The butterfly had led him there by such a roundabout path that he could not, for the life of him, point out the direction from which he had come. What should he do? In a moment he thought that he had brought his watch with him—more by luck than anything else, for he often left it at the camp—and he remembered that he could find in what direction the South lay by means of it.
By that time it was exactly four o’clock, and, pointing the hour hand toward the sun, he found that the number 2 on his watch-face pointed to the South: that is, half the distance between four o’clock and twelve when the other hand is pointed toward the sun, marks the southerly direction. Of course, when he had one point of the compass it was very simple for him to find the others—that being a necessary part of summer camptraining. Arthur knew that the camp lay somewhere to the East so he started to get there as fast as his legs would carry him.
But, alas. The time when we think fate has been most kind to us often turns out to be the time when it is hardest. So it was in Arthur’s case. As he hurried along, congratulating himself on having thought of so easy and quick a way to get out of his difficulty, he forgot that the passes over the hills had been reported dangerous.
Going happily along he had no warning of what was in store for him until, with a groan, he sank to the ground and began to rub his ankle. He had stepped into one of those treacherous holes that covered the whole countryside and had sprained his ankle very badly.
Painfully, he tried to get up, but when he attempted to bear his weight on the injured ankle, it pained so cruelly that he winced.
“Oh, I can’t, I can’t,” he moaned aloud in his misery. “What shall I do, what shall I do?” and, sinking to the ground, he covered his face with his hands.
Meanwhile, the boys had missed him and had begun to search all over for him. Not finding him, they became anxious and looked desperately for him in every place they could think of.
“I wonder if he could be hiding in a cave the way Jim was doing the other day,” Shorty suggested.
“Don’t be a fool, Shorty,” said Tom, rather sharply. “Arthur isn’t that kind. Probably he’s chased some butterfly way off somewhere and can’t find his way back.”
“He ought to be able to find his way easily enough with his pocket compass. The thing I’m afraid of is that he may have met with some accident,” said Frank.
Just then Don came trotting up to Tom, calling attention to the note tied to his collar by a series of short, imperative barks. Tom patted his head lovingly and called him a “good fellow” at which Don wig-wagged vigorously. The boys all crowded around, eager to see what was in the note.
“It’s from Bert,” Tom announced, “and he says that Mr. Hollis wants us to come home by the main road because of the dangerous holes and pitfalls. Say, fellows,” as the truth dawned upon him, “do you think that Arthur can be hurt so that he can’t get to us?”
“Nobody knows. But I know one thing,” said Shorty stoutly, “and that is, that I won’t leave these hills to-night until we have found him.”
“Good for you, Shorty,” said Frank. “Iknow we all feel the same way so we had better get down to business in a hurry.”
All the time the boys had been speaking Don had stood with his head cocked knowingly on one side, watching their every action. When they started to go he looked up into Tom’s face, mutely asking to be allowed to go too. And Tom answered heartily, “You just bet you can come along, Don. We couldn’t do without you.”
Then the boys began to scour the woods in good earnest. For half an hour they worked hard with a dull, aching sensation at their hearts. They looked behind rocks, pulled aside dense underbrush, gazed down deep ravines with the awful fear that they might see their comrade lying at the bottom. They were coming now into the most dangerous part of the country and they were forced to work slowly and with the utmost care.
When they paused, weary and discouraged, to consult on what course was best to follow, Don’s short bark reached their ears and in a minute the dog himself rushed up to them. Then, running back and forth between them and the direction from which he had come, he plainly showed them that he wished them to follow him.
“We’d better go,” Tom said. “He may have found him, or at least some trace of him.”
So, with Don in the lead the boys started oncemore. As they went they called Arthur’s name, but at first nothing but the echoes answered them. They were so torn by thorns and briers and so wearied by the long search, that nothing but the thought that their poor comrade was in a much worse plight than they, could have kept them to their task. Finally, when they were beginning to think that Don was leading them on a wrong scent, they heard a faint cry. Joyfully, they called out again and again and each time the answer came nearer. When they came upon the runaway at last they were so happy that they didn’t notice his condition at once. When they did realize how badly he was hurt, they forgot how tired they were and set about at once to relieve him.
The poor boy had tried to drag himself along on his hands but had not been able to get very far. The boys bandaged the ankle and then began making a litter. It wasn’t very long before they had Arthur fairly comfortable on the improvised bed. With light hearts the procession started for camp, Don proudly taking the lead. The boys thought it was best not to question Arthur until he had had time to recover from the shock.
It was nearly dark, when, tired and hungry, the “bug squad” reached camp. It is a well known fact that boys are not worth much when they arehungry. Mr. Hollis, who was a good judge of human nature, hurried the troop into supper, declaring that curiosity could be much better satisfied on a full stomach than an empty one.
After supper the boys made the usual camp fire and made the wounded hero of the day comfortable before it. When the preliminaries were over the boys called for the story of the “bug squad’s” adventures.
Tom told as much of the story as he knew and then, turning to Arthur, asked, “Did Don really find you there? We weren’t sure but that he might just have struck the trail.”
“He did both,” Arthur replied. “He struck my trail and followed it until he found me. I don’t think I was ever so glad in my life as I was to see our Don come trotting up ready for some petting. He saw that I was hurt, though, and started away like a streak of lightning to bring you to my help. At first I thought that he was deserting me, but even as the thought came to me I knew it was unjust. Think of our gallant Don deserting anyone in distress. Then in a few minutes I heard you hail and answered as well as I could. I will always carry a picture of you fellows as you came into sight, with Don in the lead. Believe me, it was the finest I ever saw or expect to see. And now, fellows, I want you to give three cheers for the hero of the dayand the finest dog that ever lived. Come on, now——
“HOORAY-HOORAY-HOORAY—Now let ’er out fellows—HOORAY,” and in spite of his sprained ankle, Arthur led the cheers that echoed and re-echoed through the trees for rods around.
All the time the cause of all the enthusiasm was lying with his head on Bert’s knee, watching the boys contentedly. When they all crowded around, he took the praises they showered on him as a true gentleman should—with courtesy and dignity, only those speaking eyes of his telling of the love in his heart for the boys that would have made him die for any one of them.
If ever a dog was glad and happy, his name was Don that night. Although he didn’t understand what it was all about, he knew that he was being honored and showed that he appreciated it.
The happiest moment in the whole day for Don came when Bert put both arms lovingly around his neck and whispered, “You’re a trump, old man.”
And so the four-legged recruit went happily to sleep to dream that he was rescuing all the boys in camp.