AS they talked the young girls wandered over the grassy sward of the churchyard and their voices grew fainter and fainter to the cyclist and Miss Sallie.
The latter had seated herself on the stump of an old tree and was busily engaged in re-reading her mail, at which she had glanced only carelessly that morning.
The air was very still and hot, and the hum of insects made a drowsy accompaniment to the songs of the birds. The cyclist had stretched himself at full length on the grass under an immense elm tree and was lazily blowing blue rings of smoke skywards.
Presently there broke upon the noonday stillness a cry for help. It was in a high, girlish voice—Mollie’s in fact—and it was followed by others in quick succession.
Miss Stuart, scattering her mail on the ground in her fright, rushed in the direction of the cries, the cyclist close behind her.
On a knoll near the church the sight which met Miss Sallie’s eyes almost made her knees give way. But she had a cool head in danger, inspite of her lavender draperies and pretended helplessness.
A tramp, who seemed to them all at the moment as big as a giant, with matted hair and beard and face swollen from drink, had seized Ruth and Barbara by the wrists with one of his enormous hands. A woman equally ragged in appearance was tugging at the fellow’s other hand in an effort to quiet him.
As Miss Sallie ran toward the group she heard Barbara say quietly:
“Let go our wrists and we shall be glad to give you all the money we have with us.”
“I tell you I want more money than that,” said the man in a hoarse, terrible voice. “I want enough money to keep me for the rest of my days. Do you think I like to sleep on the ground and eat bread and water? I tell you I want my rights. Why should you be rich and me poor? Why should you be dressed in silks while my wife wears rags?”
As he raved, he jerked his hand away from the woman, almost throwing her forward in his violence, and gesticulated wildly.
The two girls were both very pale and calm, but the poor tramp woman was crying bitterly.
Barbara’s lips were moving, but she said nothing, and only Mollie knew it was her mother’s prayer she was repeating.
“Don’t be frightened, young ladies,” sobbed the woman, “I will see that no harm comes to you, even if he kills me.”
“Do you call this a free country,” continued the tramp, “when there are thousands of people like me who have no houses and must beg for food? I would like to kill all the rich men in this country and turn their children loose to beg and steal, as we must do to get a living! Do you think I would ever have come to this pass if a rich man had not brought me to it? Do you think I was always a tramp like this, and my wife yonder a tramp, too?”
At this point the drunken wretch began to cry, but he still held the two girls tightly by the wrists.
“I tell you I’ll take a ransom for you and nothing less. I’ll get out of the world all it’s taken from me, and your father will have to do the paying. Come on!” he cried in a tone of command, to his trembling wife.
At this critical moment Miss Stuart and the motor cyclist came running to the scene.
There was a look of immense relief on Miss Sallie’s face when she saw the courteous stranger at her heels. She had been about to speak, but was silent.
“Oh, ho!” cried the tramp, “so you’ve got a protector, have you? Well, come on! I’ll fightthe whole lot of you, women and men, too, and with one hand, at that!”
He loomed up like a giant beside the small, slender cyclist, but he was a drunken giant nevertheless and not prepared for what was about to happen.
However, at first, it appeared to them all that a little persuasion might be better than force.
“If you will let the young ladies go, my good man,” said the cyclist, “you will not regret it. You will be well paid. I would advise you to take a sensible view of the matter. You cannot kidnap us all, and it would not take long to get help. Would you prefer a long term in jail to a sum of money?” And the cyclist drew a leather wallet from his coat pocket.
“You think you are mighty smart, young man,” sneered the tramp, “but I can kidnap all of you, and nobody ever be the wiser. Do you think I’d let a chance like this go? My pals are right over there.” He pointed with his free hand to the woods back of him.
“You will be sorry,” said the cyclist.
With an oath, the tramp put his finger to his mouth and gave a long, shrill whistle.
But in that moment he was off his guard, and the cyclist leaped upon him like a leopard on a lion. One swift blow under the jaw and down tumbled the giant as Goliath fell before David.
The poor woman, who was crouching in terror behind a tree, jumped to her feet.
“Run!” she cried in a frightened whisper. “Run for your lives!”
The cyclist seized Miss Sallie by the arm.
“She is right. It is better to run. The others may be coming.”
And they did run. Terror seemed to lend wings to their feet. Even Miss Stuart, assisted by their rescuer, fled over the grass as swiftly as her charges.
Ruth and Barbara reached the automobile first. In an instant Ruth had cranked up the machine while Barbara opened the door.
Another moment, and they were off down the road, the black-clad cyclist following. Glancing back, they saw two other rough-looking men helping their comrade to rise to his feet. Then they disappeared in the woods while the woman, with many anxious backward glances, followed her companions.
Nobody spoke for some time. The girls were too much terrified by the narrow escape to trust to their voices. The bravest women will weep after a danger is past, and all five of these women were very near the point of tears.
Presently the cyclist came up alongside of the automobile, which had slowed down somewhat when they reached the main road.
“I will go ahead and inform the police,” he called over his shoulder, “but I fear it will not be of much use. Men like that will scatter and hide themselves at the first alarm.”
Miss Sallie smiled at him gratefully. Touching his cap, which was fastened under his chin with a strap and could not be lifted without some inconvenience, the stranger shot ahead and soon disappeared in a cloud of dust.
Miss Sallie was thinking deeply. She wished that Major Ten Eyck and the boys had not left the hotel that morning. She felt need of the strong support of the opposite sex. She felt also the responsibility of being at the head of her party of young girls.
Should they dare start off again next day into the wilderness after such an experience? Of course, as long as they were in the automobile, going at full speed, nothing could stop them except a puncture, and punctures on country roads were not as frequent as they were on city streets. What would her brother say? Would he sanction such a trip after this fearful experience? And still she hesitated.
The truth was, Miss Stuart was as eager as the girls to accept the invitation that had been so unexpectedly made. She did not wish to revive the romance of her youth, but she did have an overweening desire to see the ancestral home ofher old lover, and to talk with him on the thousand subjects that spring up when two old friends come together after many years.
It was, therefore, with half-hearted vehemence that she said to the four rather listless girls:
“My dears, don’t you think it would be very dangerous for us to go over to Major Ten Eyck’s, to-morrow, after this fearful attack?”
Everybody looked relieved that somebody had had the courage to say the first word.
“Dear auntie, we’ll leave it entirely to you,” replied Ruth. “Although, I don’t believe we are likely to be kidnapped as long as we keep the automobile going. The fastest running tramp in Christendom couldn’t keep up with us, even when we’re going at an ordinary rate. From what Major Ten Eyck said, the road is pretty good. We ought to get there in an hour, since it’s only fifteen miles from here, and the last mile or so is on his estate.”
The other girls said nothing, it being a matter for the chaperon to settle.
“Very well, my dear,” answered Miss Sallie, acquiescing so suddenly that the others almost smiled in spite of the seriousness of their feelings at the moment. “But I do feel that we had a narrow escape this morning. If it had not been for the young man on the motor cycle I tremble to think what would have been the consequences.And I certainly believe if we are not going back to New York, the sooner we get into the society of some male protectors the better for us. I am sorry that fifteen miles separate us. I wish those boys had thought to motor back and get us to-morrow.”
“Oh, well,” observed Barbara, “fifteen miles is a mere bagatelle, when you come to think of it. Why, we shall be there before we know it.”
By this time the automobile had reached the hotel. Miss Sallie led the way to the dining room and they formed rather a weak-kneed procession, for they were beginning to experience that all-gone feeling that comes after a fright.
The luncheon hamper full of good things had been carried back into the hotel, since there had been neither time nor opportunity for the picnic party the girls had planned.
“I think a little food is what we really need, now,” exclaimed Ruth. “Cheer up, Mollie and Grace. Bab, smile for the ladies. It’s all over. Here we are, safe, and we are going to have a beautiful time at Major Ten Eyck’s. Please,dear friends, don’t begin to take this gloomy view of life. As for the anarchist person who attacked us in the woods, you may depend upon it that he and his friends are so frightened they will be running in an opposite direction from Tarrytown for another week. As for the foreign young man who stepped up to the rescue, he should certainly be thanked.”
Ruth had by nature a happy temperament. She quickly threw off small troubles, and depression in others made her really unhappy.
“It was truly a daring deed,” replied Barbara, “and all the more daring considering that the tramp would have made about two of the cyclist. But the blow he gave was as swift and sure as a prize fighter’s.”
“Did you notice that the poor woman was rather pretty?” commented Mollie.
“My dear child,” cried Miss Sallie, “I really believe you would notice people’s looks on the way to your own execution. Now, for my part, I could not see anything. I was almost too frightened to breathe. I felt that I should faint at any moment.”
“Why, Aunt Sallie, you are more frightened now than you were then,” exclaimed her niece. “You were as calm as the night. As for Grace, she looked like a scared rabbit. Mollie, darling, I’m glad you had the presence ofmind to scream. If you hadn’t Aunt Sallie and the motor cyclist might have looked for us in vain.”
While she was speaking the cyclist came into the dining-room.
As soon as Miss Stuart saw him she rose from the table in her most stately manner and walked over to meet him.
“Sir,” she said, and Ruth gave the merest flicker of a blink at Bab, “you did a very brave thing to-day, and I want to thank you for all of us. If you had not been there my niece and her friend would undoubtedly have been kidnapped. You perhaps saved their lives. They might have been killed by those ruffians. Won’t you give us your name and address? My brother, I am sure, would like to write to you himself. We shall be indebted to you always.”
The young man’s face flushed with embarrassment.
“It was nothing, I assure you, Madam,” he replied. “It was easy because the man was intoxicated. He went over at the first blow. My name,” he continued, “is Martinez. José Martinez. My address is the Waldorf, New York.”
“I am Miss Stuart,” said Miss Sallie, “and I would like to present you to my niece, Miss Ruth Stuart, and her friends Miss Grace Carter and Misses Barbara and Mollie Thurston. It wouldgive us great pleasure if you would lunch with us, Mr. Martinez.”
“When a man saves your life you certainly can’t stand on ceremony,” commented Miss Sallie to herself.
An animated discussion followed. Mr. Martinez had been to see the chief of police, he said, who would call on Miss Stuart that afternoon, if convenient. He could not offer any hope, however, of catching the men.
Miss Sallie replied that, for her part, she hoped they wouldn’t take the creatures. It would do no good and she did not want to spend any time cooped up in a court room in such scorching weather. But did Mr. Martinez think it would be dangerous for them to take a trip up into the hills the next day?
“It would depend upon the road,” replied Mr. Martinez. “That is, if the trip were taken by automobile. Of course my motor cycle can run on any road.”
“It is a good road,” replied Ruth. “At the crossroads there is a bad road; but, fortunately, we do not have to take it, since the new road with the bridge has been opened up, so Major Ten Eyck says.”
In which case Mr. José Martinez was of a mind with the young ladies that the trip would be perfectly safe.
Miss Sallie gave a sigh of relief. If this estimable young man sanctioned the trip she felt they might take it with clear consciences. But she did hope her brother’s views on the subject would be the same.
Then the talk drifted into other channels.
“You are a Spaniard, I presume, Mr. Martinez?” questioned Miss Sallie.
“Yes, Madam, a Spaniard by birth, a Frenchman by education and at present an American by choice. I have lived in England, also, but I believe I prefer America to all other countries, even my own.”
Miss Stuart was much gratified at this avowal. She felt that in complimenting America he was complimenting her indirectly.
“Have you seen the Alhambra and the Rock of Gibraltar?” demanded Mollie, her wide, blue eyes full of interest.
“Oh, yes, Madamoiselle,” replied the handsome Spaniard, smiling at her gently, “I have seen the Alhambra many times, and Gibraltar once only.” A curious shade passed over his face as if Gibraltar held memories which he was not anxious to revive.
“Does the Rock of Gibraltar really look like a lion?” asked Grace, who had not noticed his distaste to the mere mention of the name.
“I do not know, Madamoiselle,” he repliedshortly. “I saw it only from land. I was,” he added hesitatingly, “very ill when I was there.”
The waiter announced the chief of police to see Miss Sallie, and the luncheon party adjourned to the shady side of the piazza.
All this time Barbara had been very quiet, so quiet, indeed, that Ruth had asked her in a whisper, as they left the dining room, if she were still feeling the shock of the morning.
“Oh, no,” replied Barbara, “I am simply trying to stifle a ridiculous fear I have that, maybe, we ought not to go to-morrow. It is absurd, so please don’t mention it to the others, especially as even Miss Sallie thinks it safe, and little coward Mollie is not afraid.”
“You are just tired, poor dear,” said sympathetic Ruth. “Come along up to your room, and we shall have a little ‘relaxation,’ as my old colored mammy used to say. We’ll spend a quiet afternoon in our rooms, and at sunset we can take a spin along the river bank before supper. What do you say?”
“I am agreeable,” replied Bab.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Martinez,” said Ruth, as the others came up. “You will be wanting to take your siesta now, I suppose. Siestas, in Spain, are like afternoon tea in England, aren’t they? Here in America we don’t have either,much, but I think we shall need both to-day. Perhaps we shall see you at dinner?”
“If I may have that pleasure,” replied the Spaniard, bowing low.
“Strangers of the morning are friends in the afternoon, in this, our life of adventure,” laughed Ruth as they passed along the corridor to the steps.
But they did not see the stranger again that day. For some mysterious reason he left the hotel in the afternoon, and did not return until nearly midnight, when Barbara, who happened to be awake, heard him whistling softly as he went down the hall to his room.
It was really Miss Sallie Stuart’s fault that they were so late in starting the next day to Major Ten Eyck’s home.
The automobile had been ordered to be on hand immediately after an early luncheon, but another call from one of the town police caused the first delay.
The tramps had securely hidden themselves, the officer said, and no trace of them had been found in other towns in that vicinity.
The second delay was caused by a telegram from Miss Stuart’s dressmaker, stating that a dress had been expressed to her which would reach Tarrytown that morning. Bab and Mollie were also expecting an express package of fresh clothes and their organdie dresses, which they felt, now, they would assuredly need.
Consequently the party waited patiently for these ever-necessary feminine adornments, and it was four o’clock before the girls started.
A third delay was caused by the puncture of a tire just as they were leaving the hotel. Now they were obliged to go to the nearest garage and have it repaired, which consumed another three quarters of an hour.
However, it was pleasanter riding in the cool of the afternoon, and they still hoped to reach Ten Eyck Hall long before dark. It was a very gay party that finally took the road, swathed in chiffon veils and dusters.
“I never felt so much interested in a visit as I do in this one,” remarked Ruth. “Certainly we ought to be glad to get there after all these mishaps and delays.”
Barbara was still in her silent humor. She sat with her small handbag clasped tightly on her knees and looked straight before her, as though she were watching for something.
“Bab, my child, what is it?” asked Ruth. “You have been in a brown study all day.”
“Nothing at all, dear,” replied Bab, smiling. “Perhaps this haziness goes to my head a little. But I am awfully glad, too, about the visit. I always wanted to see an old colonial house, and the only way really is to stay in it. If we have the run of the rooms, and all the halls and galleries, we can get to know it much more intimately than if we were just sight-seers being conducted through by an aged housekeeper.”
Meanwhile, on the back seat, Miss Sallie was in a reminiscent mood. It was very agreeable to her to hark back to the joyous days of her youth, for Miss Stuart had been a belle, and the two girls were listening with pleasure to her accounts of the gallant major, who had been graduated from West Point ahead of time in order to join the army during the Civil War.
The conversation was interrupted by the sudden stoppage of the automobile at the crossroads, one of which led straight into the woods, while the other branched off into the open, crossing the now dry bed of a river spanning which was the new bridge.
“This is the right road, of course,” said Ruth, taking the one with the bridge.
“Wait!” cried Barbara. “There’s something stretched across the bridge.”
Sure enough, a rope blocked all passage over the bridge, which was quite a long one. Secured to the rope with cords was a plank on which was painted:
“DANGEROUS: TAKE THE OTHER ROAD!”
“DANGEROUS: TAKE THE OTHER ROAD!”
“The paint on the sign is still sticky,” exclaimed Barbara who had jumped out and run over to take a good look at it. “And the bridge is broken. There is a large hole, like a gash, on one side, and another further down.”
“How remarkable!” replied Ruth. “It must have happened some time this morning. I do not suppose Major Ten Eyck knows anything about it, or he would have let us know. I’ll back up, anyway, to the crossroads, and we can decide what to do. We could go on, I suppose. The major said the other road passed his front gate, but it was a longer one and not such good traveling. What do you say, Aunt Sallie? Speak up, girls, are you all agreed?”
Miss Sallie was much troubled. She wanted to go and she did not want to go, and her mind was in a turmoil.
Bab was silent, and Grace and Mollie looked ready for anything.
“Well,” said Miss Sallie, after a moment’s reflection, “it is very dangerous and very venturesome;but, having got thus far, let us proceed on our way.” She folded her hands resignedly, like a martyred saint.
“Then off we go!” cried Ruth. The automobile rolled into the wooded road that penetrated a deeper part of the forest.
The dense shade was a relief after the open, dusty country. Tall trees interlaced their branches overhead and the ground was carpeted with fern and bracken.
But an uneasiness had come upon the automobilists. They did not attempt to explain it, for there was no apparent cause. The road was excellent so far, smooth and level; but something was in the air. Miss Sallie was the first to break the silence.
“I am terribly frightened,” she admitted, in a low voice. “We must have been bewitched to have attempted this ride. Ruth, my dear, I beg of you to turn and go back. I feel that we are running into danger.”
Ruth slowed up the machine a little, and called over her shoulder:
“You are right, Aunt Sallie, but I am afraid we can’t turn just yet, because there isn’t room. Anyway, we may be nearer to the other end of the wood by this time.”
The car sped on again, only to stop with such a sudden jerk, in the very depths of the forest,that the machinery ceased to whir and in a moment was silent.
For a few moments all hands sat perfectly still, dumb with terror and amazement.
Across the road was stretched another rope. There was no sign board on it to tell them there was danger ahead, but the girls needed none. They felt that there was danger ahead, behind, and all around them. They knew they were in a trap, and that the danger that threatened them would make itself known all too soon.
Barbara had whispered to Ruth.
“Back up as fast as you can!”
Ruth had replied in another whisper:
“I can’t before I crank up.”
Regaining her nerve, Ruth was about to leap to the ground when she saw, and the four others saw at the same moment, the figure of a man standing by a tree at the roadside. It would seem that he had been standing there all along, but so still and motionless that he might been one of the trees themselves. And for two reasons he was a terrifying spectacle: one because his features were entirely concealed by a black mask, the other because he carried in one hand a gleaming and remarkably sharp looking knife, a kind of dagger, the blade slightly curved and pointed at the end, the silver handle chased all over in an intricate design.
To her dying day Bab would never forget the picture he made.
He wore a dark green velveteen suit, like a huntsman’s, and a felt hat with a hanging brim that covered his head.
“Pardon me, ladies,” he said in a curious, false voice, “but I must request you to keep your places.”
Ruth, who was poised just over the step, fell back beside Barbara, who had maintained her position, and sat with blanched cheeks and tightly closed lips.
The highwayman then deliberately slashed all four tires with his murderous looking weapon. At each explosion Miss Sallie gave a stifled groan.
“Do not cry out, Madam,” said the robber sternly, “or it will go hard with you.”
“Be still,” whispered little Mollie, bravely taking Miss Stuart’s hand and patting it gently.
“And now, ladies,” continued the man more politely, “I must ask you to put all your money and jewelry in a pile here. Stand up,” he said to Barbara. “Put it on this seat and leave out nothing or you will regret it.”
The five women began mechanically to remove what simple jewelry they happened to be wearing, for the most part pins, rings, braceletsand watches, the latter Ruth’s and Grace’s. Then came the pocket books, Mollie’s little blue silk knitted purse topping the pyramid.
“But this is not all your money,” said the robber impatiently. “Do not delay. It is getting late.”
“I have some more in my bag,” said Ruth faintly. “Mollie, it is on the back seat. Will you hand it to me?”
Mollie searched with trembling hands for the bag which was stored somewhere under the seat.
“And have you nothing in that bag?” asked the highwayman, turning roughly to Barbara.
She did not answer at first. Her lips were moving silently and the others thought she must be praying. Only Mollie knew she was repeating, for the second time since they had left home, the words her mother had taught her: “Heaven make me calm in the face of danger.”
The highwayman laid his hand on the bag, flourishing his knife in a menacing way.
“Wait,” she said calmly, looking at him with such contempt that his eyes dropped before her.
Placing the bag on Ruth’s lap, Bab slowly opened it, fumbled inside for a moment and drew out a small pistol.
It caught a last ray of the setting sun, which had filtered through the trees and gleamed dangerously, in spite of its miniature size.
Barbara pointed it deliberately at the robber, with a steady hand, and said quietly:
“Drop that knife and run unless you want me to shoot you!”
The robber stared at her in amazement.
“Quick!” she said and gave the trigger an ominous click.
The pistol was pointed straight at his midwaist.
“Drop the knife,” repeated Barbara, “and back off.”
He dropped the knife and started backward down the road.
“Now, run!” cried Barbara. And the highwayman turned and walked swiftly until he was out of sight.
“There’s no time to be lost,” cried Barbara. The other four women sat as if in a trance. Their deliverance had been so unexpected that they were still suffering from the shock.
Miss Sallie began to wring her hands in frantic despair.
“Girls, girls!” she wept, “I have brought you to this pass! What shall we do? The man is sure to come back. We can’t stay here all night! Oh mercy! why did I ever consent to take this dangerous trip? It’s all my fault!”
Drop That Knife and Run!Drop That Knife and Run!
“Don’t cry, Aunt Sallie, dearest! It’s everybody’s fault, and you mustn’t waste your strength,” urged Ruth, trying to comfort her aunt, whose nerves had had about all they could endure by now. “What do you think we’d better do?” continued Ruth, turning to Barbara, who, with her pistol was keeping watch at the back of the automobile.
“I think we shall have to walk,” replied Barbara. “There is no other way, and we must start at once, before it gets dark. Ruth, you and Grace help Miss Sallie. Mollie, put all the valuables on the seat into my bag. There is no time to divide them now. We had better not try to carry anything except the small bags.”
The little company seemed to feel a kind of relief in submitting itself to Barbara’s direction. Each doing as she was bid, they started down the wood road, leaving the car with all their baggage behind them.
Miss Sallie had recovered her composure. The necessity of moving quickly, had taken her mind off the situation for the present, and she walked at as brisk a pace as did the girls.
Barbara had directed Mollie to walk a little in front and to keep a sharp lookout, while Bab brought up the rear and watched the sides of the road as vigilantly as a guard in war time, her pistol cocked, ready to defend and fight for her friends and sister to her last breath.
Presently curiosity got the better of Ruth.
“Bab,” she asked, “where on earth did you get that pistol?”
“From your father,” answered Bab. “That was the secret. Don’t you remember? But we must not risk talking now. The quieter we are the better. Voices carry in these woods.”
“You are quite right, Bab, dear,” replied Ruth, under her breath, and not another word was spoken.
Each one was engaged in her own thoughts as the silent procession moved swiftly on.
Miss Sallie was wondering whether they would ever see morning alive.
Grace, who was very devout, was praying softly to herself.
Ruth, in the innermost depths of her mind, was secretly enjoying the whole adventure, dangerous as it was.
Mollie was feeling homesick for her mother, while Bab had no time for any thought than the one that the highwayman might appear at any moment, and from any direction. Who knew but that he had turned and doubled on them, and would spring at them from the next tree?
Presently Mollie, who was a few feet in advance of the others, paused.
“Look!” she whispered as the others came up. “I see the light of a fire through the trees. I hear voices, too.”
Sure enough, through the interlacing branches of the trees, they could distinctly see the glow of a large fire.
“Wait,” exclaimed Bah under her breath. “Stand here at the side of the road, where you will be hidden. Perhaps we may find help at last.” Creeping cautiously among the trees she disappeared in the darkness. It seemed an age to the others, waiting on the edge of the narrow woodland road, but it was only a few minutes, in reality, before Bab was back again.
“They are Gypsies,” she whispered. “I can tell by their wagons and tents.”
“Gypsies!” exclaimed Miss Sallie, with a tragic gesture of both hands. “We shall all be murdered as well as robbed!”
“No, no,” protested Mollie. “I have a friend who is a Gypsy. This may be her tribe. Suppose I go and see. Let me go. Now, Bab,” as her sister touched her with a detaining hand, “I want to do something.”
And little Mollie, with set lips and pale cheeks, her courageous heart throbbing with repressed excitement, stole off into the dense shadows of the forest.
It seemed another age before the stillness was broken again by the sound of crackling underbrush, and Mollie’s figure was gradually outlined in the blackness.
“I couldn’t tell,” she said. “They seemed to be only men sitting around the fire smoking. I was afraid to get any nearer for fear one of them might be the robber. They say Gypsies can be very kind, but I think it would be better if we all went together and asked for help, if we go at all. The men looked very fierce,” she added faintly, slipping her hand into her sister’s for sympathy.
“Dearest little sister,” whispered Bab, kissing her, “don’t ever say again you are a coward.”
Then two persons emerged from between the trees on the other side of the road.
The five women held their breath in fear and suspense as the figures approached, evidently without having seen these women standing in the shadow. They were close enough now for the automobilists to make out that they were two women, one young and the other old apparently.
Suddenly, with a cry of joy and relief, Mollie sprang upon the elder of the two women, threw her arms about the stranger’s neck and burst into uncontrollable sobs.
“O Granny Ann, Granny Ann!” cried Mollie. “At the very time we needed your help most you have come to us. I hoped and prayed it was your tribe, but I couldn’t tell. There were only men.”
The old Gypsy woman patted Mollie’s cheek tenderly, while the little girl sobbed out the story of their evening’s adventure.
The others had been so surprised at Mollie’s sudden outburst that they stood silently by without interrupting the story; but all felt that a light was beginning to break on what a short time before had looked like a hopeless situation.
Granny Ann, the sixty years of whose life had been spent in wandering over many countries, was as unperturbed as if they had met by appointment. Her companion, a young Gypsy girl, stood quietly by without speaking a word.
“The ladies will be safe with us,” said the old Gypsy, taking them all in with a comprehensive sweep of her small beady eyes; “as safe as if they were in their own homes. I have had shelter and food from the young lady, and a Gypsy never forgets a kindness. Come with me,” she added, with a commanding gesture, and led the way to the encampment.
The Gypsy girl brought up the rear and the others trailed along in between, Ruth and Grace still assisting Miss Sallie over the rough places.
When they reached the camp the four Gypsy men, picturesquely grouped around the fire, rose to their feet and looked curiously but imperturbably at the party of women.
Granny Ann called a grizzled old man fromthe fireside speaking rapidly in a strange language, her own Romany tongue, in fact. After conferring with him a few moments, she turned to Miss Sallie.
“My rom,” she said (which in Gypsy language means husband), “thinks you had better stay here to-night. It would not be easy to find the gentleman’s house on such a dark night, but we can make you comfortable in one of our tents. He and the other men will take the horses and draw the steam carriage down the road until it is near enough to be guarded—if one of the young ladies will show the way. There is no danger,” she continued, sternly, as Miss Sallie began to protest at the idea of one of her girls going off with all those strange men. “A Gypsy does not repay a kindness with a blow. Come,” she called to the men, “that young lady will show the way.” And she pointed at Barbara, who had slipped the pistol into her belt, and was talking to Ruth in a low voice.
Miss Sallie explained to the girls what Granny Ann had decided was the best course for them to take, while the four men untethered the four lean horses and half-harnessed them, and the old Gypsy man gathered some coils of rope together.
Ruth insisted on accompanying Barbara, and the two girls led the way through the wood to the road, the men following with the horses.
They found the automobile exactly as it had been left, save in one particular. The murderous-looking dagger was gone. But the suit cases and numerous dress boxes were untouched.
The girls waited at one side while the Gypsies secured the ropes to the car and then to the collars of the horses. Two Gypsies walked on either side, holding the reins, while the other two ran to the back and began to push the machine. The horses strained at the ropes; then in an instant the automobile was moving easily, urged from the back and pulled from the front like a stubborn mule.
When the girls again reached that part of the road opposite the camp, the caravan came to a full stop.
Ruth directed that all the cushions be carried to the tent, together with the steamer rugs stored under the seats, the tea-basket and other luggage. The dismantled automobile was then left for the night.
Ruth and Bab found Miss Sallie waiting at the tent, a tragic figure in the darkness.
“I think we shall be comfortable enough, Aunt Sallie,” said her niece, after their belongings had been deposited in the tent. “We will fix you a nice bed, auntie, dearest, with steamer rugs and your rubber air cushion, and for the first time in your life you will be almost sleeping under the stars.”
But poor Miss Sallie only smiled in reply. She was too weary and exhausted to trust the sound of her own voice, now that danger was over and they had found protectors.
While Grace and Ruth arranged three beds inside the tent (Ruth and Bab having joyfully elected to sleep just outside) the two sisters made tea and opened up boxes of tea biscuits and Swiss chocolate which were always kept in the provision basket for emergencies.
Granny Ann had offered them food, but they had courteously declined, remembering tales they had heard of the unclean Gypsy, and giving as an excuse that they had a light supper with them. “Very light indeed,” commented Ruth later; “but I don’t think we’ll starve.”
“Now that everything is comfy,” observedGrace, “I, for one, think it is great fun. Our little house in the woods! For one night, it is almost as good as the cabin in the Berkshires.”
“Yes, for one night; but give me a roof when the rain comes,” cried Ruth.
“You are safe for to-night, at any rate, Ruth,” said Barbara, looking up at the sky through the branches of the tall forest trees. “There’s not a cloud, even as small as a man’s hand. And how bright the stars are! There comes the harvest moon. It looks like a great, red lantern.”
“Money, money!” cried Mollie excitedly.
“What is the matter with you, child?” said Miss Sallie, startled into finding her voice at last.
“Didn’t you see it?” said Mollie. “It was a splendid shooting star. It had a tail that reached halfway across the heavens. Don’t you know that, if you remember to say ‘money, money, money,’ before it fades out of sight or goes wherever it disappears to——”
“‘Oh, mother, where do the shooting stars go’?” laughed Ruth, breaking in upon Mollie—“you will inherit a large sum of money,” continued Mollie.
“We shall be sleeping at the feet of an heiress, then,” said Bab. “Or did the star fade out before you had finished, Molliekins?”
“I don’t know,” replied Mollie. “I was so excited that I forgot to look.”
By this time tea was ready and a rug had been spread in front of the tent for the guests to sit upon. Miss Sallie with her air cushion between her shoulders and the trunk of a tree that spread its branches over the tent, was beginning to feel that life, after all, held a number of pleasant things, including a certain favorite blend of tea that was as delicious, fragrant and expensive as heart could wish.
The night breeze touched their faces gently, and the stillness and sweet scents of the woods soothed them into forgetfulness of their troubles. While they sipped their tea and talked, in subdued voices, of the mystery of the forest at night, the Gypsy girl crept up and gazed curiously, almost wistfully, at them.
“Do have some chocolate,” called Ruth, as she held the box toward the girl. “Come over and sit down, won’t you? What is your name?”
“My name is Zerlina,” replied the Gypsy, as she nibbled gingerly at a piece of chocolate.
“And is Granny Ann your mother?” asked Ruth.
“She is my grandmother,” replied Zerlina. “My mother died many years ago.”
Ruth looked at her sympathetically. Theyhad, she thought, at least one thing in common in their widely separated circumstances.
“Would you like,” she asked gently, “to live in a city and go to school?”
For a moment Zerlina’s face flushed with a deep glow of color. Her eyes traveled from one to another of the automobile party. She noted their refined, well-bred faces, their dainty dresses, the luxurious pile of long silk coats and chiffon veils. Nothing escaped the child, not even the elegant little tea basket with its fittings of silver and French china.
“There are times when I hate this life,” Zerlina said finally, turning to Ruth, who was watching her curiously. “There are times in the winter when we have been too poor to go far enough South to keep warm. It is then that I would like the city and the warm houses. But my grandmother is very strict.”
She paused and bit her lip. She had spoken so fiercely that the girls had felt somewhat embarrassed at their own prosperity. “But,” continued Zerlina in a quieter tone, “when summer comes, I would rather be here in the woods. Gypsies do not live in houses,” she went on a little proudly. “My grandmother has told me that they have been wanderers for thousands of years. They do not go to school. They teach each other. My grandmother has taught me toread and write. She was taught by her mother, who was adopted and educated by a noble lady. But she came back to the Gypsies afterwards.”
“And your mother?” asked Mollie.
“My mother is dead,” returned Zerlina, and closed her lips tightly, as if to block all further inquiries in that direction.
“It is very interesting!” exclaimed Ruth. “And your education is then really inherited from your great-grandmother.”
“Yes,” assented the girl, “but I have inherited more than that—from my mother.”
The girls waited for Zerlina to finish. They hesitated to question her about her mother since it was evidently a forbidden subject with her.
“I have inherited her voice,” she added confidentially. “It may be that I shall be a singer some day.”
“Oh, really?” cried all the girls in unison.
“You will sing for us now, won’t you?” added Ruth.
“If you wish,” said Zerlina. “I will get my guitar.” And she disappeared in the darkness.
“Isn’t she pretty?” commented Mollie.
“How soft her voice is, and what good English she speaks,” marveled Ruth. “But then, we must remember her great-grandmother waseducated by a noble lady and transmitted her learning and manners straight to her.”
“Poor thing!” exclaimed Bab. “I am really very sorry for her. The instincts of her great-grandmother and her grandmother keep up a sort of warring inside of her. In the winter time she’s her great-grandmother, and in the summer time she’s a real Gypsy. There are times when she sighs for a steam-heated house, and times when she sighs for the open.”
“But it’s mostly the open she gets,” said Grace. “What do you suppose she meant when she said that Granny Ann was very strict?”
“I can’t imagine,” replied Ruth, “unless Granny Ann refuses to allow her to buy herself a warm house. Seriously, though, I should like to do something for a girl like Zerlina. She strikes me as being far from ordinary. But here she comes. We will hear her sing first. This beggar girl may be a future prima-donna.”
Zerlina emerged from the darkness, with an old guitar, and, sitting crosslegged on the ground, began to thrum an accompaniment. Then she sang in a deep, rich voice a song of the Gypsies. The song was in Spanish and the beat of the music was so weird and insistent that the listeners could hardly restrain themselves from joining hands and dancing in time to the rhythm.
They were thrilled by the romance of theGypsy camp and the charm of the girl’s singing. When she had finished they begged for more, and Zerlina was about to comply when a voice called her from the encampment. It was her grandmother’s, and what she said was not understood, since it was in the Romany language. But the girl leaped hurriedly to her feet.
“I will not sing again to-night,” she said. “The ladies are tired. Another time. Good-night,” And she slipped away in the darkness.
“Granny Ann is strict,” said Ruth. “You wouldn’t think she would object to Zerlina’s associating with a few girls her own age. I wonder why she doesn’t like to have her sing? Perhaps she is afraid she will run away, some day, and go on the stage.”
“I wish I had her beautiful voice,” sighed Grace. “Think what it could be made with proper training.”
“If she does not coarsen in feature, as so many of these dark women do,” observed Miss Sallie, “she will be very handsome some day.”
“And now for our lowly beds,” cried Ruth. “Barbara, you and I will sleep at the door of the tent like faithful slaves guarding their noble ladies. Nobody need be afraid. Granny Ann has promised to have a Gypsy man keep watch, and I have pinned my faith to Granny Ann. I believe she’s a woman of her word.”
“Mollie, you seem to be on such friendly terms with these people. What is your opinion?” asked Miss Sallie.
“I believe we shall be as safe as if we were in our own homes,” replied Mollie. “Granny Ann will keep faith with us. You will see. Perhaps she wouldn’t if she didn’t feel under obligations for a few sandwiches and lemonades, and things that I have made for her occasionally in the summer on hot days. But I know she’s a kind of queen in the tribe, and used to being obeyed.”
Fifteen minutes had hardly slipped past when Miss Sallie and “The Automobile Girls” were sound asleep, Bab with her pistol at her side.
To be awakened early in the morning by the songs of birds and innumerable woodland sounds, and find one’s self in the very center of a forest, is no common experience. To the girls, as they looked up through the leafy canopies, and then across the green aisles formed by trees that looked as if they might have stood there since the beginning of time—it was all very wonderful.
“How beautiful this is!” exclaimed each one, as she opened her eyes upon the wooded scene.
“Girls,” cried Ruth, “I wouldn’t have missed this for worlds! No wonder Zerlina hates to live in a house in the summer time. Isn’t this fun? Shall we go over there and wash our faces in that little brook!”
Off they scampered, a curious procession for the deep woods, each with a burden of toilet articles, soaps and sponges, wash rags, mirrors and brushes.
“Well,” exclaimed Miss Sallie Stuart as she knelt beside the stream and dipped her hands into its cool depths, “I never expected to come to this; but it is very refreshing, nevertheless.”
“This is Nature’s bathtub, auntie, dear. We should be thankful to have it so near. I suppose that is the reason the Gypsies chose this spot to camp in,” said Ruth.
“My dear child,” replied her aunt, “I know very little about the Gypsy race; but I do know one thing: that a Gypsy never took advantage of any kind of a bathtub, wooden, tin, porcelain or Nature’s.”
The girls all laughed joyously.
The fright of the day before had not left a very deep impression. Sleep and a feeling of safety had almost effaced it.
Presently they were back at the tent makingtea and boiling eggs supplied by Granny Ann from the Gypsy larder. Ruth wanted to build a fire, but they decided that the ground was too dry to risk it. The Gypsies had dug a small trench all around their camp fire. If they had not, those splendid old woods would have been in serious danger of burning, explained Barbara, who had been reading a great deal in the papers about forest fires.
It was arranged, after breakfast, that one of the men should ride over with a note to Major Ten Eyck’s, asking the major to send for them at once, and also to dispatch his chauffeur to mend the slashed tires.
The Gypsy camp had been astir long before the automobilists arose, and the men were now sitting at their ease around the clearing, smoking silently, while Granny Ann and two other women were moving about the tents, “cleaning up,” as Ruth expressed it.
“They have a lovely chance to learn housework,” said Grace. “But they do seem to air their bedclothes. Look at all those red comforts hanging on the bushes.”
“It’s easier to air them than to make up the beds,” observed Mollie. “All you have to do in the morning, is to hang your blanket on a hickory limb, and when you go to bed, snatch it off the limb and wrap up in it for the night.”
“Do you suppose they sleep in their clothes?” pondered Barbara.
“Why, of course they do,” replied Ruth. “You don’t for a moment imagine they would ever go to the trouble of undressing, only to dress again in the morning?”
“Girls, girls,” remonstrated Miss Sallie, “we must not forget that we are accepting their hospitality. Besides, here comes that young woman with the voice.”
“Let’s take Zerlina as a guide, and go for a walk,” cried Ruth. “I’m so full of life and spirits this morning that I couldn’t possibly sit down like those lazy men over there, who seem to have nothing to do but smoke and talk. Auntie, dear, will you go, or shall we fix you a comfortable seat with the cushions under this tree and leave you to read your book?”
“I certainly have no idea of going for a walk,” replied Miss Stuart, “after what I’ve been through with these last two days. Nor do I want you to go far, either, or I shall be terribly uneasy.”
But Miss Sallie was not really uneasy. It was one of those enchanting mornings when the mind is not troubled with unpleasant feelings. Perhaps the Gypsies had bewitched her. At any rate she sat back comfortably among the cushions and rugs, with her writing tablet, thenew magazines and the latest novel all close at hand, and watched the girls until they disappeared down the leafy aisles of the forest. How charming their voices sounded in the distance! How sweet was the sound of their young laughter! Miss Stuart closed her eyes contentedly. The spell of the place was upon her, and she fell asleep before she had opened a single magazine or cut one leaf of the new novel.
In the meantime, the four girls, led by Zerlina and her dog, were following the little stream in its capricious windings through the forest.
A squirrel darted in front of them with a flash of gray and jumped to the limb of a tree.
Zerlina made a sign for the girls to be silent. Then speaking to her dog in her own language, he sat down immediately on his haunches and never moved a muscle until she spoke to him again. She walked slowly toward the tree, where the squirrel sat watching them uneasily. A few feet off she paused and gave a shrill, peculiar whistle. The squirrel pricked up his ears and cocked his head on one side. Zerlina whistled again and held out her hand. The charm was complete. Down the limb he crept until he reached the ground, paused again, surveyed the scene with his little black eyes, and with one leap, settled himself on her shoulder.
“Oh!” cried the impulsive Ruth and the spell was broken.
Away scampered the frightened little animal.
“How wonderful!” exclaimed the others as they gathered around Zerlina, who held herself with a sort of proud reserve as they plied her with questions.
“It is because I have lived in the woods so much of the time,” she explained. “One makes friends with animals when one has no other friends.”
“Zerlina,” said Ruth, “let me be your friend.”
“Thank you,” replied the girl simply, “but perhaps we shall not meet again. You will be going away in a little while.”
“You must come and sing for us at Major Ten Eyck’s,” said Ruth, “and then we shall see if we cannot meet again.”
They were walking in single file, now, along the stream. Mollie was gathering ferns which grew in profusion on the bank. Barbara, who was behind the others, had stopped to look at a bird’s nest that had fallen to the ground and shattered the little blue eggs it had held.
As she knelt on the ground, something impelled her to look over her shoulder. At first Bab saw only the green depths of the forest, but in a moment her eyes had found what had attracted them.Stifling a cry she rose to her feet. What she had seen was gone in an instant, so quickly that she wondered if she had not been dreaming. Peering at her through the leaves of parted branches she had seen a face, a very strange, old face, as white as death. It was the face of an old person, she felt instinctively, but the eyes had something childlike in their expression of wonder and surprise.
When it was gone, Barbara felt almost as if she had seen a ghost. She leaned over and dipped her hands into the stream to quiet her throbbing veins.
“Truly this wood is full of mysteries,” she thought to herself as she turned to follow the others. But she decided not to say anything about it. They had had enough frights lately, and she was determined not to add another to the list.
By this time the girls had reached a lovely little pool set like a mirror in a mossy frame. On one side the bank had flattened out and was carpeted with luxuriant, close-cropped grass, almost as smooth as the lawn of a city park. The trees had crowded themselves to the very edge of the greensward. They closed up on the strip of lawn like a wall and stretched their branches over it, as if to shield it from the sun.
“Did you ever see anything so sweet in allyour life?” cried Ruth, as she flung herself on the turf.
“Never!” agreed the others with enthusiasm, following her example.
“This pool is supposed to be haunted,” said Zerlina, and Bab started, remembering the face she had just seen.
“Haunted by what, Zerlina?” she asked.
“It is not known,” replied the Gypsy girl, mysteriously; “but on moonlight nights some one is often seen sitting on this bank.”
“What some one—a man or a woman?” persisted Bab.
“It is not known,” repeated Zerlina. “But it has been seen, nevertheless. Besides,” she continued, “this is supposed to be the meeting-place of fairies. Though people do not believe in fairies in this country.”
“I do,” declared Mollie, and the other girls laughed light-heartedly.
“And,” went on Zerlina, “the deer who live in this wood come here to graze and drink water from the pool.”
“Now, that I can believe,” said Ruth.
“Well, it is an enchanted spot,” cried Mollie. “It must be. Look at Zerlina’s dog.”
The shepherd dog had taken his tail in his mouth and was circling slowly. The girls watched him breathlessly as he turned fasterand faster. Once he fell into the stream, but he never stopped and continued to circle so rapidly, as he clambered out, that he lost all sense of direction and waltzed over the girls’ laps, staining their dresses with his wet feet, while they laughed until the tears rolled down their cheeks, and the woods rang with the merry sound.
At a word from the Gypsy girl the dog stopped and stretched himself exhausted, on the ground.
“Zerlina, you must have bewitched that animal,” cried Ruth. “But wasn’t it beautiful? If we had been lying down he would have waltzed right over our faces.”
“Girls,” proposed Grace, after they had recovered from the exhibition of the waltzing dog, “let’s go in wading.”
“What a great idea, Grace!” cried Ruth. In a jiffy they had their shoes and stockings piled together on the bank and had slipped into the little pool of clear, running water.
Zerlina watched them from the bank. Perhaps Miss Sallie was right, and water had no charms for this Gypsy child.
As they clung to each other, giving little shrieks of pleasure and making a great splashing, Mollie exclaimed suddenly:
“Look, look! Here comes a man!”
Sure enough there was a man emerging from the trees on the other side of the stream. Thegirls scampered excitedly out of the water, giggling, as girls will do, and sat in a row on the bank, tailor-fashion, hiding their wet feet under their skirts.
By this time the stranger had come up to the pool and stood gazing in amazement at the party of young women.
“Well, for the love of Mike!” he exclaimed.
It was Jimmie Butler, one of the major’s house party.
Then he caught sight of the pyramid of shoes and stockings; his face broke into a smile and he laughed so contagiously that everybody joined in. Once more the enchanted pool was given over to merriment.
“Where on earth did you come from?” demanded Ruth.
“And where have you been?” he echoed.
Whereupon everybody talked at once, until all the adventures had been related.
“And you’re actually alive, after all these hairbreadth escapes, and able to amuse yourselves in this simple fashion?” gasped Jimmie Butler. “Ladies, putting all joking aside, permit me to compliment you on your amazing nerve. I don’t think I ever met a really brave woman before, and to be introduced to five at once! Why, I feel as if I were at a meeting of suffragettes!”
“But how did you happen to be here?” repeated Ruth.
“Oh, I’m just out for a morning stroll,” he replied. “I came to see the haunted pool.”
“Just take another little stroll, for five minutes, until we get on our shoes and stockings. Then we’ll all go back to our home of canvas,” said Ruth.
By the time they had reached the encampment Bab had almost forgotten about the strange face she had seen, and they were all talking happily together about Ten Eyck Hall, which, according to Jimmie Butler, was the finest old house in that part of the country.
In the meantime the major himself had arrived in his automobile, while the boys had ridden over on horseback. When the others came up, they found the chauffeur busily engaged in repairing the tires of Ruth’s automobile. Miss Stuart and Major Ten Eyck were deep in conversation, while the Gypsies stood about in groups, looking at the strangers indifferently.
“Miss Ruth,” said the major, after greetings had been exchanged, “if you can run this machine, suppose we start at once and leave my chauffeur to follow with yours. You ladies must be very hungry. We will have an early luncheon.”
The girls said good-bye to the Gypsies andthanked them graciously. Ruth had tried to compensate Granny Ann, but the old woman had haughtily refused to accept a cent.
“A Gypsy takes nothing from his guest,” she said, and Ruth was obliged to let the matter drop. However, she made the old Gypsy promise to bring her granddaughter over to see them very soon, and as they disappeared down the road, they saw Zerlina leaning against a tree, watching them wistfully.
At last, the journey which had been so full of peril and adventure was ended, and “The Automobile Girls” arrived safely at Ten Eyck Hall.