Chapter VI: A Forest Scrimmage

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!"

"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, bracelets and 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!"

"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 from the 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.