THE SEARCH
When Dorothy told her folks of what had happened, the boys could
scarcely believe the strange story. That any one should actually make
such a wild-west attempt at robbery, within reach of the Cedars,
certainly did seem incredible. However, there was no disproving the
marks on the girl's arms, where they had been rudely tied, nor could
any one deny that in the attempt to remove her bracelet her delicate
wrist had been badly bruised. At first it was thought best to at once
notify the police, but, upon further consideration, Major Dale advised
keeping the matter quiet, hoping that some one in the neighborhood
would fall upon a clue to the daring young highwayman.
"I do hope the mystery will be cleared up before I leave for camp,"
remarked Dorothy, as the family sat in the beautiful library at the
Cedars, discussing the strange affair. "I should never be satisfied
with a written account of what may happen, when you find the culprit."
"Oh, we can tell you that right now," declared Nat, warmly. "When we
find him we will lynch him, burn him at the stake, and have him
imprisoned for life. When that sentence shall have been served we will
make a fresh charge against him, and perhaps----"
"Put him in a reformatory until he is twenty-one," finished Ned.
"Well, he deserves it! And to think that we should be almost within
call! Dorothy, I am inclined to question the wisdom of your silence.
Why didn't you yell like thunder?"
"And have him put some terrible gag down my throat?"
"And get all sorts of germs therefrom," added Joe. "Doro, you did just
right, and we are thankful that you got off as well as you did," and
her brother shook his head proudly, as if to say that a mere cousin
could hardly know how a closer relative would feel on such a matter.
"I wish I could have seen him," mused Roger, to whom the whole story
seemed like a wonderful tale of the West.
"Just for effect," put in Nat, with a laugh. "Roger is rather sorry he
missed the show--he always falls for the scary part."
But Dorothy did not mind the child's natural curiosity. In fact she
told him again just how the strange robber was dressed, and how fierce
he looked at her through the holes in the red handkerchief.
"Maybe he'll come around to the camp," said Roger hopefully. "I'm
going to have my rifle all ready."
"And I haven't yet told you of the adventure we had at Glenwood, just
before school closed," went on Dorothy, realizing fully how delighted
Roger would be with the tale of the hay wagon accident, as well as
that of the scattered sheep. "We very nearly all lost a week's
vacation through it, the principal was so indignant."
With splendid description, and with nothing startling left out,
Dorothy went over the story. Even the larger boys became interested,
and when she mentioned about the queer man, who sprang from nowhere,
and who did things so unlike other people, Ned and Nat exchanged sly
glances.
"You say he rode horseback like a real Indian?" queried Nat. "And that
he sort of made up to my old friend Tavia?"
"I knew you would be jealous, Nat," answered Dorothy. "But you really
must put Tavia out of your heart."
"Never!" and Nat struck a most tragic attitude. "Tavia will ever be
the queen of my heart!" and he made a thump toward that organ, with
seeming suicidal intent.
Dorothy laughed merrily. She knew very well how devoted Nat really was
to her own best girl friend, and she also knew that Tavia fully
appreciated the friendship of the handsome young cousin.
"When's Tavia coming?" asked Roger, another special friend of the girl
without wisdom.
"I hope she will be here before I start for the Lake," replied
Dorothy. "She always enjoys the Cedars more than she does any other
summer place."
"Hope she does, too," replied Nat, with unhidden warmth. "I want to
put a flea in her ear before she runs any further risks with the
knight of the horse."
"Really," said Dorothy, aside to Ned, when she had an opportunity of
speaking privately, "there is something very mysterious about that
man. I have an uncanny feeling regarding him, and Cologne told me he
had written a letter to Tavia."
"Did, eh?" and Ned, the elder of the White boys, instantly put on a
defensive air. "Well, whoever he may be, he had better be careful. We
happen to have a----"
"Children," called Major Dale, "if you are going out to look for your
bandit, you had best be at it. He will have all his best
holding-up-ing done and be off to his cave with the spoils before
you--beard him outside of his lair."
Just what Ned was going to confide in Dorothy about the strange man
was left unfinished much to Dorothy's disappointment, for she felt
that the boys had some important clue as to the identity of the queer
character. However, there was no time for further confidences, and she
was obliged to run off to her little personal duties, while the boys
made ready to explore the woods.
They proposed to lie in wait for the bandit for some time, and, if he
did not put in an appearance, they planned to explore the woodland for
at least half a mile around. They felt sure that they would come upon
his tracks not far from the spot where Dorothy had been attacked, for
it seemed reasonable to them, that any boy, or man, dressed as he was
described to have been gotten up, would not attempt to go far from his
hiding place.
With the White boys were two college friends, also home in North
Birchland on their vacation, so that when the party actually started
out they made up quite a squad.
"All got your guns?" asked Ned, as they sketched out their separate
lines of advance, and made secret marks to show the starting points.
"Yep," replied Ben Nichols, the biggest boy in all North Birchland,
whose particular "gun" was a golf driver.
So they started off. Roger insisted upon going, so Ned took him under
his protection, while Joe kept within safe distance of Don Aikins, the
young man from Bergen who claimed to be able to do anything, and any
one, in the athletic world. He swung his light stick expectantly at
the underbrush. Evidently he would be very pleased to have a swing at
the boy with the roped-on armor.
It was splendid to have something real to hunt for--what boy, or girl
either, would not have enjoyed the prospect--when there was not a
question of being held up, but of holding up?
Then they separated.
Meanwhile Dorothy was very anxious. What if the boys should really
come upon this daring young villian? What if little Roger should run
off, and be overtaken? She almost wished she had never told the whole
story, for as she believed it all a wild whim of some foolish boy, she
also felt that he would quickly see the danger of his sport. It was
the morning after her adventure, and she was able now to regard it
with less terror. Still her wrist did pain and she still trembled when
she recalled how the knife had slipped, and how easily it could have
severed her own vein, instead of severing the skin of the masked
bandit.
She was thinking this all over, while shaking the creases from her
lately-packed clothes, brushing the walking skirt, in which she had
traveled to North Birchland, and generally putting her things in
order, when Mrs. White, gowned for the street, entered the room.
"My dear," she began, "I am afraid you will lose the out-door joy of
this delightful morning. Why not slip into your riding habit, and take
a run on Cricket? He would be so glad to do it himself, poor pony! The
boys are so busy with their camping that they forget a young horse
wants some fun too."
"I should be glad to, Auntie, but I feel I must get my things
straightened out. The night I was packing up, the girls cut up so I
had to hurry everything into my boxes in all shapes," replied Dorothy.
"But I will take a canter as soon as I have finished," and she
gathered up the pieces of broken crockery that had remained in her
box after the "fall of China," as Tavia designated the accident to
her tea set. "How lovely you do look, Aunt Winnie," exclaimed the
girl, gazing with sincere admiration at the superb figure in rose
broadcloth. "I do believe you have grown taller!"
"It's the style of this gown, my dear. These lines affect the Venus
length. Ned declared when he first saw me in this that I was put
together in sections--couldn't possibly be all in one piece," and she
laughed in the deep, velvety tone that, perhaps, more than anything
else about her interesting personality, proclaimed her the woman of
unmistakable culture.
When she was gone, and Dorothy looked out into the inviting sunlight,
she hurried with her unpacking, and was soon dressed in the simple
tan-colored riding habit, that so well matched herself, as to make her
look like a shade of the morning, when she mounted the pretty little
bay pony, and set off at a canter along the North Birchland roads.
She soon forgot the fright of her boy-bandit, although she did wonder
just where the boys were, and if they had found any evidence of that
person's depradations.
"Come Cricket," she spoke to her pony. "We must try a cross-cut. I
want some mandrakes."
[Illustration: "I DON'T WANT TO STRIKE YOU," SHE SAID, "BUT YOU KNOW
PRISONERS MUST OBEY." _Dorothy Dale's Camping Days Page 54_]
The horse pricked up his ears in response. Dorothy turned into a field
where she thought the plum-shaped fruit would be found.
Dismounting, she threw the reins over Cricket's head and allowed him
to nibble at the sweet grass. Yes, there were the mandrakes with their
finger-shaped leaves. And they were turning yellow. Dorothy gathered a
few, then stood up to look about her.
"The bandit!" she gasped in a whisper.
He had his hand on Cricket's rein!
"Drop that!" she shouted. "You need not think I am afraid of you now!"
"What?" asked the boy, dropping his disguise like a thing held by one
single fastening and moving as if to spring up into the saddle.
Dorothy fairly jumped over the tall grasses, and was beside the horse
before the boy could mount. She grasped the bridle, and, at the same
time, more firmly grasped her riding crop.
"Now I have you," she declared, gazing in wonderment at the very
good-looking boy who tried in vain to escape from the stirrup in which
his boot had stuck. Seeing her opportunity, Dorothy dropped the bridle
and crop, and, with both hands, grasped the boy very much in the same
manner as he had seized her the day before.
"Let me go!" he snarled, struggling to free himself.
"Not just now," replied Dorothy, coolly, for she saw that she was
quite able to hold him, and that he was really only a very slight
young boy. "I am going to have a try at your game," she added, smiling
at her versatility.
The boy almost fell under the horse, but Cricket was so well trained
that he did not attempt to go beyond Dorothy's orders.
"Steady, Cricket!" she said softly. "Now young man," to her prisoner,
"I am going to do something very original. I am going to tie you to
that pretty tree."
"You are not!" he yelled, but she had her whip in her hand and she
raised it threateningly.
"I don't want to strike you," she said, "but you know prisoners must
obey. Just step over there a foot or two!"
There was such authority in her voice that the boy looked up
frightened.
"Don't hit me," he pleaded, "and I'll go!"
This was more than Dorothy expected, and as the lad moved to obey, she
raised, with her foot, the rope he had dropped with his disguise, and
grasped it in her hand with the riding crop.
"You see school girls learn a lot about 'team work,'" she said. "We
have to do it in all sorts of games."
"What are you going to do with me?" asked the boy, who actually seemed
more interested than frightened.
"Well, first I am going to make you secure. See, I just slip this rope
around you--you had it all ready with that slip knot," and she put it
over his head before he had a chance to protest. It fell over his
hands, and she pulled the cord tight. Then, as he was standing near
the tree, she dropped the rope to his feet, gave it a jerk, and
springing around the tree she had him secure with two turns of the
hemp, and a knot made after the style of one Nat had showed her how to
fashion.
The boy burst out laughing.
"You're all right!" he declared. "You beat me! Where did you learn?"
"Oh, I often played bandit with my brothers, but never with a stranger
before. Aren't you afraid? Don't you want to say your prayers?"
"I've forgotten them," he said with a smile. "Guess I forgot them when
I started in at this--the two don't hitch."
"Not exactly," and Dorothy was fixing the rope more tightly. "But you
did know some once. I can tell."
"How?" he asked.
"Because you don't swear. Didn't even when you cut your hand. How is
it?"
"Sore," he replied. "Please don't pass the rope over the bandage."
"I won't," answered Dorothy with some tenderness.
The humor of the situation was apparent to both of them.
Dorothy, however, was determined not to relent, she would hold him a
prisoner, she decided, until she found the boys. They would know best
what to do. Certainly such a desperado was unsafe to be at large.
"Are you going to make the fire now?" he asked, in a mocking tone.
"No, I am just going to jump on my horse and leave you here to think
of your sins. I am sure you will be here when I come back."
"Oh please, miss, don't go for the police," he begged, tears welling
into his deep blue eyes. "I have never done anything wrong before--and
I can see, now, how silly I was."
"I am not going after the officers," said Dorothy, "but you must know
that you have done very wrong--you might have hurt me seriously."
"Oh, please let me go!" he pleaded. "I will promise you anything, and
I never want to play Wild West again!"
"It was too real for play," retorted Dorothy. "But you need not be too
alarmed. My cousins are good boys."
"Your cousins?"
"Yes, the White boys. Do you know them?"
"Ned and Nat? Of course I do! Oh, don't tell on me! Really I shall be
disgraced forever."
He was crying. Dorothy felt herself weakening.
"I'll tell you where everything is, and I'll promise you anything in
the world if you will only not--give me up. I can't bear to think
of--poor mother. I could stand it--but she----"
"Is she ill?" and Dorothy quickly counted what a disgrace it would be
to a good mother to find her son in such a plight.
"Yes, she is away from me all the time--with the nurses, and I haven't
seen her in a week. It would kill her to know what I've been doing."
"Who takes care of you?" asked Dorothy. "Whom do you play with?"
"Oh, father is away, and I have plenty of money to buy guns and
things. Then I go to plays a lot."
This was the sequel to the story, Dorothy thought. Would it possibly
be safe for her to take the boy's word, and let him go? As he said he
would be disgraced, and perhaps her kindness to him might be his
clearest lesson.
How good-looking he really was! Even standing there, tied, his clear
face, and light hair, could not be undervalued, from the point of fine
looks.
Somehow he was just a bit like Roger--that same round baby face, and
that one unmanageable curl that would hang down on his forehead in
spite of years, and in spite of barbers.
"I'll tell you where I put all the things," he fairly sobbed, "and
I'll give them all back, if you will only give me one more chance. I
remember the Bible always gave folks a second chance."
Dorothy could not repress a smile. Yes, that was true--the Bible
taught forgiveness.
"Quick! They're coming!" he pleaded. "Untie me, and I--I'll run."
Dorothy heard the voices. Quickly she untied the slip knot and almost
as speedily as he had been tied, the lad was made free.
"No, don't run," ordered Dorothy. "You can just stay with me--get some
grass for Cricket and----"
"The togs! Where can I hide them?"
"Give them here! Hello, there boys! Did you find him?" called
Dorothy, as that very moment she raised a clump of brush to hide the
"togs" under, and at the same time she hailed the boys who just turned
into the open field from the search through the woods.
"Nary a find!" called back Nat. "Guess you were 'seeing things,' Doro.
We have come to the conclusion that the bandit lit on your brain."
"Maybe," replied Dorothy. "But see, my Sir Galahad," indicating the
captive, who stood beside her. "He saved Cricket from a ditch, and I
haven't had a chance to get his other name."
"Hello, Roy!" greeted Ned. "Glad to see you. Where have you been
keeping yourself? We wanted you the other day for the town games, but
couldn't find you."
"Hello, Roy!" shouted the approaching Joe.
"'Low there, Royal!" came from Roger, who just then threw away his
bandit stick.
"I'm glad you are all acquainted," added Dorothy. "I must ask Roy to
come up to the house this afternoon."
"I'll be there!" declared the boy, but only Dorothy knew why he spoke
so earnestly.