We stood in complete dismay--I did, at any rate--for about as long
as it takes to peel a potato. There could be no doubt in which
direction the van had moved, for the track of the wheels was plain.
It had gone farther up the lane toward the quarry. In the earth,
which was still soggy, were a number of footprints.
"By the bones of Polycarp!" exclaimed the Professor, "those hoboes
have stolen the van. I guess they think it'll make a fine Pullman
sleeper for them. If I'd realized there was more than one of them
I'd have hung around closer. They need a lesson."
Good Lord! I thought, here's Don Quixote about to wade into another
fight.
"Hadn't we better go back and get Mr. Pratt?" I asked.
This was obviously the wrong thing to say. It put the fiery little
man all the more on his mettle. His beard bristled. "Nothing of the
sort!" he said. "Those fellows are cowards and vagabonds anyway.
They can't be far off; you haven't been away more than an hour, have
you? If they've done anything to Bock, by the bones of Chaucer, I'll
harry them. I _thought_ I heard him bark."
He hurried up the lane, and I followed in a panicky frame of mind.
The track wound along a hillside, between a high bank and a forest
of birch trees. I think the distance can't have been more than a
quarter of a mile. Anyway, in a very few minutes the road made a
sharp twist to the right and we found ourselves looking down into
the quarry, over a sheer rocky drop of a hundred feet at least.
Below, drawn over to one side of the wall of rock, stood Parnassus.
Peg was between the shafts. Bock was nowhere to be seen. Sitting by
the van were three disreputable looking men. The smoke of a cooking
fire rose into the air; evidently they were making free with my
little larder.
"Keep back," said the Professor softly. "Don't let them see us." He
flattened himself in the grass and crawled to the edge of the cliff.
I did the same, and we lay there, invisible from below, but quite
able to see everything in the quarry. The three tramps were
evidently enjoying an excellent breakfast.
"This place is a regular hang-out for these fellows," Mifflin
whispered. "I've seen hoboes about here every year. They go into
winter quarters about the end of October, usually. There's an old
blasted-out section of this quarry that makes a sheltered dormitory
for them, and as the place isn't worked any more they're not
disturbed here so long as they don't make mischief in the
neighbourhood. We'll give them...."
"Hands up!" said a rough voice behind us. I looked round. There was
a fat, red-faced villainous-looking creature covering us with a
shiny revolver. It was an awkward situation. Both the Professor and
I were lying full length on the ground. We were quite helpless.
"Get up!" said the tramp in a husky, nasty voice. "I guess youse
thought we wasn't covering our trail? Well, we'll have to tie you
up, I reckon, while we get away with this Crystal Pallis of yourn."
I scrambled to my feet, but to my surprise the Professor continued
to lie at full length.
"Get up, deacon!" said the tramp again. "Get up on them graceful
limbs, _if_ you please."
I guess he thought himself safe from attack by a woman. At any rate,
he bent over as if to grab Mifflin by the neck. I saw my chance
and jumped on him from behind. I am heavy, as I have said, and he
sprawled on the ground. My doubts as to the pistol being loaded were
promptly dissolved, for it went off like a cannon. Nobody was in
front of it, however, and Mifflin was on his feet like a flash. He
had the ruffian by the throat and kicked the weapon out of his hand.
I ran to seize it.
"You son of Satan!" said the valiant Redbeard. "Thought you could
bully us, did you? Miss McGill, you were as quick as Joan of Arc.
Hand me the pistol, please."