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!"
[Illustration: 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 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.