It was not such a difficult matter, after all, to win permission from
Miss Sallie and the major to take the walk through the forest. The major
explained to Miss Sallie that Stephen was a safe and careful guide who
knew the country by heart, and that if the girls were equal to the walk
there would be no danger in the excursion. The party, however, dwindled
to five persons, Bab and Ruth, Stephen, Jimmie and Alfred. The latter
appeared early, equipped for the walk, carrying a heavy cane, his
trousers turned up over stout boots.
"Now, Stephen," said Miss Sallie, "I want you to promise me to take good
care of the girls. You say the woods are not dangerous, although a
highwayman stepped out of them one evening and attacked us with a knife.
But I take your word for it, since the major says it is safe and I see
Alfred is armed."
Everybody laughed at this, and Alfred looked conscious and blushed.
"Doesn't one carry a cane in this country?" he asked.
"Not often at your age, my boy," replied Jimmie. "But I daresay it will
serve to beat a trail through the underbrush."
"Come along, girls; let's be off," cried Stephen, who at heart was
almost a Gypsy, and loved a long tramp through the woods. He had
strapped over his shoulder a goodly sized box of lunch, and the
cavalcade started cheerfully down the walk that led toward the forest, a
compact mass of foliage lying to the left of them.
"Isn't this fun?" demanded Jimmie. "I feel just in the humor for a
lark."
"I hope you can climb fences, girls," called Stephen over his shoulder,
as he trudged along, ahead of the others.
"We could even climb a tree if we had to," answered Bab, "or swim a
creek."
"Or ride a horse bareback," interrupted Jimmie, who had heard the story
of Bab's escapade on the road to Newport.
"This is the end of uncle's land," said Stephen, at last. "We now find
ourselves entering the black forest. Here's the trail," he called as the
others helped the two girls over the dividing fence.
"All right, Scout Stephen," replied Jimmie. "We are following close
behind. Proceed with the march."
Sure enough, there was a distinct road leading straight into the forest,
formed by ruts from cartwheels, probably the carts of the woodcutters,
Stephen explained. The edges of the wood were rather thin and scant,
like the meagre fringe on a man's head just beginning to turn bald at
the temples; but as they marched deeper into the forest, the trees grew
so thickly that their branches overhead formed a canopy like a roof.
Squirrels and chipmunks scampered across their path and occasionally a
rabbit could be seen scurrying through the underbrush.
"Isn't this great!" exclaimed Stephen, after they had been walking for
some time. "Uncle says there's scarcely such another wood in this part
of the country."
"Don't speak so loud, Stephen," said Jimmie. "It is so quiet here, I
feel as if we would wake something, if we spoke above a whisper."
"Let's wake the echoes," replied Stephen and he gave a yodel familiar to
all boys, a sort of trilling in the head and throat that is melodious in
sound and carries further than an ordinary call. Immediately there was
an answer to the yodel. It might have seemed an echo, only there was no
place for an echo in this shut-in spot.
They all stopped and listened as the answer died away among the branches
of the trees.
"Curious," said Jimmie. "It was rather close, too. Perhaps one of your
woodcutters is playing a trick on us, Stephen. Suppose we try again, and
see what happens!" Jimmie gave another yodel, louder and longer than the
first. As they paused and listened, the answer came again like an echo,
this time even nearer.
"Let's investigate," proposed Alfred. "I think it came from over there,"
and he led the way through the trees toward the echo.
"Halloo-o," he called, "who are you?" and the answer came back
"Halloo-o, who are you?" followed by a mocking laugh.
"Well, after all, it isn't any of our business who you are," cried
Stephen, exasperated, "and I don't think we had better leave the trail
just here for a fellow who is afraid to come out and show himself," he
added in a lower tone.
There was no reply and they returned to the cartwheel road and began the
march again.
"You were quite right, Stephen," said Ruth, "why should we waste our
time over an idler who plays tricks on people?"
There was another laugh, which seemed to come from high up in the
branches; then sounds like the chattering of squirrels, followed by low
whistles and bird calls. They examined the branches of the trees around
them, but there was nothing in sight.
"Oh, go along!" exclaimed Alfred angrily. "Only cowards hide behind
trees. Brave men show themselves."
Silence greeted this sally, also, and they trudged on through the forest
without any further effort to see the annoyer. Several times acorn
shells whizzed past their heads, and once Jimmie made a running jump,
thinking he saw some one behind a tree, but returned crestfallen. A
surprise was in store for them, however. They had been walking for some
time when the trail, which hitherto had run straight through the middle
of the wood, gave a sudden and unexpected turn, to avoid a depression in
the land, overgrown with vines and small trees, and now dry from the
drought.
They paused a moment on the curve of the path to look across at the
graceful little hollow which seemed to be the meeting place of slender
young pine trees and silver birches gleaming white among the dark green
branches.
"How like people they look," Bab whispered. She never knew just why she
did so. "Like girls in white dresses at a party."
"And the pine trees are the men," whispered Jimmie. "Look," he said
excitedly, under his breath, "there's a man! Perhaps it's the----"
He stopped short and his voice died away in amazement. Barbara said
"Sh-h-h!" and the others paused in wonder. Just emerging from the hollow
on the other side, was the figure of a man. All eyes saw him at the same
moment and two pairs of eyes at least recognized a green velveteen
hunting suit. As the figure turned for one brief instant and scanned the
forest they saw his face in a flash.
"It's José!" they gasped.
"Bab," exclaimed Ruth, "he is wearing the green velveteens!"
"I know it," replied her friend. "But are we sure it was José?"
"No; we aren't sure," answered Stephen. "It certainly looked like José,
but we'll give him the benefit of the doubt, at any rate."
From beyond the hollow came another yodel.
"By Jove!" said Jimmie, "nothing but a tricky foreigner, after all, and
I was just beginning to like him too."
"He's more than a trickster," Bab whispered. "He's wearing a green
velveteen suit."
"Well, what of it?" asked Stephen.
"It's the same suit the highwayman wore who slashed the tires of the
automobile."
"Whew-w-w!" cried the boys.
"Be careful," whispered Ruth. "Don't let him hear us. Do you think he
saw us?"
"No," replied Alfred, "or he would never have yodeled."
Barbara began to consider. Should she tell about the knife, or should
she wait? She believed that if she told it would only complicate matters
and bring Zerlina, the Gypsy girl, into the muddle. Suppose she told,
and then, when they reached home, they found that José had been away
that morning? It would immediately call down upon him the suspicions of
the whole party, suspicions perhaps undeserved. Bab had never had cause
to regret her ability to keep a secret, and she concluded to test it
again by holding her peace a little longer.
"José or no José, let's go on and have our good time," exclaimed
Stephen. "Everything depends on whether José was at home or not this
morning. If he wasn't, why, then he'll have to give an account of
himself. And if he was, we shall have to consult uncle about what to do.
We will hunt the man out of these woods, anyway. He has no business
lurking around here."
Once more they started off, and were not troubled again by the yodler.
Presently the jangle of a bell was heard in the distance, a pleasant
musical tinkle in the midst of the green stillness of the forest.
"What on earth is _that_?" exclaimed Ruth, a little nervous now from the
nearness of the robber.
"If I am not mistaken," replied Stephen, "that is old Adam, the
woodcutter. He has been living in these woods all his life, seventy
years or more. He looks almost like a tree himself, he is so gnarled and
weather-beaten and bent."
In a few moments the woodman's cart hove into sight, drawn by a bony old
horse from whose collar jangled the little bell. The cart was loaded
with bundles of wood, and Adam walked at the side holding the rope lines
in one hand and flourishing a whip in the other, the lash of which he
carefully kept away from his horse, which was ambling along at its
pleasure.
"Good day, Adam," said Stephen. "How are you, and how is the wood
business?"
"Why, it's Mr. Stephen!" cried the old man, touching his cap with one of
his knotted hands. "The wood business is good, sir. We manage to live,
my wife and I. Although I'm wishin' t'was something else kept us going.
I never fell a tree, sir, I don't feel I'm killin' something alive. They
are fine old trees," he went on, patting the bark of a silver birch
affectionately. "I would not kill one of these white ladies, sir, if you
was to pay me a hundred dollars!"
"It's a shame, Adam," replied Stephen. "It must be like cutting down
your own family, you have lived among them for so many years. How is the
hermit? Do you give him enough wood to keep him alive in the winter?"
"He's not been himself of late," answered Adam, lowering his voice.
"He's always strange at this time of the year."
"Do you think he'll see us if we go over?" asked Stephen.
"I think so, sir," replied Adam. "No matter how bad off he is, he's
always kind. I never see him angry."
"Well, good-bye, Adam, and good luck to you," said Stephen, dropping a
piece of money into the wrinkled palm, and they continued their journey
through the wood.
The little bell resumed its tinkle, and the cart was soon out of sight.