"Suppose I should be arrested!" thought Barbara uncomfortably. "It would
be distinctly unpleasant to be hauled off to jail, while Aunt Sallie and
the girls remain stuck in the mud, not knowing my fate, and helpless to
save me! I may meet old Dobbin's owner at any minute!"
It was after six o'clock, and, because of the heavy storm, was almost
dusk. Barbara had decided to go to the end of the lane and find the main
road to New Haven, hoping to sooner discover help in that direction.
Before long she came to a fork in the road. By riding close to the
sign-post she found a hand pointing: "Nine Miles to New Haven." On she
sped through the mud and rain, slipping and sliding on the horse's back,
but still holding tight to his mane.
"Stop! Hello, there! Why, Mirandy, if that ain't my own hoss, and that
girl astride it running off as fast as she can! Hello! Stop!" The farmer
lashed the horse hitched to his rickety old buggy, and dashed after
Barbara, who had ridden past without noticing them. "Stop, thief!"
Down to her wet toes sank Barbara's heart. The worst she had feared had
happened. If only she had seen their buggy in time to stop first and ask
their help. Now, rushing by them, how could she explain? Horse thief,
indeed.
"Oh, please," she said, her voice not quite steady, "I am not exactly
running away with your horse; I am only going for help! My friends----"
The farmer grabbed the horse savagely by the mane. "Come on," he said.
"You can tell your story at the nearest police station. I ain't got time
fer sech foolishness. What I see, I see with my own eyes. You're plain
running away with my hoss!"
"John," pleaded the farmer's wife, "you might listen to the young lady."
But Barbara's looks were against her. The rain had beaten her hair down
over her eyes. Her clothes were wet and covered with mud from trying to
help Ruth. What could she do? Barbara was frightened, but she kept a
cool head. "I'll just let the old man haul me before the nearest
magistrate. I expect _he'll_ listen to me!" She was shivering, but she
knew that to think bravely helped to keep up one's courage. "If only it
were not so awful for Aunt Sallie and the girls to be waiting there, I
could stand my part," murmured Bab.
For fifteen minutes captors and girl jogged on. Only the old man talked,
savagely, under his breath. He wanted to get home to his farmhouse and
supper, but this made him only the more determined to punish Barbara.
"I suppose we'll take all night to get to town at this rate," she
thought miserably.
For we are jolly good fellows, For we are jolly good fellows!
Barbara could hear the ring of the gay song and the distant whirr of a
motor car coming down the road. If only she could attract someone's
attention and make them listen to her! She could now see the lights of
the automobile bearing down upon them.
Like a flash, before the farmer could guess what she was doing, Barbara
whirled around on old Dobbin's back, and sat backwards. She put one hand
to her lips. "Oh, stop! Stop, please!" she cried, looking like a gypsy,
with her rain-blown hair and brown cheeks, which were crimson with
blushes at her awkward position.
On account of the rain, and the oncoming darkness, the car was going
slowly. At the end of one of the choruses the song stopped half a
second. One of the young fellows in the car caught sight of Barbara,
evidently being dragged along by the irate farmer and his wife.
"Hark! Stop! Look! Listen! Methinks, I see a female in distress," the
young man called out.
The car stopped almost beside the buggy, and one of the boys in the car
roared with laughter at Barbara's appearance, but the friend nearest him
gave a warning prod.
"Hold on there!" called the first young man. "Where are you dragging
this young lady against her will?"
"She's a hoss thief!" said the old man sullenly.
"I am no such thing," answered Barbara indignantly. Then, without any
warning, Barbara threw back her head and laughed until the tears ran
down her cheeks, mingling with the rain. It was absurdly funny, she
sitting backwards on an old horse, one hand in his mane, and the farmer
pulling them along with a rope. What must she look like to these boys?
Barbara saw they were gentlemen, and knew she had nothing more to fear.
"Do please listen, while I tell my story. I am not a horse thief! I've
some friends up the road, stuck in the mud with a broken tire in their
automobile. I saw this old horse in the farm-yard, and I borrowed or
rented him, and started for help. The old man wouldn't let me explain.
Won't you," she looked appealingly at the four boys in their motor car,
"please go back and help my friends?"
"Every man of us!" uttered one of the young fellows, springing up in his
car. "And we'll drag this old tartar behind us with his own rope! We'll
buy your old horse from you, if this young lady wants him as a
souvenir."
It was the farmer's turn to be frightened.
"I am sure I beg your pardon, miss," he said, humbly enough now. His
wife was in tears.
"Oh, never mind him," urged Barbara. "Please go on back as fast as you
can to my friends. You'll find them up the lane to the left. I'll ride
the old horse back to the farm, and settle things and join you later."
"Excuse me, Miss Paul Revere," disputed a tall, dark boy with a pair of
laughing blue eyes that made him oddly handsome, "you'll do no such
thing. Kindly turn over that fiery steed to me, take my seat in the car
and show these knights-errant the way to the ladies in distress. I want
to prove to you that a fellow can ride bareback as well as a girl can."
But the farmer was anxious to get out of trouble.
"I'll just lead the hoss back myself," he said. "No charge at all,
miss." Evidently afraid of trouble, the farmer made a hurried start
homeward, and was soon lost to view, while Barbara rode back to her
friends with help.
In ten minutes two motor cars were making their way into New Haven. The
passengers had changed places. Ruth sat contentedly with her hands
folded in her lap, by the side of a masculine chauffeur, who had
introduced himself as Hugh Post, and turned out to be the roommate, at
college, of Mrs. Cartwright's brother, Donald. Barbara, wrapped in
steamer rugs, sat beside the boy with the dark hair and blue eyes, whom
Miss Sallie had recognized as Ralph Ewing, son of the friends with whom
they expected to board at Newport.
It was arranged that Barbara and Ruth were to sleep together the first
night at New Haven. The truth was, they wanted to talk things over, and
there were no connecting doors between the three rooms. The hotel was an
old one, and the rooms were big and dreary. They were connected by a
narrow private hall, opening into the main hall by a single door, just
opposite Ruth's and Barbara's room. The automobile girls were in a
distant wing of the hotel, but the accommodations were the best that
could be found.
Miss Sallie bade their rescuers a prompt farewell on arrival at the
hotel. "We shall be delighted to see you again in the morning," she
said, "but we are too used up for anything more to-night."
Barbara was promptly put to bed. She was not even allowed to go down to
supper with the other girls, but lay snuggled in heavy covers, eating
from a tray by her bed. Once or twice she thought she heard light
footfalls outside in the main hall, but she had noticed a window that
opened on a fire escape, and supposed that one of the hotel guests had
walked down the corridor to look out of this window.
In a short time Ruth came back and reported that the automobile girls,
including Miss Sallie, were ready for bed.
"I am not a bit sleepy. Are you?" Ruth asked Barbara. "I will just jump
in here with you, so we can talk better. We've certainly had enough
adventures for one day!"
"Oh, no!" replied Barbara; "I feel quite wide awake." Five minutes later
both girls were fast asleep.