THE GIPSY CARAVAN
"Hello, fellows. Look at this. Well, of all the----"
The boys looked up at Bob's startled exclamation, and for a moment
everything else was forgotten, while they stared with wide-open eyes at
the grotesque procession that came into view.
Down the road crawled a little caravan of ten or a dozen ramshackle
wagons, drawn by tired-looking horses. At their heads or alongside
walked a number of men of various ages, dressed in all sorts of
nondescript costumes. Their swarthy faces and dark eyes, together with
the large earrings that they wore, gave them a distinctly piratical
appearance, and to the boys they looked as though they might have been
taken bodily from one of the old romances of the Spanish Main. They
might easily have been the blood brothers of the rascals who sang in
thundering chorus:
"Fifteen men on the dead man's chest,
Sing heigho, and a bottle of rum."
But, alas! there were no murderous pistols thrust in their belts or
cutlasses held between their teeth to complete the illusion, and the
picturesque crowd resolved itself into a troop of gipsies going into
camp.
The place they had pitched upon for their temporary stay was about three
miles distant from the boys' camp and had been chosen with a keen eye to
its advantages. Either through a scout sent ahead or simply by that
marvelous sixth sense so highly developed in wandering peoples, they had
elected to stop at a little ravine through which ran a brook of sparkling
water and surrounded by a wood that furnished ample supplies for their
campfires. It was fascinating to see the dexterity, born of long
experience, with which the camp was pitched. The horses were unhitched
in a twinkling and turned out to graze, while the wagons were ranged in
a single circle around the camp. Some brown, dirty canvas and a few
branches of trees were quickly transformed into tents. Wood was cut, a
rough fireplace built, a huge kettle suspended over the flames that
crackled merrily beneath, and the women and girls who had descended
from the wagons busied themselves in bringing water from the brook
and preparing supper for the tired and hungry crew. The men, after
the rougher work was done, sprawled around upon the grass, talking
in a language unintelligible to the boys, and occasionally casting an
indifferent look at the group in the automobile, who had watched the
scene with breathless interest.
"Well," said Bert at last, as he roused himself with an effort, "they
haven't asked us to stay to supper, and I suppose it isn't good manners
to hang around while they are eating, even if this is a public place. So
here goes," and throwing in the clutch he started the "Red Scout" off
toward camp.
The liveliest interest, not unmixed with envy, was shown by the other
boys at the recital by the auto squad of the afternoon's adventure.
"Gee," said Jim Dawson, "you fellows certainly do have all the luck. If
I'd been with you there'd have been nothing more exciting than a rabbit
scurrying across the road. To-day I stayed behind and here you fellows
have watched the pitching of a gipsy camp."
"Never mind, Jim," said Tom, "we'll all go over soon and take it in. I
suppose they'll be there for some time."
"There's no telling," remarked Dick. "Sometimes they stay in one place
for two or three weeks, until the call of the road becomes so strong
that they can't resist it. Then again, after a day or two, they
"'Fold their tents like the Arabs
And silently steal away.'"
"'Steal' is a very good word to use in that connection, Dick," said Mr.
Hollis, as he joined the group, when after an abundant supper they sat
around the campfire; "for if what we hear of gipsies in general is true,
they spend most of their time in stealing."
"Perhaps, though," he went on, "that is putting it a little too harshly.
There is a strong prejudice against them because of their vagrant mode
of life, and there is no doubt that the distinction between 'mine'
and 'thine' is very vague in their minds. Hen-roosts are apt to be
mysteriously thinned out when they are in the neighborhood, and many a
porker has uttered his last squeal when gripped by a gipsy hand. Horses,
too, occasionally vanish in a way that would mean a short shrift and a
rope in the Western country, if the thief were caught. But, on the other
hand, they seldom commit deeds of violence. You never hear of their
blowing open a safe, and, though they are passionate and hot tempered,
they are not often charged with murder. The Bowery thug and yeggman are
much more dangerous enemies to society than the average gipsy. Perhaps
the worst indictment to be brought against them is that in years past
they were frequently guilty of kidnapping. But that was in the earlier
days, when the country was sparsely settled and communication was
difficult. Then, if they got a good start, it was often impossible to
overtake them. But to-day, with the country thickly populated and the
telegraph and telephone everywhere, they would most certainly be caught.
No doubt the elders of the tribe shake their heads sadly as they reflect
that the kidnapping industry is no longer what it has been."
"How do they make a living, anyway?" interjected Dave. "What they steal
isn't enough to keep them alive."
"Well," returned Mr. Hollis, "the men are very keen traders in horses.
They know a horse from mane to hoof. They can take a poor old wreck
of a cart horse and doctor him up until he looks and acts like a
thoroughbred. Very few men can get ahead of them in a trade, as many
a farmer has found to his cost. The women are often very expert in
embroidery and find a ready sale for their really beautiful work. Then,
too, as fortune tellers they are proverbial the world over. Cross a
gipsy's palm with gold or silver and she'll predict for you a future
that kings and queens might envy. It is safe to say that during their
stay here they will reap quite a harvest--enough at least to suffice for
the simple needs of to-day. As for to-morrow, they don't care. That
can take care of itself. They are as irresponsible as crickets or
butterflies. They 'never trouble trouble till trouble troubles them.'"
"Well," said Dave, "they get rid of a whole lot of needless worry,
anyway. They don't suffer as much as the old lady did who said that
she had had an awful lot of trouble in her life and most of it had
never happened."
The boys laughed, and Tom asked:
"Where do they get their name from? Why do they call them gipsies?"
"Because," answered Mr. Hollis, "they were supposed to be descended
from the old Egyptians. They resemble them in features, and many
words in their language are derived from Egypt. Many scholars think,
however, that their original home was India. Europe has been familiar
with them for the last four hundred years. They have always been
Ishmaelites--their hand against every man and every man's hand against
them--and by some they have been believed to be the actual descendants
of Ishmael, the outcast son of Abraham. Everywhere they have been
despised and persecuted. In the old days they were accused of being
sorcerers and witches. They have been banished, burned at the stake,
broken on the wheel, hung, drawn and quartered. It is one of the
miracles of history that they have not been wiped out altogether.
But they have always clung closely together and persisted in their
strange, wandering way of life. They have a language of their own
and certain rude laws that all the tribes acknowledge. The restless
instinct is in their blood and probably will be there forever. They
are a living protest against civilization as we understand it.
Occasionally, one of them will join the ranks of ordinary men, but, far
more frequently, they gain recruits from those who want to throw off
the shackles and conventions of the settled life. More than one man and
woman have listened to the 'call of the wild' and followed the gipsies,
as the children in the fable followed the Pied Piper of Hamelin. But
now, boys," he said, rising, "it's time for 'taps.' To-morrow evening
we'll all go over and take a closer look at these gipsies of yours."
All through the following day the boys, though attentive to what they
were doing, were keenly alive to the promised treat that night. There
was an early supper, to which, despite the under-current of excitement,
they did full justice, and then in the gathering dusk the boys set out
for the grove. Since not all could go in the automobile, it was decided
that all should go on foot, and with jest and laughter they covered the
three miles almost before they knew it.
Quite different from that of the day before was the sight that burst
upon them as they rounded a curve in the road and came upon the
picturesque vagrants. Here and there were torches of pitch pine that
threw a smoky splendor over the scene and hid all the squalor and sordid
poverty that had been so evident in the broad light of day. By this time
it was fully dark, but a full moon cast its beauty over the trees and
flecked the ground with bright patches that added to the torches made
the whole grove like a fairyland. The news of the gipsies' coming had
reached the surrounding towns, and there was quite a gathering of pretty
girls and country swains, whose buggies stood under the trees at the
roadside, while youths and maidens wandered among the wagons of the
caravan. At the open door of one of the vans a young gipsy drew from a
violin the weird, heart-tugging strains that have made their music
famous throughout the world. Others sat around their fire and talked
together in a low tone, casting furtive glances at the visitors, whose
coming they seemed neither to welcome nor resent. With their instinctive
appreciation of the fine points in any animal, the eyes of some of them
brightened as Don threaded his way through the different groups, but,
apart from that, they gave no sign that they were conscious of the
newcomers.
With the gipsy women, however, it was different. This was their hour and
they improved it to the utmost. Withered crones and handsome girls with
curious turbans wound about their heads went from group to group,
offering to tell their fortunes, provided their palms were crossed.
There was no difficulty about this, as most of the girls had come there
with that one desire and the gallant youths who escorted them urged them
to gratify it regardless of expense. If the recording angel put down
that night all the lies that were told, all the promises of wealth and
title and position that sent many a giddy head awhirl to its pillow, he
was kept exceedingly busy. Just for a lark, the boys themselves were
willing patrons of these priestesses of the future; but little of what
was promised them remained in their memory, except that Tom was to meet
a "dark lady" who was to have a great and happy influence upon his life.
The boys chaffed him a good deal about this mystical brunette, but he
maintained with mock gravity that "one never knows" and that perhaps the
swarthy soothsayer "knew what she was talking about after all."
In view of the unusual circumstances, Mr. Hollis had not insisted upon
the ordinary rules, and it was nearly midnight when the boys, having
trudged back to camp, prepared to retire.
"What time is it, anyway, Dick?" yawned Bert, as they started to
undress.
"I'll see," said Dick, as he reached for his watch; "it's just----"
He stopped aghast as the chain came out of his pocket with a jerk. His
watch was gone.
At this instant a shout came from Bob Ward's tent: "Say, fellows, have
any of you seen my scarfpin? I can't find it anywhere. I'm sure I had it
on when I started."
Bert looked at Dick and Dick stared back at Bert. The same thought came
into their minds at once.
"Stung," groaned Dick, as he sank down heavily on his bed.
At once the camp was in commotion. Everyone made a hasty inventory of
his belongings and the relief was general when it was found that nothing
else was missing. Their hearts were hot with indignation, however, at
the loss of their comrades. Dick's gold watch had been a graduation
present and Bob's scarfpin had held a handsome stone, so that the money
loss was considerable. But deeper yet was the sense of chagrin voiced by
Jim Dawson:
"Well," said he, disgustedly, "if this isn't the limit. Here we are,
city fellows who think we are up to snuff. We are surrounded by
pickpockets every day and nothing happens. Then we come out in the
country and are roasted brown by a band of wandering gipsies."
By this time Mr. Hollis, aroused by the unusual stir, had hastily dressed
and joined the excited group. The facts were quickly detailed to him,
and, as he listened, his face set in hard lines that boded ill for the
thieves. He first directed that a thorough search be made in order to be
perfectly sure that the missing articles were not somewhere about the
camp. When careful examination failed to reveal them, doubt became
certainty. If only one thing had been lost it might have been set down to
carelessness or accident, but that two should disappear at the same time
pointed to but one explanation--theft. And it was a foregone conclusion
that the thieves were to be found in the gipsy camp.
The more hot-headed were for starting out at once to regain the watch
and pin at any cost. But this was vetoed by Mr. Hollis, who recognized
the futility of attempting anything at so late an hour. He promised that
early in the morning they should all go together, and with that promise
they were forced to be content.
There was very little sleep for the boys that night, and at the first
streak of dawn the whole camp was astir. Breakfast was swallowed
hastily, and Bert whistled for Don as the boys made ready to start.
"Here, Don, old fellow, good dog," he called when the whistle failed to
bring him; but no Don appeared. Then a thought suddenly struck Bert.
When had he last seen the collie? In the excitement last night he and
the other boys had given no thought to the dog. He recalled with a
sudden sick feeling that he had last seen him in the light of the gipsy
torches. His heart smote him for his forgetfulness. Was it possible that
the gipsies had stolen Don also? Why not? He never would have stayed
away of his own accord. The collie was a splendid animal of the purest
breed and would easily bring a large price if offered for sale anywhere.
A fierce rage flamed in Bert--a rage shared by all the others when he
hastily told them of the suspicion that every moment was becoming a
conviction--and it was lucky for the abductor of Don that he did not at
that moment meet Bert Wilson face to face.
With Dick, Tom and Bob, he leaped into the "Red Scout", and taking up Mr.
Hollis as they came to the door of his tent, they swung into the broad
high road, leaving the others to follow as fast as they could.
"Now, purr, old Scout," said Bert as he threw in the clutch; and the "Red
Scout" purred. It leaped forward like a living thing, as though it pulsed
with the indignation and determination of its riders. They fairly ate up
the three miles in as many minutes, turned the curve of the road just
this side of the gipsy camp and--
The camp was gone!
Gone as though it had dropped into the earth. Gone as though it had
melted into the air. Utterly and completely gone. The ashes of last
night's fires, some litter scattered here and there, alone remained to
mark the spot that a few hours before had been so full of life and
animation.
They leaped from the car and scattered everywhere looking for signs to
indicate the direction the caravan had taken. They had certainly not
come south by the boys' camp. It was equally certain that they had not
gone directly north, as this led straight to a large town that they
would instinctively avoid. This narrowed the search to east and west
roads, from which, however, many byroads diverged, so that it left them
utterly at sea.
"The telephone," cried Bert; "let's try that first."
They bundled into the car and a few minutes brought them to the nearest
town. Picking out half a dozen addresses along different roads, they
called them up. Had they seen a band of gipsies going by? The answer
"No" came with exasperating monotony, until suddenly Bert leaped to his
feet.
"Here we are, boys," he cried. "Bartlett on the Ashby road, eight miles
from here, saw them go by two hours ago. Now let's get busy."
They flew down the Ashby road and in a few minutes came to the Bartlett
farm. Yes, they had passed there and they certainly were traveling some.
A couple of miles further on the road forked. There was a negro cabin at
that place and they might get some information there. He hoped so,
anyway. Good luck, and with a word of thanks, the boys rushed on.
A stout negress washing clothes under the tree at the fork of the road
wiped the suds from her hands with her apron as she came forward.
"Dey sholy did go pass hyar, gemmun, and dey wuz drivin' as do de ole
Nick was affer dem. Dat's a pow'ful po' road up dataway and der hosses
wuz plum tired. Dey kain't be ve'y far ahaid, I specs."
Exultingly Bert threw in the high speed. Their quarry had been run down
at last. The motor fairly sang as they plunged up the road. Turning a
curve to the right they came upon the procession of carts, now toiling
along painfully. Bert never hesitated a second, but rushed past the line
of wagons until he had reached the head of the caravan. Then he swung
the "Red Scout" squarely across the road and with Mr. Hollis, Dick, Tom
and Bob, sprang to the ground.
[Illustration: Then he swung the "Red Scout" squarely across the
road.--(_See page 89_)]
Consternation plainly reigned in the halted carts. The men crowded
forward and hastily consulted. A moment later an old man, evidently the
chief, came forward. He was prepared to try diplomacy first, and with an
ingratiating smile held out his hand to Mr. Hollis. The latter, ignoring
the extended hand, came straight to the point.
"I want three things," he said, "and unless you are looking for trouble,
you'll hand them over at once. I want the pin and watch and dog your
people stole from us last night."
The leader's smile faded, to be replaced by an ominous scowl.
"It's a lie," he said sullenly, "my people stole nothing. Get out of our
road," he snarled viciously, while his followers gathered threateningly
around him.
The air was surcharged with danger and a fight seemed imminent, when
suddenly a familiar bark came from one of the vans. Bert dashed forward,
thrusting aside a young gipsy who sprang to intercept him. He threw open
the van door, and out rushed Don, mad with delight. He had chewed in
half the rope that held him and the frayed remnant hung about his neck
as he leaped on Bert and capered frantically about him.
The game was up! Fear and chagrin were painted on the gipsies' faces.
They might have bluffed through as regards the stolen articles and it
would have been almost impossible to prove their guilt. But here was
the living proof of theft--proof strong enough to land their party
behind the bars. Moreover, the great dog was no mean addition to the
little force that faced them so undauntedly. It was plainly up to them
to temporize. As Bob with regrettable slanginess, but crisp brevity,
summed up the case: "They had thought to make a quick touch and getaway,
but fell down doing it."
The chief held up his hand. "Wait," he said, "while I talk to my people.
Perhaps they have found something. I will see."
A whispered conversation followed and then he came forward sheepishly,
holding out the watch and pin. "They found them on the grounds. I did
not know," he mumbled.
Mr. Hollis took them without a word and motioned Bert to get the auto
ready. He had gained his point and did not care to press his advantage
further. After all, they were almost like irresponsible children, and,
despite his resentment, he felt a deep pity for these half-wild sons of
poverty and misfortune. Their code was not his code, nor their laws his
laws. They were the "under dogs" in the fight of life. Let them go.
The motor began to hum. The party piled in, with Don between them,
barking joyfully, and they swept down the shabby line of carts with not
a glance behind them. They waved gaily to the old black mammy, who
beamed upon them as they went by. A thought struck Bert, and turning to
Tom, he shouted:
"The dark lady, Tom. The dark lady that the gipsy prophesied would bring
you luck."
"Sure thing," grinned Tom. "It certainly is luck enough to get old Don
back, to say nothing of the watch and pin. Isn't it, old fellow?" and he
patted the dog's head lovingly.
So thought the rest of the boys, also, when the "Red Scout" reached camp.
Don was overwhelmed with caresses and strutted about as though he had
done it all. As Jim put it: "Napoleon on his return from Elba had
nothing on Don." It was late when the excitement subsided and the
campers went weary but happy to bed.
Mr. Hollis, Bert and Dick lingered about the fire. Only these older ones
had realized how ticklish a situation they had faced that day. They
didn't like to think what might have happened if it had come to an open
fight.
"The way you faced that crowd was the pluckiest thing I ever saw, Mr.
Hollis," said Bert; "but suppose it had come to a showdown?"
"Well," laughed Mr. Hollis, "it was a case of touch and go for a minute.
But I counted on the fact that we were right and they were wrong.
'Conscience makes cowards of us all.' Behind us were law and order and
civilization. Behind them crowded nameless shapes of fear and dread that
robbed their arms of strength and turned their hearts to water. It was
simply a confirmation," he concluded, as he rose to say good night, "of
the eternal truth:
"'Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just.'"