THE WAY IS BARRED
The Overland Riders were calm. The thrilling experiences through which
they had passed, while engaged in war work in France, had taught them to
be so.
"Do--do you think--she is hurt?" stammered Emma.
"We sincerely hope not," answered Anne. "Judging from the reports, it
was Grace who fired the last shot we heard," said Elfreda Briggs.
"Still, that does not prove anything. I would suggest that we arm
ourselves at once and prepare for trouble. There appears to be plenty of
it abroad in these mountains."
Acting on her suggestion, the four girls hurried to their tents and
armed themselves with rifles, then, taking positions around the outer
edge of the camp, just within the bushes, they watched and waited,
observed by Washington Washington with wide, frightened eyes.
It was Elfreda who made the first discovery. She caught the faint sound
of some one moving through the bushes and raised her rifle.
"Halt! Who comes?" she demanded as she saw the bushes sway, a few yards
ahead of her, as some one worked their way slowly through them.
"It's Grace," came the answer. "Help me in."
"Girls!" called Miss Briggs sharply, springing forward. She paused at
the first glimpse of Grace Harlowe's face, which was pale; then hurried
to her.
There were flecks of blood on Grace's cheek, and by that token Elfreda
Briggs knew that she had been hit.
"Got a smack, I see."
"Just a mere scratch," replied Grace. "It made me feel weak and dizzy,
but I shall be myself in a few moments."
Elfreda led her companion into the camp, then examined Grace's wound,
which, as the Overland girl had said, was a mere scratch over the left
temple. Miss Briggs washed the wound where a bullet had barely grazed
the skin, and applied an antiseptic.
"Lie down a few minutes, Loyalheart," she urged.
Grace shook her head.
"I shall get my bearings sooner if I keep on my feet. I am ashamed of
myself to give way to a little thing like a bullet scratch."
"That's because you're out of practice. You haven't been shot since last
summer," said Emma Dean soothingly. "You won't mind it at all after you
have been shot again a few times."
Grace laughed so merrily that, for the moment, she forgot the pain of
her wound.
"Emma Dean, you are a regular tonic. I thank you. Now I am all right.
Where is Hippy?" she questioned, gazing about her.
"Hippy!" wailed Nora Wingate. "Where is he?"
"He went out when we heard you shoot," Elfreda informed Grace. "Did he
miss you?"
"I have not seen Hippy since I left this camp. He must have got lost,"
replied Grace. "Elfreda, fire three interval shots with your rifle to
guide him in."
Miss Briggs did so, and all listened for an answer, but none came.
Acting on Grace's suggestion, Elfreda fired further signal shots, and
still no reply from Lieutenant Wingate.
Grace, finally becoming disturbed at Hippy's long absence, announced her
intention of going out to look for him, and was giving her companions
directions about signaling her when Hippy Wingate came strolling into
camp, his clothing torn and his face scratched from contact with brier
bushes. "Hulloa, folks," he greeted, grinning sheepishly.
"My darlin', my darlin', are you hurt?" cried Nora, hurrying to him
solicitously.
"No. I got lost and just found myself. Where do you suppose I was? Why
less than ten rods from this camp all the time. Never saw such a country
for mixing a fellow up. Confound the whole business. If my property is
in such a mess as this I'll set the lazy mountaineers at work clearing
it up before I'll set foot on it. Hey! What hit you, Brown Eyes?"
"A bullet."
"I heard it. I mean I heard the shot, and, like the hero I am, I ran to
the rescue, but got all tangled up," explained Hippy.
"Didn't you hear our shots?" demanded Anne.
"I heard 'em, but I was too busy untangling myself to answer. I thought
the shots sounded off the other way and got deeper into the mess trying
to find the camp."
"You are a fine woodsman," rebuked Elfreda.
"Yes, and you wouldn't be here yet had it not been for me," declared
Emma Dean.
"How's that?" demanded Hippy.
"Well, you see, when we found that you did not come back and we surmised
that you were lost, I just sat down and con-centrated. Then you came
back, just like the cat did in the old story."
"Where did you get that piffle?" chortled Hippy when his laughter had
subsided.
"From a professor who visited our town last winter. He said that, by
con-centrating, one could bring anything to pass that he
wished--provided he con-centrated intently enough and long enough. Why,
he said that a person, by con-centrating properly, could move a house if
he wished."
The Overlanders shouted.
"You'd better see a doctor," advised Hippy. "Brown Eyes, you haven't
told me what happened to you. Who shot you?"
"I don't know. I did not see the person who did it. He saw me,
evidently. Perhaps, catching a glimpse of my campaign hat, he thought it
was you and shot at me. I let go at him, and we had it out. His second
shot hit me and my third hit him. How badly I don't know, but he
plainly had enough and got away without even picking up his rifle. It is
out there yet, unless he returned for it."
"Did you follow him?" asked Nora.
"A few yards only, then I got dizzy and had to sit down for a few
moments. That is all I know about it. I think we had better pack up and
move."
"I sincerely hope the next stopping place may be more peaceful than
those that have preceded it," said Miss Briggs.
"Please hurry, Washington," admonished Grace. "We have delayed much too
long, and if we do not make haste we shall not reach our day's objective
before dark. I don't fancy traveling here at night without a guide. Can
you find your way about in the night, Washington?"
"Yes'm."
"I doubt it," observed Emma.
Soon after that, Grace now feeling fit again, the Overlanders were
mounted and on their way, following a narrow trail, dodging overhanging
limbs, pausing now and then to consult their map, for they had found
that Washington could not be depended upon to guide them. He was useful,
but apparently was not overstocked with information about the mountains.
It was after seven o'clock that evening before they swung into a valley
that, according to the map, narrowed into a cut in the mountains,
through which ran a stream of sparkling water fed by equally sparkling
mountain rivulets that rippled down to it in silver cascades. The
Overland party was still riding under difficulties, for the trail was
narrow and, in some instances, overgrown. They were now looking for the
stream that the map indicated as being somewhere in the vicinity.
"Here's water," called Lieutenant Wingate, who was in the lead.
"Washington!" called Grace. "What is this stream?"
"Ah reckons it am watah," answered the colored boy, which brought a
laugh from the Overlanders.
"Laundry must have been 'con-centrating,'" observed Anne Nesbit.
"This may be Spring Brook," called Miss Briggs. "We shall have to take
for granted that it is."
"I think it is," answered Grace as they rode out into a fairly open
space and discovered the cut in the mountains through which the stream
was flowing.
The ponies already were showing their eagerness to wade into the water
and drink, and Grace had just headed her mount towards the stream when
she brought him up with a sharp tug on the bridle-rein.
Just ahead of her stood a tall, gaunt mountaineer leaning on his rifle.
The expression on his face was not one of welcome, but Grace Harlowe saw
fit to ignore that.
"Howdy, stranger," she greeted, smiling down at the man.
"Howdy," grunted the man, as they regarded each other appraisingly.
"Where do ye-all reckon yer goin'?" he demanded gruffly.
"Is this Spring Brook?" interjected Hippy.
"Ah reckon it air."
"Then that is where we are going."
"Yer kain't go this a-way," replied the mountaineer.
"Why can't we?" demanded Grace.
"'Cause Ah says ye kain't."
"Perhaps you do not know who we are. We are a party out for a ride
through the Kentucky mountains. We ride every summer. We have no other
object, and, if you will pause to consider, you will see that we can do
no harm to you or any one else by going where we please in this part of
the country," urged Grace.
"Ah knows who ye be. Turn aroun' an' git out o' here right smart!"
"You are making a mistake, sir," warned Grace. "If there is good reason
why we should not go up this gorge we will go around it on the ridge."
"Ah said git out! Ye kain't go up the gorge nor over the ridge. Git out
o' the mountains!"
"Not this evening, we won't!" shouted Lieutenant Wingate, now thoroughly
angered, as he gathered up his reins.
_Bang!_
A bullet from the mountaineer's rifle went through the peak of Hippy
Wingate's campaign hat, lifting it from his head and depositing it on
the ground.
"Don't draw!" cried Grace in a warning voice as Hippy let a hand slip
from the bridle-rein.
"Put yer hands up! All of ye!" commanded the mountaineer, the muzzle of
his rifle swinging suggestively from side to side so as to cover the
entire party.