TRAMPS
Of course the other girls laughed at Amy, as they usually did at her
“imaginings.”
“Maybe it was a squirrel----” began Mollie.
“Planning to attack us from the rear,” finished Betty.
“Or perhaps it was only a cricket chirping in the tree,” drawled Grace,
biting into her third sandwich with relish.
“Chumps, all of you,” said Amy, in mild disgust, while the girls
giggled enjoyably. “You can make fun all you like, but I know I heard
somebody.”
“Well, suppose you did?” asked Betty, easily. “Maybe some summer
picnickers like ourselves, seeking a cozy spot wherein to dine.”
“Maybe,” said Amy, doubtfully, sticking to her point with unusual
stubbornness. “But picnickers wouldn’t go sneaking around, spying on
us, would they?”
“Oh, Amy dear, desist,” begged Grace, lazily. “We came here for lunch,
not melodrama.”
“Well, have it your own way,” retorted Amy, feeling a bit abused by the
general lack of belief. “But don’t be surprised if, when we get back to
the water, we find the _Gem_ gone.”
Betty sat up, startled. The next moment she was briskly gathering
together the remains of the lunch.
“What’s the great hurry?” protested Grace. “Here, come back with that
sandwich, Betty Nelson. It’s only half eaten.”
“Your hard luck, old dear,” said Betty, unfeelingly, adding, as she
scrambled to her feet and brushed away the remaining crumbs: “I don’t
know whether Amy was dreaming or not, but I’ve got a hankering to get
back to the _Gem_, all the same.”
Mollie got to her feet, eyeing the Little Captain curiously.
“Amy got you scared?” she queried.
“Not scared--just curious,” retorted Betty, as she led the way back
toward the spot where they had left the motor boat.
Amy and Mollie followed close behind her, leaving Grace to arrange her
hair with the aid of a tiny mirror she always managed to have somewhere
about her person.
So it came to pass that, a few seconds later, she was startled by the
sound of voices lifted angrily. She scrambled to her feet, thrust the
mirror hastily into the pocket of her jacket, and made after the girls.
[Illustration: “PLEASE GET OUT OF OUR BOAT,” SAID BETTY.
_The Outdoor Girls Around the Campfire._ _Page 71_]
Coming in sight of the _Gem_ she witnessed a most amazing tableau.
There, sprawling on the deck of the pretty boat, lazily taking their
ease in the pleasant sunshine, were two men. By their ragged clothing
and the two weeks’ growth of beard on their faces they were easily
classed as tramps of the most unpleasant order.
One was short and fat, red of countenance, with a bald head and
black, beady eyes that made Grace think of a canary bird. The second
was a tall, lanky fellow with a long, lantern-jawed face and a cruel
thin-lipped mouth.
Grace thought her heart would stop beating. In a moment, the unpleasant
truth flashed upon her. They were alone on this remote island with two
disreputable men who might be, probably were, desperate characters.
Wide-eyed, she looked at the Little Captain. What would she do? Betty
was not long in answering that question.
Her little nose was up in the air and her eyes looked black as they
flashed at the men.
“Please get out of our boat at once,” she said in a voice that was
deadly quiet. “You have no right there and you know it.”
“Findin’s keepin’s, lady,” returned the fat tramp in an oily voice.
“We’re havin’ a fine time. Why should we move?”
“Because I say so,” Betty shot back at him. “And I happen to own that
boat.”
“Ah, now, lady,” whined the tall fellow, in a thin nasal voice, while
he shifted his position to a more comfortable one, “you wouldn’t
disturb two old fellers who are restin’ so pretty, would you now? You
look like your heart wuz as kind as your face is pretty.”
At the look that followed these words Mollie stepped forward
impulsively, flinging an arm about the Little Captain.
“You great big loafer!” she cried furiously, “you wouldn’t dare say a
thing like that if we had a man with us. He--he’d duck you in the river
till you were nearly dead.”
“’Twould be a nice cool death to die this kind of weather,” retorted
the tall rascal, with his evil grin. “Bring on your hero, lady. We’d
like to meet him.”
“Sure,” sneered the other. “Where is the little dear?”
Mollie was about to retort when Betty laid a warning hand on her arm.
“Go over there,” she directed in a whisper, indicating by the barest
motion of her hand the tree about which the rope attached to the _Gem_
was wound, “and untie the knot in the rope. Don’t let them see you do
it. Leave the rest to me.”
Mollie shot a sharp look at the Little Captain and by the light in her
eyes decided that Betty had thought of a plan. She began immediately
sidling over toward the tree, but seeing that the eyes of the tramps
followed her, she paused and stooped over as though she were tying the
lace of her boot.
At the same moment Betty’s voice came to her, clear and sharp as a
pistol shot. She looked up and saw that the Little Captain grasped a
black, ominous looking, object in her hand.
“It’s a pistol!” Mollie whispered, gaspingly.
Then seeing that the attention of the tramps was diverted from herself,
she slipped over to the tree and began deftly pulling out the knot
which Betty had put in the thick rope.
“A pistol,” she thought, her heart hammering. “How in the world did
Betty get it?”
Meanwhile Betty was getting in a little fine work, the artistry of
which the Outdoor Girls did not fully appreciate till afterward.
“Now I think you’ll move,” the Little Captain called to the startled
tramps. Her voice was not like Betty’s at all, so thin and metallic
it was. There was resolution in that voice, and the tramps knew she
meant what she said. “I’ll give you till I count up to ten,” she went
on. “Then if you’re not both completely out of sight I’ll try my aim on
you. I’m very much in need of a little practice.”
But she did not need count up to five. Out of that boat leaped the two
men, the tall one’s long legs carrying him a little in advance of his
fat comrade.
Headlong they scuttled up the side of the hill, making wildly for the
shelter of the trees while Betty, turning so as to keep them covered,
counted calmly and not too slowly, up to ten.
As the fleeing tramps disappeared from view at the counting of the last
numeral, Betty excitedly turned her weapon on the girls.
“Get in the boat--get in!” she urged, flourishing the pistol wildly.
“Get in before they find out it’s all a sh--sham. Don’t stand gaping
there. Get in, I tell you!”
The girls obeyed, more for the sake of getting out of range of that
wildly moving pistol than from fear of the tramps. They were still
gasping and a bit dazed from the suddenness of what had happened when
the putt-putt of the _Gem’s_ engine fell reassuringly on their ears.
At the same moment the little boat fairly leapt away from shore, Betty
tensely grasping the wheel.
It was not till they were well out upon the river that Betty relaxed
her position. Then, to the girls’ utter surprise and horror, she began
to laugh hysterically.
“Mollie! Take the wheel! Do!” she cried, as the _Gem_ zigzagged crazily
across the water. “I’ve got to have my laugh out or I’ll d-die.”
Obediently Mollie took the wheel and the Little Captain made room for
her. Then she covered her face with her hands and rocked back and forth
with merriment--or tears. The girls were not sure which.
“Betty, are you crazy?” cried Mollie. “Stop it this minute and tell us
what’s the matter with you.”
“There’s n-nothing the matter with me,” gasped Betty, lifting a face
that was flushed with laughter. “Only it’s so--so--funny.”
“Come out of it, Betty Nelson, and explain yourself,” demanded Grace.
“What’s so funny?”
“That!” replied Betty, making a little helpless movement with her hand
toward the pistol which had dropped unnoticed to the deck. “They--those
men--looked so--funny----” She began to laugh again while the girls
looked at one another in despair.
“Poor Betty,” sighed Grace. “She was such a happy girl!”
“Never,” retorted Betty, her voice still tremulous with laughter, “as
happy as she is at this minute. Oh, girls, it was such a good joke and
it got across so beautifully.”
As she threatened to go off again into another paroxysm of mirth,
Mollie leaned forward and picked up the pistol from the deck, holding
it gingerly.
“If you don’t explain at once, Betty Nelson,” she threatened,
“I’ll----” then she stopped while her eyes widened in amazement and
dawning comprehension. “Why, it’s--it’s--a fake,” she stammered.
“You wretch,” cried Grace, while Amy leaned over Mollie’s shoulder to
peer at the counterfeit weapon. “And all the time you fooled us as much
as you did the tramps!”
“Well, you must admit they were some fooled,” said Betty, leaning
back, weak with her laughter. “To see them galloping up the hill with
a perfectly harmless little toy pointed at their backbone was a sight
I’ll never forget. I--I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”