A REAL ADVENTURE
“What on earth is the matter?”
Seated on a bench beside Mabel and Eleanor, Bee sprang up in alarm as
Patsy fairly tore into the patio and dropped limply upon another seat.
“Oh, girls, the picture!” she exclaimed. “That cavalier! He _moved_!
I’m sure he did! It gave me the creeps! I was hustling through the
gallery and I heard a faint, queer noise. I can’t describe it. It
seemed to come right from the middle of the gallery. I looked toward
that picture and it moved, or else the cavalier moved. I don’t know
which.”
“You just thought you saw something move,” soothed Bee, sitting down
beside her chum and patting her hand. “It was probably the way the
light happened to strike on the picture that made it seem so. As for a
queer sound! Every sound echoes and re-echoes in these old corridors.
We heard you bang your door clear down here. You must have heard an
echo of that bang in the gallery.”
“I’m a goose, I guess.” Patsy sheepishly ducked her head. “I never
thought of the light falling like that on the picture. That’s what I
saw, I suppose.”
“What has happened, Patsy?” called a dignified but anxious voice from
the balcony. Miss Martha stood leaning over the rail looking down
concernedly at her niece.
“Nothing, Auntie, dear. I heard a queer noise in the gallery and it
startled me. Bee says it was only the echo from the bang I gave my
door. I’m all right,” Patsy sturdily insisted, rising from the seat and
blowing a gay little kiss to her aunt.
“I _heard_ you bang your door,” was the significant response. “When you
come back from your walk you must take one of those capsules that Dr.
Hilliard prescribed for my nerves.”
“All right,” Patsy dutifully agreed. “Good-bye, Auntie. We’re going
now.”
“Good-bye. Remember to be back by one o’clock.”
The three other girls calling a blithe good-bye to Miss Carroll,
the quartette left the patio with an alacrity that betokened their
eagerness for the proposed walk.
“I didn’t care to tell her about thinking I saw the picture move,”
confessed Patsy. “As it is I’m in for swallowing one of those fat nerve
capsules that Auntie always keeps on hand. I need it about as much as
a bird needs a hat. We’ll have to walk fairly fast to get to the beach
and back by luncheon time, girls. We’ll lay the book on the sand, then
watch from the bath house windows to see what happens.”
“I hope our wood nymph comes along and finds it to-day,” commented
Mabel. “Still she might not go near the beach for several days. After
all, there’s only a chance that she’ll see it and pick it up.”
“I have an idea she goes to the beach every day,” said Beatrice. “She
may be as curious about us as we are about her. She may be so shy,
though, that she won’t come near us, even if she does read our note.”
Thus discussing the object of their little scheme, the Wayfarers forged
ahead at a swinging pace. Soon they had left the highway and were on
the narrow, white, palm-lined road to the beach, talking busily as they
went. Once in the jungle four pairs of eyes kept up an alert watch on
both sides of the road in the hope of spying the elusive wood nymph.
[Illustration: She caught her breath sharply, … had the man in the
picture actually moved?]
They came at last to the beach, however, without having seen any signs
of their quarry. After they had gone through the little ceremony of
placing the book on the spot on the sands from which the other book had
disappeared, they went over to the bath house and, entering, eagerly
watched from one of its windows.
After lingering there for half an hour, during which period the fateful
book remained exactly where it had been laid, they gave up the vigil
for that day and reluctantly started on the homeward hike.
“Of course we couldn’t really expect anything would happen just because
we wanted it to,” declared Eleanor.
“Of course not,” her chums concurred. In her heart, however, each girl
had been secretly hoping that something _would_ happen.
The following morning saw the Wayfarers again on the sands. This time,
however, they had come down to the beach for a swim, Miss Martha
dutifully accompanying them.
Almost the first object which met their gaze when they reached the
sands was the book. It still lay exactly where Patsy had deposited it,
the white edge of the letter showing above the book’s blue binding.
“She hasn’t been here!” Patsy cried out disappointedly. “I guess our
plan isn’t going to amount to much after all.”
“Oh, don’t be discouraged,” smiled Eleanor. “Give her time.”
“Let’s forget all about it,” suggested Bee. “Nothing ever happens when
one’s awfully anxious for it to happen. It generally happens after one
has stopped thinking about it and gone on to something else. It’s a
glorious morning for a swim. Let’s hurry into our bathing suits and
take advantage of it.”
This wise view of the matter appealing to the disappointed authors of
the little plot, the four girls betook themselves to the bath house to
get ready for their morning dip in the ocean.
Having now become mildly interested in Patsy’s scheme to catch a wood
nymph, Miss Martha took pains to further it by establishing herself on
the sands at a point on the far side of the bath house. From there she
could neither see the spot where the book lay, nor could anyone who
might chance to approach it see her. This maneuver was not lost on her
charges, who agreed with Patsy’s gleeful assertion that Auntie was
just as anxious for “something to happen” as they were.
Soon engrossed in the fun of splashing and swimming about in the
sun-warmed salt water, the Wayfarers forgot everything that did not
pertain to the enjoyment of the moment.
True, on first entering the surf Patsy cast an occasional glance
beachward. Bee’s merry challenge, “I’ll race you again to-day as far as
the bend and back,” was the last touch needed to drive all thought of
the mysterious wood nymph from Patsy’s mind.
Sturdy Bee proved herself no mean antagonist. When Patsy finally
arrived at the starting point only a yard ahead of her chum, she was
ready to throw herself down on the sands and rest after her strenuous
swim. Bee, however, showed no sign of fatigue.
“You beat me, but only by a yard. To-morrow I’ll beat you.” Bee stood
over Patsy, flushed and laughing.
“I don’t doubt it.” Patsy glanced admiringly up at her chum. “You’re a
stronger swimmer than I, Bee. With a little more practice you’ll be a
wonder. Here I am resting. You look ready to start out all over again.”
“I’m not a bit tired,” Bee said with a little air of pride. “I’ll
prove it by swimming out there where Mabel and Nellie are.”
Stretched full length in the sand, Patsy lazily sat up and watched her
chum as Bee waded out in the surf, reached swimming depth and struck
out for a point not far ahead where Mabel and Eleanor were placidly
swimming about.
Indolently content to remain inactive, Patsy continued to watch her
three friends for a little, then lay down again, one arm thrown across
her eyes to shut out the sun.
While she lay there, enjoying the luxury of thinking about nothing in
particular, tardy recollection of the blue book suddenly crossed her
brain. It impelled her to sit up again with a jerk and cast a quick
glance toward the object of her thoughts.
Next instant a bare-footed figure in a white bathing suit flashed
across the sands toward the jungle on a wild run. In that one glance
Patsy had seen more than the blue book. She had seen a slim young girl,
her small, beautiful face framed in masses of midnight black hair, flit
suddenly out of the jungle, eagerly snatch up the book and dart off
with it.
First sight of the strange girl and Patsy’s original intention to await
developments flew to the winds. Obeying a mad impulse to pursue the
vanishing wood nymph, Patsy plunged into the jungle after her, crying
out loudly: “Wait a minute! I want to talk to you.”
At sound of the clear, high voice the black-haired girl ahead halted
briefly. Through the open screen of green, Patsy could see her quite
plainly. She was looking over her shoulder at her pursuer as though
undetermined whether to stand her ground or continue her flight.
“Don’t be afraid,” Patsy called out encouragingly. “Please don’t run
away.”
As she spoke she started quickly forward. Her eyes fixed on the girl,
her runaway feet plunged themselves into a mass of tangled green vines.
With a sharp, “Oh!” she pitched headlong into a thicket of low-growing
bushes.
As she scrambled to her feet she became aware of a loud, metallic
buzzing in her ears. Then she felt herself being jerked out of the
thicket by a pair of strong arms and hauled to a bit of dear space
beyond.
“Stay where you are, _señorita_,” commanded a warning, imperative
voice. “Move not, I entreat you!”
Bewildered by the suddenness with which things had happened, Patsy
stood perfectly still, her eyes following the movements of a lithe
figure, darting this way and that, as though in search of something.
Still in a daze she heard the voice that had addressed her utter a
low murmur of satisfaction, as its owner stooped and picked up a dead
branch from under a huge live oak. Two little brown hands played like
lightning over the thick branch, ripping off the clinging dead twigs.
Next the denuded branch was thwacked vigorously against the parent oak.
“It is strong enough,” announced a calm voice. “Now we shall see.”
Fascinated, Patsy watched breathlessly. She now understood the
situation. Her headlong crash into the thicket had stirred up a drowsy
rattler. The prompt action of her little wood nymph had saved her from
being bitten by the snake. Now the girl intended to hunt it down and
kill it. She looked so small and slender. It seemed too dangerous a
task for her to undertake.
“Oh, please let it alone! It might bite you!” Patsy found herself
faltering out. “A rattle-snake’s bite is deadly.”
“I have killed many. I am not afraid. Always one must kill the snake.
It is the sign of the enemy. One kills; so one conquers. _Comprende?_”
The girl shook back her black hair, her red lips parting in a smile
that lighted her somber face into sunshine. Patsy thought it quite the
prettiest thing she had ever seen.
Very cautiously the intrepid little hunter began to circle the thicket,
poking her impromptu weapon into it with every step she took.
“Ah!”
She uttered a shout of triumph as the sinister, buzzing sound Patsy had
so lately heard began again.
Having located her quarry, the girl proceeded to dispatch it with the
fearlessness of those long used to the wilds. Her weapon firmly grasped
in determined hands she rained a fury of strong, steady blows upon the
rattler. Finally they ceased. Giving his snakeship a final contemptuous
prod with the branch, she called across the thicket to Patsy:
“Come. You wish to see. He is a very large one. Of a length of eight
feet, _quisas_. Wait; I will lay him straight on the earth.”
Approaching, Patsy shuddered as her rescuer obligingly poked the dead
reptile from the spot where it had made its last stand. She shuddered
again as a small brown hand grasped the still twitching tail and
straightened the snake out.
“It is the diamond back,” the girl calmly informed. “See.” She pointed
with the branch, which she still held, to the diamond-shaped markings
on the snake’s back. “He carried the death in his sting. So we shall
bury the head, for the sting of a dead snake such as this is safer
covered.”
“It’s horrible!” shivered Patsy. “It was coiled up in the thicket. I
must have disturbed it when I fell. I don’t see how I escaped being
bitten.”
“He was resting at the edge of the thicket, _señorita_,” corrected the
girl. “Always such as he keep near the edge so that it becomes for them
thus easy to strike the small creatures they hunt. So you missed him
and he sang the song of death. I heard that song and came. He had eaten
not long ago, I believe, and was lazy. So he did not try to go away.
Now he is dead. So if the enemy comes to me, I must conquer. This is a
true saying.”