Indeed, one could not have ventured many feet from the path at this
season of the year, when the heavy Spring rains had filled the swamp,
without sinking into the mire. Eve knew this very well, and it was with
fast-beating heart that she slipped from her horse, tied the bridle-rein
to a sapling, and ventured cautiously in the direction of the
half-choked cries.
"I'm coming! Where are you?" she called.
The cry for help came for a third time. Eve parted the bushes before
her, and then shrank back. She had been about to put her foot upon a bit
of shaking moss which, when she disturbed the branches of the bush, sank
completely out of sight in the black mire.
Another step might have proved her own undoing!
But on the other side of this dimpling pool of mire a willow tree of the
"weeping" variety stood with its roots deep in the swamp. And clinging
to a drooping branch of this tree were two sun-browned hands--muscular,
but small.
"A woman!" gasped Eve. Then, the next moment, she added: "A girl!"
And a girl it was--a girl no older than herself. The victim was all but
shoulder deep in the mire. She was clinging desperately to the branch of
the tree. Her face was half hidden by the twigs and leaves, and by her
own disarranged hair, which hung in black elf-locks about it.
But even in that moment of surprise and fear, Eve identified her. It was
the girl who had been a fugitive from the Gypsy camp.
The identity of the person in peril did not claim Eve's attention for
half a moment, however. It was her necessity, and the fact that she must
be rescued immediately that spurred the farm girl to action.
"Hold on! I'll save you!" she shouted, and even as she spoke she saw the
girl slip down a hand's breadth deeper into the ooze. If she was to save
the victim Eve must indeed work rapidly, and to the purpose.
She saw how the girl had come into her evil plight. Beside the tree ran
a narrow strip of grassy hummock. It looked sound, but Eve well knew
that all such places were treacherous.
The Gypsy girl had trusted to it, venturing off the regular and beaten
path. She had slipped, or the edge of the hummock had caved in with her.
Only by chance had she caught at the branch of the willow and so stayed
her descent into the bottomless morass.
Fleet of foot, Eve sprang back to the bridle-path where the mare was
tied. She wanted the only thing which, in this emergency, could be of
help to her--and to the girl sinking in the mire.
There was no time to go for help. There was no fence near where she
could obtain rails, even. Nor did she have anything with which to cut
down saplings to aid the girl.
Quickly her nimble fingers unbound the leather bridle from the tree.
Then she unbuckled the reins and removed them entirely, letting the mare
go free if she would. But the wise old horse stood and watched her,
without offering to run away.
"That's right! Stand still, old girl!" exclaimed Eve Sitz. "I'll want
you mighty bad in a minute, or two, perhaps."
She sprang upon the tussock on which the victim of the accident had
evidently been before her. But she was cautious. She came to the place
where the poor girl clung to the tree branch. Those twigs were slowly
slipping through her cramped fingers. In a few seconds she would slip
entirely from her hold. Already she was too far gone to speak, and her
eyes were closed.
It was no use calling again. Eve bent forward and with a little prayer
for help, cast the loop of the strong rein over the victim's head and
shoulders.
As she did so the girl's hands slipped entirely from the tree branch.
Eve screamed. But she threw herself back, too, as the weight of the
sinking girl came upon the bridle-rein. Eve easily held her up. She
could sink no farther. But the question that troubled the farmer's
daughter was: Could she draw the unconscious girl out of the mire?
But Eve was the heavier of the two, and far stronger. The Gypsy girl
could run and leap like a hare--as she had proven the day the girls of
Central High had seen her escaping from the encampment of her Romany
companions. But she had not been strong enough to scramble out of the
mud when she had once fallen into it.
Now Eve, sure that the bridle-rein would hold, flung herself back and
dragged the girl up. She came out upon the narrow tussock slowly, but
surely.
Eve wrapped the lines about her wrists and tugged with all her weight
and strength; and she was not many seconds in accomplishing the rescue.
The unfortunate girl lay helpless on the edge of the morass. She was a
mass of mud, and her eyes were still closed. Eve seized her under the
arms and dragged her across the trembling hummock to firmer ground. Once
Eve herself stepped over the edge of the solid ground and
plunged--knee-deep--into the mire.
But she recovered herself and quickly brought her burden, breathless
though she herself was, to the bridle-path. The old gray mare looked
upon the muddy figure on the ground with ears pricked forward. But Eve
spoke softly to her, and the creature stood still, as though she knew
her help was needed.
Eve did not trouble to put on the rein again. When she got her breath
she raised the girl, who was still only half conscious, in her arms, and
managed to get her on the horse.
"You've got to carry double; but you can go just as slow as you want to,
old girl!" Eve exclaimed, as she leaped upon the mare herself, sitting
behind the other girl, and holding her on.
Then she spoke again to the mare, and the latter picked her way
carefully over the narrow path and so to the North pasture. In fifteen
minutes Eve had the strange girl at the farmhouse, where her
kind-hearted mother helped put the visitor to bed. They were true
Samaritans in that house. They reserved all questioning until after the
needy had been aided.
Eve went to town that afternoon, for she was due for practice at the
athletic field, full of this adventure. The strange girl had not said a
word about herself save that she had been traveling through the marsh
early that morning and had mistaken the path.
Eve had told her mother her suspicions as to who the girl was, and it
was plain that the young Gypsy would be unfit for travel for some days.
The Sitzes would try to find out something about her condition and why
she was striving to escape from her companions.
"But, it's plain why she left town so hurriedly," declared Jess Morse,
one of those to whom Eve told her story. "I've seen those Gypsy women in
town myself this week. I saw the queen--Grace Varey, did you say her
name is?"
"That's the name she gave us last year," said Eve.
"Well, I saw her only this morning. The Gypsies have come to town to
search for that girl. She knows it and was escaping into the country
when she got into that swamp. My! It was lucky you rode that way, Eve."
But it was Bobby Hargrew who showed the most interest in the affairs of
the mysterious Gypsy girl. She asked Eve a hundred questions about her
and finally admitted that she had reasons for wishing to know all about
her that she did not feel free to divulge.
"I tell you honestly, Eve, I wish you'd let me go home with you so that
I can see that girl before Monday morning," said Bobby, bluntly.
"Well, why not?" returned the farm girl, laughing. "You'd be welcome,
Clara."
"I'll telephone father at the store and run home and pack a bag and meet
you at the station," announced Bobby, greatly excited.
"Why, we'll be more than pleased," urged Eve. "I'd like to know what the
matter is with that girl, too. If you find out, will you tell me?" and
she laughed again.
"If it's only _my_ secret I'll tell you in a minute," promised Bobby.
But in her heart she believed that it would prove to be partly Miss
Carrington's secret, and she could not speak of _her_ affairs, that was
sure.