Chapter XVI: A Surprise

When the last sandwich had been eaten, and the last crumb of cake disposed of, the picnic party leaned lazily against the moss-covered trunk of a fallen tree to discuss the events of the morning.

José was the subject of the talk. All were inclined to believe, now, that they had been deceived by the strong resemblance between the young Spaniard and the mischievous person who had mystified them in the woods that morning. It seemed impossible that José was a thief, or that he could have been guilty of such trifling trickery as the individual in the robber's clothes. José, quiet and reserved though he was, had become a favorite with the young people.

"It is strange," said Ruth. "He must have the nameless charm, because there is not one of us who does not like him. As for me, I feel sorry for him. And why, I'd like to know?"

"It's his mournful black eye, my dear young lady," replied Jimmie.

"Whatever it is," said Stephen, decisively, "we must not make any accusations without knowing, for certain, that we are right. It is rather an uncomfortable situation, I think, considering he is uncle's guest."

"It is, indeed," replied Alfred, "and I vote that we say not a word to anyone until we find out where José spent the morning."

"Agreed by all," cried Jimmie. "Am I right, girls?"

The two girls assented, and the matter was settled.

"I think we had better be moving on toward home, now," said Stephen, "if we want to escape a scolding from Miss Stuart."

"All right, general," replied Jimmie. "The bivouac is at an end. Rise, soldiers, and follow your leader." He cocked his hat, turned up his coat collar and struck a Napoleon pose.

There was a stifled laugh, from behind a clump of alder bushes--a coarse laugh that made the boys look up quickly and uneasily.

"What was that?" asked Ruth, frightened.

Without waiting for a reply, Alfred divided the bushes with his cane disclosing three pairs of eyes gazing impudently at them. Three figures untangled themselves from the bushes and rose stiffly, as if they had been lying concealed there for a long time. The girls gave a stifled cry of alarm, for each recognized the giant tramp, who had attacked them near the churchyard of Sleepy Hollow; and his companions were probably the same, although the girls had not seen them at that time. The leader of the three roughs did not recognize them, however. He had been too much intoxicated to remember their faces; but he was sober, now, and in an uglier mood than when he had been in his cups.

"So ho!" he cried. "We have here five rich, young persons--rich with the money they have no right to--stolen money--stolen from me and mine. While we beg and tramp, and dress in rags, you throw away the money we have earned for you. Well, we won't have it. Will we, pals? We'll get back some of the money that belongs to us by rights. You'll hand out what you've got in your pockets, and, if it ain't enough, we'll keep you into the bargain until your fathers they pays for your release. D'ye see? Ho! Ho!" He roared out a terrible laugh until the woods resounded.

The three boys had lined up in front of the two girls and Stephen had called to them reassuringly over his shoulder:

"Start on, girls. You know the path. Follow it the way we came. If you meet Adam, ask him to go with you, or even old Jennie. Don't be frightened. It'll be all right, but we've got to fight."

Barbara and Ruth, both very calm and pale, were standing silently, waiting for orders.

"Do you think we could help by staying, Bab?" asked Ruth.

"I don't know, dear," replied Bab. "Wait, and let me think a moment." She closed her eyes and her moving lips repeated the little prayer: "Heaven, make me calm in the face of danger," but in that moment the fight had begun. The two girls stood fascinated, rooted to the spot.

Stephen, who was a trained boxer, had tackled the leader and had managed to give him several straight blows, at the same time dodging the badly-aimed blows from the big fist of his opponent. Alfred had purposely chosen the next largest tramp, leaving a small, wiry man for Jimmie to grapple with. Alfred, also, had been carefully trained in the arts of boxing and wrestling; but his opponent was no mean match for him, and the two presently were rolling over and over on the ground, their faces covered with dust and blood. Poor Jimmie was not a fighter. All his life he had shunned gymnasiums, preferring to thrum the piano or the guitar, or invent models for airships. However, the boy was no coward and he went at his enemy with a will that was lacking in force only because he himself lacked the muscle to give it. But the wiry fellow who had been his portion was evidently the best-trained fighter of the three tramps, and it was only a few moments before Jimmie was bleeding from the nose and one eye was blacked. It looked as if Alfred, too, were getting the worst of it, while Stephen and his tramp were still raining blows upon each other, jumping about in a circle. Bab longed to help Jimmie, but she saw, and Ruth agreed, that they would do more harm than good.

The two girls decided to run for help, even if they had to run all the way to Ten Eyck Hall, especially as, in the midst of the scrimmage, Stephen had called out to them to hurry up.

Making the best speed they could through the brambles and ferns, they had gone not more than a few rods when, pausing in their flight, they found themselves face to face with blind Jennie.

"What is happening?" demanded the old woman in a terrified whisper. "I hear the sound of blows. I smell blood."

"There is a fight, Jennie," replied Bab, almost sobbing in her excitement. "We must get help quickly from somewhere. Are the Gypsies far from here?"

"Yes," answered Jennie. "Not so near as the hall. But wait! Come with me," and her face was illumined by the expression of one who is about to reveal a well-kept secret.

"But, Jennie, is it help you are bringing us?" asked Ruth, demurring a little.

"You may trust old Jennie," exclaimed the blind woman. "Be ye not the friends of young Master Stephen?"

The two girls followed without a word.

Almost in sight of the fighters, she paused by the stump of a hollow tree which, when rolled away by her strong arm, disclosed a sort of trapdoor underneath. Lifting the door, crudely constructed with strips of wood, the bark still on, the girls saw a small underground chamber dug out like a cellar. The walls were shored up with split trees which also did duty as cross beams. There was a rough, hand-made ladder at the opening, and at one side a shelf on which was neatly folded--could they believe their eyes--the suit of green velveteen. Old Jennie, who seemed to be peering down into the cavity with her sightless blue eyes, shook Bab's arm impatiently.

"Get the firearms," she whispered. "They be on the shelf. I felt them there last time."

Sure enough, lying in the shadow at the far end of the shelf the girls made out two pistols gleaming ominously in the dark. Without a word, Bab bounded down the ladder, and seizing the pistols was up again almost as quickly.

"Ruth," she said, "have you forgotten our rifle practice in the Berkshires?"

"No," replied her friend. "All you have to do is to cock it and pull the trigger, isn't it?"

"That's right," answered Bab. "Take this one and come on. They are both loaded, I see. Don't fire unless I tell you, and be careful where you aim. You had better point up so as not to hit anybody. Jennie, wait for us over here. I believe you have saved us all."

So saying, Bab ran, followed by Ruth, to the scene of the battle. And it was indeed a battle! Jimmie was lying insensible on the ground, while his opponent had joined in the fight against Stephen, who was rapidly losing strength. Alfred and his tramp were still rolling over and over, locked in each other's arms.

A few feet away from the fighters Bab fired her pistol in the air. The explosion stopped the fight. So intent had the combatants been that they had forgotten time and place. At the report of the pistol they came to themselves almost with a jump. Everybody, except poor, unconscious Jimmie, paused breathless, perspiration pouring from their faces. Alfred had got the better of his opponent and his hands gripped the man's throat. Bab, followed by Ruth, dashed up, and both girls pointed their pistols at the two tramps who were engaging Stephen.

"Shall we shoot them, Stephen?" asked Bab as calmly as if nothing had happened.

"Throw up your hands," cried Stephen to the tramps; which they proceeded to do in prompt order. "Now, give me your pistol, Ruth; give yours to Alfred, Bab."

In the meantime, Alfred had risen, hardly recognizable in a coating of dust and blood, ordering his man to lie quiet or be killed.

"Suppose we herd them together, Stephen," he suggested, "and drive them up to the hall like the cattle they are?"

"Just what I was thinking," replied Stephen, "only what about Jimmie?"

"The girls will see to him," answered Alfred.

"No, no," retorted Stephen. "We can't leave the girls here alone with him in that condition, not after this. There may be more tramps lurking around, for all we know."

Just then an exclamation from Ruth, who was kneeling beside the prostrate Jimmie, caused the two boys to turn their heads involuntarily, and in that moment, the two men who were standing with their arms up at the point of Stephen's pistol, ran for the underbrush, Stephen shot and missed his aim. He shot again and hit the small fellow in the leg, having aimed low; not wishing to kill even in self-defense. But the tramps had plunged into the woods, and were out of sight in an instant.

"Better not go after them, Stephen," called Alfred. "We've got one here and we may catch the others later. I wish we had a rope to tie this fellow's hands with."

"Try this," suggested Ruth, and she calmly tore the muslin ruffle off her petticoat and handed the strip to Alfred, who bound the man's hands behind his back and ordered him to sit still until he was wanted.

Meanwhile, the two girls had turned their attention to Jimmie, who showed no signs of returning consciousness, but lay battered and bleeding, a sad sight in comparison to the joyous Jimmie of half an hour before. Blind Jennie had come from her hiding place behind a tree, and was kneeling beside the wounded boy. Feeling the abrasions on his face with her sensitive fingers, she shuddered.

"He should have water," she whispered. "There is a brook not far from here. I will show you," and she turned her sightless eyes in the direction of Stephen, who was guarding the remaining tramp.

"Ruth, you and Alfred take our three hats and go with Jennie for the water. Alfred, take the pistol with you in case of another attack. Bab, you stay and look after Jimmie, please."

Ruth and Alfred followed after old Jennie, while Bab, kneeling beside Jimmie, began chafing his wrists. Not a sound broke the stillness. Stephen, on a log, had his pistol cocked and pointed straight at the tramp who was huddled in a heap on the ground, gazing sullenly into the barrel of the pistol. Bab had not looked around for some time, so intent was she on her efforts to bring some life back into poor Jimmie. But feeling a sudden, unaccountable loneliness, she called:

"Stephen, aren't you curious to know where we found the pistols?"

There was no answer, and, looking over her shoulder, Bab was horrified to see Stephen lying prone on the ground in a dead faint, the pistol still grasped tightly in his hand, while the tramp had evidently lost no time in joining his pals.

Leaving Jimmie, Bab rushed to Stephen. First releasing the pistol from his hand, she laid it on a stump. Then she began rubbing his wrists and temples.

"Poor old Stephen!" she murmured. "You were hurt all the time and never said a word."

Slowly he opened his eyes and looked at Bab in a sort of shamefaced way.

"I suppose the tramp got away?" he asked.

"Who cares," replied his friend, "if you aren't hurt?"

"Oh, I'm not," he answered. "I was only winded. That big fellow gave me a blow, just as you shot the pistol off, that nearly did for me. But I thought I could keep up until the others came back. I knew I couldn't go for the water. How did you get the pistols?"

By the time Bab had finished her story the others had come up with the water.

"It's just as well the tramp has gone," said Alfred, when he had heard what had happened. "I don't believe we could have managed him and Jimmie, too."

They bathed Jimmie's face and wrists with the cold spring water, and it was a battered and disconsolate young man who finally opened his one good eye on the company.

"I think," said Stephen, "we had better put these pistols back where they were. If they are gone, the robber will take alarm and we'll never catch him. I don't think we'll be attacked by those tramps any more to-day. They'll never imagine we have left the pistols."

The others agreed, and the pistols were left on the shelf by Bab, who remembered exactly where they had been when she found them. All the others, even Jimmie, peered curiously down into the underground room.

"I don't think it's been very long dug," observed Alfred. "There is so much fresh earth around the door. The fellow carted most of it away, I suppose, and put leaves and sticks over what was left. But there is plenty of evidence of fresh earth, just the same."

"So there is," replied Stephen. "Jennie, you did a good day's work when you found that hole in the ground. You may have saved our lives, for all we can tell."

But the old woman only muttered, as she punched the leaves with her staff. The somewhat dilapidated picnic party resumed its homeward journey, Jimmie supported by his two friends and stopping often to rest, while the two girls followed, keeping a sharp lookout on both sides. Old Jennie brought up the rear.