THE SEARCH
When Dorothy told her folks of what had happened, the boys could scarcely believe the strange story. That any one should actually make such a wild-west attempt at robbery, within reach of the Cedars, certainly did seem incredible. However, there was no disproving the marks on the girl's arms, where they had been rudely tied, nor could any one deny that in the attempt to remove her bracelet her delicate wrist had been badly bruised. At first it was thought best to at once notify the police, but, upon further consideration, Major Dale advised keeping the matter quiet, hoping that some one in the neighborhood would fall upon a clue to the daring young highwayman.
"I do hope the mystery will be cleared up before I leave for camp," remarked Dorothy, as the family sat in the beautiful library at the Cedars, discussing the strange affair. "I should never be satisfied with a written account of what may happen, when you find the culprit."
"Oh, we can tell you that right now," declared Nat, warmly. "When we find him we will lynch him, burn him at the stake, and have him imprisoned for life. When that sentence shall have been served we will make a fresh charge against him, and perhaps——"
"Put him in a reformatory until he is twenty-one," finished Ned. "Well, he deserves it! And to think that we should be almost within call! Dorothy, I am inclined to question the wisdom of your silence. Why didn't you yell like thunder?"
"And have him put some terrible gag down my throat?"
"And get all sorts of germs therefrom," added Joe. "Doro, you did just right, and we are thankful that you got off as well as you did," and her brother shook his head proudly, as if to say that a mere cousin could hardly know how a closer relative would feel on such a matter.
"I wish I could have seen him," mused Roger, to whom the whole story seemed like a wonderful tale of the West.
"Just for effect," put in Nat, with a laugh. "Roger is rather sorry he missed the show—he always falls for the scary part."
But Dorothy did not mind the child's natural curiosity. In fact she told him again just how the strange robber was dressed, and how fierce he looked at her through the holes in the red handkerchief.
"Maybe he'll come around to the camp," said Roger hopefully. "I'm going to have my rifle all ready."
"And I haven't yet told you of the adventure we had at Glenwood, just before school closed," went on Dorothy, realizing fully how delighted Roger would be with the tale of the hay wagon accident, as well as that of the scattered sheep. "We very nearly all lost a week's vacation through it, the principal was so indignant."
With splendid description, and with nothing startling left out, Dorothy went over the story. Even the larger boys became interested, and when she mentioned about the queer man, who sprang from nowhere, and who did things so unlike other people, Ned and Nat exchanged sly glances.
"You say he rode horseback like a real Indian?" queried Nat. "And that he sort of made up to my old friend Tavia?"
"I knew you would be jealous, Nat," answered Dorothy. "But you really must put Tavia out of your heart."
"Never!" and Nat struck a most tragic attitude. "Tavia will ever be the queen of my heart!" and he made a thump toward that organ, with seeming suicidal intent.
Dorothy laughed merrily. She knew very well how devoted Nat really was to her own best girl friend, and she also knew that Tavia fully appreciated the friendship of the handsome young cousin.
"When's Tavia coming?" asked Roger, another special friend of the girl without wisdom.
"I hope she will be here before I start for the Lake," replied Dorothy. "She always enjoys the Cedars more than she does any other summer place."
"Hope she does, too," replied Nat, with unhidden warmth. "I want to put a flea in her ear before she runs any further risks with the knight of the horse."
"Really," said Dorothy, aside to Ned, when she had an opportunity of speaking privately, "there is something very mysterious about that man. I have an uncanny feeling regarding him, and Cologne told me he had written a letter to Tavia."
"Did, eh?" and Ned, the elder of the White boys, instantly put on a defensive air. "Well, whoever he may be, he had better be careful. We happen to have a——"
"Children," called Major Dale, "if you are going out to look for your bandit, you had best be at it. He will have all his best holding-up-ing done and be off to his cave with the spoils before you—beard him outside of his lair."
Just what Ned was going to confide in Dorothy about the strange man was left unfinished much to Dorothy's disappointment, for she felt that the boys had some important clue as to the identity of the queer character. However, there was no time for further confidences, and she was obliged to run off to her little personal duties, while the boys made ready to explore the woods.
They proposed to lie in wait for the bandit for some time, and, if he did not put in an appearance, they planned to explore the woodland for at least half a mile around. They felt sure that they would come upon his tracks not far from the spot where Dorothy had been attacked, for it seemed reasonable to them, that any boy, or man, dressed as he was described to have been gotten up, would not attempt to go far from his hiding place.
With the White boys were two college friends, also home in North Birchland on their vacation, so that when the party actually started out they made up quite a squad.
"All got your guns?" asked Ned, as they sketched out their separate lines of advance, and made secret marks to show the starting points.
"Yep," replied Ben Nichols, the biggest boy in all North Birchland, whose particular "gun" was a golf driver.
So they started off. Roger insisted upon going, so Ned took him under his protection, while Joe kept within safe distance of Don Aikins, the young man from Bergen who claimed to be able to do anything, and any one, in the athletic world. He swung his light stick expectantly at the underbrush. Evidently he would be very pleased to have a swing at the boy with the roped-on armor.
It was splendid to have something real to hunt for—what boy, or girl either, would not have enjoyed the prospect—when there was not a question of being held up, but of holding up?
Then they separated.
Meanwhile Dorothy was very anxious. What if the boys should really come upon this daring young villian? What if little Roger should run off, and be overtaken? She almost wished she had never told the whole story, for as she believed it all a wild whim of some foolish boy, she also felt that he would quickly see the danger of his sport. It was the morning after her adventure, and she was able now to regard it with less terror. Still her wrist did pain and she still trembled when she recalled how the knife had slipped, and how easily it could have severed her own vein, instead of severing the skin of the masked bandit.
She was thinking this all over, while shaking the creases from her lately-packed clothes, brushing the walking skirt, in which she had traveled to North Birchland, and generally putting her things in order, when Mrs. White, gowned for the street, entered the room.
"My dear," she began, "I am afraid you will lose the out-door joy of this delightful morning. Why not slip into your riding habit, and take a run on Cricket? He would be so glad to do it himself, poor pony! The boys are so busy with their camping that they forget a young horse wants some fun too."
"I should be glad to, Auntie, but I feel I must get my things straightened out. The night I was packing up, the girls cut up so I had to hurry everything into my boxes in all shapes," replied Dorothy. "But I will take a canter as soon as I have finished," and she gathered up the pieces of broken crockery that had remained in her box after the "fall of China," as Tavia designated the accident to her tea set. "How lovely you do look, Aunt Winnie," exclaimed the girl, gazing with sincere admiration at the superb figure in rose broadcloth. "I do believe you have grown taller!"
"It's the style of this gown, my dear. These lines affect the Venus length. Ned declared when he first saw me in this that I was put together in sections—couldn't possibly be all in one piece," and she laughed in the deep, velvety tone that, perhaps, more than anything else about her interesting personality, proclaimed her the woman of unmistakable culture.
When she was gone, and Dorothy looked out into the inviting sunlight, she hurried with her unpacking, and was soon dressed in the simple tan-colored riding habit, that so well matched herself, as to make her look like a shade of the morning, when she mounted the pretty little bay pony, and set off at a canter along the North Birchland roads.
She soon forgot the fright of her boy-bandit, although she did wonder just where the boys were, and if they had found any evidence of that person's depradations.
"Come Cricket," she spoke to her pony. "We must try a cross-cut. I want some mandrakes."
"I DON'T WANT TO STRIKE YOU," SHE SAID,
"BUT YOU KNOW PRISONERS MUST OBEY."
Dorothy Dale's Camping Days Page 54
The horse pricked up his ears in response. Dorothy turned into a field where she thought the plum-shaped fruit would be found.
Dismounting, she threw the reins over Cricket's head and allowed him to nibble at the sweet grass. Yes, there were the mandrakes with their finger-shaped leaves. And they were turning yellow. Dorothy gathered a few, then stood up to look about her.
"The bandit!" she gasped in a whisper.
He had his hand on Cricket's rein!
"Drop that!" she shouted. "You need not think I am afraid of you now!"
"What?" asked the boy, dropping his disguise like a thing held by one single fastening and moving as if to spring up into the saddle.
Dorothy fairly jumped over the tall grasses, and was beside the horse before the boy could mount. She grasped the bridle, and, at the same time, more firmly grasped her riding crop.
"Now I have you," she declared, gazing in wonderment at the very good-looking boy who tried in vain to escape from the stirrup in which his boot had stuck. Seeing her opportunity, Dorothy dropped the bridle and crop, and, with both hands, grasped the boy very much in the same manner as he had seized her the day before.
"Let me go!" he snarled, struggling to free himself.
"Not just now," replied Dorothy, coolly, for she saw that she was quite able to hold him, and that he was really only a very slight young boy. "I am going to have a try at your game," she added, smiling at her versatility.
The boy almost fell under the horse, but Cricket was so well trained that he did not attempt to go beyond Dorothy's orders.
"Steady, Cricket!" she said softly. "Now young man," to her prisoner, "I am going to do something very original. I am going to tie you to that pretty tree."
"You are not!" he yelled, but she had her whip in her hand and she raised it threateningly.
"I don't want to strike you," she said, "but you know prisoners must obey. Just step over there a foot or two!"
There was such authority in her voice that the boy looked up frightened.
"Don't hit me," he pleaded, "and I'll go!"
This was more than Dorothy expected, and as the lad moved to obey, she raised, with her foot, the rope he had dropped with his disguise, and grasped it in her hand with the riding crop.
"You see school girls learn a lot about 'team work,'" she said. "We have to do it in all sorts of games."
"What are you going to do with me?" asked the boy, who actually seemed more interested than frightened.
"Well, first I am going to make you secure. See, I just slip this rope around you—you had it all ready with that slip knot," and she put it over his head before he had a chance to protest. It fell over his hands, and she pulled the cord tight. Then, as he was standing near the tree, she dropped the rope to his feet, gave it a jerk, and springing around the tree she had him secure with two turns of the hemp, and a knot made after the style of one Nat had showed her how to fashion.
The boy burst out laughing.
"You're all right!" he declared. "You beat me! Where did you learn?"
"Oh, I often played bandit with my brothers, but never with a stranger before. Aren't you afraid? Don't you want to say your prayers?"
"I've forgotten them," he said with a smile. "Guess I forgot them when I started in at this—the two don't hitch."
"Not exactly," and Dorothy was fixing the rope more tightly. "But you did know some once. I can tell."
"Because you don't swear. Didn't even when you cut your hand. How is it?"
"Sore," he replied. "Please don't pass the rope over the bandage."
"I won't," answered Dorothy with some tenderness.
The humor of the situation was apparent to both of them.
Dorothy, however, was determined not to relent, she would hold him a prisoner, she decided, until she found the boys. They would know best what to do. Certainly such a desperado was unsafe to be at large.
"Are you going to make the fire now?" he asked, in a mocking tone.
"No, I am just going to jump on my horse and leave you here to think of your sins. I am sure you will be here when I come back."
"Oh please, miss, don't go for the police," he begged, tears welling into his deep blue eyes. "I have never done anything wrong before—and I can see, now, how silly I was."
"I am not going after the officers," said Dorothy, "but you must know that you have done very wrong—you might have hurt me seriously."
"Oh, please let me go!" he pleaded. "I will promise you anything, and I never want to play Wild West again!"
"It was too real for play," retorted Dorothy. "But you need not be too alarmed. My cousins are good boys."
"Your cousins?"
"Yes, the White boys. Do you know them?"
"Ned and Nat? Of course I do! Oh, don't tell on me! Really I shall be disgraced forever."
He was crying. Dorothy felt herself weakening.
"I'll tell you where everything is, and I'll promise you anything in the world if you will only not—give me up. I can't bear to think of—poor mother. I could stand it—but she——"
"Is she ill?" and Dorothy quickly counted what a disgrace it would be to a good mother to find her son in such a plight.
"Yes, she is away from me all the time—with the nurses, and I haven't seen her in a week. It would kill her to know what I've been doing."
"Who takes care of you?" asked Dorothy. "Whom do you play with?"
"Oh, father is away, and I have plenty of money to buy guns and things. Then I go to plays a lot."
This was the sequel to the story, Dorothy thought. Would it possibly be safe for her to take the boy's word, and let him go? As he said he would be disgraced, and perhaps her kindness to him might be his clearest lesson.
How good-looking he really was! Even standing there, tied, his clear face, and light hair, could not be undervalued, from the point of fine looks.
Somehow he was just a bit like Roger—that same round baby face, and that one unmanageable curl that would hang down on his forehead in spite of years, and in spite of barbers.
"I'll tell you where I put all the things," he fairly sobbed, "and I'll give them all back, if you will only give me one more chance. I remember the Bible always gave folks a second chance."
Dorothy could not repress a smile. Yes, that was true—the Bible taught forgiveness.
"Quick! They're coming!" he pleaded. "Untie me, and I—I'll run."
Dorothy heard the voices. Quickly she untied the slip knot and almost as speedily as he had been tied, the lad was made free.
"No, don't run," ordered Dorothy. "You can just stay with me—get some grass for Cricket and——"
"The togs! Where can I hide them?"
"Give them here! Hello, there boys! Did you find him?" called Dorothy, as that very moment she raised a clump of brush to hide the "togs" under, and at the same time she hailed the boys who just turned into the open field from the search through the woods.
"Nary a find!" called back Nat. "Guess you were 'seeing things,' Doro. We have come to the conclusion that the bandit lit on your brain."
"Maybe," replied Dorothy. "But see, my Sir Galahad," indicating the captive, who stood beside her. "He saved Cricket from a ditch, and I haven't had a chance to get his other name."
"Hello, Roy!" greeted Ned. "Glad to see you. Where have you been keeping yourself? We wanted you the other day for the town games, but couldn't find you."
"Hello, Roy!" shouted the approaching Joe.
"'Low there, Royal!" came from Roger, who just then threw away his bandit stick.
"I'm glad you are all acquainted," added Dorothy. "I must ask Roy to come up to the house this afternoon."
"I'll be there!" declared the boy, but only Dorothy knew why he spoke so earnestly.