“SH!”
“Who in the world do you suppose did that?” Hazel Edwards exclaimed, as she hastily examined her own clothes and then quickly struck out a spark that clung to the skirt of Azalia Atwood.
“Quick, girls,” cried Miss Ladd; “did any of you do that?”
There was a chorus of indignant denials. No room for doubt remained now that the missile had been hurled by someone outside the semicircle near the bonfire.
All eyes were turned back toward the timber a short distance away, but not a sign of a human being could they see in that direction.
“If we’d been on the other side of the bonfire, we’d have got that shower of sparks right in our faces and all over us,” Katherine Crane said indignantly.
“We ought to find out who threw that rock, or whatever it was,” Ethel Zimerman declared. “It must be a very dangerous person, who ought to be taken care of.”
“If that sort of thing is repeated many times, some of us probably will have to be taken care of,” observed Julietta Hyde.
“Listen!” Miss Ladd interrupted, and the occasion of her interruption did not call for explanation. All heard it. A moment later it was repeated.
“Wohelo!”
“No Camp Fire Girl ever made such a noise as that,” said Helen Nash disdainfully.
“It sounds like a man’s voice,” Azalia Atwood remarked.
“I’ll bet a Liberty Bond that it is a man,” ventured Ruth Hazelton.
“Have you a Liberty Bond?” asked Helen.
“I’m paying for one out of my allowance,” Ruth replied.
Just then the “noise” was repeated, a hoarse hollow vocalization of the Camp Fire Watchword. This time it seemed to be farther away.
“The person who gave that call threw the missile into our bonfire,” said Miss Ladd in a tone of conviction. “If he bothers us any more we’ll find out who he is.”
The girls now turned their attention again to the fire. Several pails of water were carried from the lake and dashed into the embers until not a spark remained. Then they returned to their tents and to bed, although apprehensive of further disturbance before morning.
But they heard nothing more of the intruder that night.
Shortly after sunup, the girls arose, put on their bathing suits, and went down to the beach for a before-breakfast plunge. Marie Crismore and Violet Munday reached the water’s edge first, and presently they were giving utterance to such unusual expressions, indicative seemingly of anything but pleasure that the other girls hastened down to see what was the matter.
There was no need of explanation. The evidence was before them. The stakes that had been driven into the bed of the lake to hold the rope intended to indicate the safety limit had been pulled out and thrown upon the shore. The rope itself had disappeared.
“There surely are some malicious mischief makers in this vicinity,” Helen Nash observed. “I suppose the person who did that was the one who threw a stone into our bonfire and hooted our watchword so hideously.”
“What shall we do?” Violet Munday questioned. “We can’t let this sort of thing go on indefinitely.”
“We must complain to the authorities,” Ernestine Johanson suggested.
“Do you suppose they would do anything?” Estelle Adler asked. “I understand it’s very hard to get these country officials busy on anything except a murder or a robbery.”
“Then we must organize a series of relief watches and take the law into our own hands,” Katherine proposed.
“Spoken like a true soldier,” commented Miss Ladd approvingly. “I was going to suggest something of the same sort, although not quite so much like anarchy.”
“Where do you suppose they hid that rope?” Marion Stanlock inquired.
“Somebody probably needed a clothesline.”
“Here come some people who may be able to throw some light on the situation,” said Marion.
All looked up and saw two girls apparently in their “upper teens,” dressed more suitably for an afternoon tea than a rustic outing. The latter were descending the wooded hill-shore, and had just emerged from a thick arboreal growth into a comparatively clear area a hundred yards away.
“Sh!” Katherine warned quickly. “Be careful what you say or do. Those are the Graham girls.”