Barney came riding up, and both horses pricked up their ears and regarded the bicycle with signs of mingled doubt and alarm.
“Get off—get off from that, you fool!” cried the man. “What do you want to do—scare the blooming beasts into running away again? Don’t you know anything?”
That was enough to start Barney’s temper.
“Av ye’ll shtep down a minute, Oi’ll be afther showin’ yez a few things Oi know,” he flung back.
Other horsemen were seen approaching swiftly. There were three in the party, and they headed straight toward the little group in the road.
“Why, it is father and Kenneth!” exclaimed the girl, as she observed them. “And the other is—is Mr. Harden!”
Something like a curse came from beneath the black mustache of the man she had called “cousin.” He glared at the approaching horsemen, and Frank heard him mutter:
“What in Satan’s name is Harden doing here? I believe he saw the runaway! Hang the fellow! he’s always around!”
Up came the horsemen, with a clatter of hoofs. The youngest of the party was not older than Frank, and he was a fine-looking youth, with dark eyes and curling hair. Next to him was a young man of twenty-two or three, with a blond mustache, and the third was a man of fifty, with an iron-gray beard.
The youngest of the strangers leaped from the saddle, and was at the girl’s side in a moment, exclaiming: