“But I don’t think we can!” said Gerry, staring. “You see, we’re not allowed beyond this ridge. We’re—tracking.”
“‘Tracking,’ is it!” The lad’s face grew surlier. “Well, an’ it’s you, then, sure enough, as is the other young ladies, and my Dad arsks you to come along. If you’s tracking, you’s on the wrong scent, he’d have you know. An’ ’e’ll tell you so himself. You can jest come along an’ hear what ’e’s got to say if you’s them as tries to fix blame on folk as lives honest.”
“But—” began Gerry again.
“Well, if you likes to say ’ere and now as you’s not tracking, then it’s jest them two young ladies up there as is in it,” remarked the boy, softening a little at the amazed look on their faces.
“Gerry, he doesn’t understand,” began Betty. “Perhaps—” But Gerry broke in.
“We’re having a tracking practice. Not tracking people; at least, of course—” she broke off. “The others are only practising too.”
“That they isn’t.” The boy’s voice grew louder. “Following travelling folkses; that’s what they’s adoing, and picking up their travelling signs all unpolite, and arsking them about who stole cups and all!” There was no mistaking the outraged tone in the lad’s voice.
“Oh dear!” Gerry broke out in a distracted voice. She turned to Betty. “We’ll have to go. Perhaps we can explain. They’ve got into dreadful trouble evidently. We must!”
“All right,” agreed Betty, feeling her knees shaking under her.
But she felt that Gerry was right. They certainly must go, though the prospect was an uninviting, not to say a terrifying, one. The others had plainly got into some trouble with the gipsies of a caravan, that was certain, and they were being detained. Perhaps Gerry would be able to explain if they went. And anyway, they could not leave Mona and Rene there alone. She got up as Gerry did, and followed her friend’s lead.