“If she does it again, Lanky,” remarked Bones, jeeringly, “just you give us the high sign; when we’ll jump in, and clear up the whole gypsy tribe, rescue the kidnapped princess, carry her home in triumph and receive a cool million or so from her happy dad, as a reward for our heroic achievement!”
“Oh! splash!” was all Lanky sent back over his shoulder, as he ran steadily on at that telling jog-trot that seemed never to tire the runner.
They rapidly overtook the caravan, for the horses were not trying to make any speed, having come a long distance, it might be, since sun-up; and, besides, the drivers knew they were within a few miles of the place where, once in so often, they made camp for several days, or a week at a time.
Lanky paid no attention to the rear wagons, but passed alongside and kept pushing on. He had eyes only for the most gorgeous van in the whole procession; since it had been at the side window of this he had seen the face that, somehow, appealed to his sensitive heart.
The door at the rear of the high wagon was almost wholly closed, Lanky noticed as he came along, though once he really thought he saw a face, surrounded by coils of black hair, in the opening, which could only belong to a gypsy woman.
He kept his eyes fastened on the side window, for he knew that his two skeptical chums were waiting for a sign and would be apt to decide one way or another, depending on what was to be seen. And, sure enough, a face did appear there, that of a child in the bargain, and a girl, too. But she simply stared at the odd costumes of the three boy runners, and seemed to hold them in the scorn a true gypsy child feels for the house-dweller.
Lanky was grievously disappointed. It seemed that he had been mistaken after all, and, always willing to “take his medicine,” as he called it, he prepared to accept the expected chaffing of Bones in a good spirit. Had that ended the matter, doubtless Lanky would have put it out of his mind for good and all, but as it happened there was a little sequel, and it is often upon these trifles that great events depend.
The three boys had passed the gorgeous van, and were pursuing their way along toward the leading wagon, when a sound came to their ears that was rather significant under the circumstances.
It was certainly very like the cry of a frightened child, quickly suppressed, and yet coming from the identical van toward which Lanky had drawn the attention of his chums.
All of them turned their heads to look, but only to meet the surly frown of the dusky gypsy who drove the pair of fine horses attached to the wagon, which, from its appearance, might shelter the queen of the roving tribe.