“It’s this way, mother,” began Mabel, and she briefly explained how the camping idea had germinated. Then, probably to forget the unpleasant episode of the ring, they all talked woodland lore.
“Well,” remarked Phil, as he and his chums stood with the officer, looking at the dying embers of the Gypsy fire on the deserted site of the encampment, “there’s nothing doing here, as Mr. Shakespeare would say. What’s to be done?”
“I vote we take after ’em!” exclaimed Jack. “They can’t have gotten far in this time. They didn’t have the chance.”
“That’s right,” chimed in Blake. “Come on, fellows.”
“Wait a minute, boys,” advised the officer. “It’s a dark night, and there are several roads branching off this one. The Gypsies could take either one.”
“But we could inquire,” exclaimed Phil. “A Gypsy caravan of that size couldn’t go along without attracting attention, even from sleepy farmers. They could tell if it had passed by, and if we got on some wrong branch road, we could easily get back on the main one, and pick up the trail.”
“That sounds good to me!” declared Blake. “I’m ready for a fracas.”
“Same here,” came from Jack. “Say, I’m glad I didn’t let her tell my fortune. She might have taken my watch while she told me a pretty girl across the water was waiting for me to write to her.”
“Oh, what do you think you are—a lady-killer?” demanded Phil. “If we’re going to do anything let’s do it.”
“How one can be deceived,” murmured Blake. “And she such a pretty girl. She looked something like Natalie.”