“Here, Don, old fellow, good dog,” he called when the whistle failed to bring him; but no Don appeared. Then a thought suddenly struck Bert. When had he last seen the collie? In the excitement last night he and the other boys had given no thought to the dog. He recalled with a sudden sick feeling that he had last seen him in the light of the gipsy torches. His heart smote him for his forgetfulness. Was it possible that the gipsies had stolen Don also? Why not? He never would have stayed away of his own accord. The collie was a splendid animal of the purest breed and would easily bring a large price if offered for sale anywhere. A fierce rage flamed in Bert—a rage shared by all the others when he hastily told them of the suspicion that every moment was becoming a conviction—and it was lucky for the abductor of Don that he did not at that moment meet Bert Wilson face to face.
With Dick, Tom and Bob, he leaped into the “Red Scout,” and taking up Mr. Hollis as they came to the door of his tent, they swung into the broad high road, leaving the others to follow as fast as they could.
“Now, purr, old Scout,” said Bert as he threw in the clutch; and the “Red Scout” purred. It leaped forward like a living thing, as though it pulsed with the indignation and determination of its riders. They fairly ate up the three miles in as many minutes, turned the curve of the road just this side of the gipsy camp and—
The camp was gone!
Gone as though it had dropped into the earth. Gone as though it had melted into the air. Utterly and completely gone. The ashes of last night’s fires, some litter scattered here and there, alone remained to mark the spot that a few hours before had been so full of life and animation.
They leaped from the car and scattered everywhere looking for signs to indicate the direction the caravan had taken. They had certainly not come south by the boys’ camp. It was equally certain that they had not gone directly north, as this led straight to a large town that they would instinctively avoid. This narrowed the search to east and west roads, from which, however, many byroads diverged, so that it left them utterly at sea.
“The telephone,” cried Bert; “let’s try that first.”
They bundled into the car and a few minutes brought them to the nearest town. Picking out half a dozen addresses along different roads, they called them up. Had they seen a band of gipsies going by? The answer “No” came with exasperating monotony, until suddenly Bert leaped to his feet.
“Here we are, boys,” he cried. “Bartlett on the Ashby road, eight miles from here, saw them go by two hours ago. Now let’s get busy.”