“Then you didn’t get the fellow?” demanded Grace, addressing the guide.
“No. He got away. I wish it had been daylight. That is all I can tell you. May I ask what Miss Briggs has to say of the attack on her?”
“She says she felt something moving under her pillow, and after waiting a moment she became convinced that a hand was searching there. She made a grab for the hand and caught a man’s arm and then lost consciousness.”
“Fright?” asked the guide.
“Fright! No. A blow on the head, Mr. White. I think the fellow must have brought his fist down, for the injury doesn’t look as if it had been done with a stick or an instrument. That is all she knows about it, sir.”
“Was anything taken—did she have anything under her pillow?” persisted White.
“Yes. That little canvas bag she carries. There was nothing of value in it. There may have been some small change there, for most of her money was in her money belt around her waist. The other things in the bag were such toilet articles as we all carry to use while riding—and a little powder,” added Grace smilingly. “Mere men don’t understand those things.”
“Thieves!” cried Stacy. “Oh, wow!” The fat boy ran to his tent and feverishly searched his clothing. He was back in a few moments. “I knew it! The thief didn’t dare tackle a real man. You see, he picked out weak women. He knew better than to trifle with Stacy Brown.”
“Even if Stacy Brown did hide under a blanket when the show opened,” supplemented Lieutenant Wingate. “I presume, if Elfreda had not given the alarm, the man would have gone through all our belongings.”
Ham White was pacing up and down. They could see that he was disturbed.