“That’s right,” answered Bab. “Take this one and come on. They are both loaded, I see. Don’t fire unless I tell you, and be careful where you aim. You had better point up so as not to hit anybody. Jennie, wait for us over here. I believe you have saved us all.”
So saying, Bab ran, followed by Ruth, to the scene of the battle. And it was indeed a battle! Jimmie was lying insensible on the ground, while his opponent had joined in the fight against Stephen, who was rapidly losing strength. Alfred and his tramp were still rolling over and over, locked in each other’s arms.
A few feet away from the fighters Bab fired her pistol in the air. The explosion stopped the fight. So intent had the combatants been that they had forgotten time and place. At the report of the pistol they came to themselves almost with a jump. Everybody, except poor, unconscious Jimmie, paused breathless, perspiration pouring from their faces. Alfred had got the better of his opponent and his hands gripped the man’s throat. Bab, followed by Ruth, dashed up, and both girls pointed their pistols at the two tramps who were engaging Stephen.
“Shall we shoot them, Stephen?” asked Bab as calmly as if nothing had happened.
“Throw up your hands,” cried Stephen to the tramps; which they proceeded to do in prompt order. “Now, give me your pistol, Ruth; give yours to Alfred, Bab.”
In the meantime, Alfred had risen, hardly recognizable in a coating of dust and blood, ordering his man to lie quiet or be killed.
“Suppose we herd them together, Stephen,” he suggested, “and drive them up to the hall like the cattle they are?”
“Just what I was thinking,” replied Stephen, “only what about Jimmie?”
“The girls will see to him,” answered Alfred.
“No, no,” retorted Stephen. “We can’t leave the girls here alone with him in that condition, not after this. There may be more tramps lurking around, for all we know.”