Just then an exclamation from Ruth, who was kneeling beside the prostrate Jimmie, caused the two boys to turn their heads involuntarily, and in that moment, the two men who were standing with their arms up at the point of Stephen’s pistol, ran for the underbrush, Stephen shot and missed his aim. He shot again and hit the small fellow in the leg, having aimed low; not wishing to kill even in self-defense. But the tramps had plunged into the woods, and were out of sight in an instant.
“Better not go after them, Stephen,” called Alfred. “We’ve got one here and we may catch the others later. I wish we had a rope to tie this fellow’s hands with.”
“Try this,” suggested Ruth, and she calmly tore the muslin ruffle off her petticoat and handed the strip to Alfred, who bound the man’s hands behind his back and ordered him to sit still until he was wanted.
Meanwhile, the two girls had turned their attention to Jimmie, who showed no signs of returning consciousness, but lay battered and bleeding, a sad sight in comparison to the joyous Jimmie of half an hour before. Blind Jennie had come from her hiding place behind a tree, and was kneeling beside the wounded boy. Feeling the abrasions on his face with her sensitive fingers, she shuddered.
“He should have water,” she whispered. “There is a brook not far from here. I will show you,” and she turned her sightless eyes in the direction of Stephen, who was guarding the remaining tramp.
“Ruth, you and Alfred take our three hats and go with Jennie for the water. Alfred, take the pistol with you in case of another attack. Bab, you stay and look after Jimmie, please.”
Ruth and Alfred followed after old Jennie, while Bab, kneeling beside Jimmie, began chafing his wrists. Not a sound broke the stillness. Stephen, on a log, had his pistol cocked and pointed straight at the tramp who was huddled in a heap on the ground, gazing sullenly into the barrel of the pistol. Bab had not looked around for some time, so intent was she on her efforts to bring some life back into poor Jimmie. But feeling a sudden, unaccountable loneliness, she called:
“Stephen, aren’t you curious to know where we found the pistols?”
There was no answer, and, looking over her shoulder, Bab was horrified to see Stephen lying prone on the ground in a dead faint, the pistol still grasped tightly in his hand, while the tramp had evidently lost no time in joining his pals.
Leaving Jimmie, Bab rushed to Stephen. First releasing the pistol from his hand, she laid it on a stump. Then she began rubbing his wrists and temples.