Meanwhile Betty was getting in a little fine work, the artistry of which the Outdoor Girls did not fully appreciate till afterward.
“Now I think you’ll move,” the Little Captain called to the startled tramps. Her voice was not like Betty’s at all, so thin and metallic it was. There was resolution in that voice, and the tramps knew she meant what she said. “I’ll give you till I count up to ten,” she went on. “Then if you’re not both completely out of sight I’ll try my aim on you. I’m very much in need of a little practice.”
But she did not need count up to five. Out of that boat leaped the two men, the tall one’s long legs carrying him a little in advance of his fat comrade.
Headlong they scuttled up the side of the hill, making wildly for the shelter of the trees while Betty, turning so as to keep them covered, counted calmly and not too slowly, up to ten.
As the fleeing tramps disappeared from view at the counting of the last numeral, Betty excitedly turned her weapon on the girls.
“Get in the boat—get in!” she urged, flourishing the pistol wildly. “Get in before they find out it’s all a sh—sham. Don’t stand gaping there. Get in, I tell you!”
The girls obeyed, more for the sake of getting out of range of that wildly moving pistol than from fear of the tramps. They were still gasping and a bit dazed from the suddenness of what had happened when the putt-putt of the Gem’s engine fell reassuringly on their ears. At the same moment the little boat fairly leapt away from shore, Betty tensely grasping the wheel.
It was not till they were well out upon the river that Betty relaxed her position. Then, to the girls’ utter surprise and horror, she began to laugh hysterically.
“Mollie! Take the wheel! Do!” she cried, as the Gem zigzagged crazily across the water. “I’ve got to have my laugh out or I’ll d-die.”
Obediently Mollie took the wheel and the Little Captain made room for her. Then she covered her face with her hands and rocked back and forth with merriment—or tears. The girls were not sure which.