It was apparent enough that mean mischief they did. Their dark eyes gleamed fiercely out of their swarthy faces. One or two wore a vivid red or blue handkerchief knotted about sinewy necks, this means of adornment only adding to their generally sinister look.
"I knew we wouldn't get far without running into trouble," moaned Jake dejectedly.
Roy turned on him sharply, almost angrily.
"You get the ladies in that machine and drive off down the road a bit," he said; "I'll attend to this thing. Jimsy, come here."
Jake hesitated a moment and then strode off to the auto.
"Can't we stay and help?" asked Bess.
"No; we can help Roy best by doing what he; wants us to. He's got some plan in his head," rejoined Peggy firmly, "come along, Wren; Jess, help me with her, she's terrified to death."
This was no exaggeration. At sight of the gipsy band, the child so recently taken from their clutches shrank and cowered against her young protectress.
"Don't let them take me—don't!" she kept wailing.
"Never mind; don't be scared, Wren," Peggy comforted, "they won't get you."