The Outdoor Girls Around the Campfire by Laura Lee Hope (top 10 best books of all time TXT) 📕

“What you doin’ settin’ there?” he asked, at which Will grinned broadly.

“It’s the most comfortable seat I’ve had in a long time,” he said, rising and dusting off his hands. “Ever since this rascal here relieved me of my watch and my friend of his money, I’ve dreamed of sitting on his neck in just this way.”

“Look out,” cried Betty suddenly. She had recovered her composure and from the tail of her eye had noticed that Frank’s victim was coming to. “He’s going to get away.”

“Nothing like that!” cried Frank, as with one lunge he sank his hand in the tramp’s collar. “After me spoiling a good set of knuckles on his jaw?”

And then the farmers, who up to this time had been too much amazed to do anything, explained that they also were after the tramps. They had been missing all sorts of poultry and fruit for a long time past but had not been able to figure out who had done the damage.

However, on the night before, Samuel Jones—he of the red face and self-appointed leadership—had caught a couple of the rascals in the very act of stealing two of his best hens and had made after them.

In vain did he bestir his pudgy legs in an entirely unaccustomed spurt of speed—the thieves had been too quick for him. However, before they had disappeared he had recognized them as a couple of ill-favored scamps who had been seen loitering around the countryside.

“And so,” he finished, his chin whiskers quivering still more violently with emotion, “I got together a posse of our leadin’ citizens, as you might say, an’ we come a-huntin’ for these here thieves what comes around in the middle of the night stealin’ from honest men. Much obliged to you, young fellers, for doin’ the job up so neat for us.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Frank. Will adding with a grin:

“It was a great pleasure!”

Next thing, the tramps were commanded to “loosen up and come across with the goods.” At first they sullenly refused, but upon Frank threatening to administer another upper cut and the farmers raising their shotguns suggestively, the scoundrels changed their minds and grudgingly led the way into the log hut.

Even then the boys had no real hope of getting back the things that had been stolen from them. The robbery had occurred long enough before to have given the tramps plenty of time to dispose of both watch and money.

But they were agreeably surprised and delighted when, upon a little further persuasion, the fellows revealed a hiding place in one corner of the hut—a hole about a foot deep, lined with stones and covered with several boards which, in turn, were covered with stones and dirt.

With a whoop of joy Will pulled from this hiding place not only his watch and a wallet filled with money—four ten dollar bills which Frank positively identified as his own—but two newly plucked chickens carefully wrapped in newspaper to keep them from the dirt.

Samuel Jones’ eyes shone and his mouth beneath the whiskers was grim as he turned to his companions.

“An’ you were tellin’ me,” he said, in a voice shrill with triumph, “that I didn’t know what I wuz talkin’ about. Them two hens is mine, I’m tellin’ you, stole from me at twelve o’clock last night. Now you’ll believe me, mebbe.”

“Too bad to do the poor hobos out of a good chicken dinner,” Allen suggested, with a twinkle in his eye as Mr. Jones carefully tucked his property under one arm, taking his shotgun in the other. “Just when they had it all prepared, too!”

“Humph!” grunted Jones. “They’ll git their dinner all right—in the county jail. Come along, you two. Forward march, now. An’ make it snappy too. We ain’t in no humorin’ mood.”

“Well,” said Betty, her eyes dancing as she watched the “posse” disappear through the trees, the sullen tramps marching sheepishly along with them, “if that isn’t the snappiest work I ever saw, then I wouldn’t say so. Boys, you deserve a medal.”

“And to think you got your watch and money and everything!” said Grace delightedly, as Frank fondly caressed his recovered bank roll and Will slipped his beloved watch back into his pocket.

“It was a lucky chance that led us to take the wrong path all right,” sighed Amy, who was secretly worrying for fear Will had received some broken bones or internal injuries in the fray.

“The only thing that makes me mad,” said Allen, as they turned to retrace their steps, “is that we didn’t catch the other two scoundrels, Roy. It seemed a shame to let them get off scot free.”

“Tough luck,” agreed Roy, adding philosophically: “Though I guess they’ve had scare enough to keep them away from this neighborhood for some time to come.”

Once again they reached the intersection of the two paths, and this time chose the one that led to the cabin of the Old Maid of the Mountains. Instinctively they increased their pace, eagerly impatient to see the old lady.

When they reached the little house on the hill there was no sign of its owner anywhere. They had half expected to find her seated outside the door, enjoying the sunshine, as was her custom, and the deserted aspect of her front yard alarmed them.

They hurried forward anxiously. Then, just before they reached the cabin, all the boys except Allen dropped behind on the plea that a crowd of strangers might startle the old lady.

“Of course it’s necessary for Allen to be among those present, but as for us, we prefer to wait outside,” stated Roy.

At Betty’s soft knock a faint voice called to them to enter. They found the Old Maid of the Mountains pottering about some household tasks and her rare old face lighted up at sight of the girls.

Then she caught sight of Allen and her hand flew to her throat in that gesture of alarm the girls had come to know so well.

“Who—who are you?” she gasped.

Very gently the Little Captain put an arm about her and pushed her into a chair.

“Don’t be alarmed, Miss Weeks,” she said. “We’ve brought you some very good news. Do you feel strong enough to hear it?”

“Yes, oh, yes!” said the little old lady, still staring at Allen.

It was then that the young lawyer came forward. Betty introduced him very simply and he explained to Isabella Weeks as gently as he could what had transpired within the last few weeks.

During the greater part of the recital she sat like one dazed and who finds it hard to comprehend. Only once did she show any real emotion, and that was when Allen spoke of James Barton’s innocence.

“Innocent!” she cried, a great pride flashing up in her eyes. “You need not tell me that. I was not the one who doubted his innocence. But before I could tell him that he had gone, thinking himself disgraced. But go on,” she added, gently. “I did not mean to interrupt.”

So Allen finished his story, telling of her brother’s death and the will which he had made in her favor. She seemed more startled at first by the mention of the money which was now hers than she was delighted.

“What would I do with all that money?” she cried, almost with dismay. “I could not use it all.”

“But you could use some of it,” said Betty, adding, slyly: “Wouldn’t it be rather nice for instance to have a pretty home with roses over the door and a maid or two to wait upon you and never another worry as long as you live?”

The old lady smiled, gently stroking Betty’s soft cheek.

“It would be nice,” she said. “Especially the roses. And butterflies. Do you think there will be butterflies?” She asked the last question with all the wistfulness of a child and this time it was Mollie who was quick to promise.

“You shall have dozens of them,” she said. “And they’ll be every color of the rainbow.”

This reminded Allen of the embroideries which had been the main clew leading to the discovery of the old lady. He asked if he might see them, and a moment later a handful were given to him for his inspection. Man though he was, he could not but see the rare beauty of the work, and when he handed them back to Isabella Weeks there was a new respect in his eyes.

“Your brother spoke particularly of your fine needlework,” he said, adding gravely: “Your brother was very, very anxious that you should be found. Almost his last words were of you with the hope that, if you still lived, you would some day come to forgive him for his cruel injustice.”

Tears filled the old lady’s eyes.

“He was forgiven long ago,” she murmured.

Allen was about to turn away out of respect for her emotion when she suddenly laid a frail old hand on his arm.

“And James Barton?” she murmured. “Is he—Do you know where he is?”

Allen shook his head.

“Would you like to have me find him?” he asked gently.

The girls looked at their little Old Maid of the Mountains and found that their own eyes were filled with tears. The old lady was blushing like any girl and for the moment her sweet old face was almost beautiful.

“Oh, yes!” she answered eagerly.

“Then,” said Allen, covering her thin little hand with his own strong brown one, “James Barton shall be found!”