CHAPTER IV
THE PREMATURE CAMP
After all, the last days of school came and went, and the Glenwoodgirls had started off for their respective homes before Dorothy had achance to fully realize that the vacation had really begun, and thateach day of that delightful calendar now seemed suspended from thevery skies, illumined with the prospects of the very best of goodtimes.
Dorothy had promised to spend a greater part of the summer withRose-Mary Markin at the Markin summer place, a delightful spot on LakeMonadic in Maine. This plan was particularly fortunate, as Mrs.Winthrop White, Dorothy's Aunt Winnie, with whom the Dales had latelymade their home, was to go abroad, while Ned and Nat, Dorothy'scousins, had arranged such a varied itinerary for their summer sports,that one might imagine, to hear the schedule, that the particularsummer involved must have been of the brand which has neither nightnor autumn to mark its limits.
Then Major Dale, and Dorothy's brothers, Joe and Roger, were to take along-promised cruise on the St. Lawrence, so that Dorothy was quite atliberty to plan for herself.
But these plans could never interfere with a visit to the Cedars, theWhite's summer home, and here, on the afternoon of which we write,Dorothy found herself at last surrounded by her family, and submergedin their joyous welcome.
"Roger, how you have grown!" she kept saying as her eyes, time aftertime, sought out the "baby" brother of whom Dorothy was so fond. "AndJoe! Why, you are getting to look so much like Nat----"
"Here, now! No knocking!" called out the jolly Nat. "I don't want tobe handsome, but I simply refuse to look ten years younger!" This lastwas said in imitation of the "lady-like way" girls are supposed tohave in expressing their compliments.
"And me?" asked Ned, pulling himself up out of his high-enough heightbefore his cousin. "What is the verdict? Am I not--ahem--stunning?"
"You are big enough, that's sure," admitted Dorothy, giving him alook of unstinted admiration, "and as to being stunning--I justimagine that you are even that--in your golf suit."
"There now!" and Nat went off into kinks; "he has to wear knickers tolook cute. You ought to see me in my football togs if you want tobehold something really magnificent."
"Here, here!" called out Major Dale. "When I was a lad it wasconsidered a crime to keep a mirror in one's room. We used to keep oneblind shut to get a reflection on the window pane for the neck-tiebusiness, and we took a chance at the hair-part. But to hear you youngones! What you actually need, boys, is a little of the real thing intraining. Why don't you pitch a tent out on your own river here, andgo in for roughing it?"
"Great!" declared the boys' chorus.
"Now that's something like," continued Nat, "and it would do a lottoward patching up a fellow's finances. Let's see. Where's thatitinerary? Suppose we make it two weeks at home--on the co-operative."
Like the proverbial wildfire, the suggestion spread, until within ashort hour the boys, with Dorothy, were out on the river edge,selecting the spot upon which to pitch the "War Tent"--for war theydeclared it would be, "against masculine beauties." Dorothy foundherself so busy planning the boys suits, figuring out what they wouldrequire in the way of supplies and furniture, though this last was tobe cut down to mere necessities, that she almost felt her own campingdays had begun, as Nat expressed it.
"Now that comes of having a girl around," declared Ned. "If you hadnot come, Dorothy, we would never have had that admiration conference,and then we could never have discovered our own beautiful river, forin this case, I don't mind using a correct, and all right adjective,although usually I consider anything adjectivey rather too much of aspread."
He sauntered once more to the river's brink, where a short distancedown stream could be seen the _Lebanon_, the family rowboat. Surelythe place did warrant the boy extravagant use of "a correctadjective," and did look "adjectivey" away into the superlative.
Nat found just the spot for the tent, Roger and Joe were racing aboutlike little human greyhounds, intent upon the scent of fun, andDorothy took time to decide that perhaps this camp would prove asdelightful as she expected that one to be, whither, in a few days, shemust journey, and leave the dear home-folks, reluctantly, indeed. Butthen boys' fun always seemed like their idea of Fourth of July--justas noisy and just as unreliable. At the same time they always managedto put it off with a roar, and this roar had already set in for theBlanket Indians of "Cut-it-out-Camp."
Dorothy had promised her Aunt Winnie not to stay too long away fromher, as there were so many things to be discussed before the aunt andher favorite niece should part for the summer. So that, now, Dorothywas hurrying to finish up her part of the camp map, and go back to theCedars.
"We fellows must get a few good strong poles over there on the knoll,"said Nat, "and I see no better time to get them than right now."
"Then I must go home," spoke Dorothy. "I have already overstayed myleave of absence."
"Can you go back alone?" asked Ned. "If not, I'll cut the trees bycutting out the work. See how well we have named the camp. It's inworking order already."
"No you don't," interrupted Nat. "You've got to do your share ofeverything."
"I'll run back while you are talking about it," declared Dorothy. "I'msure I know the way perfectly well."
"Be sure," called Ned, "for there are turns and twists in thatwoodland, that I think you are scarcely familiar with."
But Dorothy was gone. She ran along through the twilight-tinted woods,stopping now and then to look at the gray squirrels that capered upand down the trees, some making so bold as to run along the fence ather very side.
"This will make an ideal camping grounds," she was thinking. "I wonderthe boys never thought of using it before."
Suddenly she heard a rustle in the brush. She stopped and listened. Itsounded again, this time nearer. She looked about her, and, for thefirst time, realized that she was, indeed, in deep woods.
To call for the boys, Dorothy knew would be worse than useless, for itwould simply notify any listener of her fears, so, instead, she walkedalong boldly enough, even whistling lightly as any Glenwood girl woulddo "when in doubt," according to the Glenwood code.
But she had not more than crossed the first small stream, made up of anumber of springs, running through this wood toward the river, whensomething--a most grotesque figure--stepped out in her path!
It was too absurd to really frighten her at first, for it apeared tobe a boy dressed up as a bandit, and surely any such prank could meannothing serious, she thought.
"Good afternoon," Dorothy said, attempting to pass.
A queer growl was her answer, and the figure in the Indian suit, witha mask of red cloth, and all sorts of trappings hanging about frombelts and straps, actually pointed what seemed to be a real gun ather.
"Hands up!" came the command.
Dorothy still felt like laughing. Surely this must be a trick of someboy in the neighborhood, she decided.
"Hands up!" again came the command, this time the gun beingdeliberately aimed at her head!
"What do you want?" demanded Dorothy. "Why should you stop me--withyour nonsense?"
Dropping the old-fashioned gun the boy (for such she decided theperson was) jumped at her, and grasped her hands, at the same timemaking an effort to tie them, with a bit of rope from the belttrappings.
"Stop! Stop!" Screamed Dorothy, now thoroughly frightened. "Help!Help!" she yelled at the very top of her terrified voice.
"Easy, easy," came the exasperating, sneering words from the bandit."Take it easy or it will be all the worse for you. Now where do youkeep the goods?"
He had actually succeeded in tying her hands and now held her prisonerwith one strong arm about her waist, and with the other hand he wasendeavoring to unclasp her beautiful little gold bracelet. Fearing tolose her footing, in her frantic efforts to get free, Dorothy thoughtquickly. It would be better to lose her jewelry, than to have her lifeperhaps imperiled.
"You may take my--gold," she panted. "You seem to be stronger tha
n I,and if you are not crazy you must be--a thief!"
"If you shout--I'll gag you," came the astonishing declaration, whilethe bandit struggled with the bracelet, and almost cut Dorothy's wriston the knife with which he was trying to cut loose the circlet.
"Oh, don't," pleaded Dorothy. "Let go my hand and I'll give it you!"
How she wanted to yell! But if he should tie her mouth!
Voices sounded!
"Oh, it must be the boys," thought Dorothy. "If only they come thisway!"
Her assailant heard the same voices, and desperately he pulled at thelocked bracelet. As he made one final attempt to wrench it fromDorothy's wrist, his knife slipped, and cut clear across his own hand,the blood spurting from a long wound. With a cry he dropped his holdon Dorothy, and attempted to staunch the flow of blood.
Freed, Dorothy ran--ran as she felt she had never known she could run!She did not stop to call, although she judged that the boys might benear by; but ran on, across the marshes without any heed to the water,that even splattered up in her face, as she jumped from edge to edgeof the rivulets, making her way out to the open roadway.
How her heart pounded! It did not seem to beat, but rather to strikeat her breast and almost to strangle her.
It was getting quite dusk, but once on the road and she would feelsafe.
"Hey there!" came a call in a familiar voice.
The boys were just coming out of the woods at the far end of the oaks.
"What's your hurry!" demanded Nat.
Dorothy felt like sinking down. The relief was almost as overwhelmingas had been her fear.
"Oh, do hurry!" she called rather feebly. "I am almost dead!"