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Outdoor Girls at the Hostess House

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<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> <h3>THE MIRACLE</h3> It was only a few days later that the wonderful, the incredible thing happened! The girls were returning from a rather hurried excursion to a near-by town when they came face to face with the motorcyclist. His motor had evidently stalled, and he was standing in the middle of the road tinkering with it. Paralyzed by the suddenness of the thing, the girls just stood still and stared until the man, evidently feeling their eyes upon him, turned slowly about and faced them. He seemed to recognize them immediately, for his first look of bewilderment was followed quickly by one of fear, and with an abrupt motion he turned back to his machine. "Now we have him, what are we going to do with him?" whispered Mollie, a comical look of chagrin on her face. "We can't capture him all by ourselves, and we can hardly expect him to wait while we get some one." "He is huskier than I thought," admitted Grace, adding suddenly, "Betty, what are you going to do?" But Betty either did not hear or did not want to, for she was approaching the man without a backward glance in their direction. Though not knowing just what was about to happen, the girls followed loyally, close at her heels. As for Betty, she simply stepped up close to the man and stood looking at him steadily, finally forcing him by sheer concentration to straighten up and meet her eyes. "Well, who are you?" he demanded at last, gruffly. "That was just the question I was about to put to you," Betty replied, and by her outward composure no one could possibly have guessed how hard her heart was beating. "We are really quite desirous of knowing all about you." "May I ask," he said, his cruel mouth sneering under the absurd moustache, "what has happened to arouse this sudden interest?" The sneer brought a flush to Betty's face and made her eyes glow angrily. "You ought to know that without my telling you," she said coldly. "Perhaps you will remember, if I recall it to you, the day you knocked an old woman down in the middle of the road and then rode away without finding out how seriously you had injured her." "I really don't know what you're talking about," the man replied, with an attempt to appear frank, which made his face more sinister than before. "You must have mistaken me for some one else." "That's impossible." Mollie's voice was crisp and clear cut, and the man glanced with surprise and a shadow of alarm at this new assailant. Then suddenly his manner of cool insolence changed, and he shot them a look that remained quiveringly in their memories long after the man himself had passed forever out of their lives. "Whoever you are, you're fools," he said gruffly, menacingly. "And if you don't forget all about this thing you've been spouting about, I'll make it pretty darned unpleasant for you. Get me?" And, with a quick movement, he started his motor and leaped on his machine. Betty sprang forward and desperately clutched the handle bars, calling on the girls for assistance, but he roughly pushed her aside. At the same moment the machine leapt forward and Betty knew that he would get away again. Then it was the first miracle happened. Sergeant Mullins, out on a hike with some of the rookies from the camp, the sound of his approach deadened by the putting of the machine, appeared around the turn in the road, coming toward them. To keep from running into the men, which would have meant a nasty spill, the motorcyclist was forced to put on his brake. The men would have gathered to one side of the road to let him pass, but Betty's shrill cry arrested them. "Don't let him pass," she implored them desperately. "It's our criminal, Sergeant Mullins! Don't you see? The gambler!" But Sergeant Mullins, in one swift glance, had already taken in the situation, and as the man tried to start his machine he sprang forward and grasped the handle bars, at the same time shouting orders to his men. "Surround him, fellows!" he cried. "This man is under arrest!" "What do you mean?" cried the gambler, his eyes glaring with the rage of a cornered animal. "Don't waste your breath, Denham," retorted Sergeant Mullins coolly, "your reputation isn't any too good around these parts, you know, and you'll have plenty of chance to do your shouting to the judge. "Never mind your machine," he added sharply, as the fellow's mean eyes glanced about desperately for means of escape. "The boys will take care of that. And," he added meaningly, "I have rather a life-sized impression that you won't be needing it again for some time to come!" Denham shot him a vicious glance, and got off sullenly from his machine while a group of soldiers stepped up smartly to take charge of it. With his prisoner safely guarded, Sergeant Mullins ordered the march back to camp, then drew in a long breath and looked at the girls. "Well," he said, with his slow smile, "you did it that time." "We!" cried Betty, her cheeks flushed with excitement and the exhilaration of success. "I should say you did the work while we looked on. Oh, I'm so happy—and so grateful to you." "But I didn't do anything," he protested, smiling whimsically, as they turned to follow the soldiers and their prisoner. "I simply let the boys do the work while I looked on." "Goodness! what do we care how it happened as long as it did?" cried Mollie happily. "Maybe now he'll see that he can't run down old ladies promiscuously and get away with it." "Not with girls like you on his trail," said the sergeant admiringly. "But what are you going to do with him, now you've got him?" asked Grace, repeating almost word for word the question Mollie had put only a few minutes before. "I suppose we've got to get out some sort of definite charge against him." "Yes," said the sergeant thoughtfully. "We can put him in the guardhouse up at camp till we have a chance to get the township authorities up here. And," he added, turning to Betty, "I'd like to have an interview with that old lady of yours, if you can manage it. We'll have to have her evidence, you know." "Oh, and isn't it lucky?" cried Betty, executing a little skip in her excitement. "She told us only this morning that she was feeling perfectly well again and would go away to-morrow. We were worrying ourselves sick about it, but couldn't think up a single plan to keep her with us. And if she had gone before this happened—" she stopped, overwhelmed by the mere contemplation of the tragedy. "I still feel as if I were dreaming," said Amy, as they entered the camp gate. "It all happened so suddenly, and just when we were feeling so awfully blue." "Well, I know I wasn't dreaming," said Grace plaintively, "because in my excitement I dropped two perfectly good candies in the road and forgot to pick 'em up." They laughed at her, and Betty added whimsically: "Perhaps it was just as well for your digestion that you did. I suppose you'll have to go to the guardhouse to explain about the prisoner," she rather stated than asked, turning to Sergeant Mullins. "Yes," he said, adding, with a trace of hesitation: "It won't take long though, and if you don't mind waiting till I get back I'd like to have that talk with the old lady he knocked down. It's necessary to see her as soon as possible." "Goodness, we don't mind waiting," cried Betty. "And you can't see her too quickly to suit us. We're just crazy to see the whole thing settled—" "And that brute behind the bars," finished Mollie vindictively. Sergeant Mullins laughed boyishly, saluted smartly, and turned on his heel to follow the boys who were fast bearing the prisoner to the guardhouse and from there to the just punishment that had been so long in overtaking him. "Well," said Mollie, as she flopped down on the steps and favored the girls with a beaming smile, "now what have you got to say for yourselves?" "More in truth than in modesty," twinkled the Little Captain, "I should say that we are pretty good." "My! don't we love us?" queried Grace, fishing up from her pocket a much-mangled and sadly worn chocolate and calmly inserting it between two very pretty rows of white teeth. "It's really touching—" "Oh, Grace, how can you think of candies at a time like this?" cried Mollie impatiently. "Don't know," returned Grace, calmly nibbling. "It's a gift, I guess." "Gracie, you're an awful goose," cried Betty, hugging her impulsively. "But I'm so happy, I'll forgive you even that—" "It's you that ought to be forgiven for calling me names," returned Grace, in an injured tone of voice. "Goodness," she cried, a moment later, pointing a moist and tired chocolate in the direction of the horizon. "Am I mistaken, or is that the stalwart figure of our sergeant approaching in the distance?" "Oh, it is, it is!" cried Betty, springing to her feet and fairly dancing in her excitement and impatience. "Oh, I can't wait! Why doesn't he hurry?" As a matter of fact, the sergeant was hurrying very much indeed, for he was almost as eager as the girls to see the old lady and collect the evidence in the case against the motorcyclist. He was panting as he sprang up the steps toward them and his eyes were bright with anticipation. "I got back as soon as I could," he cried. "Now, if you can take me—" The girls wasted no time in words, and led him swiftly up the stairs, pausing before Mrs. Sanderson's door. "What shall we do if she's gone?" whispered Betty, a sudden panic seizing her. Then, without further delay, rapped smartly on the door. At the answering "come in" they tumbled into the room, followed by Sergeant Mullins. Then it was the second miracle happened! Mrs. Sanderson started, stared, then rose tremblingly to her feet. "My Willie boy!" she cried, groping toward him, dazed, unbelieving, incredulous. "It's my boy, my little son—my—baby—" Then Sergeant Mullins, with a hoarse cry, rushed across the room and gathered the little figure in his arms—strong, man's arms that crushed and hurt. "Mother!" he cried. "Oh, my mother!" <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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