Pathfinder Part 19

They crumpled up and went over. A couple of ten-pins struck by a swiftly hurled ball could hardly have collapsed more ingloriously than did Lil Artha and his mate.

Indeed, the long-legged scout seemed to perform a complete revolution in the air, landing on his knees among the bushes.

Two seconds later, when Elmer dashed out of the shack, this was the astonishing spectacle he saw--the woman running away as best her bulk allowed, casting glances that were half frightened, half triumphant, behind her; while Mark was sitting up, rubbing a b.u.mp on his forehead ruefully, and Lil Artha had taken out a handkerchief to dab at his bleeding nose.

Still, nothing short of an earthquake could ever bottle up the flow of animal spirits that usually possessed the lanky one.

While he applied his handkerchief until it looked particularly gory, he was bent upon giving expression to his views.

"Wow! and again I say, wow! What cyclone was that we ran up against, Elmer? Did you let fly with that club of yours, or did the old shack just take a notion to fall over on us? It felt like I was being kicked by an army mule."

"Same here, Elmer," lamented Mark, as he succeeded in struggling to his feet.

"Well, it wasn't anything like that at all," declared Elmer, hastily; "and if you take the trouble to look yonder, before your eyes begin to close up, you'll see what hit you, running away like a scared hippopotamus."

"Glory be! Was it that dago woman?" yelled Lil Artha, now on his feet again.

"Yes, she burst the door open when she saw me, and as you chanced to be in the way, why, you got the benefit, that's all," Elmer remarked.

"Don't let her get away, fellows! Come on, who's afraid? We can cover three feet to her one. Let's make her a prisoner," shouted Lil Artha, whose usually even temper seemed to have been decidedly ruffled by his recent mishap.

So the three scouts left the shack and began to rush after the fleeing Italian woman.

Of course she knew immediately that she was being pursued. She tried to increase her pace, but evidently with little success. Short, dumpy people can never hope to compete with slim, long-legged greyhounds like Lil Artha.

And so, almost from the start, the three scouts began to close in upon the fleeing Italian woman.

"Say, she's got a b.l.o.o.d.y old knife," gasped Lil Artha, as they struggled on through the woods where the creeping vines and the underbrush, not to mention frequent logs and occasional woodchuck holes, made running a desperate business.

"That's so, Elmer," piped up Mark, "I saw her shake it at us then."

"I know it, fellows," said the scout master, "and that's what I was shouting about, to warn you."

"Are we gaining any, Elmer? I can't see just as well as I'd like, with this thing up to my nose," the lanky runner asked.

"Pulling up on her fast, my boy," came the rea.s.suring answer.

"And what're we goin' to do when she turns on us?" demanded Lil Artha.

"First of all, surround her."

"That sounds good as far as she goes. What next?"

"We must try and knock that nasty thing out of her hand by a sharp blow on the arm," continued Elmer, who strangely enough seemed as cool as a cuc.u.mber, while both of his companions showed the effect of the mad pace.

"I tumble to it, Elmer," gasped Lil Artha, "and I'm the fellow to give that lovely little tap. I made Red drop his stick seven times when we were having a bout with long sticks, and which we pretended were the old-style quarterstaves."

Even the long-legged Lil Artha must see now that the distance separating the pursuers from the fugitive had been greatly shortened. Another five minutes would see them overhaul the woman, unless something not down on the bills came to pa.s.s.

Five minutes--why there would surely be ample time to bring this result about, judging by the way they were covering two yards to her one.

The woman knew it, too.

She was becoming more and more anxious. This was shown by the way she kept turning her head from time to time as she ran.

Elmer knew what was apt to happen. For himself he found that he had need of both his eyes with every step forward he took through that tangle, where trailing vines lay in wait to trip him up, and branches hung low as if seeking to catch in his hair, to make him another Absalom.

Already had Lil Artha gone down with a thud, but as he said himself, his "dander" was aroused, and no little things like this could be allowed to interfere with his pursuit.

So he had hastily scrambled to his feet and followed at the heels of his more fortunate chums, a sight calculated to excite wild laughter among the rest of the troop, with his blood-flecked face.

At any rate Lil Artha was game to the backbone, and Elmer often remembered it afterward when "trying out" his scouts.

The closer they drew to the fleeing woman the greater her fright seemed to become.

Whenever he saw her looking backward over her shoulder Elmer would make pantomime gestures with his free hand.

He was trying the best he knew how to tell her to give over this foolish flight, and that they had no hostile intentions.

But the chances were she interpreted these movements just the other way, and believed he must be threatening her with all sorts of terrible things unless she yielded herself a prisoner to their prowess.

Well, no matter, it could hardly last more than another minute or so. Do what she would the woman must find it utterly impossible to get away.

Already the active mind of the young scout master was busy, weaving a clever scheme by means of which they could surround the woman, and by attacking her all at once, succeed in knocking the shining knife out of her hand.

No doubt he would have succeeded in doing the job, too, had conditions continued to make such a move necessary.

But they did not.

The fickle hand of Fate came in between just in time to share in the matter.

It seemed to Elmer that they were constantly getting into a more tangled mess of undergrowth. All around and ahead were traps calculated to slyly catch unwary feet and trip them up.

Suddenly Elmer gave vent to a low gasping cry; but while Mark involuntarily turned his head to learn if his companion had gone lame, to his surprise and gratification he found the other running as smoothly and easily as ever, as though perfectly fresh.

"The woman!" shrieked Lil Artha, who, apparently, from his position in the rear had been enabled to see just what had happened.

"Where--is--she?" gasped Mark, once more allowing his eyes to travel ahead.

For, apparently, the fleeing Italian had vanished at that instant, as completely as though the earth had opened and swallowed her up.

"She's down--caught her foot in a root!" cried Elmer, not slackening his warm pace, for he wanted to make a quick job of the thing.

Then Mark saw that some object was threshing the bushes furiously. Twice the woman tried to rise, but on each occasion she fell back again.

Then presently he gave a shout as he guessed the true situation.

"She's caught fast in a vine, Elmer. Even the woods work with us! I tell you she's a prisoner right now! All we've got to do is to tie her hands!"