"And so will the auto--I have no doubt," added Ruth, laughingly. "Cheer up, Helen, dear----"

"I know the rest of it!" interrupted her chum. "'The worst is yet to come!' I--hope--not!"

Ruth Fielding would allow no worrying or criticism in this event. They were out for a good time, and she at once proceeded to cheer up the twins, and laugh at their fears, and interest them in other things.

They crossed the river at Culm Falls--a beautiful spot--and it was beyond the bridge, as the car was mounting the first long rise, that the party of adventurers found their first incident of moment.

Here and there were clearings in the forest upon the right side of the road (on the other side the hill fell abruptly to the river), and little farms. As the party came in sight of one of these farms, a great cry arose from the dooryard. The poultry was soundly disturbed--squawking, cackling, shrieking their protests noisily--while the deep baying of a dog rose savagely above the general turmoil.

"Something doing there!" quoth Tom Cameron, slowing down.

"A chicken hawk, perhaps?" suggested Ruth.

A woman was screaming admonition or advice; occasionally the gruffer voice of a man added to the turmoil. But the dog's barking was the loudest sound.

Suddenly, from around the corner of the barn, appeared a figure wildly running. It was neither the farmer, nor his wife--that was sure.

"Tramp!" exclaimed Tom, reaching for the starting lever again.

At that moment Helen shrieked. After the running man appeared a hound.

He had broken his leash, and a more savage brute it would be difficult to imagine. He was following the runner with great leaps, and when the fugitive vaulted the roadside fence, the dog crashed through the rails, tearing down a length of them, and scrambling in the dusty road in an endeavor to get on the trail of the man again.

Only, it was not a man; it was a boy! He was big and strong looking, but his face was boyish. Ruth Fielding stood up suddenly in the car and shrieked to him:

"Come here! This way! Roberto!"

"My goodness! is he a friend of yours, Ruthie?" gasped Tom Cameron.

"He's the Gypsy boy that saved Uncle Jabez," returned Ruth, in a breath.

"Take him aboard--_do_!" urged Helen. "That awful dog----"

Roberto had heard and leaped for the running-board of the car. Tom switched on the power. Just as the huge hound leaped, and his fore-paws touched the step, the car darted away and the brute was left sprawling.

The car was a left-hand drive, and Tom motioned the panting youth to get in beside him. The dark-faced fellow did so. At first he was too breathless to speak, but his black eyes snapped like beads, and his lips smiled. He seemed to have enjoyed the race with the savage dog, instead of having been frightened by it.

"You save me, Missy, like I save your old man--eh?" he panted, at last, turning his brilliant smile upon Ruth. "Me! that dog mos' have me, eh?"

"What was the matter? How came you to start all that riot?" demanded Tom, looking at the Gypsy youth askance.

Roberto's grin became expansive. The little gold rings in his ears twinkled as well as his eyes.

"I did them no wrong. I slept in the man's haymow. He found me a little while ago. He say I haf to _pay_ for my sleep--eh? How poor Gypsy pay?"

and he opened his hands and shrugged his shoulders to show that his pockets were empty.

"Me, no money have got. Can I work? Of course I work--only the farmers do not trust me. They call all Gypsies thieves. Isn't it so, Missy?" and he flashed a glance at Ruth.

"I know, Mr. Joe Bascom drove you out of his orchard," agreed the girl of the Red Mill. "But you should have come across the river to _us_.

Uncle Jabez is really grateful to you."

"Oh, _that_?" and the boy shrugged his shoulders again. "I do not want pay for what I do--no. I want no money. I would not work a day for all my grandmother's wealth--and she is a miser," and Roberto laughed again, showing all his white, strong teeth.

"But these people back here--this man and his woman--they want me to churn. It is a dog's work--no? I see where the dog haf to churn, but that dog die and they get this new, savage one--and it will not. Me, I think this dog very wise!" and Roberto's merriment broke out again, and he shook with it.

"So I tell them I will not do dog's work, and then he, the man, chases me with his pitchfork, and the woman unloose the dog. Oh, yes! I make a great noise in the henyard. That dog chase me hard. So--I got away as you see," he concluded.

"Say! you're a cool one," declared Tom, with growing admiration.

"But you ought not to be loafing about, sleeping anywhere, and without employment," said Helen, primly.

Roberto's black eyes sparkled. "Why does the little missy say I should work?" he demanded. "There is no need. I return to my people, perhaps.

There I curry horses and fill the water pails for the women, and go with my uncle to the horse-fairs where he trades, or be under my grandmother's beck and call--the grandmother whom I tell you is a miser.

But I never have money with them, and why should I work for it elsewhere?"

"To get good clothes, and good food, and pay your way everywhere,"

suggested Tom.

Roberto laughed again. He spread out his strong hands. "These keep me from day to day," he said. "But money burns a hole in my pocket. Or, would you have me like my grandmother? She h.o.a.rds every penny-piece, and then gloats over her money-box, by the firelight, when the rest of the camp is asleep. Oh, I see her!"

CHAPTER V

A PROPHECY FULFILLED

This queer youth interested Ruth Fielding and her friends, the Cameron twins, very much. Roberto was not naturally talkative, it seemed, for he soon dropped into silence and it was hard to get aught out of him but "Yes" and "No." At first, however, he had been excited, and he told them a great deal of his life with the tribe and along the pleasant country roads.

The cities Roberto could not bear. "There is no breath left in them--it is used up by so many," he explained. He did not eschew work because he was lazy, it seemed; but he saw no use in it.

Clothing? Money? Rich food? Other things that people strive for in the main? They were nothing to Roberto. He could sleep under a haystack, crunch a crust of bread, and wear his garments until they fell off him in rags.

But he knew the woods and fields as n.o.body but a wild boy could. Every whistle and note of every bird was as familiar to him as his own Tzigane speech; and he could imitate them with exactness.

He delighted his new friends, as the car rumbled along. He soon stopped talking much, as I have said, but he answered their mult.i.tude of questions, and did not seem to mind being cross-questioned about the life of the Gypsies.

The auto party stopped soon after noon to lunch. It was Roberto who pointed out the spring of clear, cold water for which they searched. He had been over this road before and, it seemed, once along a trail was enough for the young Gypsy. He never forgot.

He went away down the little stream, and made himself very clean before appearing for his share of the food. To the surprise of Ruth and Helen he ate daintily and showed breeding of a kind. Nor was he enamored of the cakes and other dainties that Babette, the Camerons' cook, had put into the lunch hamper, but enjoyed, instead, the more simple viands.

Roberto grew restless of riding in the car soon after luncheon. He thanked them for giving him the lift, but explained that there were paths through the woods leading to the present camp of his tribe that he preferred to follow.

"It is a mark of kindness for you to have brought me this way," he said, softly, bending over Ruth's hand, for he insisted upon considering her his hostess. He realized that, had it not been for her, the Camerons would have been chary of taking him aboard.

"If you are ever near the Red Mill again," Ruth told him, "be sure to come and speak with Uncle Jabez. He will not forget you, I am sure."

"Of that--pooh!" exclaimed the Gypsy. "I do not want pay for such an act. Do you?"