Cupid of Campion

“If they camped at two,” said Clarence, “they’ll probably stay for their noon-day meal, and won’t start off till half past three or four. Can we get there before then?”

Father Keenan looked at his watch.

“I’m afraid not,” he said. “It’s now twenty minutes to three. Who knows? If our chauffeur keeps up this clip, we may catch them.”

“And when we do catch ’em,” asked Rieler, “what are we going to do with ’em?”

“How many men are in the crowd, Clarence?” asked the Rector.

“Let’s see. There’s Ben, but you needn’t count him. He’ll be with us if it comes to a row. Then there’s Pete, the leader, his two grown sons, and Ezra. Just four in all.”

“I rather think,” said the Rector, “that we can manage things without getting the sheriff of Lynxville to come to our help with a posse.”

“Sure thing,” exclaimed John Rieler, his eyes dancing with enthusiasm. “I’m only sixteen myself, but I’m feeling pretty good, and I would like to tackle Pete.”

“I’ve whipped Ezra once,” cried Clarence, forgetting his avowed distaste for adventure, “and I feel pretty sure I can do it again.”

“I don’t want to blow,” said the brawny muscular giant who was Prefect of the Sodality, “but I really think I’d like to tackle those two older sons of Pete myself.”

“And where do I come in?” asked the Rector.

“You’ve got the worst job of all, Father,” said Clarence, grinning. “You’ll have to take care of Pete’s wife. For myself, I’d as soon fight a bunch of wild-cats. I think she’s possessed by the devil.”

“Well, boys,” said the Rector after a moment’s reflection, and with a certain tone of regret, “I’m not a fighting man. My cloth forbids it. If possible, we must get Dora without striking a blow.”

John Rieler sighed like an auto in full speed with the muffler open.

“We’re going to get Dora anyhow,” pleaded Benton.

“Oh, yes; we’ll get her, no doubt. Now here’s the way we’ll go about it. When we arrive at the camp, Clarence and John Rieler and myself will visit the gypsies. You, Will Benton, will remain in the automobile with the chauffeur.”

“Father, won’t you please let me in on this?” pleaded the chauffeur, opening his mouth for the first time. “If there’s any fighting to be done, I’d like to have a chance.”

“But we’re not looking for a fight,” persisted the Rector, who was clearly on the unpopular side. “Anyhow the three of us will visit the gypsies, and I’ll do the talking. It is my intention to ask for the release of Dora, and, if refused, try to scare the gypsies into giving her up. While I’m talking I’ll take stock of their forces. If I see that we’ll have to fight for it, I’ll raise my hand – my right hand – so.”

And the Rector raised a closed hand with the index finger pointing upward. “That will mean, Benton, that you are to put on all speed for Lynxville, get the sheriff and one other man without delay. But if I see my way to getting the girl without a fight, I’ll raise both hands upwards, and that means that you two are to step out of the machine and join us.”

“All right, Father,” said Will. “But I think we can fix things without any sheriff.”

During the conversation the machine had been whizzing past hamlet, field and forest. Not once since leaving Prairie du Chien had their speed lessened.

“Now, boys,” said the Rector, after the lapse of several minutes, “we’re getting pretty near the place. Suppose we keep silent. Go slowly, now, chauffeur, and make as little noise as possible. And while we’re silent, let us all say a little prayer that we may succeed.”

The machine went forward slowly, cautiously. Clarence noticed the lips of John Rieler moving. Will Benton had removed his hat and sat with head bowed. Several minutes passed in perfect silence. Then the Rector touched the chauffeur’s arm. The machine stopped.

“Look,” whispered the Rector, pointing toward an open space on the river’s edge.

All turned eagerly.

A little tent – Dora’s tent – rose within thirty yards of them; only the one tent – nothing more.

CHAPTER XVII

In which one surprise follows so closely upon the heels of another that Masters Esmond and Rieler lose power of speech and Will Benton strikes a blow which will live forever in the traditions of Campion College

“Follow me – quietly,” whispered Father Keenan to the two boys, Clarence and John.

In single file the three threaded their way through the shrubbery. Suddenly the Rector paused, and put his finger to his lips.

“Listen,” he said.

“Ben,” came a clear, sweet voice, “do you believe everything that the Catholic Church believes and teaches?”

There was a response pitched so low that the listeners as they pressed steadily forward failed to hear it.

“And do you forgive all who have injured you?”

Clarence thought he could detect Ben’s voice saying – “Yes, yes: I do.”

“And do you forgive Pete?”

“Yes, from my heart.” The three were now quite near and the deeper voice of Ben could clearly be heard.

“And, Ben,” continued the silvery voice, “you wish to die a Catholic?”

“I do – I do.”

“And to be baptized?”

“Yes, Dora.”

“You must know, Ben, that when no priest can be had, anyone may, in case of necessity, baptize. Now, I am going to the river for water; and while I’m gone tell God that you are sorry for your sins.”

Suddenly, the flap of the tent was thrown back, and Dora, like some heavenly apparition, stood revealed. Her face was stained with tears. For the rest, she was in modesty, in expression in dress – blue and white – a Child of Mary.

“Dora,” cried Clarence, no longer able to contain himself. “O, Clarence,” cried the child throwing herself into his arms. “Pete has killed Ben. He stabbed him an hour ago, because Ben defended the statue of our Blessed Mother from Pete and his wife. They were going to burn it.”

“Dora,” said Clarence, “there’s a priest here.” And he pointed to Father Keenan.

“O, thank God! thank God! He has sent you to prepare Ben,” and the child threw herself at Father Keenan’s feet, and in all reverence, kissed his hand.

The practical Father Keenan, as she did so, took the glass from her fingers, and handed it to Rieler.

“Run to the river, John, and get some water.” Then raising Dora kindly, and throwing his hands above his head, the preconcerted signal, the Rector hastened into the tent.

“Dora! Dora!” came a deep voice as the girl was about to follow the priest.

Clarence turned. Will Benton, pale as a sheet, his eyes starting from their sockets, was hastening toward them. He was holding out his arms toward the girl, amazement and incredulity upon his face.