removed it, grumbling and whining. Mifflin gave me the pistol to
hold while he tied our prisoner's wrists together. In the meantime
we heard a shout from the quarry. The three vagabonds were gazing up
in great excitement.

"You tell those fashion plates down there," said Mifflin, as he
knotted the tramp's hands together, "that if they make any fight
I'll shoot them like crows." His voice was cold and savage and he
seemed quite master of the situation, but I must confess I wondered
how we could handle four of them.

The greasy ruffian shouted down to his pals in the quarry, but I did
not hear what he said, as just then the Professor asked me to keep
our captive covered while he got a stick. I stood with the pistol
pointed at his head while Mifflin ran back into the birchwood to cut
a cudgel.

The tramp's face became the colour of the under side of a fried egg
as he looked into the muzzle of his own gun.

"Say, lady," he pleaded, "that gun goes off awful easy, point her
somewhere else or you'll croak me by mistake."

I thought a good scare wouldn't do him any harm and kept the barrel
steadily on him.

The rascals down below seemed debating what to do. I don't know
whether they were armed or not; but probably they imagined that
there were more than two of us. At all events, by the time Mifflin
came back with a stout birch staff they were hustling out of the