The Girl Aviators Motor Butterfly | Page 6

been a signal,
two swarthy men, with dark skins and big earrings in their ears, came
running from behind the tents.
"What's the trouble?" they cried, as they ran up, regarding the boys
malevolently.
"It's the Wren; they're trying to steal the Wren!" shrilled out the
woman.
At this the men rushed at the boys, one of them waving a thick cudgel
he carried.
"Let go of that woman," they shouted furiously.
Another instant and the boys would have been in a bad position, for
both the gipsies were powerful fellows, and appeared determined to
commit violence. But Roy, releasing his hold of the struggling gipsy
woman, put up his fists in such a scientific manner that, for an instant,
the attack paused. This gave Jimsy time to rush to his side. The instant
she was released the woman darted to the side of the men.
"Beat them! Kill them!" she cried frantically.
The men resumed their rush, and the next moment the boys found
themselves fighting to escape a furious assault. Neither of the lads was
a weakling, and good habits and constant athletic exercise had placed
them in the pink of condition.
But the two gipsies were no mean antagonists. Then, too, the one with
the cudgel wielded it skillfully. Time and again Jimsy avoided a heavy
blow which, if successful, must have injured him seriously. The girls,
screaming, rushed off, carrying "the Wren," as the woman called her,
with them. They dashed at top speed back to the spot where the

aëroplanes had been left, and summoned Jake.
"I knew something would happen," declared that worthy, as he picked
up a monkey wrench, the only weapon at hand, and started off for the
woods.
The girls followed him, Miss Prescott not having been vouchsafed
anything but a most hurried explanation of what was going on. Just as
Jake appeared on the scene Jimsy had received a terrific blow on the
arm from one of the gipsy's cudgels. The boy's arm dropped as if
paralyzed. With a howl of triumph the ruffian who had dealt him the
blow rushed in on the injured lad. In another instant it would have
looked bad indeed for Jimsy, but Roy, landing a hard blow against his
assailant, hastened to his chum's rescue.
"You look after that fellow. I'll take care of this one," cried Jake,
rushing into the mêlée, whirling his monkey wrench in a formidable
manner.
The girls, huddled in a group, gazed on in frank alarm.
"Oh, they'll be killed!" shrilled Jess.
"Roy! Roy! Be careful!" cried Peggy.
"Oh, I wish we could get a policeman," cried Bess, clasping her hands
nervously. But as it happened a policeman, even if such a personage
had been within a dozen miles, was not needed. A clever blow from
Roy laid the cudgel wielder low, and the other man, not liking the look
of Jake's monkey wrench, capitulated by taking to his heels. The
woman cowered back among the tents.
"Come on, let's be going," cried Roy, as he saw that the battle was over.
"Ouch! my wrist!" exclaimed Jimsy, wringing his left hand; "I believe
that fellow has broken it."
"Let's have a look," said Roy, as the two boys made their way to the

huddled group of girls.
"Nothing but a nasty whack," he pronounced, after an examination.
"Well, girls, was it an exciting battle?"
"Oh, it was terrible," cried Jess; "we thought you'd be badly beaten."
"But as it is we appear to be future 'white hopes,' not forgetting Jake,"
smiled Roy, who was still panting from his exertions.
"You were awfully brave, I think," cried Bess admiringly, giving the
three "heroes" a warm glance.
"Well, there wasn't anything to do but fight, unless we'd run away,"
laughed Roy, "and now what about the cause of all the trouble?"
He glanced at the little girl clinging to Peggy's hand. The child was
pitifully emaciated, with drawn features and large, dark eyes that gazed
about her bewilderedly. Her clothing was a red gingham dress that
fitted her like a sack. She was shoeless and stockingless. Her brown
hair, unkempt and ragged, hung in elf locks about her sad little face.
Certainly, as regarded size and general appearance, her name, "The
Wren," fitted her admirably.
"I don't know what to do about her," admitted Peggy; "suppose we ask
Aunt Sally? I don't want to let the gipsies have her again, and yet I
don't see how we can take her."
At the words the little creature burst into a frantic outbreak.
"Don't let those people have me back; don't," she begged; "they'll kill
me if you do."
She clung passionately to Peggy's dress. Tears came to the girl's eyes at
the pitiful manifestation of fear.
"There! there, dear," soothed Peggy, stroking the child's