About noon the next day Roy and Jimsy found themselves at the edge of a wild-looking section of country. They were standing at the entrance to a glen densely wooded with dark, forbidding-looking trees, and walled by precipitous and rugged rocks.

"Looks as if the trail ends here," said Jimsy disconsolately.

"It sure does. We can't——Gee, Whillikens!"

"What on earth is up now?"

"It's the broken-toed boot. Look here on the muddy bank of this little stream."

"By hooky, it is! We've struck the trail instead of ending it."

"What will we do; go back for reËnforcements?"

"Not just yet. We'll reconnoiter a bit. See, the fellow went up this bank and—look there, Jimsy—there's a little footprint beside. He was dragging the child along."

With beating hearts the two boys entered the forbidding-looking glen. It was almost dark under the trees, which made the aspect of the place even more gloomy and desolate looking.

"This is a nice, cheerful sort of place," said Jimsy, in a low tone, as they walked along, following the bank of the stream, for the brush was too thick to admit of their walking anywhere else, which is what had driven the broken-booted man to leave a tell-tale trail behind him.

"I rather wish I had a gun," said Jimsy.

"We won't get close enough to them to need it," rejoined Roy; "we'll just spy out their hiding place and then go back for reËnforcements."

"That's the best idea. I don't much fancy a hand-to-hand encounter with a band of such desperate ruffians as those gipsies have shown themselves to be."

"Don't be scared. We won't have any trouble if we're careful."

"I'm not scared; but if we did get in a tussle with them they could easily overpower us and then we'd have done more harm than good for they'd take fright and move right off."

"That's my idea. We'll be as cautious as mousing cats."

"Better stop talking, then. I never heard a mousing cat mi-ouw."

Cautiously they crept on. The trail still held good. At last they reached the head of the glen where a spring showed the source of the brook.

"What next?" whispered Jimsy.

"Let's see if we can find which way that fellow went. The ground is spongy all around here and—ah! this way! See it?"

Jimsy nodded. They struck off to the right, clambering over rocks till they reached the summit of a small hill. A tall dead tree stood there and Jimsy volunteered to climb it in order to spy out the surrounding country for traces of the gipsys. But on his return to the ground he was compelled to admit that they had gained nothing.

"I thought I might see some smoke that would give me a clew to their whereabouts," he explained.

"Not much chance of their being as foolish as that. I guess they know searching parties are out all over by this time, and they are too foxy to light fires."

"I might have thought of that," admitted Jimsy; "it would be about the last thing they would do. What will we do now?"

"I hardly know. Hello! there's an odd-looking place. Right over there. See that deep caÑon? That one with the fallen tree across it?"

"Yes, I do now. Let's look over there."

"All right. You're on."

The two boys struck off in the direction of Roy's discovery. It was indeed an odd freak of nature. Some convulsion of the earth had detached quite a section of land from the surrounding country. It was, in fact, an island in the midst of the woods with only the fallen tree for a bridge.

"Let's cross it and examine the place," suggested Roy, with all a boy's curiosity.

Together they crossed the old tree, which had evidently fallen there by accident, although, in reality, it formed a perfect bridge. The "island" was thickly wooded and they pushed forward across it, not without some difficulty.

Suddenly they came upon a sight that made them halt dead in their tracks.

A man holding a rifle was sitting on a fallen log. The instant he saw them he raised his weapon.

"Don't come no further," he said.

"Why not?" demanded Roy indignantly.

"See that sign?" said the man.

He pointed to a rudely painted sign on a tree at his back.

"Dangir. No Trespasin."

That was what it said in bold letters that sprawled across its surface in an untidy fashion. The execution of the thing was as bad as its spelling.

"I guess a pretty sick man painted that sign," grinned Jimsy.

"What do you mean?" was the surly reply.

"Why, I should judge he was having an awful bad spell at the time," was the boy's rejoinder.

The man scowled at him fiercely.

"No joking round here," he growled; "now, then, if you know what's good for you you two kids will vamoose."

"What's the danger if we keep on?" asked Roy.

"Why, they're trying a new kind of explosive back there. It might go off the wrong way, your way, for instance, and hurt you," was the reply.

"Seems a funny sort of place to try out explosives," said Roy.

"Seems a queer sort of place for you two kids to come. Who are you, anyhow?"

"Oh, we are camping down below and we just came out for a stroll."

"Well, stroll some other place, then. Git away from round here."

"We certainly will," flashed back Roy; "come on, Jimsy."

As there seemed nothing else to do Jimsy agreed. They turned away and began retracing their steps, no wiser as to the whereabouts of the man with the broken boot than they had been when they set out.

Just as they turned to go, however, another man came out of the woods behind the man with the rifle. When he saw the boys he gave an abrupt start.

"Where did those boys come from?" he demanded.

"I don't know. Said they was two kids out campin' and takin' a stroll."

"Taking a stroll, eh?" said the other ferociously; "they were taking a stroll looking for that Wren."

"How do you know?"

"Because they are the same two kids who stole her from us just as we were going to demand a ransom for her."

"That was before I joined the band. No wonder I didn't know them; if I had——"

He scowled vindictively.

"Well, we can't let 'em get away. Here, give me that rifle," demanded the newcomer.

The other handed it to him. The next instant a report rang out and a bullet whizzed over the boys' heads.

"Come back here," shouted the man who had fired the shot; "I want to see you."

The boys hesitated for a minute.

"The next shot 'ull come lower if you don't," warned the man; "come on, no nonsense."

As there seemed to be nothing else to do the boys obeyed. As they drew closer they recognized the fellow.

"Oh, you know me, eh?" he snarled; "well, you'll know me better before we get through. Follow me, now. Pedro, you take the rifle and fall in behind. If they try to escape shoot them down."

Here was a fine situation. They had found the gipsies' camp with a vengeance, but for all the good it was going to do The Wren, unless they could get her away, they might as well not have come. These gloomy reflections sifted through their minds as they paced along, the man with the rifle occasionally prodding them with it just to make them "step lively," as he phrased it.

At length they came to a sort of large open place shaped like a basin, and placed in the middle of this natural island. In this basin were set up several squalid tents, about which the gipsies were squatting.

They set up a yell of surprise as the two boys were brought in.

"Where under the sun did you find them, Beppo?" exclaimed the same woman who had so cruelly ill-treated The Wren the time the boys rescued her.

"Oh, they were just taking a stroll, and happened to stroll in here," said Beppo viciously.

"I guess they won't have a chance to bother us again. They're going to make quite a stay here."

The gipsies set up a taunting laugh. Suddenly, from one of the tents, a tiny figure darted.

"Oh, I knew you'd come! I knew you'd come," it cried.

It was the poor little Wren. She had been stripped of her nice clothes and put into some filthy rags, her face was stained with crying and there was a bruise on her forehead.

With a curse Beppo seized the child by one arm, swung her round and dealt her a savage box on the ear.

"Get back where you belong!" he roared.

The next instant Beppo had measured his length on the ground and beneath one of his eyes a beautiful plum-colored swelling was developing. As has been said, Roy could hit a powerful blow.