It was too absurd to really frighten her at first, for it apeared to be a boy dressed up as a bandit, and surely any such prank could mean nothing serious, she thought.

“Good afternoon,” Dorothy said, attempting to pass.

A queer growl was her answer, and the figure in the Indian suit, with a mask of red cloth, and all sorts of trappings hanging about from belts and straps, actually pointed what seemed to be a real gun at her.

“Hands up!” came the command.

Dorothy still felt like laughing.  Surely this must be a trick of some boy in the neighborhood, she decided.

“Hands up!” again came the command, this time the gun being deliberately aimed at her head!

“What do you want?” demanded Dorothy.  “Why should you stop me—­with your nonsense?”

Dropping the old-fashioned gun the boy (for such she decided the person was) jumped at her, and grasped her hands, at the same time making an effort to tie them, with a bit of rope from the belt trappings.

“Stop!  Stop!” Screamed Dorothy, now thoroughly frightened.  “Help!  Help!” she yelled at the very top of her terrified voice.

“Easy, easy,” came the exasperating, sneering words from the bandit.  “Take it easy or it will be all the worse for you.  Now where do you keep the goods?”

He had actually succeeded in tying her hands and now held her prisoner with one strong arm about her waist, and with the other hand he was endeavoring to unclasp her beautiful little gold bracelet.  Fearing to lose her footing, in her frantic efforts to get free, Dorothy thought quickly.  It would be better to lose her jewelry, than to have her life perhaps imperiled.

“You may take my—­gold,” she panted.  “You seem to be stronger than I, and if you are not crazy you must be—­a thief!”

“If you shout—­I’ll gag you,” came the astonishing declaration, while the bandit struggled with the bracelet, and almost cut Dorothy’s wrist on the knife with which he was trying to cut loose the circlet.

“Oh, don’t,” pleaded Dorothy.  “Let go my hand and I’ll give it you!”

How she wanted to yell!  But if he should tie her mouth!

Voices sounded!

“Oh, it must be the boys,” thought Dorothy.  “If only they come this way!”

Her assailant heard the same voices, and desperately he pulled at the locked bracelet.  As he made one final attempt to wrench it from Dorothy’s wrist, his knife slipped, and cut clear across his own hand, the blood spurting from a long wound.  With a cry he dropped his hold on Dorothy, and attempted to staunch the flow of blood.

Freed, Dorothy ran—­ran as she felt she had never known she could run!  She did not stop to call, although she judged that the boys might be near by; but ran on, across the marshes without any heed to the water, that even splattered up in her face, as she jumped from edge to edge of the rivulets, making her way out to the open roadway.