“Well,” remarked Phil, as he and his chums stood with the officer, looking at the dying embers of the Gypsy fire on the deserted site of the encampment, “there’s nothing doing here, as Mr. Shakespeare would say. What’s to be done?” “I vote we take after ’em!” exclaimed Jack. “They can’t have gotten far in this time. They didn’t have the chance.” “That’s right,” chimed in Blake. “Come on, fellows.” “Wait a minute, boys,” advised the officer. “It’s a dark night, and there are several roads branching off this one. The Gypsies could take either one.” “But we could inquire,” exclaimed Phil. “A Gypsy caravan of that size couldn’t go along without attracting attention, even from sleepy farmers. They could tell if it had passed by, and if we got on some wrong branch road, we could easily get back on the main one, and pick up the trail.” “That sounds good to me!” declared Blake. “I’m ready for a fracas.” “Same here,” came from Jack. “Say, I’m glad I didn’t let her tell my fortune. She might have taken my watch while she told me a pretty girl across the water was waiting for me to write to her.” “Oh, what do you think you are—a lady-killer?” demanded Phil. “If we’re going to do anything let’s do it.” “How one can be deceived,” murmured Blake. “And she such a pretty girl. She looked something like Natalie.” “Dry up!” commanded Jack shortly. “You’ve got Natalie on the brain. Come on!” “I wouldn’t, boys,” advised the officer. “It’s dark, there are any number of roads the tribe could have taken, not to say of slipping off into the woods.” “That’s right,” agreed Blake. “We didn’t think of that.” “And making inquiries, and then doubling back in case you’re on the wrong road, all takes time,” went on the policeman. “You had much better wait until morning.” “I guess that’s right,” assented Phil. “Poor momsey will be wild about her ring, though. Well, back home it is,” and he turned away from the deserted encampment. They had not gone far on the backward trail ere they heard the tramp of approaching feet on the hard highway, for they were not yet in the district of sidewalks. “Some one’s coming!” exclaimed Phil. “It walks like the Chief,” commented Officer Brady. “Who’s there?” demanded a sharp voice from the darkness. “It _is_ the Chief!” the policeman asserted. “It’s Brady, sir,” he added, in answer to a question. “I’ve been out chasin’ after a band of Gypsies.” “Ha! I’m after the same tribe I guess. Have you seen anything of young Anderson—Blake Lathrop or Jack Pendleton, Brady?” asked the head of the police force. “They’re here with me, sir.” “Ah! Their folks just telephoned to me about them. Got worried I guess.” “That’s some of the girls’ work,” was Jack’s whispered opinion. “Did you get the ring?” demanded the Chief. “No, sir. They’d skipped out.” “I thought so. Well, it’s too late to do anything to-night. Come back to the station, and we’ll send out a telephone alarm. Anderson!” “Yes, Chief.”