Ah, an
excellent point, Nero. To be sure our chief will be very smooth and
insistent but we ourselves, you recall, have possibilities of extreme
firmness. And the lady is Diane, though we only call her that, old
top, among ourselves.
"Splendid decision!" exclaimed Philip presently with intense
satisfaction. "Nero, you've been an umpire. We'll rebel.
Nevertheless, we must assure ourselves that the camp of our lady is
ready for storm."
It was. Following a forest path, Philip presently caught the flicker
of a camp fire ahead. There was a huge tarpaulin over the wagon and a
canopy above the horses. Storm-proof tents loomed dimly among the
trees. A brisk little man whose apple cheeks and grizzled whiskers
Philip instantly approved, trotted importantly about among the horses,
humming a jerky melody. Johnny was fifty and looked a hundred, but
those unwary ones who had felt the steely grip of his sinewy fingers
were apt evermore to respect him.
Diane was piling wood upon the fire with the careless grace of a
splendid young savage. The light of the camp fire danced ruddily upon
her slim, brown arms and throat bared to the rising wind. A beautiful,
restless gypsy of fire and wind, she looked, at one with the
storm-haunted wood about her.
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