“Except Percy Falconer,” finished Grace drolly, and they both laughed merrily.

“Poor Percy!” said Betty, chewing her candy contentedly.  “I suppose he will hate us more heartily than ever now.”

They were running some eight or ten miles from the town along a quiet stretch of road, never dreaming of danger, when Betty’s little racer nosed around a bend in the road and came smack into it!  Not twenty feet ahead of them a man sprang into the middle of the road and leveled a revolver at them!  In one electrified instant they saw that the fellow wore a mask and a slouch hat and looked for all the world like a brigand straight out of some sensational moving picture.

Betty, more surprised at first than alarmed, put on her brakes and came to a standstill, at the same time putting out a hand to warn the car behind them.

“Oh, Betty, we are being held up!” moaned Grace, who evidently was frightened enough for both of them.  “For goodness’ sake, hold up your hands.  He may shoot.”

Still feeling rather dazed with the suddenness of the thing, Betty raised both hands above her head, at the same time feeling a rather hysterical desire to laugh.  It was so absurd, being held up by a masked stranger in broad daylight,

Nevertheless, she gave a little gasp of fright as the man waved his big revolver menacingly and came close to the car.  She wished frantically that he would not point that firearm at her.  Suppose it should go off!

“Come on, hand over what you got,” the robber demanded in a gruff threatening voice.  “The quicker you move, the better it will be for you.”

“Wh-what do you want?” asked Betty, in a weak little voice that did not sound like her own at all.  She had thought of her pocketbook beside her in the pocket of the car.  The purse contained a whole month’s allowance.  She was sparring desperately for time—­ help in some form or other might come at any moment.  But the ruffian in the road was evidently in no frame of mind to be fooled with.

He waved his revolver once more, eliciting a terrified gurgle from Grace and commanded roughly that they get out of the car.

“No funny business,” he snarled.  “Get out!”

Betty was about to obey when she had a brilliant thought.  Her pepper gun!  She had bought it the day before from the son of her father’s chauffeur, thinking it was an undesirable plaything for a nine-year-old boy and had put it, as the most convenient place, in her car.  And the pepper gun was filled—­ as it should have been—­ with good red cayenne pepper!

CHAPTER XII

 Sheep!

For a moment Betty hesitated, almost afraid of what she was going to do.  The pepper gun might work, but if she were not quick enough or clever enough, her little trick might also result in a tragedy.

Her hesitation was only momentary, however, for Betty was a born fighter.  Suddenly she cried out as if in joyful greeting to an unexpected arrival.