“You and Lo had better be scooting home by the highroad, outer this—­or ye might get hurt,” he said, half playfully, half seriously.

Peggy looked fearlessly at the men and their guns.

“Look ez ef you was huntin’?” she said curiously.

“We are!” said the leader.

“Wot you huntin’?”

The deputy glanced at the others.  “B’ar!” he replied.

“Ba’r!” repeated the child with the quick resentment which a palpable falsehood always provoked in her.  “There ain’t no b’ar in ten miles!  See yourself huntin’ b’ar!  Ho!”

The man laughed.  “Never you mind, missy,” said the deputy, “you trot along!” He laid his hand very gently on her head, faced her sunbonnet towards the near highway, gave the usual parting pull to her brown pigtail, added, “Make a bee-line home,” and turned away.

Lo uttered the first growl known in his history.  Whereat Peggy said, with lofty forbearance, “Serve you jest right ef I set my dog on you.”

But force is no argument, and Peggy felt this truth even of herself and Lo.  So she trotted away.  Nevertheless, Lo showed signs of hesitation.  After a few moments Peggy herself hesitated and looked back.  The men had spread out under the trees, and were already lost in the woods.  But there was more than one trail through it, and Peggy knew it.

And here an alarming occurrence startled her.  A curiously striped brown and white squirrel whisked past her and ran up a tree.  Peggy’s round eyes became rounder.  There was but one squirrel of that kind in all the length and breadth of Blue Cement Ridge, and that was in the menagerie!  Even as she looked it vanished.  Peggy faced about and ran back to the road in the direction of the stockade, Lo bounding before her.  But another surprise awaited her.  There was the clutter of short wings under the branches, and the sunlight flashed upon the iris throat of a wood-duck as it swung out of sight past her.  But in this single glance Peggy recognized one of the latest and most precious of her acquisitions.  There was no mistake now!  With a despairing little cry to Lo, “The menagerie’s broke loose!” she ran like the wind towards it.  She cared no longer for the mandate of the men; the trail she had taken was out of their sight; they were proceeding so slowly and cautiously that she and Lo quickly distanced them in the same direction.  She would have yet time to reach the stockade and secure what was left of her treasures before they came up and drove her away.  Yet she had to make a long circuit to avoid the blacksmith’s shop and cabin, before she saw the stockade, lifting its four-foot walls around an inclosure a dozen feet square, in the midst of a manzanita thicket.  But she could see also broken coops, pens, cages, and boxes lying before it, and stopped once, even in her grief and indignation, to pick up a ruby-throated lizard, one of its late inmates that had stopped in the trail, stiffened to stone at her approach.  The next moment she was before the roofless walls, and then stopped, stiffened like the lizard.  For out of that peaceful ruin which had once held the wild and untamed vagabonds of earth and sky, arose a type of savagery and barbarism the child had never before looked upon,—­the head and shoulders of a hunted, desperate man!