# Captain Chub/Chapter 23
### CHAPTER XXIII IN THE GIPSY CAMP

AFTER luncheon Dr. Emery remained in charge of the boat, Harry and Roy and Dick returned to the store, and Chub wandered nonchalantly away with his fishing-pole. Harry declared that he was as mean as he could be to desert them now, just when Mrs. Peel was coming back, but Chub was quite heartless and went off whistling. At the parting of the roads he waved them good-by, but Harry refused to notice him. With a resentful toss of her head she walked straight on, her little tip-tilted nose held high in air.
Chub smiled as he turned and took up his journey. It was the hottest sort of a hot day, and the road wound on without a speck of shade for the better part of a mile. He crossed the railroad and after a while found himself at the summit of a hill, with the river valley stretching along ​beneath him north and south for as far as the eye could reach. There was a small group of sumac-bushes beside the road here, and he threw himself down in the scanty shade it afforded and rested for a few minutes. Then he climbed a stone wall, crossed an upland meadow, and so came to a stream. It was rather a good-sized affair and very noisy, for it was hurrying down-hill over a bed of boulders. Pools were few and far between here, but he followed the stream up as it wound around the side of the hill, and eventually found a place where a big lichen-covered rock backed the water up into a shallow basin. The place didn’t look as though it held many trout, but he selected a fly and made his cast. At the end of ten minutes or so he had landed a miserable little fish, not much more than a fingerling, which under ordinary circumstances he would have disdained to keep. But it was already approaching mid-afternoon, and he couldn’t afford to be particular. Two more youngsters were added to his string during the next quarter of an hour, and then Chub decided that he had enough for his purpose, for he only wanted to convince the Gipsies that he was a bona fide trout-fisher and not ​an emissary of the sheriff’s office. Stringing his catch on a willow twig, he disjointed his rod and slipped it back into its case, dropped his fly-book into his pocket, and took up his journey again.
He kept on around the side of the hill and presently was back on the road, which had begun to dip into a narrow valley which divided it from the higher range of hills to the westward. He proceeded slowly and cautiously now, for he didn’t know how near the Gipsy encampment might be, and he wanted to look it over before he decided on a course of action. He met no one on the road save a farmer jogging along half asleep on top of a load of hay. Presently a speck of grayish white caught his eye. Surmising it to be one of the Gipsy tents, he left the road and plunged into the woods to the right. It was very still and warm. Once he thought he heard voices in the direction of the tent, and presently, as he went softly through the trees and undergrowth, the gurgling of a stream reached him. He kept on until he had found it, and then followed along the bank, feeling pretty certain that it would lead him to the encampment. Nor was he mistaken, for fifty yards farther on the tents came into view ​between the trees. He dropped to his hands and knees and worked cautiously forward until the undergrowth stopped. There, lying behind a bush, he reconnoitered.
The spot which the Gipsies had selected for their camp was an ideal one. On one side lay the road, on the other the brook. It is probable that the band had camped there each summer for a number of years and that their occupancy of the spot had denuded it of underbrush. At all events, it was quite clear of bushes and was just such a place as one would have picked out for a picnic. The trees were scattered, but gave plenty of shade; there was a fine turf underfoot; the road was at their front door and water at their back.
There were two big, gaily painted vans and five tents, the latter scattered about apparently at haphazard. One tent, a circular one and the largest of the lot, was set in the center of the grove, and this Chub guessed to be the queen’s apartment. Here and there clothes hung drying or airing from the branches, some bales of hay were piled beside one of the wagons, there was a pungent odor of smoke from a smoldering fire. ​Chub counted eight horses tethered about where they could crop the grass. Outside one of the tents hung a string of baskets, and in the air, mingling with the odor of the wood-smoke, was a faint perfume of sweet-grass. Each tent appeared to have its own fireplace and commissary. Kettles and pans littered the ground about the piles of ashes, and here and there dried branches were heaped for fuel. It was all rather interesting, and for a moment Chub quite forgot his errand.
There were three men, perhaps twice as many women, and several children, the children ranging in age all the way from that of the baby, who kicked and crowed in his mother’s arms, to that of the lad of apparently twelve, who was lazily breaking up fire-wood with an ax at the far side of the camp. The men were frankly idle, sitting with pipes in mouth outside one of the tents.
The women, all save the one with the baby, were busy. One was mixing something for supper in a flat tin pan, others were weaving baskets, and another was sewing. Chub had always imagined Gipsies to be rather picturesque folks, with earrings and brightly hued costumes. But there was ​little of the picturesque about these. The women wore calico dresses of blue or brown, the men were clad in things that would have disgraced a tramp, and the children came into, apparently, whatever was left. Chub, looking them over, decided that the doctor was quite right; they certainly were an evil-looking lot, and he wondered what their course would be if they suddenly discovered him lying here behind the bush. They looked as though they would hesitate at nothing. And just when he had reached that decision, one of the men broke into laughter, the others joined him, and the women smiled in sympathy, the swarthy faces falling into soft lines and the dark eyes glinting merrily. Perhaps, Chub reflected, they were human, after all. This, under the circumstances in which he found himself, was an encouraging thought.
He had come there with the idea that possibly he might catch sight of something which would prove that the burglary had been performed by one of their number. He had scarcely expected to find them seated in a circle dividing the spoils, but it had not seemed impossible that he might discover a telltale can of peaches or a side of ​bacon. But now, search as he did, not one speck of incriminating evidence could he see. The only course remaining, then, was to retrace his steps through the woods and approach the camp openly by the road. Perhaps, if he made believe that he had lost his way and asked them to set him right, he might get an opportunity to look around the camp and possibly see inside one or two of the tents. He might even buy a basket or two. But, on the point of creeping away, a new plan occurred to him, a plan which engaged his ardor because of its sheer recklessness.
The nearest tent was about thirty feet from where he lay, its back toward him. No sounds came from it, but he couldn’t be sure that it was unoccupied, for all of that. Yet, somehow, he believed that it was. It seemed fair to assume that the three men in sight were the only ones left in camp; that the others were away, peddling, dickering for horses, fishing. Surely no one would remain in a stuffy tent a hot day like this, he thought. By creeping a few yards to the left he would have the tent between him and the Gipsies, unless some of the children, who were fairly quiet under the effects of the heat, should take ​it into their heads to roam his way. But that was a risk he could afford to take, he decided. Once at the back of the tent, he could easily raise the canvas and look in. It might be that he would discover nothing for his pains, but, on the other hand, he might find a good deal.
Leaving his rod and the fish under the bush and mentally locating it so that he could recover them later on, he crept back and made a detour of a dozen yards toward the road. When he again reached the edge of the clearing, the tent was in front of him and the Gipsies out of sight. Pausing a moment to rest, for creeping on hands and knees is breath-taking work, he slid stealthily from cover and crept toward the tent. He didn’t pause to listen, for the sooner he was behind the tent the sooner he would be well hidden. But when he crouched against the soiled canvas he paused and harkened intently, his heart pounding against his ribs like a hammer. Only the murmuring of voices reached him, however, and he breathed easier.
Putting his head down, he peered under the edge of the canvas, and his heart gave a throb of ​triumph, for there, not a foot from his nose, were a dozen or more of the stolen cans!
They were piled on the ground at the back of the tent, the corner of a yellow horse-blanket half covering them. Chub squirmed until his head and shoulders were inside the tent, and reached forward. Beyond the cans were two of the strips of bacon, wedged in between them and a bale of hay. Not a sound came from the tent. Noiselessly Chub drew the rest of his body inside and peered around the corner of the bale. The tent was empty. Three beds composed of narrow straw-filled ticks were in sight, a small old-fashioned trunk, cooking utensils, some clothes swinging from the ridge-pole, a couple of empty boxes on top of one of which lay a pack of dirty playing-cards and a pile of harness. Chub smiled his satisfaction and then pondered his next step. If the stolen groceries were here it was plausible to suppose that the money was here, too. Of course it might be in the thief’s pocket, but Chub didn’t believe that Gipsies were in the habit of carrying much money around with them. If only he knew where to look!
Two men entered the tent