But it came again and Terry hesitated no longer. With a single bound he hopped across the water and parted the bushes on the other side. There, in a tiny hollow like a cave, her feet wet and her clothing covered with mud, sat the little Carson girl, her eyes red with weeping and her face swollen from her contact with vines and branches. She stared in wild terror at Terry as he broke his way through the bushes, but as he spoke to her the look faded for one of glad recognition.
A trembling gladness filled the boy. With a smothered cry he jumped at the child, sweeping her in his arms and pressing her to him as though she had been his own.
“You blessed little mischief-maker!” he choked. “What are you doing out here?”
“The ghost, he chase me,” wailed the child, beginning to tremble. “I go for my dolly and the ghost come after me. I want my mama.”
“You’re going to have your mama,” promised Terry. “So that confounded ghost is at the bottom of it, is he?”
“Yes, he chase me,” sighed the child. “You’re the soldier that ate mama’s pie.”
“That’s right,” grinned Terry. “Come along, I’m going to take you home.”
He gathered the little body in his arms, easily jumped the creek, and fairly flew back to the camp. The others were rolling up their bundles as he dashed up.
“Took you a long time to get that water,” Jim hailed.
“I’ll show you what kind of water I got,” whooped the happy redhead. “Allow me to introduce Miss Dorothy Carson!”
A medley of cries greeted the good news and the child and Terry were nearly knocked over in the rush. Dorothy Carson was pawed by the boys but did not seem to mind it.
“Where’d you find her?” Don asked, squeezing Terry’s arm.
“Heard her crying back of some bushes,” was the reply. “That darned old ghost chased her away from the house.”
The return journey was swiftly made to Carson’s house and the mother was nearly frantic with joy. At the farmhouse they found the colonel with Major Rhodes, and together they all listened to the story of the child regarding the ghost. She had gone out to get the doll, had seen the fearful shape near the chicken house, and too terrified to call out she had run away into the hills, where she had wandered until Terry had found her.
The boys were overwhelmed with thanks and praises and Terry’s face became as red as his hair. The boastful sheriff was away at the time with a posse and there was no one to resent their success. After a happy time at the house they all went back to camp. Terry had the honor of firing the “Gossip” three times as the recall. Before two o’clock the entire corps was back in camp, eagerly exchanging news. All of them had searched faithfully.
Just before taps that night Jordan, Terry, Don, Jim, Douglas and Vench were requested to report to the colonel after drill on the following day. Wondering what could be in the wind the cadets went to bed, to sleep soundly after their strenuous search.
On the following day, when the General Orders were read, the cadets who had been most active in the search for Dorothy were warmly commended. All of the cadets were thanked by the colonel. Then the officers called for three rousing cheers for Cadet Mackson. These were given with a will.
“Mackson again!” hissed Cadet Rowen, under his breath. “It was only an accident and yet he gets a cheer for it. Wouldn’t that make you sick?”
No one being addressed, no answer was given. But Terry himself felt that it was simply an accident.
“I just happened to be there at the brook at the right moment and heard her crying,” he told his friends. “If I hadn’t been the one, someone else would have run across her eventually. So I don’t see what the fuss is all about.”
“We make a fuss because you are such an old souse!” laughed Jim. “If you hadn’t gone for a drink it might have been days before the child was found. Lucky thing you like to drink so much.”
“I’ll drink nothing but water all my life, in honor of the piece of service that drink did me,” promised the redhead.
In the mess tent that noontime the colonel rapped on the head table for order. The rattling of spoons and plates became still and the cadets faced him expectantly.
“Gentlemen,” said the colonel. “Since we have been here on the Ridge we have been quite deeply annoyed by this silly ghost that has been playing tricks in the neighborhood. I say silly in the sense that it is silly to play at such small things, but in another sense it may turn out to be something serious. I think that we have all had enough of the business and I promise you that if that ghost comes around the camp we will make short work of him. Now, what I want you to do is this: if you, any of you, learn anything definite about this ghost, either from hearsay or your own observations, I want all facts reported to me at once. Although we haven’t time to go meddling all over the Ridge I think we are duty-bound to lay this ghost if possible, and so let me know whatever you learn about this ghost business.”
There was a buzz as the headmaster sat down and the ghost of the Ridge furnished the topic for discussion during the rest of the meal. Drill ended that, and after the afternoon work was over the cadets named on the previous evening reported at the colonel’s big tent. He was waiting for them.
“Sit down anywhere you can, boys,” he told them. “On the bed or the chairs. I guess we can find room for all of us. Will you pull the flap closed, Captain Jordan?”
Jordan obeyed and the colonel faced his interested boys. “Well, you heard what I had to say today at the mess tent regarding the responsibility of each cadet in regard to the ghost trouble on this Ridge. That will do very nicely for the corps at large, for if I gave some of them too much authority some grave mistakes of overzealousness would probably follow. But to you young men I want to give a commission that I’m sure you will handle with care and tact.”
He paused and nothing was said. Crossing his knees the colonel went on: “I spoke of the fact that ruining this ghost and his game was our duty as citizens, and it is. Inquiry has revealed that the people hereabouts are very superstitious, and they have taken this ghost on trust for several years. Of course, in a community of sensible men and women the thing would have been run out long ago, but there is just enough fear and superstition in the people around here to imagine this ghost to be the real thing and not some human being who is simply playing on their fears and ignorance. You may have noticed that when we brought that child back to Mrs. Carson she simply said: ‘I’ll never let you out again where that ghost can scare you.’ No question or thought about driving him away, but just a passive resignation to the fact that he is here and belongs here.
“But this ghost does not belong here, boys, and we must see to it that he does not stay here. At school we teach you that every man has a duty to the public, and even here, in a strange country, we have our challenge. We must track down this ghost and expose him. We have the right to do so because he has invaded our camp and stampeded our horses. But I want the whole thing done quietly and steady heads must take up the task. I have therefore picked you young men to tackle this problem.”
“I’m sure we’ll enjoy it, sir!” smiled Jordan.
“What I want you to do is this,” nodded the colonel. “I want you six cadets to form yourself into a secret Ghost Patrol. You are to keep it strictly to yourselves, and you are to make every effort to get some trace of this ghost. I give you full liberty to leave camp at any hour, and every hour, to pass sentries whenever it is really necessary, and to cut drill if the necessity should arise. I am not going to tell you how you should go about it, because I really don’t know myself, but I will leave the working out of plans to you. Obviously, it will be out of the question to simply rove over the Ridge in a band, for that would soon advertise itself, but I’m sure you will make a plan that will bring results. If at any time there is a call that the ghost has been sighted around the camp you will dash out and make a thorough search for him. I guess that is all clear, isn’t it?”
“I think so, sir,” replied Jordan. “We’ll do the best that we can for the community in this case. I have heard that in the last few years a number of good, honest families have left the Ridge simply because of this silly situation, and a thing like that has no business to be.”
“You’re right, it has no business to be,” retorted the colonel. “Not when an individual rolls a blazing hay wagon downhill and burns up a man’s barn, and then scares a child away from her home. To say nothing of stampeding our horses.”
“What do you think of that theory regarding the Maul and Hyde feud, colonel?” Don asked, from his seat on the cot.
“I think there may be something in it,” was the answer. “I can’t find out what the feud was all about, and probably the present families don’t know, so stupid are such things. It is much like those you hear about in the Kentucky mountains, where families kill each other off for generations over causes that never touched them personally. But I gather that the last of the Mauls was supposed to have been drowned and his body was never found. That points to only one thing.”
“You think that he is alive and doing all this ghost business?” Jim asked.
“I wouldn’t be surprised. As far as I can learn no one but the Hydes have ever been actively molested. Numbers of persons have been scared by the sight of the white shape, but only the Hydes have been harmed. If it had not been for the heroic work done by you cadets the other night Hyde would have been burned completely out of house and home.”
“Now that every sentry has been told to promptly report any trace of the ghost we may have an even chance of nailing him,” Douglas observed.
“Yes, though you may have to work fast. Well, that will be all. You will kindly keep that to yourselves and consider yourselves as a special Ghost Patrol.”
When they had left the colonel the cadets separated and went to their tents. While preparing for the evening meal they talked things over.
“If you notice, the colonel spoke about the ghost starting the stampede,” Jim said, as he washed vigorously. “That shows that he believes my story.”
“I guess there is no doubt of that,” responded Don. “He simply can’t doubt Rowen’s word on the face of it.”
Before the evening meal was ready it began to rain. The cadets had been fortunate in the weather during their stay in camp, and up to the present time only showers had occurred occasionally. But tonight the rain meant business, for it settled in for a long spell. Before long the company streets were a mass of mud. It was necessary to make a dash for the mess tent, and all the time they ate the steady pouring of the rain could be heard on the canvas overhead.
There were no campfires that night and the cadets clustered in their own tents. The sentries looked forward to a bleak and joyless patrol, but the colonel knew that a sample of army life under all conditions was good for the young soldiers. As long as they were well-shod and amply protected from the rain there was no danger of sickness, and a taste of duty under stern circumstances was beneficial rather than harmful to the cadets.
Jordan, Vench and Douglas slopped their way over to the tent occupied by the three friends. This tent was the end one on the rear company street, backed up against the woods. The tent light made the place seem homelike, and it was warm inside.
“Fine night, if anyone likes it,” grinned Vench, as he took off his wet raincoat. “We didn’t have anything else to do so we came over.”
“Glad to have you,” smiled Don. “It looks like a particularly dull evening. I’ll bet we’ll harp on the one subject, though.”
“On the glories of the Ghost Patrol, eh?” laughed Jordan.
“How did you guess?” Don retorted.
“This is something new,” Douglas said. “Early in the year the Mercers, Terry and I were on the beach patrol, but this is the first time I ever heard of a Ghost Patrol.”
“All I hope is that we get some results out of this new organization,” Terry said.
They talked of the task ahead of them for some time. Suddenly Jim held up his hand, signaling for silence.
“Did you fellows hear anything?” he asked.
No one had. “What was it like?” Jordan asked.
“I thought I heard someone close to the back of the tent,” said Jim, slipping on his raincoat. “Wait’ll I take a look.”
“Who would sneak around a tent on a night like this?” scoffed Vench, as Jim slipped out.
“Didn’t see anything,” Jim said, returning and shaking the rain off his coat.
“We hope you don’t hear anything else tonight,” grumbled Terry. “Might as well bring a dog in here to shake himself!”
Long before taps the visitors had gone and the friends turned in. In the morning the rain had stopped, but a gray sky hung over the camp. Just as assembly was breaking up the Officer on Inspection reported to the colonel.
“Something to show you on a tree at the end of the camp, sir,” he reported.
The cadets swarmed around the colonel as he took a heavy piece of cardboard from a tree not far from the tent occupied by the Mercers and Terry. In large, crude letters this warning was written:
YOU DURNED TIN SOLDIERS KEEP YOURE NOSE OUTN THE GHOST BUSINESS.
YOU DURNED TIN SOLDIERS KEEP YOURE NOSE OUTN THE GHOST BUSINESS.
The cardboard had been propped up in the space provided by a small branch. The letters had been wet and faint streaks showed where they had run.
“The sentries who were on duty last night please step forward,” requested the colonel. A number of cadets promptly stepped forward, facing the colonel.
“Did any one of you at any time during the night see or hear anyone around the camp?” Not one sentry had noted anything amiss.
“I can tell you of an experience that happened to us last night, colonel,” spoke up Jim. “We were discussing the whole ghost situation on the Ridge, and our determination to find out who this ghost was, when we heard a noise outside our tent. I might more accurately say that I heard it, and I went outside to see if anyone was there. I didn’t find anyone, but it looks as though someone did sneak up to our tent, hear what we had to say, and then printed this sign to scare us.”
“But in order to do so the party must have gone back to some shelter and spent some time making up the warning, if such it might be called,” mused the headmaster. “I have no doubt, however, that your conversation was overheard. This ghost has developed a bad habit of visiting our camp whenever he feels like it.”
“It wouldn’t have been hard to slip past a sentry in the pouring rain, sir,” suggested Jordan.
“No, not at all,” agreed the colonel. “With this reference to your soldiering, I presume that you young men will have an added cause now to go after this ghost person.”
“That’s a pretty heavy insult!” smiled Major Rhodes.
“Well, the ghost must know now that an active campaign is afoot to drive him off the Ridge,” said the colonel. “That ought to make the game more interesting than ever. Our foe is warned and will play his game with skill. That gives you boys greater odds to move against, but I feel sure that you will be successful in making an end to the affair.”
The regular routine of that day seemed to take longer than usual, but as soon as it was over the members of the Ghost Patrol gathered together to look around in back of the camp for signs of the night visitor. The ground was wet and they argued that if the prowler ever left any traces he would surely have done so that night. Their first search took in the soft soil back of Jim’s tent and they found encouraging signs at once.
“More than one footprint here,” proclaimed Don, grimly, as they bent over the depressions in the dirt.
Someone had sneaked up close to the wall of the tent, and the prints of large shoes were very plain. In the heels of the left shoe they found a peculiarity that gave them something to work on. There had been some kind of a cut down the center of the leather heel and it showed plainly in the soft mud.
“Maybe when the heel was cut out of block leather the knife slipped and left that mark,” Jordan thought. “With a plain marking like that we ought not to have much trouble. Let’s look under that tree where the cardboard was found.”
Under this tree they had more difficulty, because the feet of the curious cadets had churned up the ground so that it was almost impossible to make out anything definite. But at a distance of perhaps three yards they found the marked heel print again. Whoever had placed the sign in the tree had come down the slope above the camp, and the print could be followed for a short distance up the hillside. But before long they struck a section of rocky ground and hunt as they would they could not find another trace of the print.
“A whole lot of this Ridge is pretty rocky,” sighed Douglas. “From here on I guess we’ll have to trust to luck. Somewhere we may run across the trail again and get our bearings.”
They explored the slope with exhausting patience, but there was no further trace until they struck the very top of the hill. There, in a soft spot, they once more found their marking. The print pointed down toward the town of Rideway, which they could see in the distance.
“He went down into town,” said Terry. “Suppose we follow down there, and see where the print leads to?”
Following the marked heel down into Rideway was not an easy task. In some places they lost all traces of it and had to look around for half an hour before finding the faint mark again. But the trail led steadily down the opposite slope from the camp until it went into town. But here they lost it for good.
The main road was hard as a rock, with a glazed surface that left no trace of any mark. They followed this road down through town for a long way, but there was no further sign of the marked heel. Their next move was to look along the sides of the road to see if the man had walked off it at any point, but after a good hour had been spent in this way the cadets gave it up as a bad job.
“Too bad,” groaned Jim. “Right at the most important part we lose it altogether. I guess that’s the end of an important clue.”
“Yes, looks like we have exhausted this possibility,” agreed Jordan. “Anyway, we have given the town people something to wonder about.”
This was true. The natives of Rideway had been watching the boys with curiosity. So busy had they been in their search that they had failed to pay any attention to the citizens, but the people had not failed to note what they were doing.
“Say,” Don warned. “Here comes that nasty sheriff.”
From a small, one-story shack near them the tall sheriff made his way. His eyes were fixed on the boys and he swaggered in their direction. They were not aware of it, but he had been watching them from his window for the last several minutes.
“Let’s be careful what we say to this fellow,” Terry warned in a low voice. “We’ll tell him we just came to town for a visit.”
The sheriff had now come within hailing distance. Hands on hips he surveyed the cadets with vast contempt.
“What’re you soldier boys doing here?” he boomed in a voice sufficiently loud to attract the attention of the passersby. A small ring instantly collected.
“We’re just looking your town over,” smiled Jordan easily.
“Looking my town over, eh? I guess you are pretty thorough about it. Examining the streets to see what kind of dust we have here, I see.”
“Yes,” nodded Terry innocently. “It is just like the dust they have every place else!”
“You keep your mouth closed, young fellow!” rumbled the sheriff, turning smoldering eyes on the cheerful redhead. “If I have any funny talk from you boys I’ll lock you up quicker’n a wink. I want to know what you boys are doing snooping around the street here.”
“We’re here looking for a man who has been prowling about our camp lately,” said Jordan, seeing that nothing was to be gained by evading the issue any longer.
“What man is prowling around your camp?” the sheriff demanded.
“That’s just what we would like to know,” responded the senior captain. “Not long ago a man stampeded our horses and last night he left a warning in our tree in our camp, telling us to keep our noses out of this ghost business. We found a heel print in the mud under that tree and we have followed it down into this town. That’s all.”
“Nobody has been anywhere near your camp,” the sheriff declared loudly. “You boys have been dreaming.”
“Is that so?” spoke up Jim, sharply. “Listen here, Mr. Sheriff, I saw that man stampede our horses. Whoever is hanging around the camp had better keep away from it and stay away.”
“What’ll you do if he doesn’t stay away?” scoffed the sheriff.
“We’ll do what you should have done long ago,” snapped Don. “We’ll find him and send him to a responsible officer of the law to take care of. You are supposed to be a sheriff here, keeping law and order, and yet a silly ghost terrifies the community for years and you aren’t able to run him down. We’re neither too stupid nor too lazy to do it and if the ghost or any of his friends are here in this crowd I’m telling you plainly that we’re going to nail him and nail him hard!”
There was an awed rustle in the crowd. The sheriff turned purple with wrath. He shook a long and bony finger at the cadets.
“You imitation soldiers, listen to me,” he roared. “I’m warning you to keep your nose out of affairs on this Ridge! I’m the sheriff here and what I say goes. If I catch you meddling around with anything again I’ll lock you up so fast you won’t know what hit you. You mind your own business about people and things at Rustling Ridge, do you get me?”
“As far as people on the Ridge go, we do get you,” retorted Jordan. “But not where it concerns this ghost who has been coming into our camp at night. If he insists upon visiting us, then it is our business to try to find him. That’s all there is to that.”
Realizing that there was no use in arguing further the boys left.
“Well, that’s an open declaration of war,” chuckled Terry, as they made their way back to camp. “I’m afraid we’ll have to buck that sheriff all the way along the line.”
“Yes, because it is even possible that he has something to do with the ghost business himself,” said Vench, seriously. “Anyway, he is mighty touchy about the whole thing.”
“That is because he considers himself the King of the Ridge, and it hurts his pride to see anyone else butt in,” said Jim. “Wonder what the colonel will say when we tell him?”
The colonel heard them in silence. Then he spoke to them quietly. “You did perfectly right, boys,” he said. “However, in the future steer clear of him. I don’t think he really amounts to much, but he may make things pretty unpleasant. In spite of him, we’ll get this ghost yet.”
The colonel accompanied the boys to the tent entrance when they left. Outside they found Lieutenant Thompson with a number of other cadets staring fixedly across the Ridge.
At the sound of the colonel’s voice Thompson turned his gaze to the headmaster and said, “Sir, I believe that someone is sending us a wigwag message from that hill!”
All eyes swung toward the distant hill. Sure enough, far up at the top two tiny white flags moved in the semaphore signal. Whoever was doing it knew the code and they stared in fascination as the flags moved steadily.
“He is repeating his message, boys,” said the colonel, breaking the silence that had settled upon them. “Be sure you get it this time.”
The camp was completely silent as the cadets strained their eyes to read the wigwag message. When it finished a burst of excitement and amazement followed. The mysterious flagman had signaled unmistakably: “Be on your guard. The Ghost walks tonight!”
Great was the astonishment as the cadets made out the signal from the opposite side of the hill. At least nine-tenths of them had read the message accurately, for a knowledge of signaling, both in the Morse code and the semaphore, was required at the school. After the message was received they stood staring toward the hill, looking for some further word. When the same message had been repeated three times the colonel awoke to the fact that the signalman was not going to say anything more.
“Mr. Walker,” he called to the best signalman that the corps had. “Get your flags and answer ‘All right.’”
Cadet Walker departed on a run to his tent, to reappear shortly with two white flags. Standing where he would surely be seen by the lone signalman, the cadet began his message. The flags on the other side of the Ridge disappeared at once as the man read their signal, and Walker stopped his rapid arm movements.
“Now, what in the world do you make of that?” Terry asked, in amazement. His question was taken up by all of the cadets and asked without any satisfactory answer. Supper was neglected while the mystery was considered, and the colonel was as much puzzled as the boys were.
When the cadets finally did sit down to supper the tables buzzed with speculative talk. Many were for going over to that hill and finding out who it could have been that signaled them. At the close of the meal the colonel rapped for order and when the tent had become quiet he spoke to them of the future plans.
“I know as little about that signal as you do, boys,” he said, “but I believe it to be sincere. Someone who is friendly is trying to give us a warning that may stand us in good stead. It is also possible that it may be a hoax, simply designed to fool us or to draw us out of camp. That will not happen, you may be sure, but I feel that we should be ready for duty. I shall split the battalion in half, and one-half of you will patrol the Ridge while the other half remains in camp to guard it against surprise.”
There was a stirring and a ripple of genuine pleasure at the news, for all of the young men looked forward to some exciting times ahead. Each one was wishing that he would be lucky enough to be in the group that would patrol the Ridge.
“I wish to make this statement, which is also an order,” went on the colonel. “There will be no carrying of arms tonight. Some one of you might become excited and fire at the wrong time, so I expressly forbid it. It is not as though you were going out alone, but you are going out in groups and therefore a weapon, in the shape of a firearm, won’t be necessary. I trust that five or six husky young cadets will be a match for the best ghost this Ridge can send against us. It may be that we will have our supreme chance to end this ugly ghost business tonight, and if so I want no slips that will damage the prospect. I wish to see the leaders immediately after the meal.”
When the colonel met with the leaders he specified which cadets were to go out and which ones were to stay at camp. To their joy all of the friends of Don and Jim were to patrol the Ridge. The colonel had suggested that the Ghost Patrol go in a body, so the members of that secret organization prepared to go out alone. The leaders passed from group to group, telling them where to go and how to act, signals were arranged, and the stage was set.
To the waiting cadets it seemed that evening was unusually slow in coming. No attempt was made to slip out of camp until full darkness had come, for if anyone was watching it would be a risky thing to do.
“Never saw a day last so long in my life,” grumbled Vench, digging his heel into the soft mud.
“It is just about the usual length, I guess,” smiled Don. “One thing is going to be for and against us tonight.”
“What is that?” the others asked.
“There will be just enough of a moon to make us have to be careful, and just enough to help us spot the ghost if he gets out into the open.”
Jordan emerged from his tent and stopped at the various groups to give some sort of an order. When he got to the members of the Ghost Patrol he repeated it finally.
“When we leave the camp we are to leave by the back way, taking care to keep out of the light of the fires,” he told them. “It is possible that someone is watching the camp and our game would be spoiled if we walked out in such a way that it could be seen. In about a half hour we will be able to get going.”
“The bunch in camp will have to keep their eyes wide open,” said Douglas.
“Yes, and the colonel will be helping them do it. We have to be careful that this isn’t all some tricky plan to pull us out of camp while somebody with kindly ideas rushes in and burns the place out. The colonel has arranged this signal: three rifle shots for a recall. That will mean trouble in the camp, and if you hear it, head for camp as fast as you can go.”
Darkness finally fell and the stars appeared faintly in the summer sky as the slice of the moon cut the distant horizon. One group broke up and disappeared back of the tents and another followed. Jordan got up.
“All right, let’s go,” he announced, glancing at his watch. “Slip out of camp without a sound. Keep to the shadows.”
The group in the tent broke up at once, some of them walking down the company street for a distance of three or four tents and then slipping behind them. Once out of the glare of the several campfires they had no trouble in gaining the shelter of the trees, and after a few seconds they were all together.
“Which direction now?” Jim asked.
“Let’s go clear to the top of the Ridge,” suggested Jordan. “From there we can get a comprehensive view of the woods and hills and spot anything that moves.”
They set out for the top of the Ridge, walking with care and listening for every sound that might break the stillness. They had not gone far before there was a noise as though someone was moving before them. Spreading out fanwise they bore silently down on the spot from which the noise had come only to run into another patrol which was lying low and waiting for them to come forward.
“Oh, it is only you guys,” grunted Jordan, as Cadets Perry, Noxan, Dodge and Orlan confronted them.
“Yes, sorry to disappoint you by not being the ghost!” grinned Perry. “But we heard you coming along and we took to cover, so that you would run into us. I’m afraid that we’ll be doing that all evening.”
“Well, then let’s get over it by giving the school whistle every time,” suggested Don. “If we had whistled then you would have replied and we would have passed you in another direction.”
“A good idea, Mercer,” approved Dodge. “If we give the whistle and fail to receive the answer, we’ll know that the party before us is a suspicious case. We can then go after them in earnest.”
“Yes, that will be OK,” nodded the senior captain. “We are striking off here, boys. See you later.”
With that they left the party and continued their journey to the top of the hill. From there they could look all along the Ridge, and even see the faint gleam of their own campfires in the distance. There was no sign of life on the Ridge, but that was inconclusive, for they knew that directly below them several bands of cadets were moving around.
“For the time being at least we will just stay here and sweep the hills with our eyes,” Jordan said.
For a full hour they sat under a tree, well-sheltered in its shadows, and looked searchingly at the slopes below them. In that time the only life they saw were the forms of several cadets who appeared briefly in the open and then were lost in the darkness. Finally they became highly impatient at the inaction.
“I guess there is nothing to be gained by sitting here,” Jordan said. “My suggestion is that we split up and move along the top of the Ridge in opposite directions. Suppose Terry, Jim and Don come with me, and Thompson, Douglas and Vench group together and go toward the east of the Ridge? We’ll work back past the camp.”
“Sounds as good as anything,” nodded Thompson. “Most of our cadets are content to stay down on the slopes, so it wouldn’t be a bad idea to keep to the top.”
“Yes, and here’s another thing,” put in Terry. “You three are going toward the town. Why not keep an eye on that side of the Ridge and see if this ghost doesn’t come up from town, if he comes at all.”
“There may be something in that,” said Jordan. “We’ll watch this side of the hill. By the way, have all of you fellows got your cadet whistles?”
All of them had the regular whistles, similar to those used by traffic policemen. “If you get into a scrape and need help, just blow like mad,” commanded Jordan. “If we should run into anything we’ll do the same.”
With this word they separated. They were now so high above the camp that the fires gleamed like little fireflies below them.
“Somebody or something moving in the bushes below!” whispered Jim, suddenly. He pointed into a small gully below them and they looked down. The bushes, clearly seen in the pale moonlight, were moving.
“I’ll whistle,” said Jordan, and did so. But there was no reply.
“Down we go, and see who it is,” decided the captain, and they crept forward stealthily, careful to make as little noise as possible. But when they dipped down in the gully they found four cadets, one of whom was Rowen. These cadets were standing like statues, evidently a bit scared and waiting to see who it was that moved toward them.
“Didn’t you fellows hear my whistle?” Jordan demanded.
“We thought we heard someone whistle,” replied Cadet Motley. “But we weren’t sure.”
“Well, I whistled,” Jordan said. “Whenever you hear that you’ll know that friends are near by.” Jordan then repeated Don’s suggestion to use their special whistle for recognizing cadets.
“OK,” nodded Motley. “What time have you, Jordan? I’m not sure about my watch.”
Jordan drew out his watch. “I have just eleven o’clock, Motley,” he replied. “I guess——”
Jim gripped his arm. “Siss—s!” he hissed. “Look, on the top of the Ridge!”
With one accord they looked up the slope and their blood chilled. In a patch of moonlight a weird and terrible figure walked swiftly from one patch of darkness toward another. It looked to be the figure of a man, clothed entirely in white. It glanced neither to the right nor to the left, but strode swiftly along, to all intents and purposes unaware that anyone save itself was on the Ridge. Even the head was muffled in white and showed no trace of eyes, nose or mouth. Quiet and evil and sinister did it look as it glided past the dark background of the sky.
The cadets instinctively crouched down where they stood. It seemed to be the proper thing to do, although the ghostly figure had not looked in their direction.
The moment was one of indecision. While the ghost kept in plain sight on the top of the Ridge they were content to watch it, waiting for a cue that would send them into action. To attempt to rush up the hill and grapple with the shape would be the wrong thing to do, for the noise of their approach would startle the thing into a run. To trail it as quietly as possible was their only thought.
There was a stir on the part of one of the cadets, the one nearest Don. He reached into his inside pocket and then brought his hand out into the open. It was Dick Rowen who had moved and Don shifted his eyes toward him.
What he saw startled him. Against all orders to the contrary the sulky cadet had brought a revolver with him. He was even now raising it and pointing toward the white shape.
Don’s arm described a sort of arc, his hand coming down with a thump on the wrist of the unpopular cadet. But Rowen had a good grip on the stock of his revolver.
“Put that away, Rowen,” Don whispered, sternly.
“Leave me alone, Mercer,” hissed the other. “I’m just going to scare the thing.”
Don’s grasp tightened and he jerked the wrist toward him. Rowen promptly twisted his arm, pointing the revolver upward. The grasp of his fingers on the trigger was too strong and the revolver went off with a shattering report.
There was a moment of utter silence from the boys themselves. The figure in white leaped into the air and then began a swift run along the top of the Ridge. Don had dropped Rowen’s wrist in dismay and the other cadet was shaken by the unexpected happening.
“Oh, you stupid guy!” cried Don, as the ghost could be heard running along the rise.
They were all on their feet now and Jordan pushed up to them. He grasped the cadet by the arm.
“Rowen, what in the world did you do that for?” he ground out.
“I didn’t do it,” defended the other. “Mercer grabbed my arm.”
“Never mind the excuses, we all saw what you did. It was against the colonel’s orders to carry any kind of a gun. Why did——”
Don cut in. “Some of you fellows get after the ghost on the double!” he cried, and Terry, Jim, and the others ran off, leaving him alone with Jordan and the angry one.
“Well, I thought the colonel was foolish about not carrying arms,” said Rowen, as the others breasted the rise. “Anyway, what right had he to send us out to face some kind of a desperate man, maybe a criminal, without any way to protect ourselves? I wasn’t going to shoot the man, I was going to scare him.”
“You succeeded in doing that without carrying out your original plan,” Jordan returned, grimly. “Now, Rowen, I want you to march yourself back to camp and put yourself on report. You are under arrest.”
“Oh, sure, I could expect that from you!” retorted Rowen, bitterly.
“Yes, you could, you or anyone else who had pulled a stunt like that,” nodded Jordan. “It was direct and defiant disobedience, and if we lose our chance to nab the ghost it will be entirely your fault. Return to camp at once, Rowen.”
“OK,” grumbled Rowen. He walked sullenly away.
“Now, if we are going to catch up with the boys we’ll have to put all we have into it,” announced Jordan.
“Right!” said Don, as they started up the slope. “Feel equal to a good stiff run?”
“Sure,” smiled Jordan. “Let’s hit a steady pace.”
Gaining the top of the rise they fell into a steady run along the top, away from the camp and toward the town on the far side of the Ridge. They were following a general direction, which was not entirely blind, for far ahead of them they heard a faint cracking sound that seemed to be made by someone running recklessly. Their route did not keep them long on the top of the hill, for the ghost had taken to the deeper shelter of the trees lower down and they plunged down the slope, threading their way in between the trees.
They almost fell over a figure that was before them in the woods. It was Cadet Owens, and he was sitting on a rock, hugging his foot. His shoe was off and he was breathing hard.