“Hurt yourself?” Jordan called.
“Not much,” gasped Owens. “Got my shoe caught in a piece of rock and twisted my ankle. But I’ll be able to walk. Keep on going straight ahead. We didn’t lose sight of him.”
The other two plunged on, following a straight line. They did not expect to overtake the others, for Terry and Jim in particular were fast runners and they had had a good start. All they could hope to do was to be in at the finish if there was a finish, and with this in mind they ran on.
“Rough going!” gasped Don, as they began to ascend a second rolling hill.
“Nothing else but!” returned Jordan, running steadily.
On the top of the hill they found themselves in familiar country. Far ahead of them was the tiny cabin of Peter Vancouver and above them was the big, barnlike house that they had observed at the time they first took the hike to the old man’s place. Now they were somewhat at a loss, and slowed up a bit in their running.
“We’ll have to be careful not to lose them now,” Don said.
“There they are, right ahead of us,” announced Jordan, “They must have lost him, because they are just standing there.”
“They are right in front of that old house,” observed Don, as they ran forward.
The others turned in glad surprise when the two ran up.
“Did you lose him?” Jordan called, as they joined them.
“He just bolted into that house,” Terry answered. “Think we ought to go in after him?”
“Absolutely,” was the reply from the senior captain. “All you fellows have your flashlights, haven’t you?”
They all had. Jordan led the way inside the gate and they walked with great care toward the house.
“He was way ahead of us,” said Motley, “and just as soon as he got to this old house he bolted right inside. He may be armed, so we had better be careful.”
“Yes,” replied Jordan. “But if he is in the house we are bound to get him. Be ready to put your light out if he tries any shooting. And be careful of holes or anything in the house.”
They snapped on their flashlights as they went up the tottering old porch of what had once been a fine old mansion. There were no windows in the place which could boast of glass, and the front door had dropped from its hinges and now lay sprawled out on the porch. Jordan swung his light down on this prostrate door, and they could see that it was covered with dirt and mud. Newer marks on the door showed that someone had recently entered the place.
“This is where he went, all right,” said Don. “On your toes, everybody.”
Before entering the place they flashed brilliant beams of light in every corner of the nearest room. This was a large hall, with bare walls from which the plaster had fallen, and a large staircase running up to a second floor. Realizing that the ghost might leave the place by some rear door while they prowled around the front rooms, the cadets pushed the search with all possible speed, their eyes and ears alert for any sign of someone lurking. But a rapid search of a wide parlor, a square dining room, and an enormous kitchen showed them that at least no one was concealed downstairs.
“I guess our next move will be the upstairs,” Motley suggested, and they took the wide steps toward the top of the house.
Here there were a number of smaller rooms and it took them some little time to look through all of them. Nothing was to be found on the second floor, and with more confidence they went to the third floor. This was a big barnlike attic, and was obviously quite empty.
“Well, if he is in the place at all, it is the cellar,” decided Jordan, when they had satisfied themselves that there was no one in the upper part of the house. “I don’t think he came upstairs at all, because I don’t see any prints.”
There were some footprints in the lower hall but they were lost on the comparatively bare stretches of floor. The cellar, which extended only a short distance under the house, was tenanted by spiders only, and no one had been in there, judging by the huge webs that stretched across the bottom of the stairway. It would have been impossible for anyone to have gone that way without breaking the webs, and they were all intact.
“Many thanks to the spiders,” acknowledged Terry, lifting his hat. “They make it possible for us to keep from going any deeper into this damp hole. The smell of it is enough for me.”
“Just to make doubly sure,” said Jordan, “suppose we go around to the back and see if there is an outside cellar door? The ghost may have run out the back door of the house and down a back stairs to the cellar. I’m not going to give up the search until I have seen every corner of the house.”
“While a couple of us are doing that I suggest that two or three of us look in the closets on the first floor,” Don advanced. “We missed them on our first round. I guess a couple of us can hold the ghost in a tussle until the others get on the spot.”
“All right,” said Jordan. “Jim and Motley, come with me. The rest of you scatter. But I’m pretty sure that the ghost ran right on through the house and escaped into the woods.”
The others thought the same thing, but they scattered to search. Terry and Cadet Ross began to look into the closets on the first floor. Don wandered back into the parlor and came to the front porch. From there he looked off over the hills, seeing below him the lights in Vancouver’s cabin.
“I wonder if old Mr. Vancouver is all right?” Don mused. “Maybe he heard the noise we made and is alarmed. It isn’t far to his house, and I think I’ll run down and see if he is all right. Won’t take a second, and I’ll be right back.”
With this kindly thought in mind Don jumped to the ground and started off. But at that moment Terry appeared in the black doorway.
“Hey, where are you going?” the redhead asked.
“Just going to run down and see if Mr. Vancouver is OK,” called back Don. “Tell Jordan that I’ll be right back.”
“All right, kid,” Terry returned. “If you run into any trouble, just sing out and we’ll come on the double.”
Terry turned back and was lost to sight while Don resumed his journey down the slope. The cabin was not far away and it took him but a moment to reach it. He approached it from the back, hoping to get a look in one of the windows, but they were too high and small in the rear and so he passed around to the front of the cabin. Noiselessly he crossed the porch and tapped on the door, waiting for an answer.
Although he waited there was no response and he wondered if the old man was asleep. Since there was a light showing he rather doubted that and he knocked again, a trifle louder. The light came out from under the door and showed around the windows that opened off the porch, but he was unable to peer in because heavy black shades were pulled down to the bottom. The front door was solid and he found no help in that direction.
“He must be asleep, in spite of the light,” Don decided. “I’ll see if I can see anything through the side windows.”
He made his way around the side of the house and found that he could see in a window there. A ragged shade had been pulled down but the torn edges gave him a limited view of the interior of the large room. It was lighted by a single oil lamp, and in a far corner sat the invalid in his chair, apparently fast asleep. At least he was very quiet and Don was undecided.
“Don’t know as I ought to tap, but I’ll just see if he is awake,” he decided, and tapped with his ring on the glass in the window. The old man stirred, looked toward the window, and wheeled his chair out of the shadow.
“Who is it?” he cried, in a shrill voice.
Don ran swiftly around the porch and placed his lips near the door frame. “It is Don Mercer, one of the cadets who visited you one afternoon,” he called. “May I come in?”
“Sure, you may,” responded the man, instantly. There was a soft sound, like the rolling of wheels, and the catch on the door rattled. In an instant the door swung open to show the frail figure in the chair. Don was bathed in a yellow light that blinded him for a moment.
“Come right in,” invited Vancouver, spinning back from the door. “Close the door and make yourself right at home. What brings you up here at this hour?”
Don entered, closing the door back of him, and looked around the room. A fire snapped in an open hearth and the room was a bit too warm. Vancouver was wrapped in a brown blanket, and he had wheeled himself back into the shadows beyond the lamplight.
“I’ll have to apologize for my late call, Mr. Vancouver,” laughed Don. “But a bunch of us chased the ghost up this way and the rest of the boys are looking for him. I saw your lights down here and just ran in to see if you were all right, or if our noise had alarmed you.”
“You were chasing the ghost!” cried Vancouver, sharply. “Go on!”
“Yes, we saw him walking along the Ridge and we gave chase,” Don explained. “We trailed him into that old house on the top of the hill and we went all through the place but couldn’t find him. While the others were looking I ran down here to see if you had heard anything. Sorry to have bothered you.”
“Wasn’t any bother at all, and I’m grateful to you for your thought,” responded Vancouver promptly. “I didn’t hear anything because I’ve been sleeping here in the chair. Your knock woke me up. So you saw the ghost, eh? What did he look like?”
Don described the appearance of the ghost and the old man appeared to be deeply interested.
“You say you fellows saw him. How’d you come to do that? You ain’t always out of your camp so late as this, be you?”
Feeling that he might some day help them to find the ghost, Don related the story of the mysterious flagman, the search on the hill and the revolver shot that Rowen had fired off.
“Dear, too bad about that shot,” said the invalid, shaking his head. “If it hadn’t been for that you would have nailed this ghost, eh?”
“No doubt of it,” said Don, his attention attracted by something that the man was doing. “Are you too hot, Mr. Vancouver?”
The invalid had been passing a hand jerkily across his forehead several times, and each time after the act he wiped a somewhat dampened hand on the brown cover. Although it was quite warm in the place it did not seem to be hot enough to make a man sweat, unless Mr. Vancouver was the kind who perspired easily. It seemed to Don that the old man was breathing pretty heavily for one who had sat in a wheel chair all evening, and in the boy’s brain a faint idea stirred. He rejected it, at first, but like a gentle knocking it persisted.
“Oh, no, no,” hastily interposed the cripple. “Do you feel too warm?”
“No, but I thought perhaps you might be a little hot, and I’d open a window or the door for you,” responded Don, seating himself on the edge of the table.
“No, you needn’t do that,” said the man, running one thumb absently along the edge of the nearest wheel. The glance that he fixed on the cadet’s face was keen and almost fierce. “I’m so old I got to keep warm, because I don’t move around enough.”
“I see,” nodded Don. He had intended to leave immediately, but found himself suddenly possessed with a desire to remain. “Well, as I was telling you, we chased that ghost into the old house above you. Know anything about the place?”
At the same time Don began a rigid inspection of his host. Most of the man was covered up, but his feet showed under the blanket. Only the toes could be seen, but there was something about them that attracted his attention. They were clothed in socks which seemed to be damp, and he wondered if the man always went without shoes.
Vancouver knew the place well. “They used to call that the haunted house, around here,” he chuckled. “This Ridge is a pretty spooky place, the more you hear of it. You don’t know who it was that sent you that flag message, eh?”
“Haven’t the least idea,” answered Don. “All of the cadets were in camp at the time, and I don’t know who around here knows how to use signal flags. And who would know that the ghost was going to walk?”
“You beat me there,” Vancouver said, shaking his head. “That’s a hard nut to crack. Maybe the ghost went in for a little advertising.”
“I doubt it, Mr. Vancouver,” said Don, noting that the fire was consuming fresh wood which couldn’t have been put there an hour ago. “If you had seen the ghost run you’d have known that the thing was utterly unexpected to him. It is a pretty tough problem.”
“I guess most ghost doings are tough problems,” grinned the old man.
“I guess so,” Don smiled. “Nice fire you have there. We don’t see many open hearth fires any more. Have you had it going all evening?”
“Yep, I generally have it going every evening,” responded the man, somewhat absently.
“Well, I’ll have to be running along, Mr. Vancouver,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I don’t want to keep you at an hour like this. I just wanted to run down and see if we had alarmed you, but as long as we haven’t, why, I’ll be moving.”
“I didn’t hear a sound, so I’m all right. It was real nice of you to drop down to see if I was all right, and I sure appreciate that. An old cripple like me doesn’t get much chance to see the world or talk with anyone, so it did me good to have you stop in.”
“That’s fine,” replied Don, his eyes busy at the task of looking around the room in a guarded manner. “Say, Mr. Vancouver, as I told you before, we did quite a bit of running tonight. And gee, I’m just about burning up with thirst. I’m thinking with pleasure that you have some of the finest water I ever tasted here.”
“I’ll get you a drink in just a shake,” promised the man, seizing his wheel.
“Don’t bother. Can’t I get it myself?” asked Don, wishing to gain a look at the kitchen.
“Won’t take me a second,” said the other, and spun around in his chair, aiming at the doorway that led into the back room. With the speed and accuracy of an arrow he passed through it and was gone.
And almost immediately Don thanked his lucky stars that he had not been permitted to go out into the other room himself. For something that had been hidden by the chair of the cripple was now disclosed. In the corner rested a pair of shoes, and these shoes were covered with mud!
Not the slightest doubt about it. Red and black mud, soft and wet, a fact that he could determine without touching them. A band of light from the lamp shone on them and revealed the evidence plainly. That explained the man’s damp socks. Yet Don’s brain was unable to fully take it all in.
“Is it possible that this man is not an invalid after all? Or has the real ghost been here, and maybe is hiding here right now? That may be possible.”
But certain things pointed an unerring hand at his host. His brow was moist, as of one who had been running. His breath had been rapid, and now his muddy shoes betrayed him. For not an instant longer did Don doubt that the man could walk and run, and the crippled state was nothing but a ruse.
“No wonder he pumped me about who it was that sent the wigwag,” he thought, as the sound of water was heard from the kitchen pump. “While I have been sitting here telling him everything he has been measuring me, wondering if I have been playing some sort of a game with him. Maybe I’m lucky that he didn’t jump on me suddenly, but I believe that my straightforward story has convinced him that I don’t know anything. Nothing dumb about him, evidently! My story about running down to see if he is all right must sound pretty flat, though.”
The man wheeled into the room rapidly and in his hand he had a tall glass of water. Don drank it eagerly, keeping a wary eye on the old man, but nothing out of the way happened and he thanked him for the water.
“Don’t mention it,” smiled the man. “Come up again and see me, won’t you?”
“I surely will,” promised Don, as he opened the door. “Good night, sir.”
“Good night, boy, good night,” was the bright and cheery response, as Don went out.
“If he isn’t a cripple, he certainly knows how to run that chair of his,” Don decided, as he ran up the hill.
He found that the others were waiting for him impatiently. “Golly, we thought that you were lost,” said Jordan, impatiently.
“No, just talking with Mr. Vancouver,” said Don. “Didn’t have any luck, eh?”
“Not a bit,” returned the senior captain. “Well, I suppose we may as well head in.”
It did not take them long to make camp, where they found the others awaiting them. Jordan reported to the colonel, who had heard the shot and who knew from Rowen’s own report what had happened. Howes was ordered to blow the bugle as a sign of recall, and before very long all of the groups had returned.
“Too bad we lost him,” said the colonel, shaking his head. “I believe it was entirely due to Mr. Rowen’s disobedience. I have ordered him into permanent arrest, until I decide what to do with him. Sound taps, Mr. Howes.”
Don thought deeply before falling asleep. “I guess I’ll keep things to myself, at least for a time,” he decided. “It all sounds so farfetched that I hate to drag out my discoveries. But that man was surely out of his chair and out of his house this night! Now that I have something definite to work on something tangible may come up before long. The next thing we had better do is to find out who that mysterious flagman was.”
The following day the camp was vibrant with excitement as the cadets relived the events of the night before. Everyone, of course, lamented the fact that Rowen had unwisely frightened the ghost away, but the boys realized that there was nothing to do but wait for the ghost to walk again.
During the afternoon some of the cadets noticed a stranger enter the colonel’s tent. The caller stayed a short time and then left, taking the road which led to Rideway. Later Jordan, Don and Jim were ordered to the colonel’s tent. Having seen the visitor, they wondered if their summons was in any way connected with him.
“Come in, come in,” invited the colonel as the boys approached his quarters. “I have a job for you to do, that is, if you are willing.”
“Anything you say, Colonel,” Don replied, speaking for the group.
“Perhaps you noticed that I had a visitor this afternoon.” He looked at the three cadets before him expectantly and they nodded to affirm this. “That was Mr. Farnsworth, the superintendent of the local telephone exchange in Rideway. It seems that his night operator was suddenly taken ill this morning and will be unable to go on duty tonight. He has no extra help at this time and thought perhaps one of the cadets knew how to operate a switchboard.”
“I have run our switchboard at school a few times,” said Jim, hesitantly. “However, I imagine this one in Rideway is far more complicated.”
“Splendid!” said the colonel. “I thought I remembered correctly that you had, Jim. You will have no trouble at all with this local exchange. Mr. Farnsworth assured me that it was a simple board, else he would not have approached me. You see, this exchange is a small one and does not require a complicated system such as those one finds in large cities.”
“Well, I’ll do my best, sir,” promised Jim.
“I’m sure of that. Now, Don and Jordan, I want you to accompany Jim. You are to be at the exchange from midnight until seven o’clock, so perhaps three of you can keep one another awake for that period. Mr. Farnsworth will meet you there and show you what to do. Now, I suggest that you try to get some sleep before midnight. You will be awakened at the proper time and when you get to Rideway go to the building on the left of the town hall.
“You never can tell,” the colonel continued with a wink, “but what this job may be far from dull. Remember that you are still members of the Ghost Patrol. Be alert!”
The three lucky cadets went immediately to their tents to talk over the piece of good news. They ate supper and after an hour turned in to sleep. Terry wailed at the fate that had left him out of it.
“Some guys have all the luck,” he whined in a voice imitating Dick Rowen’s. “I can’t stand these Mercer boys, anyway. Besides, I’ve got the biggest ears and the colonel should have sent me.”
The Officer of the Guard awakened the boys at the proper hour and they left the camp, passing the sentries safely. It did not take them long to cross the Ridge and strike down into Rideway. They found the streets totally deserted. Alongside the town hall they found the proper building and at their knock they were admitted by Mr. Farnsworth. He wore a telephone headset, consisting of one phone, a curved mouthpiece that fastened to the soundbox which rested on his chest, and a long, detachable plug.
He showed them the switchboard bearing scores of small white buttons that lighted up when the calls came in, and rows of multiple holes into which the plugs were inserted when calls were connected. He explained things in brief detail to them.
“This is what they call a manual board, as against a dial board,” he said. “We have five girls working here in the daytime, but one operator is sufficient at night. Now, unless you have some questions, I’ll be leaving.”
“I think I understand this sort of system,” answered Jim promptly. “It shouldn’t cause us any trouble.”
Thus assured, Mr. Farnsworth left. Then the three boys got a fair insight into the night telephone operator’s job. There was complete silence until two-thirty when a call was received. Jim handled it expertly. There were few calls after that and the time went by much too slowly for the three active boys.
“This certainly is a lonely job,” remarked Jordan, around a quarter after three.
“Yes, but I imagine you get used to it after a while,” answered Don.
Just at that moment the switchboard buzzed twice. “Hmm, long distance,” murmured Jim. “Mr. Farnsworth mentioned that two short rings was the signal for a long-distance call.”
He plugged in below the lighted signal. At his answer a dull voice said, “Let me have Main 7200.”
Jordan was about to speak when Jim sat bolt upright and signaled to the others to be silent. His eyes grew as big as saucers as he listened intently. Don and Jordan were mystified by his actions, but they said not a word. It seemed an interminable length of time before Jim closed the key and plugged into another line.
“What is it? What’s the matter?” Don questioned his brother eagerly.
“I’ll tell you all about it in a minute. I’ve got to do something first!”
The others listened impatiently while Jim held a short conversation with someone who seemed to be another operator. At last Jim removed the headset and turned to his companions.
“That was a call to the drugstore and it was about the ghost!” Jim said breathlessly.
“What!” exclaimed Don and Jordan together.
“I was just on the point of closing the key, after making sure that the connection was correct, when I heard someone say, ‘Those cadets chased the ghost into the old Furmen house and very nearly caught him.’ That’s when I motioned to you not to talk. Then the other voice said, ‘Those meddling cadets again, was it?’ and the person at the drugstore, who gave his name as Rose, answered, Yes, Mr. Maul.’”
“Maul!” shouted Don. “Why, that’s the name of the family the Hydes had a feud with!”
“Then there is one of them still alive,” Jordan said thoughtfully.
“That’s the same conclusion I reached,” Jim said. “I just checked the origin of the call with the operator and she told me it was from a pay station in Crossland.”
“Golly! Wait until the colonel hears about this. I’ll bet he never dreamed we would really come up with something tonight,” Jordan said excitedly.
“But I haven’t told you everything,” Jim interrupted. “The man named Maul gave the clerk instructions to relay to the ghost. He is to go to him this afternoon and tell him to start prowling on the far side of the Ridge. In about a week he said he would send orders referring to another attempt to burn the Hydes out. His final word was, ‘First I will get rid of those schoolboy soldiers.’”
“That means another chance to catch the ghost!” exclaimed Jordan. “Say, we ought to trail that clerk when he goes out this afternoon.”
“And I’ll tell you just where he will go, too,” said Don calmly. He had been unusually quiet during the conversation between his brother and Jordan, because he had been thinking things out.
“Where?” the others demanded.
“To the cabin of Peter Vancouver,” returned Don.
“Why to him?” asked Jordan. “He’s lame and can’t get about.”
“My best uniform that he isn’t,” Don laughed. “Let me tell you what happened the night we chased the ghost.” With that he related the story of his visit to Vancouver’s cabin. “I’m positive that he had been out that night, and I don’t think for a minute that he is an invalid at all.”
“Without arousing suspicion, let’s try to find out from Mr. Farnsworth how long the man has been living in that cabin,” Jim suggested.
The others agreed to the idea and waited impatiently for seven o’clock to come. At last it did and Mr. Farnsworth was prompt.
He thanked them earnestly and inquired whether they had had any difficulties. Jim assured him he had not. Mr. Farnsworth was a friendly person and was very interested in the cadets’ activities. He kept the boys there for a few minutes, asking them questions concerning their camp life.
The superintendent’s interest enabled the boys to describe their hikes through the countryside and, in passing, Jim told him of their visit to Peter Vancouver. He then casually asked Mr. Farnsworth if Vancouver was a native of the region.
“Oh, no,” was the man’s reply. “He moved here only a few years ago. No one knows much about him. He keeps to himself, though of course that’s natural since he’s confined to a wheelchair.”
After a few minutes of further conversation the cadets departed.
They struck the trail for camp at a rapid pace.
“Good golly, I am hungry,” sighed Jim, as they topped the rise.
“I guess we all are,” replied Jordan. “But we have made splendid progress in the last few hours. What a rare piece of luck that you listened in on that call, Jim!”
They arrived in camp while drill was going on and reported at once to the colonel. He was interested and pleased beyond measure.
“That is splendid work, boys,” he approved, heartily. “Now, some of you must do some active trailing. I suppose you three feel equal to the observation task, don’t you?”
“We will after we have had some breakfast, sir,” Don smiled back.
“Of course. Report to the mess tent at once. Pack something up to take with you and then get your field glasses and find a post from which you can watch the cabin of this supposed cripple. I compliment you on your fine powers of observation regarding this Peter Vancouver, Don.”
“Thank you, sir,” acknowledged Don. “It is a clever game all the way through, and only lucky accidents have put us in touch with the truth.”
“Yes, the kind of accidents that you boys always seem to have,” said the colonel, dryly. “Well, run along to your breakfast.”
“We’re having all the fun,” grinned Jim, as they hiked once more to the top of the Ridge a short time later. “Won’t old redhead pull his hair out in handfuls when he hears of this!”
A small clump of bushes on a high hill gave them a good view of Vancouver’s cabin when sighted through the glasses and there was no danger that they would be seen in turn. The morning passed without any sign of anything moving and they ate their lunch under a hot sun.
“He surely ought to show up this afternoon,” Jordan thought.
“If he waits until nightfall we’re licked,” said Jim.
The afternoon dragged until four o’clock, and then Jordan uttered an exclamation. He had his glasses pointed at the cabin.
“Here he comes now,” he announced, and the others raised their glasses. Sure enough, a man was wending his way up the slope, straight for Vancouver’s cabin, and Jim called their attention to a white package that he had in his hand.
The clerk stayed in the cabin for an hour and departed at the end of that time. When he had gone, Jordan closed his glass.
“That makes the case complete,” he announced. “Now we can go back and report to the colonel. Who wants to bet that I don’t stay up until taps tonight?”
“Not I,” returned Jim, promptly, “I’m so dead on my feet right now that I won’t know whether you do or not!”
On the following morning Colonel Morrell had an early and unexpected visitor. He was a fairly good-looking young man, with a handsome smile and a confident air. Without introducing himself he asked the colonel of the cadet corps an astonishing question.
“Well, what luck did you have with the ghost the other night?” the man inquired with a pleasant smile.
There was a pause before the colonel answered him. “Unfortunately we missed him after a considerable chase. Are you the one who—?”
“Yes, I sent you the wigwag,” replied the young man. “I am a scoutmaster over in Rideway and that’s how I happen to know the signals. I’ve been wanting to put this stupid ghost out of business and saw this opportunity to do it.”
“How did you come to find out that the ghost was going to walk, Mr.—?” began the colonel.
“My name is Benson,” explained the other. “Between 1:00A.M.and 8:00A.M.I am employed as a telephone operator on the local switchboard. I was suddenly taken ill the other day or I would have been up to see you sooner.”
“Oh, so you’re the night operator. Some of our boys filled in for you in your absence.”
“Mr. Farnsworth has told me about that. It was very kind of you, sir.”
“It is good training for our boys. It makes them realize their responsibility as citizens to help in any sort of emergency which may arise, I believe. But tell me why you warned us of the ghost’s activities.”
“It was really an accident that I heard a conversation that morning which gave me the information. There was a long-distance telephone call made to our local drugstore. I connected the line and rang. Then, forgetting to close my key more than anything else, I listened while the receiver was picked up at the drugstore. I was pretty sleepy at the time, but I was knocked wide awake by hearing the party on the far end of the wire say: ‘What are the latest activities, Rose? I know about the failure to burn Hyde’s farm. Has the ghost walked since?’ That staggered me and I listened closely to what followed.”
Colonel Morrell leaned forward in his chair. The story of the young scout leader was of great interest to him.
Mr. Benson continued. “The voice at the other end was a low, cold sort of voice, and I was trying to catch a clue from it, hoping that the clerk would use a name, but he didn’t. He just kept using the title Sir. This voice at the other end said: ‘I know all about those cadets interfering with the activities of the ghost, and I will attend to them personally very soon. When I do, they won’t have so much as a tent left to them or a single horse! But I don’t want the ghost to stay in just because of those soldiers. Tell him to get moving again, and make it his business not to get caught.’ It was that last statement which caused me to get word to you.”
“And a good thing it was, too,” replied Colonel Morrell. He then proceeded to tell Mr. Benson the facts that the boys had uncovered. When he had finished he said, “Rest assured that we will get to the bottom of this unpleasant business. I will keep you informed of any further developments, too.”
As soon as he left, Colonel Morrell called the Mercers and Jordan together for a conference.
“It seems you are not the only person guilty of listening in on telephone conversations, Jim,” he began. Then he told them of Mr. Benson’s visit. “Now I think the next step is to engage a good private detective and see if we can’t have this man Maul located in Crossland. If we merely arrest the paid ghost and don’t get the big man higher up we will accomplish nothing.”
At the evening meal in the mess tent the colonel addressed his corps.
“Boys, some time ago we pledged ourselves to run down this ghost business that is troubling the inhabitants of the Ridge and to date we have made quite a bit of progress, even more than most of you know. In due time full details will be related to you, but at present it seems best to keep things quiet. But this much I wish to tell you: we have learned that this ‘ghost’ is a hired professional who is planning to wipe out our camp. I do not know just how he proposes to do it, whether by fire or mob violence, but it is planned, and according to the information secured the blow will come soon. I am therefore doubling the number of sentries beginning with tonight. Your orders are to alarm the camp instantly if anything out of the ordinary is seen or heard. The Officers of the Guard will exercise unwavering care and conduct rigid inspection of posts.”
The colonel resumed his seat and there was a buzz of excitement and indignation. The cadets welcomed the prospect for some actual and dangerous service, and the prospect of a mob fight was especially alluring. But the feeling was that any move made against them would be in the nature of a stealthy act, and all of the cadets determined to brace themselves for the stern business at hand.
“If any ghost tries to touch the horses I’ll shoot him on sight,” growled Thompson, who loved the animals.
“All I hope is that they rush the camp with a gang,” Terry said. “Wouldn’t that be a swell scrap! Imagine the corps meeting a crowd of roughnecks in a hand-to-hand battle. That would be something to write about!”
“If you were able to write, Redhead,” said a cadet near by.
“Gee, if the battalion couldn’t lick any bunch recruited around here we ought to go back to the school and play tennis all the rest of our lives,” snorted Terry, who was not good at the sport and therefore did not like it.
“I’m afraid that the attack won’t be an open one,” Don told them. “More likely to be something shady.”
“You ought to know, Mercer,” said Motley. “Wish I had been on that switchboard the other night.”
That night the number of guards was doubled and the greatest care was exercised. The Officers of the Guard visited posts at frequent intervals and checked up on the sentries. But the night went by without anything out of the ordinary happening. In the morning Benson brought news.
“That ghost showed up in South Plains last night,” he reported. “Some farmers saw him over that way. That is some distance from here and the ghost is following orders to the letter. I didn’t hear a thing last night, though I listened to every conversation. Tonight he may come back this way. But I don’t know whether you will have to fear him or not, for if you’ll remember Maul promised to do the job himself.”
“We’ll be on the lookout for both of them,” promised the colonel.
That afternoon was a warm one and the boys went swimming. Terry had developed a slight summer cold and so he did not go. He was sitting in front of the tent on a box whittling a piece of wood industriously. The camp was quiet and the shouts of the cadets in the swimming hole drifted to his ears.
There was a voice near Terry and he looked up. The little Carson boy was approaching down the company street from the direction of the woods and Terry waved to him.
“Hi, Jimmie,” greeted Terry. “How are you today?”
“OK, Terry,” smiled the boy. “Why aren’t you in swimming?”
“Got a little cold and the company doctor told me to stay out for a while,” answered the whittler, gravely. “What’s on your mind today, anything in particular?”
“I want to tell you something,” said Jimmie Carson, sitting down on the edge of the box as Terry made room for him. “You know that old man over in the cabin? The man named Vancouver?”
“Yes, I know who he is. Why?”
“Well, what do you think, Mr. Mackson? He isn’t lame at all!”
Terry stopped his whittling abruptly and looked keenly at Jimmie. “How do you know that?” he demanded.
“I heard the Hydes say so,” was the reply. “They are going over there tonight and kill him or something!”
The whittling ceased for good. “The Hydes!” ejaculated Terry. “How did they know?”
“Listen, I was over at the Hydes with my father this morning,” said the boy, his eyes serious and grave. “While Pop was talking to old man Hyde I heard the sons talking in the barn. They didn’t know that I was right outside on our wagon, and I heard them plainly. They said that one of them had seen the man sneak into his cabin late last night, and they found out that he wasn’t any cripple. Seems that one of the Hydes was driving home from some place and he saw the ghost sneak into the cabin. Then he looked in under a window and saw the ghost get back into his chair, so they knew that old man was playing ghost. Can you imagine that, Mr. Mackson?”
“No, I can’t,” returned Terry gravely.
“So they said they was going to go to the cabin tonight and just about kill that old man. I thought at first I’d tell Pa, but I was scared to, so I come up here to tell you fellows about it. I don’t think that old man ought to be hit by those big bully Hydes, do you?”
“No, sir,” said Terry, with emphasis. “Jimmie boy, I’m glad you told me this. Come along to the colonel; we must tell him.”
The colonel was keenly interested in the news. “Thank you for telling us this, my boy,” he smiled down at the rugged lad. “This old man is a wicked fellow to go around scaring people out of their wits, but just as you say he shouldn’t be hit by those Hydes. Mr. Mackson, pass the word to the special patrol to be ready to go with me to the cabin as soon as darkness comes tonight.”
“Very well, Colonel,” said Terry. “I’m glad you are going along, because I feel that this is likely to be a fairly tough situation.”
They left the tent and Terry went to hunt up the other boys, first swearing little Jimmie to secrecy. “Don’t breath a word of it,” he told the boy. “We want to save this old man from a severe beating and we also want to capture him for his part in the business that has been going on around here. So it will be the best thing if you keep very quiet about it.”
“I will, Terry,” promised the lad.
The others soon knew what was expected of them. Just before they started out they met in the tent of the colonel.