THE SIGN-CAMP GHOST.
As the last of the herd came out of the coulee to the open ground, a
cheer went up for Stella, who blushed rosy-red, and told the boys to
hush.
Then the drive to the big pasture began, word having been sent to McCall
to follow with the chuck wagon.
The big pasture ran north from the home pasture, which was near the
ranch house.
It comprised thousands of acres, and was so high that nearly always it
was free of snow, which the strong winds coming down from the mountains
swept as clear as if a gigantic broom had been used.
Back of the pasture lay a range of low mountains, the Sweet Grass they
were called, in which several high buttes towered like sentinels.
The Sweet Grass Mountains had the reputation of harboring a great many
"bad men," both whites and Indians, who had forsaken the Blackfeet
Indian reservation to the west.
The mountain valleys afforded a splendid protection for the cattle, as
did the numerous coulees with which the country was seamed.
The big pasture of the Long Tom was reputed to be the best winter
feeding ground in Montana. The grass was high and nutritious, and there
were plenty of water holes.
Once on the pasture the cattle scattered into smaller herds, each under
the leadership of a bull, while the steers drifted off by themselves.
All that was necessary to care for the herd was to ride the lines of the
pasture, and keep the cattle on their own feeding grounds, prevent them
from straying, and hunt down the packs of wolves which preyed upon the
weak cows and young cattle.
At stated intervals along the lines of the pasture were cabins, known as
"sign camps," in which the line riders lived.
The first sign camp out of the home pasture was eight miles distant, and
the next was under the lee of the mountains, on the west line.
As Ted directed the drive of the herd to the big pasture, on the south
and west line of which the first sign camp was situated, he cut out part
of the herd and held it back, while the remainder of the cattle went
forward.
At the first sign camp Bud and Carl were dropped, for they were to ride
the line to the north and east from that point.
Bud was glad to get some rest, and with a wave of the hand went on his
way to the camp to await the arrival of Carl, who had ridden back to the
ranch house for his blankets and other supplies.
During the day the chuck wagon, following the instructions of Ted,
stopped at the sign camp, and left a supply of provisions and Bud's
blankets.
Bud looked out the window of the cabin, and saw that the herd was
grazing quietly, for the cattle were very hungry, and as they were safe
for the time being, he rolled himself in his blankets and was soon
sleeping soundly.
He awoke on hearing a fumbling at the door, and sat up.
It was pitch dark, and he had slept nearly all day.
Unlimbering his six-shooter, he called, "Who's thar?"
"Ach, Pud, it's me alretty," came the muffled reply.
"So it's you, Carl. Why don't you come in?"
"Der door open, Pud, please. I my arrums full mit dings have."
Bud sprang from his blankets and threw the door open, admitting a cold
blast and a flurry of snow.
"Ugh!" he ejaculated, with a shudder. "Come in, yer fat wad o' Dutch.
What yer waitin' fer?"
"Someding has my hat stolen off mit my head." Carl's voice expressed
both perplexity and awe.
Evidently something unusual had happened, and Bud put on his hat and
stepped outside.
He had no sooner passed through the doorway than his own hat was
snatched from his head.
He drew his revolver, leaped into the open, and looked about him.
There was no one in sight except Carl, who was standing near him with
his arms full of blankets and bundles.
Carl could not have played the trick on him, and there was not wind
enough to have blown the hat away. Anyhow, it had been snatched from his
head by a hand and not by the wind.
There was something uncanny about this.
It was still light enough to see out in the open, and the snow-covered
ground reflected light enough to have discovered an intruder had one
been there.
Bud ran around the house, but could find no person, and there were no
tracks of a man's foot in the snow.
"Jumpin' sand hills, but that's queer," said Bud, coming back to where
Carl was still standing in the snow before the door, staring about in a
bewildered way. "Gosh ding yer, Carl, I believe yer swiped my hat, an'
if yer don't give it up I'll plant my toe whar it'll be felt
onpleasantly."
"Honest, Pud, I ain't your hat taking," said Carl distressfully. "Vhy, I
my hat losing too, yet."
"That's so, an' yer loaded down with truck. Throw them things inter ther
house an' help me hunt ther thief. Don' be standin' thar like a
sausage."
"Don'd you calling me a sissage," said Carl wrathfully. "I ain't feeling
mooch as having fun mit you now. I bring all dese dings mit der saddle
on, und I lose two or three every dime der pony makes his jumpings, und
get down kvick to pick dem up maype as fifty dimes."
"Oh, all right. Quit yer bellyachin', an' come an' help. We can't get
along without hats. That's a cinch."
Carl retired into the house with his bundles.
"Wow! Stop it, cuss ye," yelled Bud, as Carl came out of the cabin.
"I ain't didding noding," said Carl, backing away as Bud rushed upon
him.
"Yer did, yer fat galoot. Yer pulled my hair 'most out by ther roots."
"I ain't pulling no hairs," Carl persisted.
"Then who done it? Yer ther only person what I can see. It's a cinch
some one pulled my hair."
"Say, Pud."
"What?"
"Let us camp outside."
"What, an' freeze ter death before mornin'? Nixy. Not fer me."
"Ain't you heard about der shack?"
"No, I ain't, an' I don't want ter. What I'm after now is ther galoot
what got our hats an' pulled my hair."
"Ain't you heard about der ghost?"
"Ghost!"
Bud was staring at Carl with his jaw dropped.
"Yah. Dis is a ghost haus, filled mit ghostesses."
"Don't you go making any monkey talks at me. There ain't no sich things
as ghosts. That'll do fer ter frighten kids with, but not fer me."
"Den who tooken our hats, und who your golden locks pulled?"
"That's so. Who took them? Tell me, who put all thet dope about this
bein' a haunted house in ther shell what yer calls yer head?"
"Bill Simms, der cow-puncher vot we picked up on der drive,
informationed me about it. He says a man was kilt in dis shack, und dot
he valks aroundt mit it ven der night cooms."
"That Bill Simms is ther worst liar in forty States. He tried ter fill
me with wild dreams about a feller what rides ther line on this yere
ranch what can stand havin' ther contents o' a six-shooter pumped inter
him, an' it don't feaze him none."
"Yah. Dot's der ghostes vot runs dis shack. I don'd vant ter stay here,
Pud. Please let us camp out in der snow."
"Why, yer doodle, can't ther ghost come out yere jest ez easy ez he kin'
go inter ther house--that is, if he's a sure-enough ghost?"
"Yah, I guess he can. Vat vill ve didding?"
"I don't care what you do, but I'm goin' inter ther shack ter start up
ther fire an' get warm. I don't care what you do, but I'm 'most froze."
"Don't leaf me alone, dear Pud. Please, I imploring you."
"Come on, then."
Bud stepped inside, and, as he did so, he uttered an exclamation of
surprise.
Both the purloined hats lay in the middle of the floor.
"There, didn't I told you?" exclaimed Carl, in an awed voice.
Bud simply stared at the hats.
"Nopody but a ghostes could haf did dat."
Bud looked around the room, and then up at the ceiling.
Then he burst into a roar of laughter.
"Thar's ther ghost," he shouted, grasping Carl by the arm and twisting
him around so that he could see.
In the corner just below the ceiling were two sharp, green points of
light that glowed in the faint radiance cast by the fire, which had sunk
to embers.
"Ach, mutter, save your liddle Carl. It vor der ghostes."
"That ain't no ghost," said Bud scornfully. "Ain't you never hear tell
how ghosts look? They're all white an' long an' skinny, an' when they
walk they carry chains what clanks, an'----"
"Oh, Pud, stop. Don't say it some more. My plood vas chilling now so I
ain't aple to svallow in my troat alretty. I vas so scared as nefer vas
I."
"Yer a cheerful roommate, I must say. See, ther ghost is gone."
"I ain't nefer goin' ter be happy some more. I haf seen a ghost. I vill
die, I am sure."
"Yer kin bet on that ez a shore thing, an' I reckon I will, too."
"Listen!" Carl grasped Bud by the arm with the clutch of despair.
There was a faint and stealthy noise on the roof.
Both stood for a few moments listening breathlessly.
Then they heard a faint, far-away wail, like that of a banshee.
Carl threw his arms around Bud in an agony of fear.
"Dere it iss. Ve are gone. All iss lost."
Again the gruesome wail came to them, this time louder and clearer, and
in a moment or two a hand was at the door. The latch clicked softly, and
the door swung slowly open.