minute I thought you were a ghost from the basement!”
“Oh, Judy!” Miss Ward reproved. “What nonsense!”
“I was joking,” Judy said hastily. “Of course, everyone knows there are
no ghosts. All the same, that sound was unnerving.”
“Sound? What sound, Judy?”
“Well, it seemed to come from the cellar. First, I heard a series of
loud thumps. Then, I thought I heard someone playing the flute.”
“Perhaps the sound drifted in from outside the cottage.”
“I’m sure it didn’t, Miss Ward.”
For several minutes the Scout leader listened attentively, but the
noises which had disturbed Judy were not to be heard again.
“It is very late,” she said finally. “Judy, you must go back to bed.”
“I’m sorry to have awakened you. I tried to be quiet.” As Judy started
across the kitchen, the badly constructed floor creaked beneath her
slippered feet. She had reached the living room doorway, when she was
brought up short by the high pitched note of a musical instrument.
“There it is again, Miss Ward!” she whispered, grasping the teacher’s
arm. “A flute! Hear it?”
“Yes, I do,” the Scout leader replied. “It certainly sounds like a reed
or a wind instrument.” She stood very still, listening.
From below the flooring issued a series of musical notes, tuneless but
not displeasing to the ear. Then the kitchen again was enveloped in
silence.
“It wasn’t my imagination, Miss Ward. You heard it too!”
“No, you didn’t imagine it, Judy,” the teacher soberly agreed. “The
sound came from the basement, or so it seemed to me.”
Crossing to the cellar door, Miss Ward twisted the knob and pulled
hard on it. “It’s still locked,” she murmured. “I begin to understand
why Mr. Krumm was unwilling to make a refund on the rent.”
“This explains why the other tenants moved out so suddenly.”
“It may,” Miss Ward acknowledged. “Evidently, there is a very good
reason for keeping this door locked.”
“You don’t suppose--anyone--could be down there?” Judy said
falteringly. “Maybe locked in?”
“I’m afraid you’ve been watching too many television thrillers.”
“I guess so,” Judy admitted, laughing shakily. “My theory is wild all
right. How do you explain the flute?”
“I don’t. However, I intend to talk to Mr. Krumm tomorrow. If this
cottage has a mystery or any possible danger, it is his duty to inform
us completely. Now get to bed, Judy. I’ll sit up for awhile.”
Next morning, when Judy awoke from a deep slumber, bright sunlight was
streaming through the slats of the venetian blinds. Ardeth already was
up and dressed.
“Breakfast in ten minutes,” she informed Judy, giving her a hard shake.
“If you don’t get a move on, we’ll not be ready by the time the camp
station wagon calls for us.”
“I guess I overslept,” Judy mumbled, pulling out of bed and groping
blindly for her shirt and slacks. “Is everything all right?”
“Is everything all right?” Ardeth echoed, starting to air the bed.
“What could go wrong so early in the morning?”
“I was just wondering, that’s all,” Judy answered, deciding to postpone
the tale of the flute until after breakfast. “What smells so utterly
delicious?”
“Bacon. Miss Ward and Virginia are cooking it. We’ve been assigned to
the dishes.”
Judy dressed speedily, helped Ardeth tidy the bedroom, and was ready in
time to help carry dishes to the breakfast table.
Miss Ward herself broached the subject of the strange sounds which had
been heard in the basement during the night.
“I don’t wish to alarm anyone,” she asserted, pouring hot chocolate.
“I feel though, that if we are to stay here, we must be on the alert.
Furthermore, I intend to ask Mr. Krumm for an explanation. I am sure
there is one, and that he can provide it.”
“If he will,” Judy added. “He certainly wasn’t passing out any
information when he rented this cottage. I don’t know what to do about
Aunt Mattie.”
“Fortunately, she won’t be here for a day or two,” Miss Ward replied.
“We’ll have a little time in which to try to clear up the situation.”
As was to be expected, Ardeth and Virginia expressed keen
disappointment at having missed out on the excitement. They asked a
dozen questions, and spent the entire breakfast period speculating upon
the nature of the mysterious basement sounds.
“Calico Cottage has a ghost!” Virginia insisted gaily. “How thrilling!
And a boy who plays a flute is far more interesting than an ordinary
apparition.”
“How do you know it’s a boy ghost?” Ardeth demanded. “For all we know,
it may be an old man or a beautiful lady in white. My, I wish we could
get down into the cellar!”
“I can see you leading the way!” Virginia teased. “Anyway, we have a
more urgent problem.”
“That little dog,” interposed Judy, her face becoming grave. “Something
must be done to get him out of the cave.”
Miss Ward told the girls that she had tried very early that morning
to get in touch with Bart Ranieau. Though she had telephoned at seven
o’clock, he already had left his rooming house and was off on his route.
“He may come this way,” she remarked hopefully. “If he does, perhaps we
can flag him down. Otherwise, I’ll call the forest ranger headquarters
in the village.”
Breakfast finished, Judy and Ardeth cleared the table and made a fast
and furious attack upon the dishes. As they rushed about, stacking
china neatly in the cupboards, they kept an attentive ear trained on
the cellar area. The only sounds came from out-of-doors.
“If Miss Ward hadn’t backed up your story about that flute player, I’d
have accused you of dreaming it up,” Ardeth declared. “Just my luck to
have missed out on the fun.”
“It was scarey, rather than fun,” Judy answered. “For Aunt Mattie’s
sake, I hope our basement friend doesn’t strike any more sour notes.”
Hanging up the dish towels to dry, the two girls joined Miss Ward and
Virginia who were watching the highway for a glimpse of either the
station wagon or the milk truck.
“There it comes!” Virginia suddenly cried, spying the vehicle driven by
Bart Ranieau.
All the Scouts rushed to the main highway to flag down the milk wagon.
“Hi!” Bart greeted the girls as he halted the delivery wagon at the
side of the road. “I see you’ve moved in. Need milk or butter this
morning?”
“We can use two quarts of milk,” Miss Ward returned. “But we stopped
you for another reason.”
“It’s about Pete,” Ardeth said tensely. “He lost himself in the cave
last night. Judy and I called to him, but he wouldn’t come out. He kept
going deeper and deeper in the hole.”
She broke off in the report, suddenly aware that the young milkman was
smiling in an odd sort of way.
“That Pete!” he remarked. “He’s a natural-born spelunker.”
“A what?” demanded Judy.
“A spelunker. That’s what modern cave explorers call themselves. The
science of caves is called speleology.”
Bart motioned for the girls to step over to the milk wagon. Peering in,
they saw Pete sprawled comfortably on a rug, lying on the floor. He was
fast asleep, his head resting on his forepaws.
“Pete found his own way out of the cave, as he usually does,” Bart
explained. “I’ve tried to keep him out, but no soap. One of these days,
he may lose his life in there.”
“Well, at any rate, he’s safe now,” Judy declared, greatly relieved.
“Is the cave very deep?”
“The exit never has been found.”
“Really?” Ardeth’s eyes opened wide. “I guess Calico Cave is an unsafe
place.”
“One shouldn’t venture in very far without a guide. Some ten years
ago, a very courageous man whom I knew rather well, lost his life down
there. He was seeking the cave exit. Since then, no one has ventured
past the point where he last was seen.”
Judy inquired if Calico Cave and Hager’s Hole were one and the same
place. Bart replied that they were identical.
“For years the cave was known as Hager’s Hole,” he explained. “It was
named for old Captain Hager, who once owned this property.”
“Our cottage?” Virginia asked in astonishment.
“Not the cottage. But the Hager home used to stand in the same
location. Mr. Krumm bought the place not so long ago. He tore down the
old house and put up a new cottage on the original foundation. Folks
advised him not to do it, but no one can tell Krumm anything!”
“He’s had a little trouble renting the cottage?” Judy probed.
“Oh, renters came along fast enough, but they wouldn’t stay!” the
milkman chuckled. “Some of ’em, it seems, were allergic to strange
sounds. I take it you folks spent a comfortable night?”
“We were disturbed once,” Miss Ward answered. “Nothing serious. We
fancied we heard a flute player.”
“No ghosts?” Bart asked, grinning.
“Nary a ghost,” Miss Ward returned. “Naturally we were a bit disturbed
about the music, and intend to seek an explanation.”
“Mr. Ranieau, you seem to be quite familiar with Calico Cave,” Judy
remarked pointedly. “Could you, by chance, tell us why the name was
changed, and maybe explain the mystery of the cottage?”
“Maybe I could,” Bart said, grinning in an odd way. “I like you folks.
You have more nerve than those other renters. Maybe, if you ask pretty,
I’ll tell you the story of the Old White Witch.”
_Chapter 6_
THE WHITE WITCH
Bart Ranieau’s remark about the White Witch intrigued the girls, who
immediately pleaded with him to tell them the story connected with the
cave.
“Okay,” he agreed, “but I’m late on my route this morning, so I’ll have
to make the tale brief. Calico Cave is very old. It was here before the
village was incorporated and has had a half dozen names over the years.
“According to an ancient legend, an old witch once lived in the cave,
arousing the villagers by casting horrible spells upon them. In their
terror they called upon a monk who once resided in the mountains, to
turn the old hag into stone. So now in a chamber of the cave you may
see a strange stalagmite formation--the White Witch.”
“Is that a true story?” Virginia asked, deeply impressed.
“The legend is true. As for the White Witch, you can see her if you’ve
a mind to explore as far as the first chamber.”
“You don’t believe that tale yourself, I take it?” Miss Ward inquired
with a broad smile.
“I think the story was made up to explain the white formation, which
does resemble a witch,” Bart answered. “Over the years, the yarn took
on more and more detail and color.”
“I’d love to see that old stalagmite witch,” Judy declared, her dark
eyes sparkling. “How deep down in the cave is the formation?”
“Too far for you to explore alone,” the milkman responded. “Don’t
try it. Not without a guide. Caves are safe enough, if one takes
precautions, but they’re no place for amateur explorers, unsupervised.”
“Does Calico Cave have any other interesting formations besides the
Witch?” Judy inquired.
“Oh, gobs of ’em. Few persons though, have gone past the old White
Witch. In fact, it’s part of the legend that she casts a spell upon all
who go beyond that point in the cave.”
“You’ve disproved that part of the legend?” the Girl Scout leader
questioned.
“Well, the old witch cast her spell over me all right,” Bart admitted
with a chuckle. “Not an evil one though. The Cave fascinates me, and if
I had time, I’d really delve into its innermost secrets.”
“Ardeth and I thought we saw a moving light in the cavern late
yesterday afternoon,” Judy remarked. “Maybe you were down there
exploring.”
“Not yesterday,” Bart replied. “You’re certain you saw a light?”
“Oh, yes, it startled us. Either someone was down in the cave, or it
was that old witch!”
“It wasn’t the old witch,” Bart assured her. “She’s a harmless old gal
and has stayed fixed for a thousand years, more or less. I can’t guess
who might be down in the cave, because folks hereabouts seldom venture
in.”
“You spoke of former Calico Cottage renters moving out because of
strange sounds which disturbed them,” Miss Ward reminded the young
milkman. “Can you tell us more about it?”
“Did the other folks ever hear a flute player?” interposed Ardeth.
“Seems to me I heard some such talk.”
“And loud banging noises at night?” demanded Judy.
“I reckon so.”
“Tell us everything!” urged Virginia. “Is Calico Cottage supposed to be
haunted? Is that why Mr. Krumm has trouble keeping his renters?”
“All I know is what I hear,” Bart replied evasively. “I wouldn’t have
told you about the White Witch, only I could tell that you Scouts
aren’t easily scared.”
“Is there any connection between Calico Cottage and the Witch?” Judy
questioned.
“Only as she’s supposed to have cast her spell over the place. The
last tenants had a cat. One night she became scared at some noise and
leaped through a window, shattering the glass. The folks moved out,
came dawn. I know because I met ’em as they were driving away. Tried to
talk ’em into staying, but they were dead set the cottage was haunted.”
“You don’t believe that nonsense yourself?” Miss Ward inquired.
“Nope. I think there’s a logical explanation for the cottage cutting up
the way it does. I’d tip Krumm off if he weren’t such a disagreeable
egg. He took advantage of old Captain Hager in buying the property, and
the townsfolk never quite forgave him.”
“Is Captain Hager still alive?” questioned Ardeth.
“Very much so,” Bart told her. “The old sea dog is edging seventy now,
but he’s as spry as ever. Since Krumm got the old homestead away from
him, he’s lived frugally in a cabin down on the river.”
“The cave, you said, was named for Captain Hager?”
“Yes, it bore his name ever since I can remember. Then Krumm bought all
this property, including the private road and the cave. Right off, he
changed the name to Calico Cave.”
“But why?” inquired Judy.
“Well, he didn’t want the cave to have Captain Hager’s name, for one
thing. There’s no love between them, you know. Then I guess he thought
Hager’s Hole was too closely associated with talk of the White Witch
and death.”
“Death?” Ardeth repeated uneasily.
“One man lost his life in the cave. Another explorer--an amateur--broke
his leg, and a searching party had to bring him out. Not so many months
ago, a group of giddy girls went in without a guide. They lost their
way, and wandered around for several hours before help got to them. The
stories they told around didn’t help any. So Krumm changed the cave
name.”
“I can see that the cavern is no drawing card,” Miss Ward remarked.
“When first I saw the cave sign, I assumed that the place might be a
tourist attraction.”
“It could be,” Bart said seriously. “That cave has everything! Fantastic
formations beyond belief! An underground river, a waterfall, everything
to attract visitors, if facilities could be provided. But Krumm has no
imagination, and he’s too tight to spend a penny developing the cave.
It’s a pity the property ever came into his possession.”
The Scouts had a dozen more questions at the tip of their tongues.
Before they could ask any of them, a familiar automobile drove up,
parking squarely in front of the Cloverleaf milk truck.
Mr. Krumm squeezed out from behind the wheel and walked directly over
to the group. He gazed sharply at Bart, his attitude unfriendly.
“I thought I’d drop by to inquire how you’re getting along,” he said,
ignoring the milkman and bowing to Miss Ward. “You have found the
cottage quite comfortable, I trust?”
“It seems to be very well equipped,” the teacher conceded. “I can’t say
we spent too comfortable a night, though. We were disturbed by strange
sounds.”
“Strange sounds?” The real estate man registered surprise which was not
in the least convincing.
“We heard music, and thumping noises,” Judy supplied. “It seems your
cottage has a ghost.”
“No such thing!” Mr. Krumm indignantly denied. “That’s all bosh! You’ve
been listening to stupid gossip.”
“You should have told us the truth about the cottage before we rented
it,” Miss Ward reproved him mildly. “Judy’s aunt will be coming
shortly, and we hesitate to turn over a place to her that may be
unnerving or possibly unsafe.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the cottage,” Mr. Krumm flared. “You’ve
been talking to Bart Ranieau, and he’s been filling you with hot air!”
“We were asking him about the cottage and likewise about the cave,”
Miss Ward admitted. “If we’re to remain here another night, we want all
the information we can get.”
“I was telling ’em about the White Witch,” Bart interposed to plague
the realtor.
“How many times have I told you to keep your nose out of my affairs?”
Mr. Krumm demanded furiously. “You can’t keep that wagging, clacking
tongue of yours still! You’ve driven away all of my tenants, one by
one.”
“That’s not so, Krumm, and you know it.”
“You fill ’em up with fears about White Witches and such nonsense. I
want no more of it, understand? Furthermore, I want you to keep off my
property. Don’t be snooping around Calico Cave any more!”
“You can’t keep me from exploring,” Bart returned coolly. “You may own
the land, but not what’s below the surface.”
“You stay out of that cave, and away from it,” Mr. Krumm repeated his
order.
Bart grinned provokingly, and without making answer, drove off down the
road.
“That young whippersnapper gets my blood up!” Mr. Krumm asserted after
the milk wagon had vanished around a curve. “I wouldn’t have ordered
him to keep off the property, only he’s become a pest.”
“I take it, you don’t consider the cave safe?” Judy inquired curiously.
“Oh, it’s safe enough, if you don’t wander in too far,” the real estate
man replied with a shrug. “My order doesn’t apply to you folks. If you
want to see the cave, you can go down there any time.”
“I don’t believe I’d care to explore,” Ardeth said with a shiver. “Not
after learning that a man died in the cave.”
“Bart told you about _that_, I suppose?” Mr. Krumm questioned
sarcastically.
“Isn’t it true?”
“Bart didn’t tell you _why_ the man lost his life,” Mr. Krumm said,
without answering the inquiry. “No, he just filled you up with a lot of
nonsense about a White Witch.”
“She doesn’t really cast a spell over the cottage?” Judy asked
mischievously.
Mr. Krumm’s normally florid face became even redder. He sucked in his
breath, moistened his lips, and then launched into another vehement
denial that anything was wrong with Calico Cottage.
“I’m sick of all this gossipy talk!” he ended his tirade. “I’m sick of
losing tenants! I’m so weary of it, that I’m willing to pay good money
to disprove all the contemptible stories.”
The Scouts remained respectfully silent.
“Bart has convinced you, I suppose, that you should move out,” Mr.
Krumm went on. Without giving anyone an opportunity to deny the
statement, he continued: “All right, suppose I admit that former
tenants have complained about the cottage having strange noises at
night? There must be an explanation for it--a logical, sensible one.”
“We’ll go along with you on that theory,” Miss Ward replied. “You have
a proposition, Mr. Krumm?”
“Yes, I have. It’s all bunk about Calico Cave or the cottage having a
ghost. If you’ll stay here for two weeks, and disprove the story, I’ll
refund your rent payment. What d’you say?”
Ardeth, Virginia and Judy gazed questioningly at their leader, awaiting
her decision.
“We would prefer a rent refund with no strings attached,” the teacher
suggested.
“Sorry, I can’t do that. After all, I’m not in business for my health.
This cottage has been an expensive proposition. What do you say?”
“We’ll consider your offer,” Miss Ward said quietly. “We’ll remain for
another night and make our decision after that. However, if we do make
the test, it will not be for commercial reasons, but only to safeguard
Judy’s aunt.”
_Chapter 7_
THE TREASURE BOX
Pine Cone Camp seemed strangely deserted when Miss Ward, Ardeth, Judy
and Virginia arrived there at nine o’clock in the station wagon.
Seeking the tent which had been assigned to the Beaver Patrol unit, the
new arrivals found it quite deserted.
“Where is everyone?” Ardeth asked in perplexity. “Surely not on a hike
so early?”
Swimming suits hung on the clothes lines, attesting to the fact that
the campers already had enjoyed an early morning plunge in Morning
Glory Lake.
“Look!” Judy suddenly cried, pointing toward a cleared area some
distance away at the edge of the forest. “Everyone is over there! Let’s
see what’s doing.”
Hurrying over to the group, the girls could not at first discern what
it was that had drawn the interest of the entire camp.
Gradually, however, they edged deeper into the assembly and saw that
the other Scouts were taking turns peering into a large wooden box,
covered with a wire screen.
“What in the world?” Virginia speculated.
Just then Beverly, Kathleen and Betty caught sight of their patrol
mates in the crowd, and joined them. Judy asked the cause of the
excitement.
“Oh, you girls have missed all the fun, being stuck down there at
Calico Cottage,” Kathleen told her. “We’ve started a treasure box.”
“What is that?”
“Look in it and you’ll see!”
The other Scouts moved aside to make way for Judy and the newcomers.
Gazing into the box, they were amazed to see all manner of strange
animals and insects.
“It’s a nature treasure chest!” Kathleen informed her friends. “We
already have a mouse, a spider, and three varieties of turtles. Each
patrol is supposed to contribute an animal, bird or unusual insect.”
“Does Beaver Patrol have an entry?” Judy asked.
“Not yet. Beverly very nearly caught a little chipmunk, but he eluded
her. We’re depending upon you girls to help us.”
“We will,” Ardeth promised. “Just give us time to get our thoughts
adjusted, and we’ll come up with a prize winner.”
“There are to be no duplications,” Kathleen warned. “All the patrols
are working on it, so we’ll have to get busy.”
“How about a little garter snake?” suggested Ardeth thoughtfully.
“If Beaver Patrol goes for that, you’ll have to produce the snake,”
Kathleen replied with a shudder. “No snakes for me!”
“I vote we put Ardeth in charge of finding a patrol entry for the
treasure box,” proposed Betty Bache, who had joined the other girls.
“She’ll get a big boot out of the job.”
“I’ll be glad to take it over,” Ardeth offered, for she thoroughly
enjoyed the study of nature and had no fear of animals or insects.
“Good!” Kathleen approved. “That takes a load off my mind.”
The blowing of a bugle summoned all the campers to assembly. Miss
Lubell waited until all the Scouts had gathered, and then signalled for
silence. It was evident that she had a most important announcement.
“Girls,” she began, “we had planned a hike to Indian Falls this
morning, but it will be necessary to make a change.”
A chorus of groans met this announcement, for the girls had looked
forward to the outing and outdoor cookery.
“However, we have other interesting plans,” the director went on
quickly. “The Civil Air Patrol has notified me that it can make a plane
available for the first-aid and exploration excursion I mentioned
earlier. But today is the only time the Service will be able to
cooperate. Accordingly, we’ve decided to go ahead. All patrols desiring
to compete, should sign up at once. Your counselors will provide full
details.”
The girls were informed that at ten o’clock all competing patrols would
hike a quarter of a mile to Flat Top, an area relatively level and
clear of trees.
According to the plan, a Civil Air Patrol plane would fly over the
section to drop a message which would give Scouts notification of a
fake plane crash. The general location of the accident likewise would
be given. Starting with equal information, the units were expected to
separate and compete in trying to be the first to reach the designated
locality.
Once there, the Scouts were to give first aid treatment to the
imaginary victims, and proceed exactly as if the accident were a real
one. Three girls from the Garden City Patrol had volunteered to act as
the injured passengers of the plane crash. Notes would be pinned to
their clothing, stating the nature of their supposed injuries.
Kathleen, Judy, Betty and Beverly teamed up as one exploring unit,
representing Beaver Patrol. Ardeth and Virginia decided not to enter
the competition, preferring to remain behind to search for a suitable
wild pet to add to the treasure box collection.
Shortly after ten o’clock, the representatives of seven patrols were
encamped on the table top, anxiously scanning the sky for a glimpse of
the expected plane. All the girls had dressed sensibly in heavy shirts,
slacks and stout climbing boots. Faces and necks were protected from
the sun, but even so, the rays bore fiercely down upon their backs as
they sat impatiently waiting.