DICK STRIKES A REAL FIND
Then half an hour passed, a quarter-gale of wind making the only sound
that came from outside.
"I think that must have been a sailor's ghost," remarked Prescott, at
last, "and he got his bearings wrong. He said, half an hour ago, that he
was coming in--but he didn't."
"How can you t-t-talk about g-g-g-ghosts like that?" shuddered Dutcher,
whose face was still invisible to the others.
"We might as well go to bed," proposed Dave, using one hand to cover an
imitation yawn that was intended to urge the others to courage.
"Whatever wild spirit was traveling around here has wandered off in some
other direction."
"Don't go to bed," pleaded Hen. "I won't have any one to talk to if all
you fellows go to sleep."
For answer Tom Reade climbed up into his bunk, though he kept his shirt
and trousers on.
"I'll tell you what," offered Dick. "We'll take turns staying up on
guard, just in case something real should happen. The fellow who stays
up will walk back and forth, to be sure of remaining awake. He'll also
see to it that the fire is kept up."
"Who'll take the first watch?" Harry wanted to know.
"Let Hen do it!" came, in the same breath, from Dave, Tom and Greg.
"I--I wouldn't be any good at that," pleaded Dutcher anxiously.
"No," smiled Dick dryly, "I don't believe you would. As I proposed the
guard stunt, I'll take the first dose of my own medicine. Later in the
night I'll call Dave, and when he's through he'll call Tom. All you
fellows pile back into bed and get some sleep."
"You take the air rifle, then," urged Dan, passing it over. As this
rather insignificant weapon might possibly be of some use, in the event
of more definite trouble, Dick accepted it.
One after another the fellows dropped off to sleep, all except Hen, who
lay very still, with heart thumping wildly.
Half an hour after Prescott's tour of guard duty began three wild wails,
wordless, smote the air, one after the other. Dave, Tom and Dan awoke.
"It's all right," Dick called to them, softly. "Nothing but noises.
Don't be afraid but I'll call you if its needed."
So those who had a chance, dozed off. Hen didn't have any chance; his
cowardly soul wasn't made for sleep when there was any danger about.
It was twenty minutes past three when Dick stepped over and nudged Dave
gently, next whispering:
"It's about time for you, now. You call Tom at a little after five, and
then tell him to call us all at seven o'clock."
Dave hurriedly dressed and took the air rifle from Dick, the latter then
getting back into his bunk and soon dropping off in sleep.
"Seven o'clock! All out! Step lively! Change cars for breakfast!" were
the next words that Dick Prescott heard.
By the time that the fellows had dressed, in the warm cabin, and had
started to pry the shutters back, the first dim promise of daylight was
showing in the east. A little later it was broad daylight.
By this time, too, after most of the fellows had slept soundly for
hours, the situation seemed altogether different. Even Dutcher slipped
out of his bunk and began to dress briskly.
"Say," he grinned, "but you fellows were somewhat scared last night."
"Yes," admitted Dave. "Weren't you?"
"Not a bit," asserted Hen bravely. "Sa-ay----"
He paused, looking around him in wonderment, then demanded tartly:
"What on earth are you fellows laughing at?"
"Laughing just to--to think what boobies we were when we had the brave
Hen Dutcher with us to set us a better example," answered Tom Reade
sarcastically. "No use in talking, Hen! You're the only fellow in this
outfit that has any sand."
"Say, you needn't try to get too funny, now," remarked Hen suspiciously.
"You fellows were all so scared that maybe you thought I was as bad as
you. But I was only putting it on, just to see how far you'd all go."
"You must have been satisfied, then," returned Dick grimly, "for we
surely were uneasy."
Hen blandly took to himself all the credit that was offered him for his
"courage," seeing which the Grammar School boys winked slyly one at
another, then busied themselves with the tasks of getting breakfast.
"To-day's programme will be more work, I suppose," began Tom, as the
lads seated themselves around the table.
"As I see it, it will have to be a day of work," Dick nodded. "For that
matter, we're learning that it's no use for boys to go camping,
especially in the winter, unless they're willing to work."
"What's to be done first?" Dave wanted to know.
"Well, we'll need more wood, and more water," Prescott replied.
"As it doesn't make much difference which we do first, I'm for getting
the wood, if that suits the rest of you. Our path of yesterday is blown
over a bit with snow, but we can dig it out again in a little while.
And, while we're at that, we may as well dig through to the cook shack
again. I want to get a good look in there this time."
"Expect to find Mr. Fits there?" Dave asked.
"Hardly, if we didn't find him there yesterday. But, the more I think
about it, the more I feel certain that the noises of last night were in
some way connected with the shack."
"I'd like to believe that," muttered Tom. "If that's the case, some of
us might sleep in there to-night and catch hold of the noise maker."
"Who'd sleep there?" grimaced Dan.
"Well," responded Reade slowly, "we might let Hen sleep there. He's the
bravest of the lot, you know, and so he's just the fellow for the job."
Dutcher choked over the food he was swallowing, and shifted his feet
uneasily.
Soon after breakfast was over Dick, Dave and Tom stepped outside with
the shovels. Here and there the path had been left fairly clear, though
at other points they had to shovel industriously through the new drifts.
At last, however, they reached the same window through which they had
looked in the day before.
"No sign of any one inside," muttered Dick. "Nor have we seen any signs
of fire from the chimney. I can see the stove, now, but there doesn't
seem to be any sign of fire in it."
"Let's dig around to the door," proposed Dave, "and go inside."
Accordingly the three bent to the new work. A few minutes later Dick
gave a tug at the latch-string and the door swung open.
"It doesn't seem as cold in here as you'd expect to find it," murmured
Reade.
"That's because we've just come from where it's a good deal colder," Tom
answered.
Dick stepped over to the cook stove, raising a lid.
"Look, fellows; here are a few live coals left here yet."
Dave and Tom joined him, staring at the embers in some astonishment.
"Yet there's no one here, and no tracks in the snow outside," observed
Tom. "Say, if the tenant of this place can go over the snow without
leaving a trail, it does look rather ghostly, eh?"
"A ghost wouldn't need warmth," Dick retorted promptly.
"Then what's the answer?" challenged Dave.
Dick shook his head, but went to one window after the other.
"No one left or entered here by way of the window," Prescott soon
announced. "It struck me that Mr. Fits might have used a window, instead
of a door, but if so, there'd be tracks under the windows."
"Mr. Fits hasn't been here at all," Dave replied, with a good deal of
positiveness. "When we turned him out into the storm he went somewhere
else."
"Then how about the ghostly noises, and the embers in the stove?" Reade
wanted to know.
"Ask Dick," prompted Dave.
"I can't tell you," laughed Prescott. "I guess you'll have to ask Hen
Dutcher."
"Well, there's no one here but ourselves," Tom went on, as the boys
stood staring about the tiny shack. "As far as finding anything here is
concerned we may as well go about our task of wood gathering."
"I wish we could get at the bottom of the ghost mystery," muttered Dick
wistfully.
"So do I," agreed Reade, "but wishes aren't snow plows, and never were.
Fred Ripley and his cronies would be mean enough to come down here and
spoil our rest at night, but they'd never be brave enough to face the
long trip through the deep snow."
"Well, let's go along and get in the wood," Dick urged. So they went,
and more than an hour was spent in carrying logs into the main cabin. Of
course Greg, Dan and Harry assisted in this, while Hen was put to his
usual morning task of washing dishes and straightening things in the
cabin.
For dinner the main dish was a platter of steak, broiled over the wood
ashes in the fireplace, where the fire was briefly allowed to burn
nearly out.
In the afternoon water hauling was the main occupation, as well as the
only sport, for the boys had tried the slight crust on the snow, and had
found that it would not bear.
"If it grows colder, and stays so for twenty four hours," declared
Dalzell, "then we'll have a crust on all this white stuff that will be
strong enough to bear our weight. Then ho for tramping, and for hunting
with the air rifle!"
"Huh-m-m-m!" answered Harry. "Rabbits and rabbit stew!"
After the water hauling the Grammar School boys settled themselves for
some quiet enjoyment inside the cabin. Dave, Tom, Harry and Greg picked
out books and sat down to read near the windows. Dick, on the other
hand, elected to rove about the interior of the cabin, looking into odd
nooks.
"This water barrel might be a little nearer the fire," proposed
Prescott. "Then we wouldn't have to break a crust of ice mornings. Dan,
you don't seem to be doing anything. Suppose you come and help move the
barrel."
"All right," nodded Dalzell, jumping up. "Where do you want to put it?"
Dick pointed to the spot. As the barrel was two thirds full of water it
had to be rolled carefully, to avoid upsetting or spilling. It was no
easy task for the two boys.
"Hen, you might come and help us a minute," Dick proposed.
"Whatcher take me for?" Dutcher grumbled. Whereat Tom Reade glanced
grimly up from his book to remark:
"Son, when you're spoken to, say 'yes, sir,' and hustle!"
Something in Tom's look induced Hen to move rather promptly. The three
boys succeeded in moving the barrel a couple of feet toward the spot
desired.
"Hullo," muttered Dick, halting and glancing down at the ground where
the barrel had stood since their arrival. "Look at that stone."
The stone lay partly imbedded in the dirt flooring of the cabin. It was
a flat, nearly round stone, some fifteen inches in diameter.
"That stone looks like a lid, doesn't it?" Dick asked.
"Cover to a gold mine," sneered Hen.
Dick did not answer, but stepped over, bent and began to pry at the
edges of the stone. It did not move easily. Dan brought the crowbar and
quietly handed it to his chum.
"What have you got?" demanded Tom, glancing up from his book.
"Don't know yet," Dick laughed.
By the aid of the crowbar Dick pried the stone loose from its setting in
the ground.
"There's a hole underneath, anyway," announced Dick.
"And--Geewhillikins! Fellows, drop everything but your good names, and
come here--quick! Hustle!"