Contents

1 Terry Comes to Grief 9

2 The “Gossip” Runs Wild 21

3 At Rustling Ridge 30

4 Strange Tales from the Ridge 41

5 A Fight and a Stampede 51

6 The Trouble Bug Bites Deep 61

7 The Old Man of the Ridge 71

8 Moving Flame 83

9 Sharp Work as Fire Fighters 93

10 Emergency Service 103

11 The Ghost Patrol 114

12 A Brush with the Sheriff 124

13 The Shape in the Moonlight 134

14 Disobedience Loses the Game 144

15 Dawning Light 153

16 Listening In 164

17 Breaking Up Hydes’ Party 174

18 The Last of the Ghost 190

THE Mercer Boys

IN THE Ghost Patrol

1

Terry Comes to Grief

A number of young men in the gray uniforms which formed the ordinary

dress of the cadets at Woodcrest Military Institute stood around the

counter in the school supply room. It was early in July and the summer

encampment was at hand. It was the custom at Woodcrest for the third and

second classmen to go to summer camp, while the younger classmen and the

seniors went home for their vacation. The score or more of young

soldiers who were in the supply room this July afternoon were busy

getting their camping uniforms.

During the school year the neat, distinguished gray uniforms were worn,

but on the encampment the more serviceable campaign uniforms, patterned

after those worn by the United States Army, were required.

A tall, red-headed cadet, with twinkling eyes and a humorous expression

perpetually on his good-natured, freckled face, was at the moment the

next one to be waited on. He gave the sizes of his garments and then

grinned.

“If it is convenient, I’d like a uniform in a shade to match my hair!”

he requested. This grin was answered by half a dozen others, for Terry

Mackson was a great favorite with his classmates in the new second

class, into which he and his pals, the Mercer boys, had just graduated.

“We have nothing as red as all that,” the cadet clerk grinned in return.

“Would something in deep orange do?”

“Possibly it would, if you are careful to get something that won’t

conflict with my beauty!” returned the cadet.

“We haven’t a thing in stock that would conflict with or detract from

your beauty,” said the clerk, gravely. “These uniforms are ugly in the

extreme, and I’m sure you won’t find them a drawback in the least, Mr.

Mackson!”

“Well spoken, my lad!” approved Terry. “Let’s have the plainest uniform

you have. Natural beauty ennobles whatever enshrines it, so bring out

whatever you have!”

“Why bother with a uniform at all?” laughed the cadet clerk. “The

colonel and the rest of us will be so busy admiring your looks that we

won’t notice anything else!”

There was a general laugh at this, as Dick Rowen, the cadet in charge of

the commissary department, stepped to the counter, a frown on his face.

Rowen was a handsome young man with glossy black hair. He had never been

popular with the cadet body, however, for he continually reminded

everyone of the wealth and prestige of his family. But he was a very

capable cadet and was respected though not popular. He had been placed

in charge of the commissary department much to his annoyance, for he

considered it beneath him. Rowen was striving for an officer’s

commission, and it did not please him to be “dud chucker,” as the cadets

called the commissary clerks. All day the endless routine of passing out

uniforms, blouses, hats and shoes had galled him, and at the present

moment his temper was ragged.

“What is the trouble here?” Cadet Rowen demanded crisply.

The clerk who was waiting on Terry turned to stare at him. “There’s no

trouble, Rowen,” he said.

Rowen looked across the counter at Terry. “Is there any trouble, Mr.

Mackson?”

Terry shook his head gravely. “No, Mr. Rowen. I am simply trying to draw

a uniform that will match my beauty, that’s all!”

Rowen frowned more deeply. “Have the goodness to understand, Mr.

Mackson, that we are very busy here, and that such infant’s prattle

merely wastes our time!”

“All right, Papa!” returned Terry sedately. The others snickered and

Rowen grew angry.

“Please don’t be funny, Mackson! That comes natural to some people, and

others work hard all their lives without ever managing to be really

humorous!”

Terry turned to the others back of him. “Gentlemen,” he observed, “Mr.

Rowen has turned philosopher! Some of you fellows are naturally funny,

ask Mr. Rowen!”

A dull red flush mounted in the other’s cheeks. “How long are you going

to waste our time?”

“Look here!” exclaimed the redhead. “If I’m not mistaken, you are

wasting your own time! Here I am, waiting with the patience of an angel

for my uniform, and are you getting it? No, twenty times no! Don’t you

know that time wasted can never be recovered, Mr. Rowen?”

“I’ll tell you what I do know!” Rowen fairly hissed. “I know that you

and those Mercer brothers are too confounded stuck on yourselves! You

are the colonel’s own particular pets!”

“Well, well, the Mercer brothers get a tongue lashing, too!” commented a

brown-haired, good-looking youth back of Terry. “Brother Don, weep on my

shoulder!”

“I cry better outdoors,” grinned Don Mercer, behind his brother Jim.

“Gee, how distressing this conversation is getting!”

“You are making us feel dreadful, really, Mr. Rowen!” Terry told the

clerk mournfully. At the laugh that went up Rowen lost his temper.

“I’ll make you feel dreadful, all right,” snapped the disagreeable

cadet, and before anyone could guess as to his purpose he hit Terry on

the point of the jaw, knocking him to the floor.

There was a moment of hushed expectancy while Terry stared up at the

supply clerk in surprise. Most of the good-natured grin had faded from

his face, and a slight redness had suffused his cheeks. He jumped to his

feet. But at that moment Colonel Morrell walked into the office.

Colonel Morrell was a little fat man with gray hair, laughing gray eyes

and the air of a real man’s man about him. By the cadet corps he was

beloved greatly, and to a man they respected him thoroughly. His keen

eye swept over the cadets and he noted that something unusual was in the

wind, but with characteristic rare judgment he made no comment on it.

“Is everything going smoothly?” he asked the nearest clerk.

“Yes, sir,” answered the cadet, saluting. The colonel returned the

salute, turned on his heel and left the room. They heard his footsteps

echo down the hall.

“Now, Mr. Rowen,” murmured Terry. “This is what you need most of all!”

With that he seized the unprepared cadet by the collar, hauling him

bodily over the counter. Rowen was unprepared for the act and flopped

across the boards, his head hanging over the side. Although he struggled

furiously Terry managed to hold him down while he administered a sound

spanking to the surly one. Then he pushed him backward. The assembled

cadets had enjoyed every moment of it.

“That’s for you,” said Terry, unheeding the sputtering of the other. “If

you act like a baby someone will have to play papa and spank you! I

happened to be the nearest one. Next time be careful who you punch on

the jaw. It might be somebody who’ll lose his temper and muss you up!”

“You—you red-headed calf!” cried the enraged Rowen. “I’ve—I’ve half a

mind to thrash you!”

“Well, if you have half a mind, that means that your whole mind is busy

on the one subject, because sometimes I think you have only half a mind.

Now, you’re wasting my time! One uniform, if you please!”

With very bad grace the uniform was handed to him and the line moved on.

As Terry stepped away Rowen spoke to him between half-shut teeth.

“I’ll fix you for this yet, Mackson!”

Jim Mercer halted at the counter. “Was there some complaint about the

Mercer brothers, Rowen?” he asked quietly.

“I just said that you two were the colonel’s pets,” replied the clerk.

“Just because you two once helped the colonel out of a mess he bows down

before you.”

“With all due respect to the colonel,” drawled Don Mercer, “he is a

little too fat to bow down! Calm down, Dick.”

“Aw, you guys give me a pain!” roared the clerk.

Terry impishly picked up the telephone, carefully holding down the hook.

“Hello, is this the nurse?” he spoke into the transmitter. “If you have

time I wish you’d stop in at the commissary department. Mr. Rowen has a

very bad pain. I beg your pardon? Oh, it seems to be a Mackson-Mercer

pain, if you know what that is! It seems to be——”

Laughing, Jim Mercer caught him by the arm. “Come on, get out of here,

you!” he admonished his friend. “Come on up to the room.”

The three boys were devoted pals, having been friends from childhood.

They had been in many scrapes and adventures together, sharing their fun

and dangers on land and sea. In the first volume of this series, _The

Mercer Boys’ Cruise in the Lassie_, they had gone on a long cruise, and

from there they had come to Woodcrest, their fun and adventure at that

time being related in _The Mercer Boys at Woodcrest_. On their following

summer vacation they had encountered some strange events in _The Mercer

Boys on a Treasure Hunt_ and later on had worked together on a school

mystery, details of which will be found in _The Mercer Boys’ Mystery

Case_. Early in the spring of that same year the boys had faced a man’s

task on the Massachusetts coast, all of which will be found in the fifth

volume, _The Mercer Boys with the Coast Guard_. Now, after a few months

of uneventful school life, they were preparing for their first

encampment.

Once in their own room the three boys hung up the new uniforms that they

would wear the next day. There were no lessons and they had nothing to

do except wait until morning, when they would set off for camp. All of

the boys looked forward eagerly to it.

“I hear that we are going to a new camping ground this year,” Jim said,

as he sat on the edge of his bed. “Rustling Ridge, they call it.”

“Yes,” nodded Don. “Other years they have held the encampment at

Perryville, but the colonel hunted up new grounds this time. I heard

that there had been quite a bit of building going on near the old camp

and the colonel wants to get as far away from civilization as he can.”

“Rustling Ridge is none too far, at that,” observed Terry.

“No, it isn’t,” agreed Jim. “But it is far enough away for camping

purposes. Even the colonel doesn’t know much about this new location.”

“About thirty miles from here, isn’t it?” Don asked.

“I heard that it was,” returned Terry. “Well, the whole outlook suits me

perfectly. I wouldn’t have known what to do with myself this vacation,

anyway.”

“We might have made a cruise,” Don suggested. “We haven’t been sailing

on the good old _Lassie_ for so long that I’m afraid I’ve forgotten how

to manage it!”

“Camping might bring us some good adventures,” Jim put in. Don shrugged

his shoulders.

“I rather doubt that. What adventures can we run across on a camping

trip? We’ll have a lot of fun, I grant you that, but I don’t look for

anything out of the way. We’ll be very busy drilling and practicing all

sorts of tactics.”

“We might have some excitement with Mr. Rowen!” Terry grinned.

“Rowen is a natural sorehead,” said Don briefly. “The best thing we can

do is to let him alone. That kind isn’t made any better by stirring up,

and he isn’t worth getting into trouble over. We can just be decent to

him and let it go at that.”

“I guess you’re right,” nodded Terry.

Supper that night was a slightly unruly affair, tempered only by the

presence of the colonel and the other officers. The young soldiers

themselves were in high spirits.

Rowen, after the meal, went into conference with his two roommates,

young men who had borrowed from the unpopular cadet and, therefore, felt

obligated to him. What went on in that conference was not designed for

Terry Mackson’s peace.

When the orders of the day were read that evening all cadets were

commanded to be in place at bugle call in the morning, with full

equipment and ready to march. It was announced that no excuses would be

accepted for failure to report on time.

When the bugle sounded the next morning the cadets sprang from bed,

dressed and ate a hearty breakfast. There was still half an hour before

assembly and the cadets were at leisure. Just as Terry was turning away

from the table a member of the kitchen force approached him. In his hand

he had a note.

“This is for you, Mr. Mackson,” he said.

“Thanks, Pete,” said Terry, accepting the note. “Who gave it to you?”

“Jack Olson,” replied the cook. “He said Captain Rush gave it to him,

but he didn’t have time to give it to you himself.”

Terry nodded and read the note. Captain Rush was the leader of the

artillery division to which Terry belonged. The note was brief and to

the point.

Mr. Mackson:

Go to the storage room in the barn and get out the extra harness that

you will find there.

Rush, Captain.

“Funny he didn’t tell me, instead of sending me a note,” reflected

Terry. “Well, orders are orders, and I’m ready as it is. I’ll go out

there now.”

He made his way to the barn, finding it quite empty. He knew that there

was a small storage room at one side and he made his way to it, opening

the door and peering in. There was a pile of harness on the floor and he

went toward it.

At that moment the door back of him closed with a bang. A bolt on the

outside was shot at the same moment. Terry rushed to the door, pushing

against it.

“Hey!” he shouted. “Open this door, whoever you are!”

His only answer was the sound of retreating footsteps and the point of

it all came to him in a rush. He kicked against the door, finding it

solid and then looked around the cell. But there was no window and no

opening of any kind.

“Tumbled right into the trap!” he groaned, grinding his teeth. “If I

don’t get out of here before assembly it will be too bad for me!”

2

The “Gossip” Runs Wild

The whole trick was clear to him now. In the general orders of the day,

read to the cadets on the previous day, the fact that no excuse would be

accepted had been sternly emphasized. Terry was not the kind who would

carry tales even if he thought they would excuse him and win him

sympathy, and as he realized how badly fooled he had been his eyes

flashed in anger.

“I see the whole business, now,” he reflected. “Jack Olson is a crony of

Rowen’s and he carried that note supposedly signed by Rush. They know I

won’t tell Rush about it, and there isn’t any use in thumping Olson,

because he probably had to take his orders from Rowen. But I sure would

like my hands on that surly guy!”

Realizing that every moment counted the red-headed youth looked around

the small room, his eyes having grown used to the darkness. He hoped

that there might be some instrument that would make it possible for him

to pry up a board and so make his escape, but the only thing in sight

was the pile of harness. There was not even a piece of metal on the

harness and although he examined every corner of the little cell he was

unable to find a single object that would aid him.

“Guess I’ll just have to use my hands and feet, if that will do any

good,” he reflected.

Dropping on his hands and knees he examined the floor carefully to see

if any of the boards were loose, but all of them were securely fastened

to the huge beams that made up the framework of the barn. The boards

were very thick and any thought of escaping under the barn was out of

the question. From there he went to the door, feeling carefully along

the sides to see if any signs of weakness existed here, but once again

he was disappointed. Like the rest of the barn the door and the frame

had been strongly constructed and it did not even quiver under his

hearty kicks.

“About the only thing I can do—if I can do it—is to kick a board off the

side of the wall,” he decided.

With this thought in mind he raised his foot, but then a sound reached

his ears, a sound that made his blood chill.

With a clarity and snap the call of assembly rang out on the morning

air!

“Good night!” groaned Terry, the sweat breaking out on his forehead.

“There goes the call to assemble! If I’m ever going to get out of here

in time, now is the moment!”

With desperation Terry kicked stoutly at the wall boards, but with the

first kick the bitter truth was forced upon him. The sides of the barn

were as strongly composed as the rest of the building, and all the

kicking in the world would not get him out of the room in which he was

held prisoner. To further worry him certain sounds told him that the

process of assembly was going forward rapidly.

Doors slammed, running footsteps sounded on the parade grounds, voices

rang out as the assembling cadets gathered. The butt of a rifle cracked

on the pavement, and the noise of stamping horses reached his ears. The

cavalrymen, of which Jim Mercer was the chief, were leading out the

spirited mounts, and the creaking of leather, the snorts of the horses,

and the cries of the young soldiers, reached the ears of the unfortunate

young cadet. Hoping to attract their attention he pounded and yelled at

the top of his voice, but no response came back to him. They were making

too much noise themselves to hear him.

Closer at hand there was a deeper rumble and Terry groaned in spirit. It

was the members of his own division, the artillery, taking out the field

guns that they were to take with them for the summer practice. He was

the chief gunner on the sleek steel monster which he had named the

“Gossip” and he knew that the others of his crew must be wondering where

he was. Just as soon as the guns were in formation and the roll call

sounded he would be officially marked absent from duty and held guilty

of disobeying orders. As he heard the guns roll out of the barracks and

heard the noise of the towing cables being connected he knew it was too

late.

From the barracks to the parade ground there was a slight hill and the

trucks began to pull the weapons up the grade. He heard them go up one

by one and then something seemed to go wrong. There was a snap, a rumble

and somebody cried out.

“Look out!” he heard Captain Rush bellow. “Number One gun is loose!”

That gun was Terry’s own piece of equipment. From the cries that arose

he gathered that the gun had broken from the cable and was rolling down

the hill. There was an increasing rumble that seemed suddenly close at

hand, and before his brain had time to realize what had happened there

was a tremendous crash, the boards of his cell burst open like

matchwood, and the butt of the “Gossip” halted a scant foot from his

stomach!

For a single instant Terry was stunned. The sudden glare of morning

sunlight made him blink, the dust filled his mouth and the echoes of the

crash remained in his ears. But it did not take him long to regain his

composure and spring forward. He placed affectionate hands on the gun.

“Good old ‘Gossip,’” he whooped. “You wouldn’t go on parade without me,

would you? Talk about luck!”

A half dozen artillerymen appeared at the opening, led by Captain Rush.

At the sight of Terry they halted and stared in amazement.

“Where have you been?” Cadet Emerson, Terry’s mate, shouted.

“Waiting for the old ‘Gossip’ to let me out!” retorted Terry gleefully.

Rush approached him. “Where have you been, Mr. Mackson?” he inquired

formally.

“Someone locked me in here and I couldn’t get out, captain,” returned

Terry.

“Then the accident was a lucky one for you,” nodded the captain. He

turned to the young artillerymen. “We have only a few minutes to make

the parade grounds. Snap to it!”

Terry threw himself into the work, rejoicing in the chance to be busy.

The truck was backed down the hill and the broken cable was stripped

from it and new material substituted. A loose pin was driven into the

shaft and when the “Gossip” was harnessed it was drawn up to the top of

the hill in safety and wheeled swiftly into position. And on the rear

box sat Terry, grinning from ear to ear.

When his name was called he answered brightly, stealing a look across

the parade ground to the infantry, where Rowen stood in the second rank.

The face of the sullen one was a study in amazement.

In accordance with previous instructions the cavalry swung out first,

taking the long, dusty road that led to Rustling Ridge. Next in line

marched the infantry and the artillery rumbled in the rear. Terry sat on

his gun, happy and thankful for the good fortune he had had. He smiled

frequently, but there was a grim set to his jaw nevertheless.

All through the morning they marched and it was noon before they paused

to make temporary camp. Just as soon as the long column came to a halt

and broke up Terry made his way to where Rowen and his few friends sat

on a grassy bank. He halted directly in front of the other.

“Didn’t work, did it?” Terry asked.

Rowen looked at him with a haughty frown. “I don’t know what you are

talking about,” he said.

“Yes, you do. Your plan to lock me in the barn until I was late for camp

didn’t turn out very well, did it?”

“I don’t know anything about it, and you can’t prove that I do,” snapped

the dark-haired boy.

“Don’t be silly!” growled Terry. “I can do that easily. All I have to do

is to give that little sneak Jack Olson a good, stiff beating and he’ll

tell. Look at how pale he is! Or I can ask Captain Rush about it and

we’d have you in a fine mess. But I don’t intend to do anything like

that, Rowen, and you know it. I would have been blacklisted by my

captain if I had been late for encampment, and you figured on that. Now,

look here! Just one more piece of freshness out of you and I’ll give you

the peachiest licking you ever saw, right in front of the cadet corps.

Don’t forget it, my friend!”

Turning on his heel Terry walked off, his eyes dancing slightly. There

was no word spoken by the ones back of him, and perhaps it was just as

well. The redhead was dynamite and ready to go.

In that brief period he encountered Don. Jim was far ahead with the

supply corps but Don, who was a lieutenant in the infantry, was close at

hand. He was delighted to see his pal.

“Where in the world were you at assembly?” Don demanded. “Jim and I

nearly turned the building upside down looking for you.”

Terry explained briefly and Don approved of his recent charge to Rowen.

“That fellow certainly has a grudge against you,” said Don. “You

couldn’t exactly call him a bully, because he isn’t big enough or strong

enough, but his surly nature makes him anything but trustworthy. A fine

mess you would have had if you had been several days late for

encampment. As far as that goes, you might have been a prisoner in that

storage room for a long time.”

“That’s right,” agreed Terry. “And to anyone who likes to eat as well as

I do that would have meant something!”

After an afternoon of leisurely marching the cadets came to an open

meadow where the cavalry and the supply corps had set up tents. Here

they spent the night and the next morning they pushed on to Rustling

Ridge, arriving there about noontime.

Rustling Ridge was a long slope that rose gradually from a flat meadow.

It was in the heart of delightful country, and here and there solitary

farmhouses could be seen. Close beside the camp there was a deep

swimming hole, which the cadets welcomed with unrestrained delight. The

camp itself was pitched in a grove about a quarter way up the slope, the

white tents rising in somewhat irregular lines between the trees. The

wide glades on either side of the camp permitted the creation of natural

centers for the horses and the supply wagons and guns. By midafternoon

the camp was in first-class order and the tired cadets enjoyed their

first swim in the near-by swimming hole.

After supper large fires were lighted, but the cadets did not linger

long around them. Even before taps many of them had sought their cots,

falling asleep as soon as they crawled in between their blankets.

Sentries were posted and soon the camp was quiet except for the stamping

of horses and the tramp of the sentries.

3

At Rustling Ridge

The clear, thrilling strains of the bugle made scores of cadets

cordially hate Bugler Howes on the following morning. Many a young

soldier considered defying orders and sleeping on in peace and comfort,

but wisdom prevailed in the long run. With a snap and many groans the

camp came to life.

“Oh, boy!” sighed Terry, casting his blankets to one side. “I never felt

less like getting up in all my life!”

“I don’t see why you or Jim should kick,” Don said, as he pulled on his

clothes. “You two rode out here but I had to march all the way!”

“I’m tired just the same,” said Terry.

Once awake the cadets came alive to the glories of camp life. A rush was

made to the near-by brook where they washed, and then dressing was

speedily finished. Before long they had fallen in for inspection, the

reading of orders and the march to breakfast.

A long tent had been erected for meals in bad weather, but during the

clear and warm weather they were permitted to eat outside around the

kitchen tent.

Before long they were all hard at work. On a flat plain at the bottom of

the hill they were all required to drill and take routine exercises

during the morning. This took up their time until noon. Then, in the

afternoon, the units took up the tactics of their own particular

division. The infantry was busy that day with setting up range targets

for practice in the near future. After that was over they worked

steadily fixing the camp. Tents were made more inviting by the addition

of wooden floors, pegs were put in with a view toward real strength and

service, and trenches were dug to carry off the rain water when it fell

from the sloping canvas. A permanent kitchen was constructed and the

long tables for the mess tent were built and put in place. Benches then

were hammered into place along the tables, the wagons set in proper

formation and the camp looked vastly improved.

The cavalry escaped this task but was busy with tactics of its own.

Under Jim, who was its chief, it was required to drill and go for a

canter across the country. That used up most of the afternoon and the

sun was beginning to sink when they returned. At school, during the

term, the cavalrymen got quite a bit of practice, but it was the plan of

the colonel to teach his boys to ride every day during the encampment,

so that they might become used to having horses under them a good many

hours at a stretch. Many a young man found himself stiff and sore before

the end of the week.

The artillery was busy with what they called “silent drill.” Artillery

practice was always pretty expensive and only during the fall and the

last few weeks of summer encampment did the colonel allow any firing of

the fieldpieces. During the summer the artillerymen were instructed in

the art of finding the range, wheeling the guns into position,

effectively concealing them from an enemy, especially an enemy in the

air, and tearing down and rebuilding the guns.

With all of these activities the first day in camp sped by with

astonishing rapidity. This first day was different from the ones that

followed, for once the camp was settled the work decreased materially.

So busy had the boys been that there was no time for a swim or any fun

on that initial day of camp life. A few hardy souls managed to stay

awake and talk and sing songs around the campfires, but most of the

young men stumbled to bed at the first possible moment.

The three friends had not had much of a chance to see each other that

day, and at night they were too tired to do much in the way of talking.

In common with many others they sought their beds before taps.

“If I’m going to be as tired as this every night I’ll never enjoy this

camping trip,” Jim grumbled as he undressed.

“You won’t be,” Don observed. “This was an unusual day for all of us,

but we’ll get used to it. With all our outdoor life, this systematic

drill, exercise, and work makes us feel the grind.”

“I don’t see why we have to take regular exercises.” Terry yawned and

stretched out on his cot. “Seems to me that we get enough to keep us

physically fit as it is.”

“Yes, but the kind of routine exercises that we get help to keep us

limbered up,” Don returned. “Otherwise, we’d get a whole lot of one kind

of training and not much of another. You and I get plenty of leg and arm

exercise but Jim would be riding all day if he stuck to his particular

branch of the corps.”

“That’s true,” agreed Terry. “Well, I suppose the colonel and the

officers know what we need most of. If anybody asked me right now,

though, I’d say it was sleep.”

On the second day things came more easily to the active young soldiers.

At first, stiff and sore muscles cried out in protest and glum faces

characterized the corps. But as the day went on their hearts cheered and

slowly the joy of camping evidenced itself.

That afternoon they finished drill and maneuvers at three o’clock and

from then on the time was their own. A dozen games of baseball were

quickly organized but most of the boys preferred to make a rush for the

big swimming hole. Before many minutes a score of the boys splashed in.

One cadet had dropped in first to test the depth of the stream, and

finding that it was up to the average boy’s shoulder at the bank and

about ten feet deep in the center, a number of boys had dived joyfully

in. Don and Terry were among the first, with Jim following a little

later.

“This is a dandy pool,” gasped Jim, shaking the water from his eyes and

floating close beside Don. “I like snappy fresh water even better than I

do the salt water.”

“I don’t,” returned his brother. “I like the rush and the sting of the

green sea water. But this woodland water makes you work to keep afloat.”

There was no springboard and the cadets were diving from the bank. In

time this proved disappointing. As they clambered up the sides, the

water running in streams from their dripping bathing trunks made the

bank muddy and then dangerously slippery. More than one sloppy fall

plastered a swimmer with mud and caused gleeful laughter, until a few

cadets ran into camp, brought out some long boards and some thick

supports, and in a very short time a fairly good diving board had been

placed on the bank.

“This is some improvement,” smiled Harry Douglas, as he tried the board

out.

The diving then became general and was enjoyed. One of the best divers

was Dick Rowen. His summers had been spent largely in summer resorts

where swimming was the principal attraction and he had become quite

expert at it. Knowing that the eyes of many of his comrades were upon

him Rowen performed a good many fancy dives, all of which were very well

done. Some of the cadets, with quiet generosity, complimented him upon

his prowess.

“Oh, diving comes easily to me,” answered Rowen, poising for another, in

answer to a word of praise from a cadet. “This is one of my best.”

He jumped to the springboard, attempted to turn around and over, but his

twist did not work and his feet slipped. Truth to tell, the cadets were

growing tired of his posing and a delighted shout went up as he slapped

the water with a sound that echoed over the camp.

Thoroughly angry, Rowen bobbed up out of the water and scrambled ashore,

turning a resentful ear to the good-natured teasing of his mates. Jim

was the next one to follow Rowen out on the board, and he prepared for

his dive.

“Going to give us an exhibition of your best dive, Jim?” Cadet Vench

called out, laughing.

Jim grinned. “Yes, this is my best,” he answered, and sprang away. But

his foot slipped and he hit the water in the same way that Rowen had.

Instantly a roar of laughter went up and Rowen’s face flushed a dull

red.

Jim made his way out of the water. “That wasn’t so good at that,” he

remarked, as he gained the bank. Then he came face to face with Rowen.

“Think you’re pretty smart, don’t you, Mercer?” hissed the cadet.

Jim looked surprised. “Why, no, not especially. Not after that dive,

anyway. What do you mean, Dick?”

“Don’t call me Dick!” snapped Rowen. “I’m only Dick to my friends, and

that doesn’t include you. I said you think you’re funny because you

ridiculed me in that dive!”

“Oh, don’t be silly!” retorted Jim. “I had no intention of imitating

you, Rowen. My foot honestly slipped, that’s all.”

“I don’t believe you, Mercer,” said Rowen, at a white heat.

There was a moment’s pause and the gathered cadets looked on with

interest. Jim’s jaw had set and he thought a moment before replying.

“Listen, Rowen,” he said, when he had gained sufficient control of

himself. “I want you to understand one thing. I only joke with a man who

is enough of a man to take a joke. If I were picking out anyone to have

some fun with I wouldn’t pick a sorehead like you. As for my not being a

friend of yours, Rowen, that is your own fault.”

“Fault!” shrilled Rowen, trembling. “Jeepers! Do you think I care that

you aren’t my friend?”

“Whatever you like,” nodded Jim, and turned away. Unheeding the

statement that “some fellows made him sick” Jim went back into the

water, to enjoy himself and forget Rowen.

That evening the cadets remained up until taps, which came at

nine-thirty. A number of fires formed convenient places for them to

gather and chat. Just before taps the three friends went to their tents.

“I didn’t notice Rowen around tonight,” remarked Don, as they began to

prepare for bed.

“Might have been sulking in his tent,” grinned Terry. “Now, the only

thing that remains is for him to pick a fight with you, Don!”

“I don’t know if I could be as patient as you two have been,” mused Don.

“I think I should be tempted to punch his nose for him!”

“Don’t worry,” smiled Jim, “we were tempted, all right!”

“Who took my bayonet?” questioned Terry, suddenly.

All of the cadets, including the artillerymen and cavalrymen, were

required to have guns and bayonets, and Terry had looked aimlessly at

his equipment, to note that the bayonet was gone. In a moment Don

reported the loss of his.

“Mine’s gone, too,” announced Jim. “This looks funny to me.”

Terry threw the blankets off his bed. “Not under the covers,” he

murmured. “Now, where—hey!”

He dropped to his knees and looked under the cot. Then he reached under

and brought out his weapon.

“Look under your cots,” he directed. Don and Jim did so and uttered a

sharp cry.

“Sticking upright, so that when we lay down on the bed the point would

prod us,” Don growled.

“And that explains where Rowen was this evening,” guessed Terry.

“Say, this is going a little too far!” cried Jim. “That’s a dangerous

trick.”

“Well, not especially dangerous,” said Don slowly. “The point wasn’t in

such a position that it would have actually run into us. But he figured

that we’d come in just at taps and jump into bed, landing on the points

with enough force to make us squirm. The worst part of it all is that we

can’t prove who did it.”

“From now on,” said Terry, his eyes narrowing, “we have got to keep a

wary eye on that guy.”

“Yes,” nodded Don. “I guess he placed all three bayonets so that one of

the disliked boys would be sure to get it. It would be funny if it had

been me, who so far has done nothing to antagonize him.”

“If I catch him in any funny business I’ll sail right into him,”

promised Jim, as they replaced the bayonets in the scabbards.

Taps rang out and the camp quieted down. In a moment the three boys

drifted off to sleep.

4

Strange Tales from the Ridge

Three shots sounded from the east side of the camp. Almost on top of

them three shots sounded from a point close by.

With the first shots the three friends stirred and woke up, listening

while half asleep. But with the second three shots they rose up in their

beds, wide awake.

Close at hand the sound of rapidly turning wheels reached their ears,

accompanied by the beat of horses’ hoofs. Something metallic bumped and

banged. A voice called out: “Corporal of the guard! Post Number Three!”

The boys jumped from their cots with one accord, reaching for their

clothes.

“Something wrong with the sentries,” cried Don.

“Who is at Number Three post?” asked Jim.

“Anderson,” answered Terry, fumbling with his shoes.

The camp was in motion. Lights flashed at various points and voices

sounded. Past the tent went running feet. But the bugle did not sound,

so they knew that it was not a fire or any similar emergency.

“I’m ready. How about you two?” Don called.

“Right with you,” was the response and the three soldiers burst out of

the tent.

A central fire was burning and at this point the colonel was standing,

half-clad and with mussed-up hair, his eyes heavy with sleep. The other

cadets were clustering around him there, and the sentries were

straggling in to that center. Just as the three boys reached the spot

the sentries from Number Three and Number Four posts came up and

saluted.

Number Three post was at a point up the Ridge and Number Four was right

at the edge of camp. The shots from Number Four had followed so closely

to those from Number Three that they knew the same thing had caused both

signals.

“Sentries to report, sir,” announced the corporal of the guard,

saluting.

The colonel saluted and faced the sentries. “Make your report,

gentlemen,” he ordered.

Anderson, from Number Three post spoke up. “While patrolling my post I

heard a wagon coming along that dirt road just above the camp on the

Ridge. It appeared to be coming at a great rate of speed and just as it

reached a point above my post it left the road and cut right down

through the bushes toward me. It had a man and a boy in it and I

challenged them, but without slacking speed a single bit the wagon tore

right past me toward the camp. I then fired the shots to warn the camp

and the next sentry.”

“Very good,” nodded the colonel. “Mr. Simms?”

“I heard the shots, though I had heard the thrashing of the wagon

previously,” spoke up the second sentry. “I turned to find the wagon

bearing down on me, swinging from side to side, and with a man and boy

hanging onto the seat. It cut straight across the lower end of the camp

grounds, down the slope and across the drill grounds. I fired to bear

out Mr. Anderson.”

“Very good, gentlemen,” said the colonel, with a puzzled frown on his

forehead. In the momentary silence that followed they could hear the

mysterious wagon bumping and banging across the country, apparently at

top speed.

Now that the official reports had been given the talk became general.

The incident was extremely puzzling. Both sentries remarked that the man

and boy had been huddled together much as though pretty badly

frightened, and the sight of the cadets with guns had not seemed to

reassure them any. Neither sentry had been able to see what had been in

the wagon because it had passed them in too great a hurry, but from the

sound they judged the rattling was caused by pots and pans. A single

horse had pulled the cart.

“Strangest thing I ever heard of,” murmured the new senior captain,

Henry Jordan.

“I can’t figure out why the party in the wagon left the dirt road,” said

the colonel to Major Rhodes, the drill instructor. “That road runs

parallel with the Ridge and works gradually down to the level of the

countryside. For some reason or other that pair in the wagon wanted to

get off the Ridge and out on the open meadow.”

“It is possible that they were fleeing from some crime,” suggested

Rhodes.

“True enough,” assented the colonel. “And when they saw the cadets the

vision didn’t reassure them any. Well, it goes beyond my understanding.”

He turned once more to the attentive soldiers. “Corporal of the guard,

restation the sentries. Everyone back to his bed.”

The sentries were reposted and the other cadets straggled back to their

cots. Once in their tent Jim looked at his watch.

“A quarter past three,” he announced. “Quite an uncanny hour out here in

the country. I’ll bet there is something behind that wild wagon flight.”

“Funny they should cut right across the camp,” remarked Don.

“I agree with Rhodes that those fellows were probably fleeing from

something like a crime,” advanced Terry.

“That may be the explanation,” agreed Don. “I can’t think of any other

reason for such a wild flight. Well, me for some more sleep.”

The rest of that night was quiet and in the morning the cadets discussed

the event further. The details of the day then took up all of their

attention and the night adventure was pushed from their minds.

Late in the afternoon Don and Terry hastened into the tent to get their

baseball gloves. Jim was in the tent at the time.

“Going to play some ball?” Terry hailed.

Jim shook his head. “I’m out of luck today,” he announced. “Six of us

have to go to a near-by farmhouse and buy some eggs and butter. The

colonel told me to try and strike a bargain with a farmer for eggs,

butter, milk and meat.”

“Don’t forget to wait for your change after you pay the farmer!” advised

Terry.

“Go chase yourself!” flung back Jim. “I guess I know enough for that.”

While the other two went off to play ball Jim rounded up his five

companions and they set off on horseback for the farmhouses that lay

scattered over the Ridge. Two of the farms they passed did not look very

promising but at last they came to a neat-looking one which had a large

sign on the front fence. This sign announced that chickens, eggs and

butter were on sale and into this yard the six cavalrymen turned their

horses. An uproar of barking dogs announced their presence and a farmer

appeared, scanning their uniforms with great interest. To him Jim

explained their errand.

The farmer was more than pleased and hastened to bring out several dozen

fresh eggs and a dozen pounds of butter. In the meantime some children

and two farmhands had gathered about the soldiers, staring at them

curiously. When the supplies had been paid for Jim asked the farmer to

come to camp and confer with the colonel concerning future food

supplies. The farmer was delighted beyond words.

“You bet your boots I’ll come down,” he cried. “Business is mighty poor,

and this is a big boost to me. My name’s Carson.”

A little boy named Jimmie was particularly interested in the cadets, and

they took an instant liking to him. He was a bright and sturdy little

boy, and some of the cadets invited him to visit the camp, an invitation

which he willingly accepted.

Just before they rode off the farmer spoke to Jim. “Ain’t see nothing of

the ghost, have you?” he asked.

Jim shook his head. “No. Have you one?”

The farmer nodded solemnly. “Haven’t you heard about the ghost of

Rustling Ridge?” he asked.

“No, we haven’t,” laughed Lieutenant Thompson.

“There is a sure-enough ghost that prowls this Ridge,” said the farmer,

gravely. “Every once in a while it walks and scares people half to

death. More than one family’s up and moved away just on account of him.”

“So far we haven’t been lucky enough to see him,” returned Jim,

distributing the packages. “If we do, we’ll try and take him apart and

look at him.”

The farmer shook his head. “Very bad business, that ghost. Look out he

doesn’t turn up in your camp some night.”

With more jests about the ghost the cadets swung out of the yard and

headed back toward camp, carrying their packages carefully.

“So there is a ghost on the Ridge, is there?” Thompson said to Jim.

“I’m not greatly surprised,” Jim said. “Most of these country places

have room for at least one good ghost. They wouldn’t be quite happy if

they didn’t.”

The colonel was pleased at their success and planned to buy more things

from the farmer in the future. The provisions, with the exception of the

canned goods which they had brought with them from school, had been all

used up, for the invigorating outdoor life gave all the cadets ravenous

appetites.

The cadets had been asleep perhaps two hours that night when a medley of

shots rang out from post Number One, deep in the woods. As on the

previous night the three boys hopped out of bed immediately.

“Golly, this is getting to be an epidemic,” snorted Terry.

“But this must be something different,” remarked Don. “I don’t hear any

wagon crashing through the bushes.”

“There aren’t any more shots, either,” mentioned Jim.

Once outside the corporal of the guard brought in Douglas from the post.

The colonel asked for a report.

“While standing at my post I saw a white shape pass me about ten yards

away!” was Harry’s startling statement. “I challenged it, but it just

glided on past me. At my shots it flashed into the trees and was gone. I

was unable to find any trace of it.”

“A shape, Mr. Douglas?” frowned the colonel. “What sort of a shape?”

“Well, it looked like someone in a sheet,” explained Douglas. “I

couldn’t see any head on the object, and it seemed to glide along the

ground!”

“Hmm, our ghost of the Ridge!” said Jim to Thompson.

“What was that, Mr. Mercer?” the colonel cried, alertly.

Jim explained the story which the farmer had told to them that

afternoon. “We didn’t say anything about it, because we put it down for

a lot of nonsense,” he wound up.

“I see,” replied the colonel. “Captains and lieutenants go to post

Number One and look around.”

The others waited a long half-hour until the officers came back. There

was no news.

“We found no traces of anything,” Senior Captain Jordan reported.

Puzzled over the events of the past two nights the colonel ordered the

boys back to bed. It was a long time before a good many of them fell

asleep. In their own tent the three pals talked quietly of the

situation, but could not puzzle it out.

“If this business doesn’t stop pretty soon,” Terry concluded the talk,

“we won’t get enough sleep on this camping trip!”

5

A Fight and a Stampede

Captain Jim made his way around the last of the tents that formed the A

Company row and then paused. With a motion that combined speed with

caution he stepped out of sight behind the slope of the tent, his eyes

narrowed, senses alert.

He was on his way to the section of the camp allotted to the cavalry

horses. It was midafternoon and active drill was over for the day. Most

of the young soldiers were in swimming, a few played baseball out in the

blazing sun, and a few with less energy lay in the shade. Jim had

dismounted rather hurriedly to make a report and he was on his way to

see that the cadet orderlies had properly taken care of his horse.

The horses were just before him at the present moment, a score or more

of restless, high-strung mounts. No orderly or cavalryman was with them

at the moment and no one save one cadet could be seen. This cadet was

acting queerly, and Jim’s attention was the more quickly attracted when

he saw that the lone cadet was Dick Rowen.

Rowen’s campaign hat was in his crooked arm and he was standing directly

in front of Jim’s horse, Squall. From time to time Rowen looked

furtively around the camp to see if anyone was observing him, but he

failed to see the cavalry captain. The lone cadet dipped his hand into

the hat and extended something to the horse. Squall appeared to reach

out eagerly for whatever it was each time, but the neck of another horse

obscured from Jim what it was that Rowen was feeding his horse.

“Now, what the dickens can that fellow be doing?” Jim puzzled. “He seems

to be unusually kind to my horse, and it looks suspicious to me. Of

course, it is possible that Rowen likes horses and is feeding them, but

he knows that one is mine. Maybe he doesn’t carry his grudges as far as

the animals!”

One of the objects that Rowen was feeding to the horse dropped to the

ground, rolling a short distance. As soon as Jim recognized it he became

indignant.

“A green apple! A lot he knows about horses! If he wants to be kind to

them he should pick something else beside—”

He stopped short in his thought. Rowen looked right and left again and

then moved off a few paces to the left, reaching down for a bucket of

water. With this in his hand he walked back to the horse, raised it to

his eager lips, and tilted the bucket.

Jim Mercer waited to see no more. The whole cowardly trick was plain to

him now. Each cavalryman was required to keep his mount in perfect

condition and no excuse would be accepted for failure to do so. He could

picture Squall after his meal of green apples and his drink of cold

water, rolling in agony for hours, and himself severely blamed for

criminal neglect. The boy’s eyes blazed in fury as he hurled himself in

Rowen’s direction.

He was on top of the boy before Rowen was aware of him. Rowen turned

startled eyes in his direction, his face paling swiftly. The tongue of

the horse had just touched the water’s surface when Jim landed his fist

with all his force on the cheek of the cadet.

Rowen went down promptly, the bucket of water spilling all over his

uniform. A dull red spot showed where Jim’s fist landed, and Rowen

rolled over with a faint bleat. With bulging eyes he looked up to where

Jim towered over him.

“Why, you contemptible, sneaking coward!” Jim, his voice trembling,

exploded with emotion. “You intended to bloat my horse so that I would

do ‘growl duty’ for neglect, did you? How about the hours of agony that

the horse would suffer? Did you think of that? Get on your feet, because

I’m going to thrash you until you won’t be able to walk for the rest of

the summer!”

“If you lay your hands on me, Mercer, I’ll report you to the colonel,”

cried Rowen, cowed at Jim’s attitude. The captain was ablaze with wrath.

“Tell the colonel all you want to, but I’m going to put you in the

infirmary for a month,” promised Jim, reaching for the collar of the

fallen cadet.

At that moment Terry, Jordan, Don and Vench came around the end of the

tent row. They had been playing ball and were on their way to change

clothes for a swim. They saw the two before them and hurried over.

“Look here, gentlemen,” commanded Jordan, briskly. “You can’t fight in

camp. What’s the row, anyway?”

“Mercer knocked me down,” complained Rowen, while Don pulled Jim away.

Don was surprised to feel how violently Jim was trembling.

“Why did you knock Rowen down, Mercer?” Jordan asked.

Jim did not in the least mind Jordan’s commanding tone. Although they

were both captains of divisions, and Jim was therefore an equal as an

officer, Jordan nevertheless claimed a slight privilege as the senior

captain of the school. In the following year, their last one at

Woodcrest, Jim would be senior captain of the cavalry, with the unusual

record of having held that post for three years. His heroism at Hill 31,

when he rescued Vench, had won him that rank. But in the final year Don

would be promoted from the infantry lieutenant to Senior Cadet Captain

of the Corps, thus ranking a step higher than Jim, for all the latter’s

three years of captaincy in the cavalry.

Jim readily related the story of the short fight. He felt that the

action was so cowardly and sneaking that Rowen did not deserve to have

it hushed up. The faces of the cadets described their feelings as the

story was told. Rowen turned white to red-faced as he saw the looks cast

in his direction.

“I don’t care so much about the punishment I would have received,” Jim

said in conclusion, “but how any guy in the world with a grain of common

decency in him would stoop to give a horse hours of agony is more than I

can see. You fellows can see the evidences of his guilt on the ground,

the pail and the apple. When you came along I was about to give him the

biggest licking he ever got in his life!”

“Get up, Rowen!” commanded the senior captain, sternly. “We are not on

duty, or I’d put up with this trick just long enough to order you under

arrest! I don’t mind telling you frankly that you won’t last long enough

in the corps to ever graduate if this story gets out!”

“I don’t care a hang about the corps!” snapped Rowen. “How about Mercer

here? Don’t forget that he struck me.”

“I won’t forget him for doing it, instead I will remember him gratefully

for doing it. Perhaps it was too bad that we arrived just as we did.”

Rowen looked up at Jordan shamefaced yet still belligerent. “I’ll get

even with you boys! Just wait and see. And you can’t prove I harmed your

old horse, either, Mercer.” With these remarks, Rowen turned on his heel

and strode away, his chin high in the air.

“Gee! How do you like that?” Terry exclaimed. “He sure has some nerve

carrying a grudge after what’s happened just now!”

“I thought I had met up with a lot of the mean, tricky people!”

exclaimed Jordan. “But that beats me!”

“What about the horse, Jim?” Don asked.

“I’ll have to duck over to the canteen and get out some of the horse

medicine and then run him around until he gets over the effects of the

green apples,” replied the cavalry captain. “No water for you, Squall

old boy, until you have lost the effects of your unexpected meal.”

While Jim was looking after the horse the others walked over to the

tents, talking the matter over. All of them were deeply upset by the

total unjustness of it all.

“Just because Jim slipped on the springboard and made a dive like

Rowen’s!” said Vench. “I can’t understand some fellows.”

“Well, I’ll tell you,” replied Don, slowly. “For a long time Rowen has

had a grouch against all of us; for no particular reason at all. He’s

the kind of boy who just seems to have trouble wherever he goes.”

It was not until they were preparing for bed that evening that the three

boys had an opportunity to further discuss the afternoon’s incident.

“Is your horse OK?” Terry asked, kicking off his shoes.

“Yes,” Jim answered. “As long as he didn’t get a big drink of water

he—Oh, golly!”

“What’s the matter?” the other two asked, aroused at the dismay in Jim’s

tone.

“I’ve lost my belt,” Jim returned. “I had it on when I went to the

corral, and I guess I must have dropped it there. I’ll have to go back

and find it.”

“You’ve got to have it for inspection tomorrow,” said Don. “Wait a

shake, and I’ll go back with you.”

“No, you won’t,” vetoed Jim. “I can sneak out myself and make the trip

in record time. No use in running the risk of having you reported with

me. Douglas is patrolling post Number Five and I can slip through him.”

“Yes, but the guard will have been changed by the time you get back,”

Terry reminded him. “Then what are you going to do?”

“I’ll just have to take my chances and slip through while he is at the

far end of the patrol,” replied Jim, putting his shirt on again. “I

should have seen to it that I didn’t drop my belt, that’s all. You

fellows go to sleep, and I’ll soon be back.”

“OK,” agreed Don. “Good luck, kid!”

“Thanks,” murmured Jim, looking carefully from the flap of the tent.

“See you later.”

With that he was gone, slipping back of the tents and keeping well in

the shadows. At the edge of the camp he waited until he saw Douglas

standing with his back toward him. Then Jim slipped by him and plunged

into the woods.

It didn’t take him long to reach the spot where the horses were

corralled and after a little hunting he found his belt. It had dropped

close to the foot of a clump of bushes and was out of the direct rays of

the moon. Buckling it around his waist Jim began his return journey to

the camp.

But now, as he approached the place, he became very cautious. He must

trust to luck to slip past the man at the post and it would be no easy

task.

He decided that perhaps by flitting along past the animals he could more

easily gain the corner of the nearest company street and by lying on his

stomach in the shadow of a tent he could escape the eyes of the cadet

until it was safe to move on. With this thought in mind Jim moved to the

horses and then paused.

There was a tall white shape close to the animals, and they had sensed

the presence of the thing. It looked to be a very tall man shrouded in

white, and he was at the moment near the foremost horses. Forgetting his

unusual position Jim rushed forward to see what was going on.

The shape before him heard his quick step, turned toward him, and then

moved with an agility that astonished the cadet captain. Slapping the

flanks of the horses right and left the man in white started them

moving. Jim jumped forward.

“Hey, you!” he cried. “What are you doing to those horses?”

The figure in white took to the trees swiftly and Jim was unable to stop

him. For the horses, frightened by something, perhaps the white shape

itself, moved with increasing speed out of the corral. Before Jim could

call to them it had developed into a wild stampede, and the horses were

headed like a cyclone for the nearest tents.

6

The Trouble Bug Bites Deep

After that, things happened rapidly. Just as the horses began their

rapid flight the sentry on the post rushed up to Jim. As luck would have

it, it was none other than Rowen.

Before he could say anything the stampeding horses hit the first tents.

They had spread out fan-wise on their wild run, and those on the wings

were unable to push into the company streets. Blindly they crashed into

the tents, taking two of them down in a flash and tipping a third over.

The thunder of hoofs, the ripping of tent cords and the shouts of

bewildered cadets buried under the entangling canvas turned the peaceful

camp into a raging scene of chaos.

Cadets at the further end of the camp ran out, only to meet the

galloping horses face to face. They were too bewildered to comprehend at

once just what was going on, but they scurried back under cover. There

was a vast uproar on all sides. A cloud of dust rose over the camp,

partially obscuring the moon. To add to the confusion the sentries on

other posts excitedly fired their guns.

Jim stood confused, wiping the dust from his eyes impatiently. Close

beside him stood Rowen, coughing violently from the dust that the horses

had raised. When he could speak he turned to Jim sternly.

“What are you doing here, Mercer?” he asked.

“I went back to the corral for my belt and then I saw a white shape near

the horses,” related Jim. “Just as I challenged him he slapped them on

the flank, starting the stampede.”

Rowen looked around the near-by woods. There was nothing to be seen.

Deliberately he faced Jim.

“Absurd, Mercer,” he declared, his intention plain.

“Do you mean you think I’m lying?” Jim demanded, his cheeks flushing.

“I don’t have to mean anything. You tell me a story like that but I

don’t see the faintest evidence of it. What do you expect of me?”

“Look here, Rowen,” said Jim. “How far away were you when these horses

started?”

“A few yards. I was just patrolling this way when I heard them go,”

answered the sentry.

“Then you heard me say, ‘What are you doing to those horses?’ didn’t

you?”

“No, Mercer, I did not,” returned Rowen, steadily.

“You did so!” retorted Jim, flatly.

“I heard nothing,” repeated Rowen. “When I got here I found the horses

in flight and I saw you standing back of them. Under the circumstances I

must tell that to the proper officers and the colonel.”

“Certainly you must. But I will also tell them about the white shape.”

“I hope they will be a little more inclined to believe you than I am,”

sneered Rowen.

Jim took a step forward. “Rowen, if you intimate that I lie, I’ll surely

thrash you worse than I did this afternoon!”

“Mercer, in addition to reporting you for stampeding the horses, I shall

also report you for threatening the sentry while he was performing his

duty,” followed up the vengeful cadet.

Hot words leaped to Jim’s lips, but he stopped them. More words would

lead to trouble, and he was sure that he had enough of that on his hands

right now to last him for some time. Beside that, the camp was a bedlam

and the horses were scattered all over the meadow below. Outwardly cool

he faced the sentry.

“I am going to help round up the horses,” he told Rowen. “I’ll see you

later.”

With this Jim turned and ran across the camp, heading down the slope to

the field below. The colonel was now on the job, with some realization

of what had occurred. A detail of cadets was busy at the fallen tents,

lifting the canvas and helping the stunned soldiers out into the open.

One boy had had his shoulder sprained but that was all the physical

damage there was. Most of the horses had halted on the plain below and

were quietly cropping the grass.

All of the cavalrymen turned instinctively toward the horses and were

now engaged in the difficult job of trying to secure them. The

infantrymen and artillerymen stood around talking things over,

understanding that there had been a stampede but not fully realizing why

the horses had run away.

“Guess something just scared them and they bolted,” Cadet Douglas said,

speaking to a group.

“I’d like to know where Jim is?” murmured Terry.

“Too bad it had to happen while he was out of the camp,” returned Don,

in a low voice. “If the colonel ever learns that he was absent at the

time he’ll have a job explaining where he was. If he doesn’t turn up and

go hunting the horses he’ll have to answer for that.”

Drill Master Rhodes bore down on the assembled cadets. “A few fires to

be lighted, please,” he directed briskly. At this word the cadets

scattered and fell to work gathering fuel for fires. A short time later

a half-dozen fires lighted up the sky and threw the camp into bright

relief.

“There’s Jim!” cried Don, pulling at Terry’s sleeve. “He has been right

on the job.”

Jim was riding Squall bareback and driving other horses before him.

Lieutenant Thompson brought in others, and the main band of the animals

had been captured. But there were now at least five horses that had run

far off and some of the cadets saddled and went after them.

This time they found real work cut out for them. The horses that had run

the farthest away were the unruly ones. They objected strongly to being

captured and led the cadets a merry chase. After an hour of hard work

all but one horse had been captured.

“Mr. Mercer,” called the colonel. “Take Mr. Thompson and get that one

stray horse.”

Jim and Thompson mounted and dashed across the field toward Twinkletoes,

the stubborn cavalry horse. The animal, a beautiful chestnut stallion,

tossed his head disdainfully and trotted off in a sweeping circle,

seeming to enjoy the chase keenly. He was moving away from the camp and

Jim saw that unless he could get on the far side of the horse he would

lose him. Accordingly, he abandoned the direct chase, heading Squall out

across the moonlit field until he had passed the cavorting horse. Then

Jim swung sharply in toward the camp, the animal now in front of him.

Thompson stopped and allowed Twinkletoes to retreat past him, and then

the two cavalry officers began a chase that entertained and delighted

the camp.

Twinkletoes tried in vain to dodge out of the circle which the two young

soldiers had drawn around him, and it took all of their skill to keep

him from attaining his objective. Twinkletoes raced and plunged, first

toward one side and then toward the other, making short, mad little

dashes, but as fast as he dashed the officers dashed after him. In this

fashion, working ever in toward the slope, the two cadets drove the

frisky animal in far enough to make escape possible only by dashing up

the hill. This Twinkletoes refused to do, and Jim, staking all on a last

desperate drive, forced Squall up beside the fugitive horse and secured

him. As he led him into camp a cheer went up.

“Very good work, men,” nodded the colonel.

The horses were now all in and the work of securing them firmly went on.

No recall was sounded and the cadets wandered aimlessly around the camp.

When Jim and the other cavalrymen returned to the central fire they

found the colonel standing there, surrounded by the instructors and most

of the cadets. Jim was walking toward the colonel to make his report

when Rowen stepped from the group, triumph written on his face.

“Mr. Mercer!” he called, loudly. All of the assembled soldiers,

including the colonel, turned to look at him.

“What is it, Mr. Rowen?” Jim asked, quietly.

“You will kindly consider yourself under arrest for starting the

stampede!” continued Rowen, still in the loud voice.

His words produced a decided sensation. The colonel looked particularly

astonished. Terry groaned and nudged Don.

“What do you know about that! Jim started the stampede!”

“Mr. Mercer, did you start the stampede?” the colonel asked.

“No, sir,” replied Jim, promptly.

The colonel turned to Rowen. “What is your exact charge against Captain

Mercer, Mr. Rowen?” he asked.

“I charge Captain Mercer with being absent from camp without official

leave, of stampeding the horses, and of threatening a sentry in the

performance of his duty!” cried Rowen.

“Those are very serious charges, Captain Mercer,” the colonel told Jim.

“What have you to say to them?”

“I admit being out of camp without leave, but refuse to acknowledge

stampeding the horses or having been in any way responsible for their

breaking loose. I did threaten to thrash Mr. Rowen because he insisted

that I was deliberately lying when I informed him that a figure clothed

entirely in white slapped the horses and started them on their

stampede,” reported Jim. There was a stir of eager interest from the

cadets.

“A figure in white?” said the colonel, sharply. “What was that, Captain

Mercer?”

“I do not know, sir,” replied Jim. “I challenged him sharply and at the

sound of my voice he slapped the horses on the flanks, starting them on

their break.”

“Captain Mercer says he called out to the figure in white,” said the

colonel, turning to Rowen. “Did you hear him call, Mr. Rowen?”

“I did not, sir,” answered the sentry. “Colonel Morrell, Captain Mercer

did not call out!”

“Limit your statement to the fact that you did not hear him, Mr. Rowen,”

advised the colonel. Rowen flushed and trembled with rage.

“And you really saw a white shape at the horses, Captain Mercer? This

talk of ghosts has not influenced you any, has it?”

“Not a bit, sir,” affirmed Jim, gravely. “I distinctly heard the sharp

sounds of his slaps and as I started for him he glided into the woods

close at hand.”

“Did you see anything, Mr. Rowen?” the colonel asked.

“The only thing I saw was Mr. Mercer standing there, watching the horses

tear across the camp, sir,” answered Rowen.

The colonel thought for a moment. “Very well, men,” he returned. “I will

consider the case carefully. Captain Mercer, you will consider yourself

at least temporarily under arrest, on the two charges preferred by Mr.

Rowen, namely, for being absent without official leave and for

threatening the sentry, although I realize that you threatened Mr. Rowen

not for ordering your arrest, but for doubting your word. All these

things don’t go well with an officer’s commission, Captain Mercer, and I

shall be compelled to look into the entire affair.”

“Very good, sir,” responded Jim, saluting.

The cadets were sent back to their cots and soon quiet settled over the

entire camp. In their tent Jim, Terry and Don discussed the situation.

“Just your luck to run right into Rowen,” commented Terry. “I’d like to

bet my last nickel that he heard you call out, too.”

“I think that he did, but we can’t prove it,” sighed Jim. “Well, I’m not

going to worry about it.”

“You won’t need to,” reassured Don. “The colonel will see to it that you

have the proper justice. Your word is as good as Rowen’s and he will

find out the truth some way.”

7

The Old Man of the Ridge

Jim’s punishment did not last long. A circumstance came up that made the

colonel suspend judgment for some time.

One morning, soon after the incidents related, a man in a battered old

car drove up to the camp. He was a minister who preached in a regular

circuit of county churches and he was known to the colonel. The

headmaster received him with great pleasure and the two men talked of

many things as they sat in the colonel’s tent.

“By the way,” said the Reverend Mr. Powers, after a time. “Did someone

go past your camp very hurriedly a few nights ago?”

The colonel showed signs of unusual interest. “Why, yes, a few nights

ago a wagon with two men in it tore right through the camp,” he said.

“We couldn’t stop it.”

“There was a man and a boy in it,” corrected the pastor. “Well, then you

don’t know what sent them flying past you like that?”

“No,” confessed the colonel. “If you had seen the way they flew by, you

wouldn’t wonder that I didn’t learn anything about them. But tell me

what you know.”

“First, I would like to ask you a question. Have you heard anything

about a ghost of the Ridge, since you have been here?”

The colonel snorted. “I haven’t heard much about anything else,” he

retorted.

“The ghost scared these two off. The father is a farmer who came down

here from Pennsylvania. As it turns out, he is very superstitious, and

the very first night on his own farm, while driving into the yard with

his only son, he saw the white shape skulking along near his barn. He

was just about crazed with fear and fled to the valley, passing your

camp as he did.”

“Of course this ghost is simply some would-be humorous person who is

having some fun,” was the colonel’s opinion. But Mr. Powers had another

opinion.

“I doubt that very much, Morrell. The thing has been going on for years

and some very good citizens have given up their homes just on account of

it. The joke would have worn out years ago. No, I’m inclined to think

that there is something deeper in it than mere fun.”

“Some determined effort should be made to drive the ghost from the

Ridge,” grumbled the headmaster.

“Who is to start it?” shrugged the parson. “No one seems to want to and

the sheriff of the county simply laughs at the whole business.”

As a result of this talk the colonel called Rowen and Jim into his tent

after drill that very afternoon. They faced him expectantly.

“Gentlemen,” said the colonel. Then he paused, and a frown swept over

his face. “I call you gentlemen, and will continue to do so until one of

you is proved guilty of deliberate lying. Your conflicting stories show

that one of your statements, coming from one or the other of you, is a

deliberate falsehood. But to get back to the business in hand: I have

just heard some more tales concerning this ghost of the Ridge, and in

view of it I have decided to drop the suspension against Captain Mercer.

The word of one of you is as good to me as the word of the other, and

until I prove that one of you is trying to conceal anything I must

consider the case dismissed until further notice. Mr. Rowen, you say you

did not hear Mr. Mercer call out nor did you see the white shape. But on

the other hand, Captain Mercer did tell you immediately that he had seen

a white shape, and that the ghost—or whatever it was—had started the

stampede. Inasmuch as you did not see Captain Mercer start the stampede,

and you doubted his word, I shall be able to hold him only on the count

of being absent without official leave. For that Captain Mercer will

receive demerits. It that all clear, and satisfactory?”

“Very much so, to me, sir,” approved Jim. Rowen muttered.

“What was that, Mr. Rowen?” the colonel asked, sharply.

Rowen lost his temper in his sudden fright. “I simply said that of

course a Mercer would get the breaks, sir!” he sneered. Then, realizing

the slip he had made, his face turned white.

“So!” murmured the colonel. His eyes flashed but his voice was calm. “I

asked you if my decision was satisfactory, Mr. Rowen.”

“Yes, sir,” murmured the disappointed cadet.

“Very well. You are both dismissed,” nodded the colonel. Left alone, his

brain worked busily. He saw a good many things in a clear light now.

“Petty jealousy, and he is trying to revenge himself on Mercer,” thought

the little colonel. “I guess I can pretty well tell which one of those

young men is lying!”

On the following morning, when the Orders of the Day were read, Jim and

his friends were delighted to hear in the crisp voice of the battalion

orderly that the charges brought against Captain Mercer by Sentry Rowen

were to be temporarily dismissed, with the exception of the charge of

leaving camp unofficially, for which Captain Mercer was to receive

twenty-five demerits.

A hundred demerits were sufficient to send a man home from the

encampment and two hundred at school would dismiss any cadet

permanently.

That afternoon there was a partial holiday and the cadets set out to

enjoy themselves. It was a mild and warm afternoon, with a fleecy sky

overhead, through which the sun peeped at intervals. Don and Jim sat in

the tent, trying to decide just what to do.

“What do you say to a hike over the Ridge, a sort of exploring trip?”

was Don’s suggestion.

“Sounds good,” approved Jim. “Who can we get to go along with us?”

“We’ll scout around and find out,” announced Don, getting up from his

cot.

After looking up their most intimate friends they found that only Terry

and Raoul Vench cared to go tramping.

“We’ll be glad to go along,” yawned the redhead. He and Raoul had been

idly watching the swimmers when Jim and Don found them. “I’m weary o’

doing nothing!”

“Too lazy to do anything but watch the other fellows swim around and

enjoy themselves, is that it?” inquired Jim.

“Yes, but you see, I enjoy it that way,” returned Terry, seriously. “I

have a vivid imagination and in time, by concentrating on the swimmers,

I too feel the cool of the water and the exhilaration of the exercise.

Just requires a little imaginative concentration, Jimmie my friend.”

“You’re a wonderful fellow,” glowed Jim. “Just you imagine me a couple

of ice-cream sodas, will you?”

“Pay me first!” grinned Terry. “Money back if I fail to come across.”

The four cadets set out at a brisk pace up the slope of the Ridge. It

was heavily wooded and every now and then they came across a clearing in

which a farmhouse could be seen. They were not long in reaching the very

top of the series of hills called Rustling Ridge and they paused to look

down into the opposite valley from the one above which their camp was

pitched.

“Nice picture,” observed Terry. “Why do they call this place Rustling

Ridge?”

“In the fall, when the wind blows hard, the leaves rustle, and from that

fact comes the name,” Don volunteered.

“How’d you learn that?” Vench wanted to know.

“I asked a farm boy who was watching us play baseball the other day,”

replied the infantry lieutenant.

“Look at that old house up there,” called out Jim, pointing to a huge

square structure that showed a battered roof with leaning chimneys over

the tops of the trees. “Looks like a fitting habitation for the ghost of

this place.”

“Just about,” agreed Vench. “But that little cabin down below looks

better to me, because I bet we can get a good drink at the place. Let’s

go down.”

The others agreed and they tramped down the side of the slope toward a

plain little cabin, constructed of unpainted boards, with a roofed front

porch on it. At some distance below them they could see the largest town

in the county.

“What town is that?” asked Jim.

“I think that must be Rideway,” replied Don.

Reaching the cabin they rounded the corner, to halt suddenly as they saw

a figure there. It was a little old man in a wheelchair, a man with

sparse gray hair, sallow cheeks, and a few good teeth remaining. His

eyes were keen and penetrating and he was puffing in evident enjoyment

on a huge pipe.

He greeted them readily enough. “Hi, there, boys, step right up,” he

shrilled, in a rasping voice. “Soldiers, eh? You look pretty young.

Where you stationed?”

“We aren’t soldiers of the United States Army,” Don told him. “We are

cadets from Woodcrest Military Institute, and we’re camping over on the

other side of the Ridge. We were passing by and thought we’d drop in for

a drink of water.”

“Thought you were too young-looking for regular soldiers,” nodded the

old man, taking in every detail of their uniforms. “Want a drink of good

water, eh?”

“Yes,” Don replied. “But we wouldn’t want to trouble you any.”

“Oh, hush up!” was the good-natured reply. “I know that you’re thinking

I’m out of commission and I can’t help you. Just sit down on the porch

here and see how old Peter Vancouver does it.”

With that the old man gave the right wheel of his chair a whirl and to

the astonishment of the boys shot himself around in a half circle and in

through the open door. From there they saw him roll across the room and

vanish through the door of another room.

“My gosh!” breathed Terry. “Can’t he work that buggy of his!”

“Probably years of practice has made him proficient,” said Don, softly.

With the same bewildering speed and dexterity the man returned in his

chair, holding a pitcher and a tin cup in his hand. Even while in motion

he poured the water out.

He seemed to enjoy watching the boys drink deeply, and when they had

finished he wheeled back to the kitchen and returned at lightning speed.

Noting the interested looks of the boys he chuckled.

“Guess the old man knows how to walk well’s if he had feet, eh?”

“You walk better than a whole lot of people who have feet,” gravely

affirmed Vench.

“If you was spending your life in one of these all-fired things you’d

know how to ride one, too,” he told them. “Don’t you fellows go. I don’t

see a heap of folks and I like to chin once in a while.”

“We’ll be glad to stay and talk with you, Mr. Vancouver,” smiled Jim,

leaning back against a post. “We are just out exploring and we’d just as

soon sit here and talk as wander around.”

“Glad to hear you say it,” approved the old man. “Let’s hear something

about that there camp of yourn.”

The boys told him several things about the camp, all of which seemed to

interest him deeply. In the course of the talk the incident of the ghost

and the stampede was mentioned. The old man bent eagerly forward.

“Did you get a visit from the ghost?” he cried.

“Yes, he stampeded our horses,” Jim told him. “What do you know about

him, Mr. Vancouver?”

The man chuckled. “All a poor old invalid would know about such like he

hears,” the man replied. “I ain’t never seen the thing, but I heard

plenty. Raises old Ned in the hills here, and has been at it for years.”

“If we get a chance we are going to nail him good,” Don promised.

“Good idea,” Mr. Vancouver approved. “Blasted business has been driving

people off the Ridge for years. Wouldn’t be surprised if the fellow

drove you cadets home.”

“Drive us out of camp!” ejaculated Vench, stirring.

“He might!” the old man said.

“He’ll have to go some to do that,” snorted Terry. “He’ll be lucky if we

don’t steal his best nightgown right off him!”

“Getting late, fellows,” warned Don. “We had better be getting back.

Thanks a lot for your good drink of water, Mr. Vancouver, and we’ve

enjoyed being with you.”

“Enjoyed being able to talk to you boys,” he returned heartily. “Come up

again some time.”

“We’ll be glad to,” promised the boys, as they started off. Mr.

Vancouver called a final word after them.

“You had better keep your eyes open for that cussed ghost! No tellin’

when he’ll pop up and scare the life out of you!”

The cadets laughed good-naturedly and walked at a rapid pace up the side

of the Ridge. The sun was going down in the west and they would have to

keep up a good stride in order to arrive in time for supper.

“Interesting old fellow, that Vancouver,” Jim observed.

“He surely is,” Vench agreed. “We’ll have to chat with him some other

time.”

“Too bad he can’t move around—that is, walk around,” Don said. “As a

matter of fact, he does move around mighty fast, but I mean it is a

shame he can’t go walking around, same as you and me.”

“Like everybody else around here, he believes that dog-goned ghost is

the last word in efficiency,” growled Terry. “I guess the real trouble

is that nobody dares to put on a real hunt for the ghost. Fellows, we’ll

have to make it our business to run down that ghost!”

“If it pops up again soon, we will,” Don promised.

8

Moving Flame

For a week or more there were no unusual events. Camping life went on

calmly, the drill and fun occupying the days in regular succession. By

this time all of the boys were enjoying themselves to the utmost.

Muscles were limber and strong, bodies straight and vigorous, and the

appetites outrageous.

“We certainly are keeping the cooks hustling,” Terry chuckled one day in

the mess tent. “I’m going for another helping of beans.”

But when the genial redhead went to the kitchen tent he was firmly but

politely refused “Nothing doing, Mr. Mackson,” said the mess sergeant,

firmly. “You’ve already had three plates full and that is the

allotment.”

“No more beans for a starving man?” Terry inquired, in dismay.

“No more for you anyway. I don’t know why you should be starving, I’m

sure.”

“All right,” returned the red-headed one, calmly. “My mother will get

even with you!”

“What do you mean, your mother will?” cried the cook, staring.

“When my body is shipped home, and she learns that her darling boy

starved to death in the camp, she will spend the rest of her life

calling down vengeance upon the head of the hard-headed and hard-hearted

cook that turned him away with tears in his eyes!” was the answer. The

mess tent shook with the laugh that went up. But the cook was prepared

to answer him back.

“You’re right about the cook turning him away with tears in his eyes,”

the cook said. “It brings tears to my eyes to see the hole in the bean

pile when you get eating!”

Terry retired thoughtfully, paying no heed to the mocking gibes which

greeted him on all sides. After a moment he looked at Vench, who was

eating across the table from him. Vench had just pushed his plate to one

side.

“How many plates of beans did you have, Raoul?” Terry whispered.

“Two was enough for me,” returned the little one.

“My son, heaven’s blessings upon you! Just take my plate and hit the

trail for the cook!”

Mr. Vench took Terry’s plate and gravely approached the cook. But as

soon as that worthy saw the particular dent in the tin plate he shook

his head wisely.

“Nothing doing, Mr. Vench,” he said. “That is Mackson’s plate. You don’t

work that game here!”

“Thank you, sir!” Vench murmured, while the cadets enjoyed the failure

of the move to the utmost. With that Vench turned away. But at that

moment the cook was called to the far end of the mess tent. With

swiftness that was commendable Vench reached over the stove and heaped

the plate. Then he sped back to the delighted Terry.

“Ram that in your musket and keep still!” he said, as he took his place.

Terry needed no second invitation. He dug into the pile of beans with

alacrity. And in a moment the sharp voice of the cook reached him.

“Mr. Mackson, where did you get those beans?”

Terry looked blank. “I am not at all sure, sir,” he answered, politely.

“I had just turned my back, and when I looked around there they were,

right under my nose!”

“Did you come and take them while I was not looking?” cried the cook.

“Haven’t been out of my seat since you broke my heart with your

refusal,” was the answer. “And you didn’t give any to Mr. Vench, so it

is up to you to figure out how I got the beans!”

“Bring them here, Mr. Mackson!” ordered the mess sergeant.

Terry shoveled the last forkful into his mouth. “Beg pardon?” he asked

blandly.

“I’ll put you on report!” growled the sergeant.

“My dear fellow, you can’t,” smiled Terry. “I didn’t take them myself

and so you have no charge to prefer. And if you did I’d pound all the

beans out of you once I got you away from the mess tent!”

“That amounts to threatening an officer while on duty, Mr. Mackson!”

charged the sergeant.

“That’s not a threat, that’s a promise,” grinned the redhead. The

sergeant muttered savagely but subsided.

“Much obliged,” Terry whispered to Vench. “Some day I’ll help you out.”

“But not in the matter of beans,” smiled Vench. “They just don’t happen

to be my weakness!”

One of the steady visitors to the camp was the little Carson boy. He was

the son of the farmer from whom the camp supplies were purchased, and

the cadets had taken a great liking to him. He was a friendly, likable

boy and obviously deeply interested in the activities of the young

soldiers. He watched all of their maneuvers with fascinated interest and

the cadets welcomed him in their tents.

“That youngster has the makings of a good cadet in him,” Don said. “Too

bad he isn’t one of us. How would you like to be a cadet, Jimmie?”

The boy flushed with pleasure and looked around the tent. “I’d like it

more than anything else in the world,” he told them. “I’ll tell you a

secret. Want to hear it?”

“Well, if it isn’t too deep for us, we would,” Jim assured him.

“I’m saving my money to go to Woodcrest,” the little fellow confided.

“Guess how much I have saved already?”

“I can’t imagine, but I hope it is a lot,” replied Don.

“It is!” was the eager retort. “I have a dollar and fifty-seven cents

toward it!”

“That’s great!” said Terry promptly. “You’ll need a little more than

that, but it is a good beginning, anyway. Just you keep on going.”

“I’ll surely be glad when I get a uniform like you have,” the boy went

on, wistfully. “I think they’re swell.”

There were other boys who drifted to the camp but they did not attract

the attention of the cadets as much as the Carson boy did. They came to

look around and fool a bit and in time most of them were chased away.

But Jimmie Carson was never in the way and so he was allowed to come

often to camp.

One afternoon a group of cadets went for another hike over the Ridge and

on the way back they passed the Carson farm. Jimmie called to them to

come in and they did so. To their delight Mrs. Carson, a plain, kindly

woman of middle age, insisted that they try a huge apple pie that she

had made.

“Don’t give any to Terry, Mrs. Carson,” begged Jim, as they sat on the

back porch. Don, Jim, Terry, Douglas and Vench were there at the time.

“Why is that? Doesn’t he feel well?” the farmer’s wife inquired,

anxiously.

“He has had stomach trouble for a long time,” returned Jim, gravely.

“The doctor said that of all things in the world, he mustn’t eat apple

pie!”

“I’ll tell you what it is, Mrs. Carson,” spoke up the persecuted one,

before anything else could be said. “I have a falling stomach and I

can’t seem to locate the bottom at any time. But I’m sure that if I can

only have a slice of that apple pie I’ll surely plug up the floor of my

stomach and have no more trouble!”

“Of all the left-handed compliments in the world!” gasped Douglas. “He

must think your pie is some kind of cement with which to secure his

stomach. Tell a lady that her pie will plug him up!”

Mrs. Carson laughed heartily. “I guess there is nothing the matter with

any of you boys,” she said. “Try my pie and see if it is like cement!”

“I could die of embarrassment!” murmured Terry, as he bit into his piece

of pie. “But this pie will surely revive me.”

The farmer himself came up and talked to the boys for a time. The

unexpected arrival of the soldiers on the Ridge and the subsequent

contract to supply them with fresh food had done wonders for the poor

farmer and his family. A good many dollars were coming his way from the

camp down the slope.

“Here is the baby of the family,” smiled Mrs. Carson, appearing a little

later with a pretty little girl of six. The cadets promptly forgot all

else in their efforts to amuse and entertain Dorothy Carson. It was late

before they headed back to camp, after thanking the farmer’s wife for

the good time they had had.

“I’ve had pie before,” murmured Terry. “But never such pie as that!”

“Is that so?” inquired Jim. “Well, it is a cinch that Don and I can’t

believe anything you say hereafter!”

“Why not?”

“Because one time at our house you said the same thing about my mother’s

pie,” said Jim.

“But don’t forget, this pie helped his stomach!” said Vench, slyly.

“Probably your mother’s pie didn’t plug up the bottom of his stomach!”

“If I ever speak again, it will be to myself, and in a dark room,”

sighed Terry.

They had not been back in the tent long before the Officer of the Guard

appeared at the tent with a list in his hand. “Lieutenant Mercer, you

will report for guard duty at Post Number Three at twelve o’clock,” he

informed Don.

“Very good, sir,” Don saluted.

At midnight Lieutenant Don reported to the sentry at the far end of the

camp, at a point near the farm belonging to the Hyde family. After an

exchange of instructions he took the post, waiting for the call. It came

soon after.

“Sentry, Post Two,” someone said near to him. Don faced toward the

sentry who was next to him. “Sentry, Post Three,” he called. Number Four

passed the report call on until eight sentries had reported. Then they

began their pacing up and down on their patrols.

Don’s stretch was a long one, extending from the edge of the camp at the

company street to a point back of the horse corral. At no time did he

meet the sentry who patrolled Post Four. Just at the time Don reached

the place where Post Four joined his post the other sentry was at the

far end of his stretch, and when Don had returned to the company street

Number Four was at the beginning of his post patrol. In this way there

was no likelihood of sentries stopping to chat and no huge gaps left in

the line of patrol duty.

The moon was a mere slice but the stars were bright pinheads in the sky.

The air was warm and heavy with the smell of the woods. Don enjoyed his

patrol thoroughly. At twelve-thirty he looked up the Ridge casually.

Toward the top he saw a tiny jet of flame, right above the Hyde place.

“Looks like somebody striking a match,” he reflected, pacing slowly.

Then he stopped quickly. The jet of flame sprang up rapidly. Something

was burning, flaring up into a huge ball of roaring fire. And as Don

looked, completely at a loss, this mass of flame moved with ever

increasing speed down the hill toward the Hyde house!

9

Sharp Work as Fire Fighters

Don stood spellbound while the huge ball of fire rolled down on the Hyde

place. There was a crash that he could hear plainly even at his distance

and the burning ball hit the barn. In a twinkling of an eye the wooden

structure caught fire.

Then Don came to life. Raising his rifle he fired three swift shots,

waking the camp instantly.

The Officer of the Guard rushed up to him. “What is the trouble,

Lieutenant?” the cadet panted. But a red glow in the sky told him the

story at once.

“Report a large fire at that farmhouse,” said Don. The Officer of the

Guard dug for the colonel.

By this time the cadet camp was well lighted by the glare from Hyde’s

barn. The colonel saw that hard work was needed and he directed the

bugler to sound assembly. This was done, and the half-dressed cadets

fell in formation.

“Secure all pails and double-quick it to the farmhouse!” was the order.

The colonel knew that in this rural area there was no organized fire

department and whatever attempts were made to extinguish a fire always

came from helpful neighbors. Instantly, the ranks broke and the

commissary department was fairly turned upside down as the soldiers

rummaged for pails. When these had been secured they raced down the

company street and took the road to Hyde’s house.

Fortunately for them—and for the Hydes—the distance was short. When the

first cadets arrived in the front yard the barn was a roaring furnace.

Hyde and his two sons were running around the yard in an aimless fashion

and as Jim and Terry arrived the three of them dashed into the blazing

barn. A moment later they came out, each of them hanging onto squealing,

thrashing horses.

“The horses!” cried Jim, and at the word the cavalrymen and the

artillerymen formed a body around him. In a mass they rushed the door of

the barn. Fighting their way inside past the Hydes, who were coming out,

the cadets paused to look about the stable, gasping as the heavy smoke

crowded down their lungs.

The inside of the barn was curiously lighted. A pall of heavy smoke hung

in the structure, and through this curtain the dull red flames shone and

licked. Snapping and crackling sounds reached their ears as the wood

burned, and a terrible shrieking, from the terrified horses, went right

through them. Blind with fear the animals kicked and screamed.

No word was spoken as the cadets made a rush for the nearest horses. Jim

had not put on a shirt, but some of the others had and these they now

whipped off, throwing them over the heads of the rearing animals. Jim

scooped a blanket up from the rack as he passed and made a cast for the

head of a big dray horse in a stall.

But now his troubles began. The horse, wild with fright, avoided the

blanket. It kicked at Jim and even snapped, tearing frantically on its

halter. The heat was cracking Jim’s skin, the smoke choked him, and the

crazy horse made his head ache trying to follow his rapid movements.

Worse than that, the halter was tied in a ring on the wall, and the

cavalryman was unable to pull it loose. As he was ready to sob with

anger his fingers closed over the catch and with a jerk that tore his

skin he loosed the rearing horse. Like a flash the animal backed from

its stall and tried to find the door.

Now Jim succeeded in getting the blanket over his head and he felt his

way to the door. The first breath of fresh air that he got went through

him like the stab of a sword. Stumbling at every step he led the

trembling horse to a tree far away from the barn and tied him securely.

The smell of burning hair jabbed his nose and he knew that the animal

had been burned in more than one place.

“I’ve got to go back,” he gasped, gulping the air in huge draughts. “But

I can’t, I just can’t!”

But he started back, his feet like lead and his head ready to burst.

Before he reached the door of the barn, however, a blackened figure with

red hair stopped him.

“They’re all out,” Terry shouted. “And I’m all in!”

Together they sank down on the rude back steps of the farmhouse,

entirely played out. While they sat there the bucket brigade was in full

swing.

Those cadets who had been fortunate enough to secure buckets had jumped

into action without wasting a moment’s time. The vanguard found the well

and began to pump vigorously. As soon as the first pail was filled it

was passed from hand to hand and the last cadet, running as close to the

fire as the heat would allow him to, tossed it on the blaze. By the time

he had finished a second cadet had run forward with another pail full. A

second contingent of cadets, impatient at waiting around the well, found

a small creek back of the barn and the buckets were dipped in here. Two

steady streams were now being played in splashes on the blaze.

There was no hope of saving the barn but the work went grimly forward. A

mountain of sparks was ascending, threatening the house and the smaller

structures near by, to say nothing of the fields and woods. It required

a special corps to put out scores of small fires that jumped up in the

fields and on the other buildings. But in time the splashing buckets of

water kept the sparks down and although the barn burned to the ground

the house and smaller buildings were saved.

It seemed to the cadets that they had been working for hours on their

task. Numerous neighbors had run over from near-by farms, armed with

buckets and blankets, and their assistance was a welcome help. A

wheezing old hand-pump on a flat truck was finally run into the yard and

the water from the creek was thrown in a more or less uncertain stream

on the smoldering embers of the ruins, but had the Hydes been compelled

to wait for it and for the neighbors they would have been burned out of

the house and home. Clouds of hissing steam rose from the blackened wood

as the water was pumped and thrown on it.

Jim and Terry had braced up sufficiently to join the bucket brigade and

they passed the pails with the others. Some of the cadets had stormed in

the back door of Hyde’s house and had located a few pails and pans. As

for the father and his two sons they had not been of much use after the

horses had been taken. Utterly bewildered by the swift events they had

run from place to place, too shaken to do anything practical.

“Were all of the animals taken out?” the colonel asked the farmer. He

nodded dully.

“Wasn’t nothing but horses in that barn,” he returned. “The chickens is

in the run there.”

The unfortunate chickens were scorched by the heat which had been so

near to them but all of them were alive. They had run around the long

inclosure squawking and screeching but the damage had not touched them.

Some pigs near by were safe enough, and the only thing which had

suffered was the barn itself and the horses, most of whom were burned in

patches. Jim, who had recovered from his experience, dispatched a man to

the camp to bring soothing salve for the animals’ burns. This was done

and under Jim and Thompson’s watchful eyes the scorches were tenderly

glossed over to heal.

A large group had gathered around the farmer and his sons and the

cadets. One of the neighbors asked how the fire had started. Hyde

shrugged his shoulders.

“I dunno,” he said. “All of a sudden I waked up to see the fire and we

run out in a jiffy. I didn’t see how it got afire.”

The colonel turned to Don, who was close by. “How did you happen to see

this fire, Lieutenant Mercer?” he asked.

Don narrated the story of the moving flame. The neighbors shot inquiring

looks at the Hydes. A dozen tongues formed the word “Maul.”

“Maul is dead,” said one of the sons. “How could he do it?”

“Don’t forget the ghost of the Ridge,” said a man, seriously. “That’s

Maul’s ghost.”

The oldest son had been prowling about the ruins and now set up a cry.

“Look-a-here, Pop,” he called. There was an instant rush to the rear of

the barn.

In the dim light of a few lanterns they made out the charred outline of

wheels and under a smoking board some whisps of straw. A murmur of

comprehension went up.

“Loaded a wagon of hay and lighted her up,” shouted a farmer. “Then they

rolled it down the hill at the barn.”

There was no doubt that such had been the case. And no one seemed to ask

why, a fact that puzzled the colonel and the boys.

“Why should anyone do a thing like that? And who is this Maul?” the

colonel asked.

None of the Hydes replied but a neighbor was willing to talk. “A few

years back there was a hill feud between the Hydes and the Mauls,” he

said. “One or the other of them was trying to drive the other family

out. But all of the Mauls disappeared or died several years ago. This

here ghost must be one of the Mauls!”

“Evidently a very real Maul, if he can load a wagon with hay and roll it

down the hill,” replied the colonel dryly. “Captain Jordan!”

“Sir?” the senior captain replied.

“Take a detail of men and search the hill. If you find anyone that looks

suspicious bring him here to me.”

“Very well, sir,” replied Jordan, and picked a detail of five men. They

departed up the slope at once.

“You won’t find any ghost hanging around now,” grinned a toothless old

man.

The colonel paid no attention to the old man and they hung around for an

hour longer. It was now three o’clock, but no one thought of quitting

the scene. From snatches of conversation the cadets learned more about

the bitter feud that had existed for generations between the Hydes and

the Mauls. The last Maul had been drowned in a near-by river.

“At least he was swept down the river in a flood,” a neighbor said.

“Nobody ever saw him since.”

“Well, these foolish feuds ought to stop,” growled the colonel. “A lot

of innocent people suffer because of them.”

“We’ll attend to our own affairs,” the father said, sullenly. “We don’t

need any interfering.”

“If it hadn’t been for our interfering tonight you would have been

without a dozen horses and your house, my friend,” returned the colonel,

calmly. The Hydes muttered to themselves.

Jordan and the detail returned soon afterward to report that there was

no sign of anyone on the hill. “But we found the tracks and a lot of hay

up on top of the hill.”

There was now nothing to keep them there any longer and they went back

to camp, tired but satisfied. There was no word of thanks from the

farmer or his sons.

“Nice, grateful bunch,” grumbled Don, inspecting sore hands and a red

burn on his arm.

Jim ached all over but he managed to grin. “Sure, but we should worry.

We got the horses out, and that is what counted.”

10

Emergency Service

The drill was going on merrily. It was four days after the fire at the

Hyde place and the cadets had recovered from the effects of their

strenuous experience. On the day following the fire the colonel had

ordered the suspension of the daily routine and a number of burns had

been treated. Weary muscles and sore lungs had been rested to good

advantage and now the swing of things was once more in evidence.

All of the units were having infantry drill. Even the cavalry and

infantry divisions were compelled to drill with rifles every so often,

and today, under Major Rhodes, a graduate of the school and one of the

regular staff, they were hard at it. The sun beat down upon them from a

clear sky but by this time the cadets were well used to it. The hottest

days failed to shake them in their tasks.

Suddenly the colonel appeared and called the major. There was a hurried

conference and then the major went back to his position. Crisply he

called: “Battalion, attention! Count off in fours!”

The count ran along the line. At a further word the guns were dropped to

rest and the cadets faced the colonel. He spoke to them in a ringing

voice.

“Gentlemen of the Corps, we are faced with another call to duty. A good

many serious things have happened while we have been here on the Ridge,

but this is the most serious of them all. The little daughter of the

farmer who supplies us with food has been lost or kidnapped!”

The closely packed ranks stirred. The colonel went on: “A number of

organized groups are at present looking for this child all over the

Ridge. We have not been asked to help, but of course it is our duty and

we will form searching parties at once. There will be no more official

duties until the child has been found or until some definite word has

been received as to her whereabouts. I trust you will dutifully

prosecute the search until every inch of the Ridge and the surrounding

country has been scoured.”

The colonel saluted the major and turned away.

There was a total silence in the corps but eyes flashed with excitement.

“Companies dismissed,” ordered Major Rhodes.

The cadets broke ranks and stacked arms. From then on things moved fast.

In groups the young soldiers formed for the search. It was decided that

they would remain away from camp for the night if necessary, and

knapsacks were hastily packed. While Don, Jim and Terry were preparing,

Vench and Douglas hurried to their tent.

“Suppose we five form a bunch of our own,” Douglas suggested.

“Sure,” responded Don. “I think our best move would be to go to the

Carson house and find out where the little girl was last seen. Then we

can map out our campaign from that point.”

This was agreed to and the cadets hurried off down the road. It was just

noontime and they wanted to get in every bit of work they could while

the daylight remained.

“That was the cute little girl we were playing with the day we had the

pie,” observed Vench, as they hurried along. “I certainly hope nothing

has happened to her.”

“I hope not,” agreed Don. “It’s possible that she just wandered off

somewhere. Wonder who told the colonel about it?”

“Little Jimmie Carson,” said Jim promptly. “I saw him come into camp

just as we were leaving for drill.”

It did not take them long to reach the Carson house, which they found to

be thronged with visitors. Men from the neighboring houses had come to

do their bit by searching and the strong Ridge women had come to console

the heartbroken mother. Mrs. Carson was delighted to see the boys.

“Oh, you have come to help look for Dorothy?” she cried, seizing Don’s

hands.

“Our colonel has ordered the whole cadet corps to keep searching until

we find the little one,” Don smiled. “We have divided up in bands to

scour the country.”

“How very kind of your colonel—and of you!” cried the frightened woman.

“With so many looking for the child I don’t see why she shouldn’t be

found.”

“Unless she’s past finding!” croaked an old lady with a sad air and

mournful eyes.

“She isn’t past finding,” snapped Jim, impatiently. “I haven’t any doubt

that we’ll locate her. Now, Mrs. Carson, where was she last seen?”

“She went out last night about nine o’clock to bring in a rag doll that

she had left out under the grape arbor,” replied the farmer’s wife. “I

held the door open for her, so that she would surely find her way in,

but she didn’t, poor little soul. Oh, I’m so sorry that I ever let her

go out. We searched the yard immediately, but we couldn’t find a trace

of her, and she didn’t answer our calls.”

“Thank you,” said Don gently. “Then she disappeared from her own back

yard?”

“Yes,” nodded Mrs. Carson, wiping her eyes.

At that moment the county sheriff, a tall and disagreeable-looking man

named Blount, swaggered into the room. It was evident that he regarded

himself as the most important person there and as his eyes fell on the

cadets his brow darkened.

“Humph!” he grunted. “So those soldier kids are looking too, eh? Well,

they won’t find anything.”

Terry looked at the sheriff’s shoes, and then allowed his eyes to travel

slowly up the entire length of his body until he had seen all of him.

The sheriff reddened and then blustered.

“Well, what’s the matter with you?” he cried.

“Nothing,” returned Terry, mildly. “I’ve never really seen an important

man before and I wanted to get a good look now that I am close to one!”

“Say, I’ll run you kids—” began the angry sheriff, as a slight snicker

went up. But Don cut him short.

“Come on, you fellows,” he called. “We have work to do. No use standing

around wasting breath on useless subjects.”

“Nice kindly old soul, that sheriff,” growled Vench, when the cadets

were again outside.

“He isn’t worth thinking about,” said Don. “Now, boys, let’s get on the

job.”

Their first job was to look under the grape arbor, but scores of feet

had churned up the ground so that nothing could be learned from it. They

left the yard and struck off into the woods.

“Too bad we couldn’t find a clue under the arbor,” grumbled Terry.

“I doubt if there were any clues,” advanced Jim. “Some of the men would

have seen them in the first place. After all, we aren’t detectives, and

our job is to beat up the Ridge much in the manner of going over it with

a fine-tooth comb.”

“That is true,” nodded Vench. “Suppose we don’t run across her tonight?

Are you going back to camp?”

“No,” decided Don. “We’d only lose time. We’ll stay here and get a fresh

start early in the morning. The colonel wants us to stay right on the

job until some trace of her is found.”

“How are we to know if she is found?” Douglas asked.

“A cannon will be fired three times,” replied Terry. “That’s the signal

for recall.”

Throughout the entire afternoon and early evening the cadets tramped

over the Ridge, going to parts of the rolling hills that they had never

seen before. There was no sign of the little one, although they kept

their eyes wide open, and it was quite late before they struck camp for

the night. They made a fire and spread out their blankets and

provisions.

While they ate darkness descended over the Ridge. The meal was a good

one and the tired cadets ate heartily. Afterward they discussed the

wisdom of keeping watch.

“Not that anyone will come along and gobble us up,” said Terry, “but if

that child should call out in the night we’d miss her if we were all

asleep.”

“That’s true,” Jim said. “And, anyway, I think we ought to have a fire

going all night. We’ll want one in the morning. That ghost is some human

being bent on mischief and we must keep our eyes open for him. I’m sure

he’s mixed up in this thing, somehow.”

This was agreed to and the boys figured out watches for themselves.

During the evening, before they went to sleep, they sat around on their

blankets and talked quietly, listening for any call or unusual sound.

None came and at nine o’clock they decided to turn in.

Throughout the night the separate watches were faithfully kept and the

cadet who sat watch listened to the night sounds. But when the morning

finally came and they rolled out at daybreak, not one of them had heard

a single sound that would lead them to hope.

“We’ll have to put in a good hard day,” Don said, as they ate the last

of their sandwiches.

Terry scrambled to his feet. “I’m going down to the brook and fill my

canteen,” he announced. “I don’t know where there is a spring around and

that brook looks perfectly all right.”

“Maybe you had better boil the water and make sure before you drink it,”

Vench suggested.

Terry went back into the bushes some fifty feet until he found a

gurgling little brook. The water looked cool and refreshing as it

bubbled around the stones, and the redhead bent down to fill his

canteen. It was then that a sound reached him, a sound that caused him

to straighten up.

“Now, did the brook make that sound?” he wondered.

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.

11

The Ghost Patrol

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: