YOU DURNED TIN SOLDIERS KEEP YOURE NOSE OUTN THE GHOST BUSINESS.

12

A Brush with the Sheriff

The cardboard had been propped up in the space provided by a small

branch. The letters had been wet and faint streaks showed where they had

run.

“The sentries who were on duty last night please step forward,”

requested the colonel. A number of cadets promptly stepped forward,

facing the colonel.

“Did any one of you at any time during the night see or hear anyone

around the camp?” Not one sentry had noted anything amiss.

“I can tell you of an experience that happened to us last night,

colonel,” spoke up Jim. “We were discussing the whole ghost situation on

the Ridge, and our determination to find out who this ghost was, when we

heard a noise outside our tent. I might more accurately say that I heard

it, and I went outside to see if anyone was there. I didn’t find anyone,

but it looks as though someone did sneak up to our tent, hear what we

had to say, and then printed this sign to scare us.”

“But in order to do so the party must have gone back to some shelter and

spent some time making up the warning, if such it might be called,”

mused the headmaster. “I have no doubt, however, that your conversation

was overheard. This ghost has developed a bad habit of visiting our camp

whenever he feels like it.”

“It wouldn’t have been hard to slip past a sentry in the pouring rain,

sir,” suggested Jordan.

“No, not at all,” agreed the colonel. “With this reference to your

soldiering, I presume that you young men will have an added cause now to

go after this ghost person.”

“That’s a pretty heavy insult!” smiled Major Rhodes.

“Well, the ghost must know now that an active campaign is afoot to drive

him off the Ridge,” said the colonel. “That ought to make the game more

interesting than ever. Our foe is warned and will play his game with

skill. That gives you boys greater odds to move against, but I feel sure

that you will be successful in making an end to the affair.”

The regular routine of that day seemed to take longer than usual, but as

soon as it was over the members of the Ghost Patrol gathered together to

look around in back of the camp for signs of the night visitor. The

ground was wet and they argued that if the prowler ever left any traces

he would surely have done so that night. Their first search took in the

soft soil back of Jim’s tent and they found encouraging signs at once.

“More than one footprint here,” proclaimed Don, grimly, as they bent

over the depressions in the dirt.

Someone had sneaked up close to the wall of the tent, and the prints of

large shoes were very plain. In the heels of the left shoe they found a

peculiarity that gave them something to work on. There had been some

kind of a cut down the center of the leather heel and it showed plainly

in the soft mud.

“Maybe when the heel was cut out of block leather the knife slipped and

left that mark,” Jordan thought. “With a plain marking like that we

ought not to have much trouble. Let’s look under that tree where the

cardboard was found.”

Under this tree they had more difficulty, because the feet of the

curious cadets had churned up the ground so that it was almost

impossible to make out anything definite. But at a distance of perhaps

three yards they found the marked heel print again. Whoever had placed

the sign in the tree had come down the slope above the camp, and the

print could be followed for a short distance up the hillside. But before

long they struck a section of rocky ground and hunt as they would they

could not find another trace of the print.

“A whole lot of this Ridge is pretty rocky,” sighed Douglas. “From here

on I guess we’ll have to trust to luck. Somewhere we may run across the

trail again and get our bearings.”

They explored the slope with exhausting patience, but there was no

further trace until they struck the very top of the hill. There, in a

soft spot, they once more found their marking. The print pointed down

toward the town of Rideway, which they could see in the distance.

“He went down into town,” said Terry. “Suppose we follow down there, and

see where the print leads to?”

Following the marked heel down into Rideway was not an easy task. In

some places they lost all traces of it and had to look around for half

an hour before finding the faint mark again. But the trail led steadily

down the opposite slope from the camp until it went into town. But here

they lost it for good.

The main road was hard as a rock, with a glazed surface that left no

trace of any mark. They followed this road down through town for a long

way, but there was no further sign of the marked heel. Their next move

was to look along the sides of the road to see if the man had walked off

it at any point, but after a good hour had been spent in this way the

cadets gave it up as a bad job.

“Too bad,” groaned Jim. “Right at the most important part we lose it

altogether. I guess that’s the end of an important clue.”

“Yes, looks like we have exhausted this possibility,” agreed Jordan.

“Anyway, we have given the town people something to wonder about.”

This was true. The natives of Rideway had been watching the boys with

curiosity. So busy had they been in their search that they had failed to

pay any attention to the citizens, but the people had not failed to note

what they were doing.

“Say,” Don warned. “Here comes that nasty sheriff.”

From a small, one-story shack near them the tall sheriff made his way.

His eyes were fixed on the boys and he swaggered in their direction.

They were not aware of it, but he had been watching them from his window

for the last several minutes.

“Let’s be careful what we say to this fellow,” Terry warned in a low

voice. “We’ll tell him we just came to town for a visit.”

The sheriff had now come within hailing distance. Hands on hips he

surveyed the cadets with vast contempt.

“What’re you soldier boys doing here?” he boomed in a voice sufficiently

loud to attract the attention of the passersby. A small ring instantly

collected.

“We’re just looking your town over,” smiled Jordan easily.

“Looking my town over, eh? I guess you are pretty thorough about it.

Examining the streets to see what kind of dust we have here, I see.”

“Yes,” nodded Terry innocently. “It is just like the dust they have

every place else!”

“You keep your mouth closed, young fellow!” rumbled the sheriff, turning

smoldering eyes on the cheerful redhead. “If I have any funny talk from

you boys I’ll lock you up quicker’n a wink. I want to know what you boys

are doing snooping around the street here.”

“We’re here looking for a man who has been prowling about our camp

lately,” said Jordan, seeing that nothing was to be gained by evading

the issue any longer.

“What man is prowling around your camp?” the sheriff demanded.

“That’s just what we would like to know,” responded the senior captain.

“Not long ago a man stampeded our horses and last night he left a

warning in our tree in our camp, telling us to keep our noses out of

this ghost business. We found a heel print in the mud under that tree

and we have followed it down into this town. That’s all.”

“Nobody has been anywhere near your camp,” the sheriff declared loudly.

“You boys have been dreaming.”

“Is that so?” spoke up Jim, sharply. “Listen here, Mr. Sheriff, I saw

that man stampede our horses. Whoever is hanging around the camp had

better keep away from it and stay away.”

“What’ll you do if he doesn’t stay away?” scoffed the sheriff.

“We’ll do what you should have done long ago,” snapped Don. “We’ll find

him and send him to a responsible officer of the law to take care of.

You are supposed to be a sheriff here, keeping law and order, and yet a

silly ghost terrifies the community for years and you aren’t able to run

him down. We’re neither too stupid nor too lazy to do it and if the

ghost or any of his friends are here in this crowd I’m telling you

plainly that we’re going to nail him and nail him hard!”

There was an awed rustle in the crowd. The sheriff turned purple with

wrath. He shook a long and bony finger at the cadets.

“You imitation soldiers, listen to me,” he roared. “I’m warning you to

keep your nose out of affairs on this Ridge! I’m the sheriff here and

what I say goes. If I catch you meddling around with anything again I’ll

lock you up so fast you won’t know what hit you. You mind your own

business about people and things at Rustling Ridge, do you get me?”

“As far as people on the Ridge go, we do get you,” retorted Jordan. “But

not where it concerns this ghost who has been coming into our camp at

night. If he insists upon visiting us, then it is our business to try to

find him. That’s all there is to that.”

Realizing that there was no use in arguing further the boys left.

“Well, that’s an open declaration of war,” chuckled Terry, as they made

their way back to camp. “I’m afraid we’ll have to buck that sheriff all

the way along the line.”

“Yes, because it is even possible that he has something to do with the

ghost business himself,” said Vench, seriously. “Anyway, he is mighty

touchy about the whole thing.”

“That is because he considers himself the King of the Ridge, and it

hurts his pride to see anyone else butt in,” said Jim. “Wonder what the

colonel will say when we tell him?”

The colonel heard them in silence. Then he spoke to them quietly. “You

did perfectly right, boys,” he said. “However, in the future steer clear

of him. I don’t think he really amounts to much, but he may make things

pretty unpleasant. In spite of him, we’ll get this ghost yet.”

The colonel accompanied the boys to the tent entrance when they left.

Outside they found Lieutenant Thompson with a number of other cadets

staring fixedly across the Ridge.

At the sound of the colonel’s voice Thompson turned his gaze to the

headmaster and said, “Sir, I believe that someone is sending us a wigwag

message from that hill!”

All eyes swung toward the distant hill. Sure enough, far up at the top

two tiny white flags moved in the semaphore signal. Whoever was doing it

knew the code and they stared in fascination as the flags moved

steadily.

“He is repeating his message, boys,” said the colonel, breaking the

silence that had settled upon them. “Be sure you get it this time.”

The camp was completely silent as the cadets strained their eyes to read

the wigwag message. When it finished a burst of excitement and amazement

followed. The mysterious flagman had signaled unmistakably: “Be on your

guard. The Ghost walks tonight!”

13

The Shape in the Moonlight

Great was the astonishment as the cadets made out the signal from the

opposite side of the hill. At least nine-tenths of them had read the

message accurately, for a knowledge of signaling, both in the Morse code

and the semaphore, was required at the school. After the message was

received they stood staring toward the hill, looking for some further

word. When the same message had been repeated three times the colonel

awoke to the fact that the signalman was not going to say anything more.

“Mr. Walker,” he called to the best signalman that the corps had. “Get

your flags and answer ‘All right.’”

Cadet Walker departed on a run to his tent, to reappear shortly with two

white flags. Standing where he would surely be seen by the lone

signalman, the cadet began his message. The flags on the other side of

the Ridge disappeared at once as the man read their signal, and Walker

stopped his rapid arm movements.

“Now, what in the world do you make of that?” Terry asked, in amazement.

His question was taken up by all of the cadets and asked without any

satisfactory answer. Supper was neglected while the mystery was

considered, and the colonel was as much puzzled as the boys were.

When the cadets finally did sit down to supper the tables buzzed with

speculative talk. Many were for going over to that hill and finding out

who it could have been that signaled them. At the close of the meal the

colonel rapped for order and when the tent had become quiet he spoke to

them of the future plans.

“I know as little about that signal as you do, boys,” he said, “but I

believe it to be sincere. Someone who is friendly is trying to give us a

warning that may stand us in good stead. It is also possible that it may

be a hoax, simply designed to fool us or to draw us out of camp. That

will not happen, you may be sure, but I feel that we should be ready for

duty. I shall split the battalion in half, and one-half of you will

patrol the Ridge while the other half remains in camp to guard it

against surprise.”

There was a stirring and a ripple of genuine pleasure at the news, for

all of the young men looked forward to some exciting times ahead. Each

one was wishing that he would be lucky enough to be in the group that

would patrol the Ridge.

“I wish to make this statement, which is also an order,” went on the

colonel. “There will be no carrying of arms tonight. Some one of you

might become excited and fire at the wrong time, so I expressly forbid

it. It is not as though you were going out alone, but you are going out

in groups and therefore a weapon, in the shape of a firearm, won’t be

necessary. I trust that five or six husky young cadets will be a match

for the best ghost this Ridge can send against us. It may be that we

will have our supreme chance to end this ugly ghost business tonight,

and if so I want no slips that will damage the prospect. I wish to see

the leaders immediately after the meal.”

When the colonel met with the leaders he specified which cadets were to

go out and which ones were to stay at camp. To their joy all of the

friends of Don and Jim were to patrol the Ridge. The colonel had

suggested that the Ghost Patrol go in a body, so the members of that

secret organization prepared to go out alone. The leaders passed from

group to group, telling them where to go and how to act, signals were

arranged, and the stage was set.

To the waiting cadets it seemed that evening was unusually slow in

coming. No attempt was made to slip out of camp until full darkness had

come, for if anyone was watching it would be a risky thing to do.

“Never saw a day last so long in my life,” grumbled Vench, digging his

heel into the soft mud.

“It is just about the usual length, I guess,” smiled Don. “One thing is

going to be for and against us tonight.”

“What is that?” the others asked.

“There will be just enough of a moon to make us have to be careful, and

just enough to help us spot the ghost if he gets out into the open.”

Jordan emerged from his tent and stopped at the various groups to give

some sort of an order. When he got to the members of the Ghost Patrol he

repeated it finally.

“When we leave the camp we are to leave by the back way, taking care to

keep out of the light of the fires,” he told them. “It is possible that

someone is watching the camp and our game would be spoiled if we walked

out in such a way that it could be seen. In about a half hour we will be

able to get going.”

“The bunch in camp will have to keep their eyes wide open,” said

Douglas.

“Yes, and the colonel will be helping them do it. We have to be careful

that this isn’t all some tricky plan to pull us out of camp while

somebody with kindly ideas rushes in and burns the place out. The

colonel has arranged this signal: three rifle shots for a recall. That

will mean trouble in the camp, and if you hear it, head for camp as fast

as you can go.”

Darkness finally fell and the stars appeared faintly in the summer sky

as the slice of the moon cut the distant horizon. One group broke up and

disappeared back of the tents and another followed. Jordan got up.

“All right, let’s go,” he announced, glancing at his watch. “Slip out of

camp without a sound. Keep to the shadows.”

The group in the tent broke up at once, some of them walking down the

company street for a distance of three or four tents and then slipping

behind them. Once out of the glare of the several campfires they had no

trouble in gaining the shelter of the trees, and after a few seconds

they were all together.

“Which direction now?” Jim asked.

“Let’s go clear to the top of the Ridge,” suggested Jordan. “From there

we can get a comprehensive view of the woods and hills and spot anything

that moves.”

They set out for the top of the Ridge, walking with care and listening

for every sound that might break the stillness. They had not gone far

before there was a noise as though someone was moving before them.

Spreading out fanwise they bore silently down on the spot from which the

noise had come only to run into another patrol which was lying low and

waiting for them to come forward.

“Oh, it is only you guys,” grunted Jordan, as Cadets Perry, Noxan, Dodge

and Orlan confronted them.

“Yes, sorry to disappoint you by not being the ghost!” grinned Perry.

“But we heard you coming along and we took to cover, so that you would

run into us. I’m afraid that we’ll be doing that all evening.”

“Well, then let’s get over it by giving the school whistle every time,”

suggested Don. “If we had whistled then you would have replied and we

would have passed you in another direction.”

“A good idea, Mercer,” approved Dodge. “If we give the whistle and fail

to receive the answer, we’ll know that the party before us is a

suspicious case. We can then go after them in earnest.”

“Yes, that will be OK,” nodded the senior captain. “We are striking off

here, boys. See you later.”

With that they left the party and continued their journey to the top of

the hill. From there they could look all along the Ridge, and even see

the faint gleam of their own campfires in the distance. There was no

sign of life on the Ridge, but that was inconclusive, for they knew that

directly below them several bands of cadets were moving around.

“For the time being at least we will just stay here and sweep the hills

with our eyes,” Jordan said.

For a full hour they sat under a tree, well-sheltered in its shadows,

and looked searchingly at the slopes below them. In that time the only

life they saw were the forms of several cadets who appeared briefly in

the open and then were lost in the darkness. Finally they became highly

impatient at the inaction.

“I guess there is nothing to be gained by sitting here,” Jordan said.

“My suggestion is that we split up and move along the top of the Ridge

in opposite directions. Suppose Terry, Jim and Don come with me, and

Thompson, Douglas and Vench group together and go toward the east of the

Ridge? We’ll work back past the camp.”

“Sounds as good as anything,” nodded Thompson. “Most of our cadets are

content to stay down on the slopes, so it wouldn’t be a bad idea to keep

to the top.”

“Yes, and here’s another thing,” put in Terry. “You three are going

toward the town. Why not keep an eye on that side of the Ridge and see

if this ghost doesn’t come up from town, if he comes at all.”

“There may be something in that,” said Jordan. “We’ll watch this side of

the hill. By the way, have all of you fellows got your cadet whistles?”

All of them had the regular whistles, similar to those used by traffic

policemen. “If you get into a scrape and need help, just blow like mad,”

commanded Jordan. “If we should run into anything we’ll do the same.”

With this word they separated. They were now so high above the camp that

the fires gleamed like little fireflies below them.

“Somebody or something moving in the bushes below!” whispered Jim,

suddenly. He pointed into a small gully below them and they looked down.

The bushes, clearly seen in the pale moonlight, were moving.

“I’ll whistle,” said Jordan, and did so. But there was no reply.

“Down we go, and see who it is,” decided the captain, and they crept

forward stealthily, careful to make as little noise as possible. But

when they dipped down in the gully they found four cadets, one of whom

was Rowen. These cadets were standing like statues, evidently a bit

scared and waiting to see who it was that moved toward them.

“Didn’t you fellows hear my whistle?” Jordan demanded.

“We thought we heard someone whistle,” replied Cadet Motley. “But we

weren’t sure.”

“Well, I whistled,” Jordan said. “Whenever you hear that you’ll know

that friends are near by.” Jordan then repeated Don’s suggestion to use

their special whistle for recognizing cadets.

“OK,” nodded Motley. “What time have you, Jordan? I’m not sure about my

watch.”

Jordan drew out his watch. “I have just eleven o’clock, Motley,” he

replied. “I guess——”

Jim gripped his arm. “Siss—s!” he hissed. “Look, on the top of the

Ridge!”

With one accord they looked up the slope and their blood chilled. In a

patch of moonlight a weird and terrible figure walked swiftly from one

patch of darkness toward another. It looked to be the figure of a man,

clothed entirely in white. It glanced neither to the right nor to the

left, but strode swiftly along, to all intents and purposes unaware that

anyone save itself was on the Ridge. Even the head was muffled in white

and showed no trace of eyes, nose or mouth. Quiet and evil and sinister

did it look as it glided past the dark background of the sky.

14

Disobedience Loses the Game

The cadets instinctively crouched down where they stood. It seemed to be

the proper thing to do, although the ghostly figure had not looked in

their direction.

The moment was one of indecision. While the ghost kept in plain sight on

the top of the Ridge they were content to watch it, waiting for a cue

that would send them into action. To attempt to rush up the hill and

grapple with the shape would be the wrong thing to do, for the noise of

their approach would startle the thing into a run. To trail it as

quietly as possible was their only thought.

There was a stir on the part of one of the cadets, the one nearest Don.

He reached into his inside pocket and then brought his hand out into the

open. It was Dick Rowen who had moved and Don shifted his eyes toward

him.

What he saw startled him. Against all orders to the contrary the sulky

cadet had brought a revolver with him. He was even now raising it and

pointing toward the white shape.

Don’s arm described a sort of arc, his hand coming down with a thump on

the wrist of the unpopular cadet. But Rowen had a good grip on the stock

of his revolver.

“Put that away, Rowen,” Don whispered, sternly.

“Leave me alone, Mercer,” hissed the other. “I’m just going to scare the

thing.”

Don’s grasp tightened and he jerked the wrist toward him. Rowen promptly

twisted his arm, pointing the revolver upward. The grasp of his fingers

on the trigger was too strong and the revolver went off with a

shattering report.

There was a moment of utter silence from the boys themselves. The figure

in white leaped into the air and then began a swift run along the top of

the Ridge. Don had dropped Rowen’s wrist in dismay and the other cadet

was shaken by the unexpected happening.

“Oh, you stupid guy!” cried Don, as the ghost could be heard running

along the rise.

They were all on their feet now and Jordan pushed up to them. He grasped

the cadet by the arm.

“Rowen, what in the world did you do that for?” he ground out.

“I didn’t do it,” defended the other. “Mercer grabbed my arm.”

“Never mind the excuses, we all saw what you did. It was against the

colonel’s orders to carry any kind of a gun. Why did——”

Don cut in. “Some of you fellows get after the ghost on the double!” he

cried, and Terry, Jim, and the others ran off, leaving him alone with

Jordan and the angry one.

“Well, I thought the colonel was foolish about not carrying arms,” said

Rowen, as the others breasted the rise. “Anyway, what right had he to

send us out to face some kind of a desperate man, maybe a criminal,

without any way to protect ourselves? I wasn’t going to shoot the man, I

was going to scare him.”

“You succeeded in doing that without carrying out your original plan,”

Jordan returned, grimly. “Now, Rowen, I want you to march yourself back

to camp and put yourself on report. You are under arrest.”

“Oh, sure, I could expect that from you!” retorted Rowen, bitterly.

“Yes, you could, you or anyone else who had pulled a stunt like that,”

nodded Jordan. “It was direct and defiant disobedience, and if we lose

our chance to nab the ghost it will be entirely your fault. Return to

camp at once, Rowen.”

“OK,” grumbled Rowen. He walked sullenly away.

“Now, if we are going to catch up with the boys we’ll have to put all we

have into it,” announced Jordan.

“Right!” said Don, as they started up the slope. “Feel equal to a good

stiff run?”

“Sure,” smiled Jordan. “Let’s hit a steady pace.”

Gaining the top of the rise they fell into a steady run along the top,

away from the camp and toward the town on the far side of the Ridge.

They were following a general direction, which was not entirely blind,

for far ahead of them they heard a faint cracking sound that seemed to

be made by someone running recklessly. Their route did not keep them

long on the top of the hill, for the ghost had taken to the deeper

shelter of the trees lower down and they plunged down the slope,

threading their way in between the trees.

They almost fell over a figure that was before them in the woods. It was

Cadet Owens, and he was sitting on a rock, hugging his foot. His shoe

was off and he was breathing hard.

“Hurt yourself?” Jordan called.

“Not much,” gasped Owens. “Got my shoe caught in a piece of rock and

twisted my ankle. But I’ll be able to walk. Keep on going straight

ahead. We didn’t lose sight of him.”

The other two plunged on, following a straight line. They did not expect

to overtake the others, for Terry and Jim in particular were fast

runners and they had had a good start. All they could hope to do was to

be in at the finish if there was a finish, and with this in mind they

ran on.

“Rough going!” gasped Don, as they began to ascend a second rolling

hill.

“Nothing else but!” returned Jordan, running steadily.

On the top of the hill they found themselves in familiar country. Far

ahead of them was the tiny cabin of Peter Vancouver and above them was

the big, barnlike house that they had observed at the time they first

took the hike to the old man’s place. Now they were somewhat at a loss,

and slowed up a bit in their running.

“We’ll have to be careful not to lose them now,” Don said.

“There they are, right ahead of us,” announced Jordan, “They must have

lost him, because they are just standing there.”

“They are right in front of that old house,” observed Don, as they ran

forward.

The others turned in glad surprise when the two ran up.

“Did you lose him?” Jordan called, as they joined them.

“He just bolted into that house,” Terry answered. “Think we ought to go

in after him?”

“Absolutely,” was the reply from the senior captain. “All you fellows

have your flashlights, haven’t you?”

They all had. Jordan led the way inside the gate and they walked with

great care toward the house.

“He was way ahead of us,” said Motley, “and just as soon as he got to

this old house he bolted right inside. He may be armed, so we had better

be careful.”

“Yes,” replied Jordan. “But if he is in the house we are bound to get

him. Be ready to put your light out if he tries any shooting. And be

careful of holes or anything in the house.”

They snapped on their flashlights as they went up the tottering old

porch of what had once been a fine old mansion. There were no windows in

the place which could boast of glass, and the front door had dropped

from its hinges and now lay sprawled out on the porch. Jordan swung his

light down on this prostrate door, and they could see that it was

covered with dirt and mud. Newer marks on the door showed that someone

had recently entered the place.

“This is where he went, all right,” said Don. “On your toes, everybody.”

Before entering the place they flashed brilliant beams of light in every

corner of the nearest room. This was a large hall, with bare walls from

which the plaster had fallen, and a large staircase running up to a

second floor. Realizing that the ghost might leave the place by some

rear door while they prowled around the front rooms, the cadets pushed

the search with all possible speed, their eyes and ears alert for any

sign of someone lurking. But a rapid search of a wide parlor, a square

dining room, and an enormous kitchen showed them that at least no one

was concealed downstairs.

“I guess our next move will be the upstairs,” Motley suggested, and they

took the wide steps toward the top of the house.

Here there were a number of smaller rooms and it took them some little

time to look through all of them. Nothing was to be found on the second

floor, and with more confidence they went to the third floor. This was a

big barnlike attic, and was obviously quite empty.

“Well, if he is in the place at all, it is the cellar,” decided Jordan,

when they had satisfied themselves that there was no one in the upper

part of the house. “I don’t think he came upstairs at all, because I

don’t see any prints.”

There were some footprints in the lower hall but they were lost on the

comparatively bare stretches of floor. The cellar, which extended only a

short distance under the house, was tenanted by spiders only, and no one

had been in there, judging by the huge webs that stretched across the

bottom of the stairway. It would have been impossible for anyone to have

gone that way without breaking the webs, and they were all intact.

“Many thanks to the spiders,” acknowledged Terry, lifting his hat. “They

make it possible for us to keep from going any deeper into this damp

hole. The smell of it is enough for me.”

“Just to make doubly sure,” said Jordan, “suppose we go around to the

back and see if there is an outside cellar door? The ghost may have run

out the back door of the house and down a back stairs to the cellar. I’m

not going to give up the search until I have seen every corner of the

house.”

“While a couple of us are doing that I suggest that two or three of us

look in the closets on the first floor,” Don advanced. “We missed them

on our first round. I guess a couple of us can hold the ghost in a

tussle until the others get on the spot.”

“All right,” said Jordan. “Jim and Motley, come with me. The rest of you

scatter. But I’m pretty sure that the ghost ran right on through the

house and escaped into the woods.”

The others thought the same thing, but they scattered to search. Terry

and Cadet Ross began to look into the closets on the first floor. Don

wandered back into the parlor and came to the front porch. From there he

looked off over the hills, seeing below him the lights in Vancouver’s

cabin.

“I wonder if old Mr. Vancouver is all right?” Don mused. “Maybe he heard

the noise we made and is alarmed. It isn’t far to his house, and I think

I’ll run down and see if he is all right. Won’t take a second, and I’ll

be right back.”

15

Dawning Light

With this kindly thought in mind Don jumped to the ground and started

off. But at that moment Terry appeared in the black doorway.

“Hey, where are you going?” the redhead asked.

“Just going to run down and see if Mr. Vancouver is OK,” called back

Don. “Tell Jordan that I’ll be right back.”

“All right, kid,” Terry returned. “If you run into any trouble, just

sing out and we’ll come on the double.”

Terry turned back and was lost to sight while Don resumed his journey

down the slope. The cabin was not far away and it took him but a moment

to reach it. He approached it from the back, hoping to get a look in one

of the windows, but they were too high and small in the rear and so he

passed around to the front of the cabin. Noiselessly he crossed the

porch and tapped on the door, waiting for an answer.

Although he waited there was no response and he wondered if the old man

was asleep. Since there was a light showing he rather doubted that and

he knocked again, a trifle louder. The light came out from under the

door and showed around the windows that opened off the porch, but he was

unable to peer in because heavy black shades were pulled down to the

bottom. The front door was solid and he found no help in that direction.

“He must be asleep, in spite of the light,” Don decided. “I’ll see if I

can see anything through the side windows.”

He made his way around the side of the house and found that he could see

in a window there. A ragged shade had been pulled down but the torn

edges gave him a limited view of the interior of the large room. It was

lighted by a single oil lamp, and in a far corner sat the invalid in his

chair, apparently fast asleep. At least he was very quiet and Don was

undecided.

“Don’t know as I ought to tap, but I’ll just see if he is awake,” he

decided, and tapped with his ring on the glass in the window. The old

man stirred, looked toward the window, and wheeled his chair out of the

shadow.

“Who is it?” he cried, in a shrill voice.

Don ran swiftly around the porch and placed his lips near the door

frame. “It is Don Mercer, one of the cadets who visited you one

afternoon,” he called. “May I come in?”

“Sure, you may,” responded the man, instantly. There was a soft sound,

like the rolling of wheels, and the catch on the door rattled. In an

instant the door swung open to show the frail figure in the chair. Don

was bathed in a yellow light that blinded him for a moment.

“Come right in,” invited Vancouver, spinning back from the door. “Close

the door and make yourself right at home. What brings you up here at

this hour?”

Don entered, closing the door back of him, and looked around the room. A

fire snapped in an open hearth and the room was a bit too warm.

Vancouver was wrapped in a brown blanket, and he had wheeled himself

back into the shadows beyond the lamplight.

“I’ll have to apologize for my late call, Mr. Vancouver,” laughed Don.

“But a bunch of us chased the ghost up this way and the rest of the boys

are looking for him. I saw your lights down here and just ran in to see

if you were all right, or if our noise had alarmed you.”

“You were chasing the ghost!” cried Vancouver, sharply. “Go on!”

“Yes, we saw him walking along the Ridge and we gave chase,” Don

explained. “We trailed him into that old house on the top of the hill

and we went all through the place but couldn’t find him. While the

others were looking I ran down here to see if you had heard anything.

Sorry to have bothered you.”

“Wasn’t any bother at all, and I’m grateful to you for your thought,”

responded Vancouver promptly. “I didn’t hear anything because I’ve been

sleeping here in the chair. Your knock woke me up. So you saw the ghost,

eh? What did he look like?”

Don described the appearance of the ghost and the old man appeared to be

deeply interested.

“You say you fellows saw him. How’d you come to do that? You ain’t

always out of your camp so late as this, be you?”

Feeling that he might some day help them to find the ghost, Don related

the story of the mysterious flagman, the search on the hill and the

revolver shot that Rowen had fired off.

“Dear, too bad about that shot,” said the invalid, shaking his head. “If

it hadn’t been for that you would have nailed this ghost, eh?”

“No doubt of it,” said Don, his attention attracted by something that

the man was doing. “Are you too hot, Mr. Vancouver?”

The invalid had been passing a hand jerkily across his forehead several

times, and each time after the act he wiped a somewhat dampened hand on

the brown cover. Although it was quite warm in the place it did not seem

to be hot enough to make a man sweat, unless Mr. Vancouver was the kind

who perspired easily. It seemed to Don that the old man was breathing

pretty heavily for one who had sat in a wheel chair all evening, and in

the boy’s brain a faint idea stirred. He rejected it, at first, but like

a gentle knocking it persisted.

“Oh, no, no,” hastily interposed the cripple. “Do you feel too warm?”

“No, but I thought perhaps you might be a little hot, and I’d open a

window or the door for you,” responded Don, seating himself on the edge

of the table.

“No, you needn’t do that,” said the man, running one thumb absently

along the edge of the nearest wheel. The glance that he fixed on the

cadet’s face was keen and almost fierce. “I’m so old I got to keep warm,

because I don’t move around enough.”

“I see,” nodded Don. He had intended to leave immediately, but found

himself suddenly possessed with a desire to remain. “Well, as I was

telling you, we chased that ghost into the old house above you. Know

anything about the place?”

At the same time Don began a rigid inspection of his host. Most of the

man was covered up, but his feet showed under the blanket. Only the toes

could be seen, but there was something about them that attracted his

attention. They were clothed in socks which seemed to be damp, and he

wondered if the man always went without shoes.

Vancouver knew the place well. “They used to call that the haunted

house, around here,” he chuckled. “This Ridge is a pretty spooky place,

the more you hear of it. You don’t know who it was that sent you that

flag message, eh?”

“Haven’t the least idea,” answered Don. “All of the cadets were in camp

at the time, and I don’t know who around here knows how to use signal

flags. And who would know that the ghost was going to walk?”

“You beat me there,” Vancouver said, shaking his head. “That’s a hard

nut to crack. Maybe the ghost went in for a little advertising.”

“I doubt it, Mr. Vancouver,” said Don, noting that the fire was

consuming fresh wood which couldn’t have been put there an hour ago. “If

you had seen the ghost run you’d have known that the thing was utterly

unexpected to him. It is a pretty tough problem.”

“I guess most ghost doings are tough problems,” grinned the old man.

“I guess so,” Don smiled. “Nice fire you have there. We don’t see many

open hearth fires any more. Have you had it going all evening?”

“Yep, I generally have it going every evening,” responded the man,

somewhat absently.

“Well, I’ll have to be running along, Mr. Vancouver,” he said, glancing

at his watch. “I don’t want to keep you at an hour like this. I just

wanted to run down and see if we had alarmed you, but as long as we

haven’t, why, I’ll be moving.”

“I didn’t hear a sound, so I’m all right. It was real nice of you to

drop down to see if I was all right, and I sure appreciate that. An old

cripple like me doesn’t get much chance to see the world or talk with

anyone, so it did me good to have you stop in.”

“That’s fine,” replied Don, his eyes busy at the task of looking around

the room in a guarded manner. “Say, Mr. Vancouver, as I told you before,

we did quite a bit of running tonight. And gee, I’m just about burning

up with thirst. I’m thinking with pleasure that you have some of the

finest water I ever tasted here.”

“I’ll get you a drink in just a shake,” promised the man, seizing his

wheel.

“Don’t bother. Can’t I get it myself?” asked Don, wishing to gain a look

at the kitchen.

“Won’t take me a second,” said the other, and spun around in his chair,

aiming at the doorway that led into the back room. With the speed and

accuracy of an arrow he passed through it and was gone.

And almost immediately Don thanked his lucky stars that he had not been

permitted to go out into the other room himself. For something that had

been hidden by the chair of the cripple was now disclosed. In the corner

rested a pair of shoes, and these shoes were covered with mud!

Not the slightest doubt about it. Red and black mud, soft and wet, a

fact that he could determine without touching them. A band of light from

the lamp shone on them and revealed the evidence plainly. That explained

the man’s damp socks. Yet Don’s brain was unable to fully take it all

in.

“Is it possible that this man is not an invalid after all? Or has the

real ghost been here, and maybe is hiding here right now? That may be

possible.”

But certain things pointed an unerring hand at his host. His brow was

moist, as of one who had been running. His breath had been rapid, and

now his muddy shoes betrayed him. For not an instant longer did Don

doubt that the man could walk and run, and the crippled state was

nothing but a ruse.

“No wonder he pumped me about who it was that sent the wigwag,” he

thought, as the sound of water was heard from the kitchen pump. “While I

have been sitting here telling him everything he has been measuring me,

wondering if I have been playing some sort of a game with him. Maybe I’m

lucky that he didn’t jump on me suddenly, but I believe that my

straightforward story has convinced him that I don’t know anything.

Nothing dumb about him, evidently! My story about running down to see if

he is all right must sound pretty flat, though.”

The man wheeled into the room rapidly and in his hand he had a tall

glass of water. Don drank it eagerly, keeping a wary eye on the old man,

but nothing out of the way happened and he thanked him for the water.

“Don’t mention it,” smiled the man. “Come up again and see me, won’t

you?”

“I surely will,” promised Don, as he opened the door. “Good night, sir.”

“Good night, boy, good night,” was the bright and cheery response, as

Don went out.

“If he isn’t a cripple, he certainly knows how to run that chair of

his,” Don decided, as he ran up the hill.

He found that the others were waiting for him impatiently. “Golly, we

thought that you were lost,” said Jordan, impatiently.

“No, just talking with Mr. Vancouver,” said Don. “Didn’t have any luck,

eh?”

“Not a bit,” returned the senior captain. “Well, I suppose we may as

well head in.”

It did not take them long to make camp, where they found the others

awaiting them. Jordan reported to the colonel, who had heard the shot

and who knew from Rowen’s own report what had happened. Howes was

ordered to blow the bugle as a sign of recall, and before very long all

of the groups had returned.

“Too bad we lost him,” said the colonel, shaking his head. “I believe it

was entirely due to Mr. Rowen’s disobedience. I have ordered him into

permanent arrest, until I decide what to do with him. Sound taps, Mr.

Howes.”

Don thought deeply before falling asleep. “I guess I’ll keep things to

myself, at least for a time,” he decided. “It all sounds so farfetched

that I hate to drag out my discoveries. But that man was surely out of

his chair and out of his house this night! Now that I have something

definite to work on something tangible may come up before long. The next

thing we had better do is to find out who that mysterious flagman was.”

16

Listening In

The following day the camp was vibrant with excitement as the cadets

relived the events of the night before. Everyone, of course, lamented

the fact that Rowen had unwisely frightened the ghost away, but the boys

realized that there was nothing to do but wait for the ghost to walk

again.

During the afternoon some of the cadets noticed a stranger enter the

colonel’s tent. The caller stayed a short time and then left, taking the

road which led to Rideway. Later Jordan, Don and Jim were ordered to the

colonel’s tent. Having seen the visitor, they wondered if their summons

was in any way connected with him.

“Come in, come in,” invited the colonel as the boys approached his

quarters. “I have a job for you to do, that is, if you are willing.”

“Anything you say, Colonel,” Don replied, speaking for the group.

“Perhaps you noticed that I had a visitor this afternoon.” He looked at

the three cadets before him expectantly and they nodded to affirm this.

“That was Mr. Farnsworth, the superintendent of the local telephone

exchange in Rideway. It seems that his night operator was suddenly taken

ill this morning and will be unable to go on duty tonight. He has no

extra help at this time and thought perhaps one of the cadets knew how

to operate a switchboard.”

“I have run our switchboard at school a few times,” said Jim,

hesitantly. “However, I imagine this one in Rideway is far more

complicated.”

“Splendid!” said the colonel. “I thought I remembered correctly that you

had, Jim. You will have no trouble at all with this local exchange. Mr.

Farnsworth assured me that it was a simple board, else he would not have

approached me. You see, this exchange is a small one and does not

require a complicated system such as those one finds in large cities.”

“Well, I’ll do my best, sir,” promised Jim.

“I’m sure of that. Now, Don and Jordan, I want you to accompany Jim. You

are to be at the exchange from midnight until seven o’clock, so perhaps

three of you can keep one another awake for that period. Mr. Farnsworth

will meet you there and show you what to do. Now, I suggest that you try

to get some sleep before midnight. You will be awakened at the proper

time and when you get to Rideway go to the building on the left of the

town hall.

“You never can tell,” the colonel continued with a wink, “but what this

job may be far from dull. Remember that you are still members of the

Ghost Patrol. Be alert!”

The three lucky cadets went immediately to their tents to talk over the

piece of good news. They ate supper and after an hour turned in to

sleep. Terry wailed at the fate that had left him out of it.

“Some guys have all the luck,” he whined in a voice imitating Dick

Rowen’s. “I can’t stand these Mercer boys, anyway. Besides, I’ve got the

biggest ears and the colonel should have sent me.”

The Officer of the Guard awakened the boys at the proper hour and they

left the camp, passing the sentries safely. It did not take them long to

cross the Ridge and strike down into Rideway. They found the streets

totally deserted. Alongside the town hall they found the proper building

and at their knock they were admitted by Mr. Farnsworth. He wore a

telephone headset, consisting of one phone, a curved mouthpiece that

fastened to the soundbox which rested on his chest, and a long,

detachable plug.

He showed them the switchboard bearing scores of small white buttons

that lighted up when the calls came in, and rows of multiple holes into

which the plugs were inserted when calls were connected. He explained

things in brief detail to them.

“This is what they call a manual board, as against a dial board,” he

said. “We have five girls working here in the daytime, but one operator

is sufficient at night. Now, unless you have some questions, I’ll be

leaving.”

“I think I understand this sort of system,” answered Jim promptly. “It

shouldn’t cause us any trouble.”

Thus assured, Mr. Farnsworth left. Then the three boys got a fair

insight into the night telephone operator’s job. There was complete

silence until two-thirty when a call was received. Jim handled it

expertly. There were few calls after that and the time went by much too

slowly for the three active boys.

“This certainly is a lonely job,” remarked Jordan, around a quarter

after three.

“Yes, but I imagine you get used to it after a while,” answered Don.

Just at that moment the switchboard buzzed twice. “Hmm, long distance,”

murmured Jim. “Mr. Farnsworth mentioned that two short rings was the

signal for a long-distance call.”

He plugged in below the lighted signal. At his answer a dull voice said,

“Let me have Main 7200.”

Jordan was about to speak when Jim sat bolt upright and signaled to the

others to be silent. His eyes grew as big as saucers as he listened

intently. Don and Jordan were mystified by his actions, but they said

not a word. It seemed an interminable length of time before Jim closed

the key and plugged into another line.

“What is it? What’s the matter?” Don questioned his brother eagerly.

“I’ll tell you all about it in a minute. I’ve got to do something

first!”

The others listened impatiently while Jim held a short conversation with

someone who seemed to be another operator. At last Jim removed the

headset and turned to his companions.

“That was a call to the drugstore and it was about the ghost!” Jim said

breathlessly.

“What!” exclaimed Don and Jordan together.

“I was just on the point of closing the key, after making sure that the

connection was correct, when I heard someone say, ‘Those cadets chased

the ghost into the old Furmen house and very nearly caught him.’ That’s

when I motioned to you not to talk. Then the other voice said, ‘Those

meddling cadets again, was it?’ and the person at the drugstore, who

gave his name as Rose, answered, Yes, Mr. Maul.’”

“Maul!” shouted Don. “Why, that’s the name of the family the Hydes had a

feud with!”

“Then there is one of them still alive,” Jordan said thoughtfully.

“That’s the same conclusion I reached,” Jim said. “I just checked the

origin of the call with the operator and she told me it was from a pay

station in Crossland.”

“Golly! Wait until the colonel hears about this. I’ll bet he never

dreamed we would really come up with something tonight,” Jordan said

excitedly.

“But I haven’t told you everything,” Jim interrupted. “The man named

Maul gave the clerk instructions to relay to the ghost. He is to go to

him this afternoon and tell him to start prowling on the far side of the

Ridge. In about a week he said he would send orders referring to another

attempt to burn the Hydes out. His final word was, ‘First I will get rid

of those schoolboy soldiers.’”

“That means another chance to catch the ghost!” exclaimed Jordan. “Say,

we ought to trail that clerk when he goes out this afternoon.”

“And I’ll tell you just where he will go, too,” said Don calmly. He had

been unusually quiet during the conversation between his brother and

Jordan, because he had been thinking things out.

“Where?” the others demanded.

“To the cabin of Peter Vancouver,” returned Don.

“Why to him?” asked Jordan. “He’s lame and can’t get about.”

“My best uniform that he isn’t,” Don laughed. “Let me tell you what

happened the night we chased the ghost.” With that he related the story

of his visit to Vancouver’s cabin. “I’m positive that he had been out

that night, and I don’t think for a minute that he is an invalid at

all.”

“Without arousing suspicion, let’s try to find out from Mr. Farnsworth

how long the man has been living in that cabin,” Jim suggested.

The others agreed to the idea and waited impatiently for seven o’clock

to come. At last it did and Mr. Farnsworth was prompt.

He thanked them earnestly and inquired whether they had had any

difficulties. Jim assured him he had not. Mr. Farnsworth was a friendly

person and was very interested in the cadets’ activities. He kept the

boys there for a few minutes, asking them questions concerning their

camp life.

The superintendent’s interest enabled the boys to describe their hikes

through the countryside and, in passing, Jim told him of their visit to

Peter Vancouver. He then casually asked Mr. Farnsworth if Vancouver was

a native of the region.

“Oh, no,” was the man’s reply. “He moved here only a few years ago. No

one knows much about him. He keeps to himself, though of course that’s

natural since he’s confined to a wheelchair.”

After a few minutes of further conversation the cadets departed.

They struck the trail for camp at a rapid pace.

“Good golly, I am hungry,” sighed Jim, as they topped the rise.

“I guess we all are,” replied Jordan. “But we have made splendid

progress in the last few hours. What a rare piece of luck that you

listened in on that call, Jim!”

They arrived in camp while drill was going on and reported at once to

the colonel. He was interested and pleased beyond measure.

“That is splendid work, boys,” he approved, heartily. “Now, some of you

must do some active trailing. I suppose you three feel equal to the

observation task, don’t you?”

“We will after we have had some breakfast, sir,” Don smiled back.

“Of course. Report to the mess tent at once. Pack something up to take

with you and then get your field glasses and find a post from which you

can watch the cabin of this supposed cripple. I compliment you on your

fine powers of observation regarding this Peter Vancouver, Don.”

“Thank you, sir,” acknowledged Don. “It is a clever game all the way

through, and only lucky accidents have put us in touch with the truth.”

“Yes, the kind of accidents that you boys always seem to have,” said the

colonel, dryly. “Well, run along to your breakfast.”

“We’re having all the fun,” grinned Jim, as they hiked once more to the

top of the Ridge a short time later. “Won’t old redhead pull his hair

out in handfuls when he hears of this!”

A small clump of bushes on a high hill gave them a good view of

Vancouver’s cabin when sighted through the glasses and there was no

danger that they would be seen in turn. The morning passed without any

sign of anything moving and they ate their lunch under a hot sun.

“He surely ought to show up this afternoon,” Jordan thought.

“If he waits until nightfall we’re licked,” said Jim.

The afternoon dragged until four o’clock, and then Jordan uttered an

exclamation. He had his glasses pointed at the cabin.

“Here he comes now,” he announced, and the others raised their glasses.

Sure enough, a man was wending his way up the slope, straight for

Vancouver’s cabin, and Jim called their attention to a white package

that he had in his hand.

The clerk stayed in the cabin for an hour and departed at the end of

that time. When he had gone, Jordan closed his glass.

“That makes the case complete,” he announced. “Now we can go back and

report to the colonel. Who wants to bet that I don’t stay up until taps

tonight?”

“Not I,” returned Jim, promptly, “I’m so dead on my feet right now that

I won’t know whether you do or not!”

17

Breaking Up Hydes’ Party

On the following morning Colonel Morrell had an early and unexpected

visitor. He was a fairly good-looking young man, with a handsome smile

and a confident air. Without introducing himself he asked the colonel of

the cadet corps an astonishing question.

“Well, what luck did you have with the ghost the other night?” the man

inquired with a pleasant smile.

There was a pause before the colonel answered him. “Unfortunately we

missed him after a considerable chase. Are you the one who—?”

“Yes, I sent you the wigwag,” replied the young man. “I am a scoutmaster

over in Rideway and that’s how I happen to know the signals. I’ve been

wanting to put this stupid ghost out of business and saw this

opportunity to do it.”

“How did you come to find out that the ghost was going to walk, Mr.—?”

began the colonel.

“My name is Benson,” explained the other. “Between 1:00 A.M. and 8:00

A.M. I am employed as a telephone operator on the local switchboard. I

was suddenly taken ill the other day or I would have been up to see you

sooner.”

“Oh, so you’re the night operator. Some of our boys filled in for you in

your absence.”

“Mr. Farnsworth has told me about that. It was very kind of you, sir.”

“It is good training for our boys. It makes them realize their

responsibility as citizens to help in any sort of emergency which may

arise, I believe. But tell me why you warned us of the ghost’s

activities.”

“It was really an accident that I heard a conversation that morning

which gave me the information. There was a long-distance telephone call

made to our local drugstore. I connected the line and rang. Then,

forgetting to close my key more than anything else, I listened while the

receiver was picked up at the drugstore. I was pretty sleepy at the

time, but I was knocked wide awake by hearing the party on the far end

of the wire say: ‘What are the latest activities, Rose? I know about the

failure to burn Hyde’s farm. Has the ghost walked since?’ That staggered

me and I listened closely to what followed.”

Colonel Morrell leaned forward in his chair. The story of the young

scout leader was of great interest to him.

Mr. Benson continued. “The voice at the other end was a low, cold sort

of voice, and I was trying to catch a clue from it, hoping that the

clerk would use a name, but he didn’t. He just kept using the title Sir.

This voice at the other end said: ‘I know all about those cadets

interfering with the activities of the ghost, and I will attend to them

personally very soon. When I do, they won’t have so much as a tent left

to them or a single horse! But I don’t want the ghost to stay in just

because of those soldiers. Tell him to get moving again, and make it his

business not to get caught.’ It was that last statement which caused me

to get word to you.”

“And a good thing it was, too,” replied Colonel Morrell. He then

proceeded to tell Mr. Benson the facts that the boys had uncovered. When

he had finished he said, “Rest assured that we will get to the bottom of

this unpleasant business. I will keep you informed of any further

developments, too.”

As soon as he left, Colonel Morrell called the Mercers and Jordan

together for a conference.

“It seems you are not the only person guilty of listening in on

telephone conversations, Jim,” he began. Then he told them of Mr.

Benson’s visit. “Now I think the next step is to engage a good private

detective and see if we can’t have this man Maul located in Crossland.

If we merely arrest the paid ghost and don’t get the big man higher up

we will accomplish nothing.”

At the evening meal in the mess tent the colonel addressed his corps.

“Boys, some time ago we pledged ourselves to run down this ghost

business that is troubling the inhabitants of the Ridge and to date we

have made quite a bit of progress, even more than most of you know. In

due time full details will be related to you, but at present it seems

best to keep things quiet. But this much I wish to tell you: we have

learned that this ‘ghost’ is a hired professional who is planning to

wipe out our camp. I do not know just how he proposes to do it, whether

by fire or mob violence, but it is planned, and according to the

information secured the blow will come soon. I am therefore doubling the

number of sentries beginning with tonight. Your orders are to alarm the

camp instantly if anything out of the ordinary is seen or heard. The

Officers of the Guard will exercise unwavering care and conduct rigid

inspection of posts.”

The colonel resumed his seat and there was a buzz of excitement and

indignation. The cadets welcomed the prospect for some actual and

dangerous service, and the prospect of a mob fight was especially

alluring. But the feeling was that any move made against them would be

in the nature of a stealthy act, and all of the cadets determined to

brace themselves for the stern business at hand.

“If any ghost tries to touch the horses I’ll shoot him on sight,”

growled Thompson, who loved the animals.

“All I hope is that they rush the camp with a gang,” Terry said.

“Wouldn’t that be a swell scrap! Imagine the corps meeting a crowd of

roughnecks in a hand-to-hand battle. That would be something to write

about!”

“If you were able to write, Redhead,” said a cadet near by.

“Gee, if the battalion couldn’t lick any bunch recruited around here we

ought to go back to the school and play tennis all the rest of our

lives,” snorted Terry, who was not good at the sport and therefore did

not like it.

“I’m afraid that the attack won’t be an open one,” Don told them. “More

likely to be something shady.”

“You ought to know, Mercer,” said Motley. “Wish I had been on that

switchboard the other night.”

That night the number of guards was doubled and the greatest care was

exercised. The Officers of the Guard visited posts at frequent intervals

and checked up on the sentries. But the night went by without anything

out of the ordinary happening. In the morning Benson brought news.

“That ghost showed up in South Plains last night,” he reported. “Some

farmers saw him over that way. That is some distance from here and the

ghost is following orders to the letter. I didn’t hear a thing last

night, though I listened to every conversation. Tonight he may come back

this way. But I don’t know whether you will have to fear him or not, for

if you’ll remember Maul promised to do the job himself.”

“We’ll be on the lookout for both of them,” promised the colonel.

That afternoon was a warm one and the boys went swimming. Terry had

developed a slight summer cold and so he did not go. He was sitting in

front of the tent on a box whittling a piece of wood industriously. The

camp was quiet and the shouts of the cadets in the swimming hole drifted

to his ears.

There was a voice near Terry and he looked up. The little Carson boy was

approaching down the company street from the direction of the woods and

Terry waved to him.

“Hi, Jimmie,” greeted Terry. “How are you today?”

“OK, Terry,” smiled the boy. “Why aren’t you in swimming?”

“Got a little cold and the company doctor told me to stay out for a

while,” answered the whittler, gravely. “What’s on your mind today,

anything in particular?”

“I want to tell you something,” said Jimmie Carson, sitting down on the

edge of the box as Terry made room for him. “You know that old man over

in the cabin? The man named Vancouver?”

“Yes, I know who he is. Why?”

“Well, what do you think, Mr. Mackson? He isn’t lame at all!”

Terry stopped his whittling abruptly and looked keenly at Jimmie. “How

do you know that?” he demanded.

“I heard the Hydes say so,” was the reply. “They are going over there

tonight and kill him or something!”

The whittling ceased for good. “The Hydes!” ejaculated Terry. “How did

they know?”

“Listen, I was over at the Hydes with my father this morning,” said the

boy, his eyes serious and grave. “While Pop was talking to old man Hyde

I heard the sons talking in the barn. They didn’t know that I was right

outside on our wagon, and I heard them plainly. They said that one of

them had seen the man sneak into his cabin late last night, and they

found out that he wasn’t any cripple. Seems that one of the Hydes was

driving home from some place and he saw the ghost sneak into the cabin.

Then he looked in under a window and saw the ghost get back into his

chair, so they knew that old man was playing ghost. Can you imagine

that, Mr. Mackson?”

“No, I can’t,” returned Terry gravely.

“So they said they was going to go to the cabin tonight and just about

kill that old man. I thought at first I’d tell Pa, but I was scared to,

so I come up here to tell you fellows about it. I don’t think that old

man ought to be hit by those big bully Hydes, do you?”

“No, sir,” said Terry, with emphasis. “Jimmie boy, I’m glad you told me

this. Come along to the colonel; we must tell him.”

The colonel was keenly interested in the news. “Thank you for telling us

this, my boy,” he smiled down at the rugged lad. “This old man is a

wicked fellow to go around scaring people out of their wits, but just as

you say he shouldn’t be hit by those Hydes. Mr. Mackson, pass the word

to the special patrol to be ready to go with me to the cabin as soon as

darkness comes tonight.”

“Very well, Colonel,” said Terry. “I’m glad you are going along, because

I feel that this is likely to be a fairly tough situation.”

They left the tent and Terry went to hunt up the other boys, first

swearing little Jimmie to secrecy. “Don’t breath a word of it,” he told

the boy. “We want to save this old man from a severe beating and we also

want to capture him for his part in the business that has been going on

around here. So it will be the best thing if you keep very quiet about

it.”

“I will, Terry,” promised the lad.

The others soon knew what was expected of them. Just before they started

out they met in the tent of the colonel.

“Mr. Vench and Mr. Douglas, I want you to start right away for Rideway

and get the sheriff,” ordered the colonel. “We can’t arrest this man

ourselves, but he must do it. It may be that we shall have trouble with

the Hydes, and anyway, the sheriff is always saying that we interfere

with his affairs on the Ridge. You may have trouble with the sheriff,

but if you do just tell him that your colonel requests him to come to

the cabin.”

“Very well, sir,” Douglas responded, and he and Vench went out.

“We will take side arms with us,” said the colonel, buckling on a

revolver belt. “We won’t have to use them, I trust, but at least we’ll

be prepared.”

When the others of the Ghost Patrol had equipped themselves they set out

with the colonel for the cabin over the hill. Those in the camp saw them

go and much speculation went around as to the purpose of the expedition.

The camp itself was in order for any emergency, with double guards

posted and the major in charge.

Vench and Douglas had obtained a good start and they felt it would not

be long before they returned with the sheriff, if he could be persuaded

to come. The others swung on toward the little cabin at a rapid pace,

topping the rise and bearing down on it.

“Somebody’s at home,” Don said, as they came in sight. “There are lights

in the windows.”

“Yes, but look! There are the Hydes!” cried Terry, pointing.

Into the patch of light from one of the small windows a burly figure

stepped and another joined it. A third figure proclaimed the father.

There was a word of planning between them and then one of the sons

raised his foot and kicked the window deliberately out. With that action

he jumped right through the opening and landed in the room. A moment of

silence followed and then the front door was opened. Promptly the father

and the other son walked in and the door was shut.

“Just in time,” proclaimed the colonel, grimly. “Let us hustle, boys.”

They ran down the rest of the slope, the doughty colonel in front, and

came to the cabin in a short time. The colonel threw himself against the

door, which had not been very well secured, and it opened under his

impact. Followed by Don, Terry, Jim and Jordan, the colonel shot into

the room.

In one corner crouched the supposed invalid, his face pale and his hands

grasping a stout stick. Facing him, with brutal expressions on their

surly faces, stood the Hydes. The oldest son held a heavy horsewhip in

his hands, and it was evident that he was just going to use it when the

cadet party burst in.

At sight of the cadets the expressions on their faces changed. Surprise

gave way to eager gladness on the face of the old man and spiteful anger

on the faces of the Hydes. As yet no blow had fallen and the relief

party was in the nick of time.

“What do you want here?” the father said, a snarl in his voice.

“We want that man, for playing the part of a ghost and stampeding our

horses,” said the colonel evenly. “And we want to see to it that you

don’t touch that man with your whip.”

“You do, heh?” grunted the son with the whip. “You all can have this old

man if you want him, but you can’t stop us from whipping the daylights

out of him. This is the dog that burned our barn down.”

“I know all about that,” nodded the colonel. “But you won’t horsewhip

him. You can turn him over to the proper authorities; in fact, I have

already sent for the sheriff and he will be here any minute now. But you

can’t take the law into your own hands, not while we are here,

certainly.”

“Look here, you soldier captain, or whatever you are!” bellowed the

senior Hyde. “You mind your own business. Putting this fellow in jail

won’t do us any good, and we’re going to beat the hide off him. You keep

out. Josh, go ahead and wallop him.”

The Hyde boy raised his whip but the colonel reached up, jerked it from

his hand and threw it into a far corner. The Hydes grew red and clenched

their fists.

“Let’s give them a good beating, Pa,” said the younger son, and he

advanced. But the colonel drew his revolver and covered the three of

them. The other cadets dropped their hands to the butts of their guns.

“Come a step nearer me and I’ll shoot you right through the leg,”

promised the colonel, simply.

The threat stopped them in their tracks. Sullenly they fell back, hatred

showing in their faces. The old man whooped faintly.

“That’s handling them,” he said, stirring eagerly. The colonel looked at

him.

“You stay where you are, too, Mr. Vancouver,” he said. “We’ll have to

turn you over to the law for punishment.”

“I ain’t the only one in this game,” blustered the old man.

“We know all about Mr. Maul,” said the colonel. The Hydes snapped to

attention.

“Maul!” cried the father, harshly. “Old Maul is dead!”

“Old Maul is very much alive,” retorted the colonel. “He is the one who

is directing this whole campaign. Did you think this old man was doing

it for fun? He has been paid by Maul to keep this thing going, and he

planned to burn you out of your house pretty shortly.”

“Then you ought to let us whip this sneaking skunk!” shouted the elder

Hyde.

“Brutality won’t do any good,” returned the headmaster.

“Here comes the sheriff,” announced Jordan, as a heavy step was heard

outside the door.

The door opened to admit the sheriff, followed by Vench and Douglas. The

two cadets looked grave and a trifle angry and the sheriff was his usual

blustering self.

“What’s going on here?” he roared, looking around. His angry eyes

fastened themselves on the colonel. “I hear that you requested me to

come up here. Requested me! Who are you, sir? I never saw you in my

life!”

“I never saw you either,” retorted the unmoved colonel.

“What is the trouble here, anyway?” sneered the sheriff.

The trouble was explained by the colonel, but the sheriff shrugged his

shoulders. “I think you would have done well to have minded your own

business, sir,” said the officious man. “This man needs a sound

horsewhipping. If it had been your house he burned you would be the

first one to whip him. What am I supposed to do?”

“You will arrest the old man and put him where he will be safe,” said

the colonel. “As for the Hydes, you can’t do anything but send them

home.”

“Look here, colonel, are you giving me orders!” bellowed the loud

sheriff, his face a dull red. “If you are, I won’t even listen to them.

Where you get the nerve to order me around is more than I can see. I’ve

got half a mind to run you in for pointing a revolver at the Hydes.”

“Sheriff,” said the colonel, hotly. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do

with you. I’m going to let the world know how a ghost terrorized the

Ridge here for years, right under your nose, and you never found out who

it was. I’m going to relate how my boys discovered the whole thing, and

if you ever get another job with responsibility to it, I don’t know what

the people of this county are thinking of!”

There was a total silence in the room while the colonel and the sheriff

glared at each other. The whole frame of the sheriff shook with

suppressed rage and his breath came fast. Calmly the colonel looked him

straight in the eye. But the sheriff was beaten and he knew it.

Instead he vented his fury upon the Hydes. “Get out of here and get

home,” he snarled. “Don’t ever let me catch you in any trouble again as

long as I’m sheriff on this Ridge! You, Peter Vancouver, come here while

I put the handcuffs on you.”

18

The Last of the Ghost

The Hydes had slunk off and were lost in the darkness. The sheriff had

handcuffed Peter Vancouver and now they were on their way to the local

jail in Rideway. After putting the light out the colonel and the members

of the Ghost Patrol left the cabin and started over the trail to camp.

“I’m very glad we got there in time to prevent any serious injury to

that old man,” remarked the colonel, as they walked on. “Did you boys

have any trouble with that sheriff?”

“A little bit, sir,” Douglas replied. “He made a lot of noise when we

explained things to him. But he did come finally, though he talked so

much and made so much noise on the way up that Vench and I felt like

rolling him in the mud!”

“I guess it was about time that somebody talked to him,” the colonel

said. “The people around here are curious. They haven’t made any effort

to run down this ghost and they take abuse from this great blustering

sheriff. But I guess this ghost angle of things is about over.”

“All that remains now is to catch Maul,” Jordan reminded him.

“Yes, and we’ll see to it that steps are taken to do that,” the

headmaster promised.

The sky was pitch black, and not a star in sight. A leaden sky

threatened rain and the absence of the moon and the friendly stars made

the world below very dark indeed. Fortunately for them the cadets knew

the road fairly well, and they approached the camp through the bushes

without having altered their course enough to puzzle them.

“We will be hailed in about a moment,” said the colonel. They were close

to the outpost where the sentry was on duty, and they advanced boldly,

waiting for the call.

But none came. They reached the line of patrol that the sentry was

supposed to make, but they did not run across the man who should have

been patrolling. In bewilderment they stopped.

“This is very queer,” murmured the colonel. “What can have happened?”

Terry moved forward and struck his foot against something soft. Without

loss of time he dropped to his knees, feeling before him with his hands.

The sharp intake of his breath drew their attention.

“What is it?” the colonel asked, quickly.

“Here is the sentry, tied up tighter than a bundle,” was the startling

reply. “Something’s fishy around here.”

The others clustered around and a match was struck. They found Cadet

Innes, the sentry, lying on his back, bound around with coarse but

strong cord. He seemed to be all right otherwise, but perfectly

speechless with a thick gag in his mouth. By the way his eyes snapped

they judged that he had plenty to say. When the grunts of surprise were

over they went to work and soon relieved him of the ropes and the gag.

“Be quiet, on your lives, men!” was his first word, after he had licked

his dry lips. “The man who tied me up is in the camp, up to something.”

“Any idea who it was, Mr. Innes?” the colonel whispered.

“No, sir. A man all in black jumped me and did it in a hurry. Muzzled me

with one hand and took away my gun with the other. It happened before

the Officer of the Guard got around, in fact he is due here now.”

“You say the man went toward the camp?” was the colonel’s next question.

“Yes, sir, and he carried a can of kerosene with him,” was the startling

reply. The others wasted not another minute, but jumped to their feet.

“Be very quiet as you approach the camp,” ordered the colonel, leading

the way through the bushes toward the camp.

They approached silently and looked at the camp. It seemed deserted.

Three fires showed up red before the tents, but the cadets were in their

beds. On the other side of the camp the Officers of the Guard could be

heard as he spoke shortly to a sentry. Otherwise there seemed to be no

movement or life in the place.

Don reached over and pulled the colonel’s arm. Close to the supply

wagons a darker shadow showed, and the faint sound of liquid bubbling

out of a can could be heard. All of the hidden watchers caught the

significance of it at once and crouched down to wait until the man

should have come nearer them.

Then, something happened that changed their plans abruptly.

A match was struck. The flare of the tiny blaze showed a set, stern

face. The man at the supply wagon bent forward with the match.

Cadet Vench was little. He was also fast and happened to be the nearest

one to the stooping man. In three strides Vench left the shelter of the

trees, sprang into the air, and landed like a monkey on the back of the

man, who had started to straighten up at the sound of Vench’s steps.

They both went down, the match dropped on some oil-soaked cloth, and a

fierce blaze jumped up in a twinkling.

As Jim afterward said, he staked all on the size of his feet. He landed

with both shoes on the cloth, snuffed the blaze out with a single

stroke, and saved the supply wagons and the entire camp.

Now all was action. A sentry near by had fired the alarm. Vench and the

unknown man were staging a furious wrestling match on the ground beside

the wagons as the others dashed up and came to his help. Someone threw

more fuel on the nearest fire, Major Rhodes ran up with his revolver in

hand, and the whole camp, more or less dressed, came running after him.

In the new light which the fire showed they saw Vench and the colonel

drag the man to his feet.

“Just got you in time,” said the colonel, holding the man in a tight

grip. “Am I right when I say your name is probably Maul?”

“Yes, my name is Jackson Maul,” was the reply, given in a deep voice. He

gazed in haughty silence around at the gaping cadets.

“I’ll ask you to spend the rest of the night with us in our guard tent,

Mr. Maul,” said the colonel, his revolver in his hand. “I may as well

tell you that your ghost game is up, and the ghost of the Ridge safe in

the county jail. I think you’ll find yourself in pretty heavy trouble

for attempting to fire our camp.”

No reply was offered by the man who called himself Maul and they took

him away, where a tent could serve as his place of imprisonment. Major

Rhodes himself took the responsibility of watching him for the rest of

the night. It was some time before the excited cadets went back to their

beds. An examination showed them that the camp had been soaked in oil at

a number of points, and had fire been applied to any of these places

they would have been totally wiped out. It would have been a lucky thing

if they had all escaped with their lives had the camp been fired.

On the following morning the man Maul was marched to Rideway and locked

in jail with the man he had paid to play ghost. The full story now

spread around the town and the Ridge people found out how they had been

terrorized for years by the last of the Maul family in his effort to

drive the Hydes away. With this capture of the two men the mystery of

the ghost of Rustling Ridge came to an end, and from that time forward

the inhabitants had nothing more to fear after dark. In time the two men

and the clerk Rose were all given prison terms for mischief with

malicious intent. The Hydes kept out of trouble from that time forward

and the loud sheriff of the Ridge became softer in his speech, at least

as long as the cadets were in the neighborhood. A number of the county

newspapers gave high praise to the cadets and to Benson, the night

telephone operator, for public-spirited duty.

Soon after these events the colonel called Rowen into his tent. He had

been very much displeased with the conduct of the cadet, but as he

reflected that things had now settled down, it would be wise to forget

the whole thing, he felt sure. So he spoke mildly enough to the cadet,

but he was surprised when the sulky one flared back at him.

“Never mind, Colonel Morrell, I don’t want to talk about anything!” was

the astonishing statement. “I’m going home right away. Everything has

been pushed against me during this whole encampment and I’m sick of it!

I don’t want anything more to do with the cadet corps!”

“Very well, Mr. Rowen,” returned the colonel, still mildly. “You say

everything has been pushed against you. But you would not believe

Mercer’s word about the ghost starting the stampede. Now we have the

word of the ghost himself that he started it and that Jim called out to

him. Then, against orders, you took your revolver with you and shot it

off at an improper time. Under those circumstances, do you still feel

that you had everything against you on this camping trip?”

“I feel that I have had enough of this school and this trip,” said

Rowen. “I guess I could have more fun with my own friends in a summer

camp where a fellow didn’t have to do so much unnecessary work. I’m

going home.”

Mr. Rowen did go home. No one was really sorry to see him go, for his

surly temper had never made him popular in any way.

From that time onward the summer slipped along without unusual incident.

It was a delightful and happy vacation, full of swinging action and

invigorating fun, and when the time came to break camp all of the boys

were a little bit sorry.

“Back to school again,” said Don, as they struck tents.

“Yes, and our time is getting limited,” said Terry, seriously. “We

haven’t a whole lot more time left to us in our school life.”

“Right you are,” Jim agreed. “Next year Don will be senior captain of

the school.”

Before the morning was over the cadet battalion was marching toward the

school, leaving Rustling Ridge and its many exciting memories behind

them.

_A Descriptive Catalog of_

FALCON BOOKS FOR BOYS