Wicker Bonner, Harvard
"Hello, up there!" was what the deep, masculine voice shouted from the
river. Anderson Crow was the first to distinguish the form of the
speaker, and he was not long in deciding that it was far from
ghost-like. With a word of command he brought his disorganised forces
out of chaos and huddled them together as if to resist attack.
"What's the matter with you?" he demanded, addressing his men in a loud
tone. "Don't get rattled!"
"Are you speaking to me?" called the fresh voice from below.
"Who are you?" demanded Mr. Crow in return.
"Nobody in particular. What's going on up there? What's the fuss?"
"Come up an' find out." Then Mr. Crow, observing that the man below was
preparing to comply, turned and addressed his squad in low, earnest
tones. "This feller will bear watchin'. He's mixed up in this thing
somehow. Else why is he wanderin' around here close to the house? I'll
question him."
"By gosh, he ain't no ghost!" murmured Ed Higgins, eyeing the newcomer
as he crawled up the bank. "Say, did y' see me a minute ago? If you
fellers had come on, I was goin' right up to search that house from top
to bottom. Was you all askeered to come?"
"Aw, you!" said Anderson Crow in deep scorn.
The next instant a stalwart young fellow stood before the marshal, who
was eyeing him keenly, even imperiously. The newcomer's good-looking,
strong-featured face was lighted up by a smile of surpassing
friendliness.
"It's lonesome as thunder down here, isn't it? Glad to see you,
gentlemen. What's up--a bicycle race?"
"No, sir; we got a little business up here, that's all," responded
Anderson Crow diplomatically. "What air you doin' here?"
"Skating. My name is Wicker Bonner, and I'm visiting my uncle,
Congressman Bonner, across the river. You know him, I dare say. I've
been hanging around here for a week's hunting, and haven't had an ounce
of luck in all that time. It's rotten! Aha, I see that you are an
officer, sir--a detective, too. By George, can it be possible that you
are searching for some one? If you are, let me in on it. I'm dying for
excitement."
The young man's face was eager and his voice rang true. Besides, he was
a tall, athletic chap, with brawny arms and a broad back. Altogether, he
would make a splendid recruit, thought Anderson Crow. He was dressed in
rough corduroy knickerbockers, the thick coat buttoned up close to his
muffled neck. A woollen cap came down over his ears and a pair of skates
dangled from his arm.
"Yes, sir; I'm a detective, and we are up here doin' a little
investigatin'. You are from Chicago, I see."
"What makes you think so?"
"Can't fool me. I c'n always tell. You said, 'I've _bean_ hangin','
instead of 'I've _ben_ hangin'.' See? They say _bean_ in Chicago. Ha!
ha! You didn't think I could deduce that, did you?"
"I'll confess that I didn't," said Mr. Bonner with a dry smile. "I'm
from Boston, however."
"Sure," interposed Isaac Porter; "that's where the beans come from,
Anderson."
"Well, that's neither here nor there," said Mr. Crow, hastily changing
the subject. "We're wastin' time."
"Stayin' here, you mean?" asked Ed Higgins, quite ready to start.
Involuntarily the eyes of the posse turned toward the house among the
willows. The stranger saw the concerted glance and made inquiry.
Whereupon Mr. Crow, assisted by seven men and five small boys, told Mr.
Wicker Bonner, late of Harvard, what had brought them from Tinkletown to
the haunted house, and what they had seen upon their arrival. Young
Bonner's face glowed with the joy of excitement.
"Great!" he cried, fastening his happy eyes upon the hated thing among
the trees. "Let's search the place. By George, this is glorious!"
"Not on your life!" said Ed Higgins. "You can't get me inside that
house. Like as not a feller'd never come out alive."
"Well, better men than we have died," said Mr. Bonner tranquilly. "Come
on; I'll go in first. It's all tommy-rot about the place being haunted.
In any event, ghosts don't monkey around at this time of day. It's
hardly dusk."
"But, gosh dern it," exploded Anderson Crow, "we seen it!"
"I seen it first," said Isaac Porter proudly.
"But I heerd it first," peeped up Master Bud.
"You've all been drinking hard cider or pop or something like that,"
said the brawny scoffer.
"Now, see here, you're gittin' fresh, an--" began the marshal, swelling
up like a pigeon.
"Look out behind!" sang out Mr. Bonner, and Anderson jumped almost out
of his shoes, besides ripping his shirt in the back, he turned so
suddenly.
"Jeemses River!" he gasped.
"Never turn your back on an unknown danger," cautioned the young man
serenely. "Be ready to meet it."
"If you're turned t'other way you c'n git a quicker start if you want to
run," suggested Jim Borum, bracing himself with a fresh chew of tobacco.
"What time is it?" asked Wicker Bonner.
Anderson Crow squinted up through the leafless treetops toward the
setting sun; then he looked at the shadow of a sapling down on the bank.
"It's about seven minutes past five--in the evenin'," he said
conclusively. Bonner was impolite enough to pull out his watch for
verification.
"You're a minute fast," he observed; but he looked at Anderson with a
new and respectful admiration.
"He c'n detect anything under the sun," said Porter with a feeble laugh
at his own joke.
"Well, let's go up and ransack that old cabin," announced Bonner,
starting toward the willows. The crowd held back. "I'll go alone if
you're afraid to come," he went on. "It's my firm belief that you didn't
see anything and the noise you boys heard was the wind whistling through
the trees. Now, tell the truth, how many of you saw it?"
"I did," came from every throat so unanimously that Jim Borum's
supplemental oath stood out alone and forceful as a climax.
"Then it's worth investigating," announced the Boston man. "It is
certainly a very mysterious affair, and you, at least, Mr. Town Marshal,
should back me up in the effort to unravel it. Tell me again just what
it was you saw and what it looked like."
"I won't let no man tell me what my duties are," snorted Anderson, his
stars trembling with injured pride. "Of course I'm going to solve the
mystery. We've got to see what's inside that house. I thought it was
tramps at first."
"Well, lead on, then; I'll follow!" said Bonner with a grin.
"I thought you was so anxious to go first!" exclaimed Anderson with fine
tact. "Go ahead yourself, ef you're so derned brave. I dare you to."
Bonner laughed loud enough to awaken every ghost in Bramble County and
then strode rapidly toward the house. Anderson Crow followed slowly and
the rest straggled after, all alert for the first sign of resistance.
"I wish I could find that derned lantern," said Anderson, searching
diligently in the deep grass as he walked along, in the meantime
permitting Bonner to reach the grim old doorway far in advance of him.
"Come on!" called back the intrepid leader, seeing that all save the
marshal had halted. "You don't need the lantern. It's still daylight,
old chap. We'll find out what it was you all saw in the window."
"That's the last of him," muttered Isaac Porter, as the broad back
disappeared through the low aperture that was called a doorway. There
were no window sashes or panes in the house, and the door had long since
rotted from the hinges.
"He'll never come out. Let's go home," added Ed Higgins conclusively.
"Are you coming?" sang out Bonner from the interior of the house. His
voice sounded prophetically sepulchral.
"Consarn it, cain't you wait a minute?" replied Anderson Crow, still
bravely but consistently looking for the much-needed dark lantern.
"It's all right in here. There hasn't been a human being in the house
for years. Come on in; it's fine!"
Anderson Crow finally ventured up to the doorway and peeped in. Bonner
was standing near the tumbledown fireplace, placidly lighting a
cigarette.
"This is a fine job you've put up on me," he growled. "I thought there
would be something doing. There isn't a soul here, and there hasn't
been, either."
"Thunderation, man, you cain't see ghosts when they don't want you to!"
said Anderson Crow. "It was a ghost, that's settled. I knowed it all
the time. Nothin' human ever looked like it, and nothin' alive ever
moaned like it did."
By this time the rest of the party had reached the cabin door. The less
timorous ventured inside, while others contented themselves by looking
through the small windows.
"Well, if you're sure you really saw something, we'd better make a
thorough search of the house and the grounds," said Bonner, and
forthwith began nosing about the two rooms.
The floors were shaky and the place had the odour of decayed wood. Mould
clung to the half-plastered walls, cobwebs matted the ceilings, and
rotted fungi covered the filth in the corners. Altogether it was a most
uninviting hole, in which no self-respecting ghost would have made its
home. When the time came to climb up to the little garret Bonner's
followers rebelled. He was compelled to go alone, carrying the lantern,
which one of the small boys had found. This part of the house was even
more loathsome than below, and it would be impossible to describe its
condition. He saw no sign of life, and retired in utter disgust. Then
came the trip to the cellar. Again he had no followers, the Tinkletown
men emphatically refusing to go down where old Mrs. Rank's body had been
buried. Bonner laughed at them and went down alone. It was nauseous with
age and the smell of damp earth, but it was cleaner there than above
stairs. The cellar was smaller than either of the living rooms, and was
to be reached only through the kitchen. There was no exit leading
directly to the exterior of the house, but there was one small window at
the south end. Bonner examined the room carefully and then rejoined the
party. For some reason the posse had retired to the open air as soon as
he left them to go below. No one knew exactly why, but when one started
to go forth the others followed with more or less alacrity.
"Did you see anything?" demanded the marshal.
"What did old Mrs. Rank look like when she was alive?" asked Bonner with
a beautifully mysterious air. No one answered; but there was a sudden
shifting of feet backward, while an expression of alarmed inquiry came
into every face. "Don't back into that open well," warned the amused
young man in the doorway. Anderson Crow looked sharply behind, and
flushed indignantly when he saw that the well was at least fifty feet
away. "I saw something down there that looked like a woman's toe," went
on Bonner very soberly.
"Good Lord! What did I tell you?" cried the marshal, turning to his
friends. To the best of their ability they could not remember that
Anderson had told them anything, but with one accord the whole party
nodded approval.
"I fancy it was the ghost of a toe, however, for when I tried to pick it
up it wriggled away, and I think it chuckled. It disappear--what's the
matter? Where are you going?"
It is only necessary to state that the marshal and his posse retreated
in good order to a distant spot where it was not quite so dark, there
to await the approach of Wicker Bonner, who leisurely but laughingly
inspected the exterior of the house and the grounds adjoining. Finding
nothing out of the ordinary, except as to dilapidation, he rejoined the
party with palpable displeasure in his face.
"Well, I think I'll go back to the ice," he said; "that place is as
quiet as the grave. You are a fine lot of jokers, and I'll admit that
the laugh is on me."
But Bonner was mystified, uncertain. He had searched the house
thoroughly from top to bottom, and he had seen nothing unusual, but
these men and boys were so positive that he could not believe the eyes
of all had been deceived.
"This interests me," he said at last. "I'll tell you what we'll do, Mr.
Crow. You and I will come down here to-night, rig up a tent of some sort
and divide watch until morning. If there is anything to be seen we'll
find out what it is. I'll get a couple of straw mattresses from our
boathouse and--"
"I've got rheumatiz, Mr. Bonner, an' it would be the death o' me to
sleep in this swamp," objected Anderson hastily.
"Well, I'll come alone, then. I'm not afraid. I don't mean to say I'll
sleep in that old shack, but I'll bunk out here in the woods. No human
being could sleep in that place. Will any one volunteer to keep me
company?"
Silence.
"I don't blame you. It does take nerve, I'll confess. My only
stipulation is that you shall come down here from the village early
to-morrow morning. I may have something of importance to tell you, Mr.
Crow."
"We'll find his dead body," groaned old Mr. Borton.
"Say, mister," piped up a shrill voice, "I'll stay with you." It was Bud
who spoke, and all Tinkletown was afterward to resound with stories of
his bravery. The boy had been silently admiring the bold sportsman from
Boston town, and he was ready to cast his lot with him in this
adventure. He thrilled with pleasure when the big hero slapped him on
the back and called him the only man in the crowd.
At eight o'clock that night Bonner and the determined but trembling Bud
came up the bank from the river and pitched a tent among the trees near
the haunted house. From the sledge on the river below they trundled up
their bedding and their stores. Bud had an old single-barrel shotgun, a
knife and a pipe, which he was just learning to smoke; Bonner brought a
Navajo blanket, a revolver and a heavy walking stick. He also had a
large flask of whiskey and the pipe that had graduated from Harvard with
him.
At nine o'clock he put to bed in one of the chilly nests a very sick
boy, who hated to admit that the pipe was too strong for him, but who
felt very much relieved when he found himself wrapped snugly in the
blankets with his head tucked entirely out of sight. Bud had spent the
hour in regaling Bonner with the story of Rosalie Gray's abduction and
his own heroic conduct in connection with the case. He confessed that he
had knocked one of the villains down, but they were too many for him.
Bonner listened politely and then--put the hero to bed.
Bonner dozed off at midnight. An hour or so later he suddenly sat bolt
upright, wide awake and alert. He had the vague impression that he was
deathly cold and that his hair was standing on end.