“What do you think became of him?” Tom queried, rather anxiously I
thought.
“I cudn’t imagine,” Peters replied, “unless he fell into one of them
gully places. Anyway we hed ter be on the move ’n didn’t hev time ter
look.”
“I don’t suppose you ever met the former owner of this camp, did you?”
Brent asked Peters.
“Naw, I never seen nothin’ o’ the McClinticks’,” he replied, as though
it was something he sincerely regretted. “I’ve always been sorry the old
man had the Lodge locked up so tight too, fer I mighta been able ter do
him a favor--I don’t know!” he sighed mournfully.
“Yes?” I queried, “Explain all that!”
“Aw, it mightn’t hev amounted ter anything,” he said. “But, yet it
might. They wuz away frum here ’bout five months at thet time. That wuz
after the son wuz killed.
“Now everybuddy in these parts knew thet the old man put the place up
fer sale ’roun’ February. ’N everybuddy in New York must ’a’ known it
too fer I heerd as how he had it advertised in all the big papers. So
thet means all his best friends knew it anyways.
“Ter make a long story short,” he went on, relighting his pipe, “the
fust night we wuz here and hed got rid o’ the lynx cub fer a spell, my
buddy shakes me ’n wakes me up, ’n he sez, ‘Sh-shush, listen, c’n yer
hear thet telephone ringin’ ’r are ye deaf?’
“I gits up ’n sure ’nuff, there wuz a telephone bell a-ringin’ like
Squaw Harry and it’s in the Lodge. It rang fer nigh onto half an hour I
guess. But we cudn’t git in ter do a thing about it.
“Ez I told yer afore, all Mr. McClintick’s friends knew he wuzn’t comin’
here no more. ’N I told my buddy thet it must ’a been the ghost of the
dead son ’n nobody else! Sure as I live!” He said it with finality.
“And what makes you think it was a ghost?” I asked, a trifle impatient
with the man’s stubborn superstition about small things.
“Wa’al, becuz after we left here ’n got ter Harkness we run inter Minnie
Schultz ’n she told us a thing or two about it.”
“And pray, who is Miss Minnie Schultz?” Brent asked, with mock gravity.
Peters seemed delighted to impart to us his knowledge of the lady.
“She worked fer the ’phone company--night operator, until they let her
out fer listenin’ in. Nice girl Minnie is, but my goodness how she does
love ter chat with a body.”
“I think I understand it now,” Brent said, straightening up in his
chair. “She knew about the call to the Lodge that night and told you. Is
that it?”
“Right you are, young man!” Peters said, admiringly. He seemed to puff
his pipe extra hard over this morsel of gossip.
“Between us four gentleman,” the fellow continued, “’n I know it won’t
go no further, Minnie told me as how she wuz the very operator thet
handled the call. It wuz from Montreal Central Office ’n she sez thet
she told them she wuz positive Mr. McClintick wudn’t be at the Lodge.
“She rung and rung ’n no answer came, o’ course, ’n she sez she told
Montreal so. Then Montreal comes back at her ’n sez that their party wud
like to speak ter Minnie herself.
“She sez she heard the man’s voice, very excited like, ’n thet he told
her she must get McClintick at the Lodge and thet there must be someone
there. When she sez there isn’t, he sez McClintick alwuz cum ter the
Lodge fer thet night on account of it’s being his wife’s anniversary or
something.
“’N Minnie, being the clever girl she is, smells a rat, ’n sez to the
man, ‘I don’t know anything about it,’ ’n he screams back at her, ‘Well,
I ought to know somethin’ about it, fer I’m his son!’
“Minnie sez, ‘Who?’ She’s frozen, she gits such a shock, but the feller
rings right off and Montreal tells her she should excuse the call.”
“What does Miss Minnie think of it?” Tom asked, plainly excited.
“Minnie sez she doesn’t want ter think about it at all. She feels sorry
fer the McClinticks’ troubles, but she sez it cost her her job. It wuz
too good fer her to keep, you see, ’n within a week the story wuz all
over and so she got the gate.”
“How did the folks around here take to the story?” Brent asked,
evidently interested.
“Well, ter tell the truth, folks hereabouts don’t take much stock in
Minnie and they laughed about it. Called it one of her yarns, but I
don’t. No, siree! Didn’t we hear the ’phone ringin’ thet night
ourselves? It was a ghost, sure as ye live!”
“Or a real live person,” I put in.
“It cudn’t o’ been a live person if he sez he wuz the son!” Peters
exclaimed vociferously. “’N another thing, ain’t he dead and buried
’bout a mile ’n a half frum here. Thet proves it wuzn’t a live person.”
The man was so insistent that we had to agree with him out of sheer
courtesy, but as for the ghost story, of course we wouldn’t give
credence to it.
“But wait a minute, Peters,” said Brent, with an alertness that quite
startled Tom and me. “How is it there’s no sign of any ’phone or wires
around here now?” Peters grinned as though to say he would win anyhow.
“Oh, they said in Harkness, thet Mr. McClintick hedn’t paid his bill, so
they took it out right after we wuz here. ’N shortly after thet, a
terrible storm brought down the wires as neat as you ever see so the
’phone people never bothered puttin’ ’em up agin, thinkin’ the Lodge
wudn’t be sold fer a spell.” He arose and knocked his pipe against the
bricks over the fireplace. Then he leaned forward as if he was about to
tell us a secret.
“Minnie told me confidentially thet McClintick owed the ’phone people
one hundred dollars and thet the ’phone number at the Lodge here wuz
number one hundred too! Now, thet’s what you gentlemen wud call a
coincidence, eh?”