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THE GO AHEAD BOYS AND THE MYSTERIOUS OLD HOUSE
by
ROSS KAY
Author of "The Search for the Spy," "The Air Scout," "Dodging the
North Sea Mines," "With Joffre on the Battle Line," "The Go Ahead
Boys on Smugglers' Island," "The Go Ahead Boys and the Treasure
Cave," etc., etc.
Copyright, 1916,
by
Barse & Hopkins
PREFACE
In almost every rural community in the older parts of our country there
is a house which some of the country folk have believed to be "haunted."
As a rule this house is old and perhaps has fallen into partial decay.
The children passing on the country road move to the opposite side when
they draw near the building. Stories are current of scenes which have
been witnessed and sounds heard in the vacant dwelling. Perhaps even the
older people have not altogether outgrown their feeling of timidity when
they are near it. How baseless all such stories are and how easily most
of the unusual sights and sounds can be accounted for is of course
clearly understood. In this story I have tried to interest my young
readers in the attempts of four normal, go-ahead boys to solve the
mysteries connected with a venerable house near the home of one of them,
which was shunned by many of the simple country people. I have
endeavored to avoid all sensationalism and yet to interest the boys and
girls in a stirring story of the experiences of my heroes. I am not
without hope that the final solution of the mystery of the old Meeker
House may help my young readers a little more courageously to face other
problems, perhaps equally mysterious or perplexing, which may be
presented to them in other forms. At all events I sincerely hope that
the spirit and determination of the Go Ahead Boys will remain in their
minds after the story itself shall have long been forgotten.
--Ross Kay
CONTENTS
. CHAPTER I--THE OLD MEEKER HOUSE
. CHAPTER II--COWBOYS AND SKINNERS
. CHAPTER III--INTO THE HAUNTED HOUSE
. CHAPTER IV--FLIGHT
. CHAPTER V--A SURPRISE
. CHAPTER VI--A PRISONER
. CHAPTER VII--AN ESCAPE
. CHAPTER VIII--THE LOST CAR
. CHAPTER IX--ANOTHER FLIGHT
. CHAPTER X--THE CAPTURE IN THE PASS
. CHAPTER XI--THE SEARCH FOR THE MISSING CAR
. CHAPTER XII--A HASTY DEPARTURE
. CHAPTER XIII--WORD CONCERNING THE LOST CAR
. CHAPTER XIV--DISAPPOINTED
. CHAPTER XV--A FAMOUS SPOT
. CHAPTER XVI--ANOTHER LOSS
. CHAPTER XVII--LEFT BEHIND
. CHAPTER XVIII--THE ARRIVAL
. CHAPTER XIX--AN INVITATION
. CHAPTER XX--THE FATHER OF HIS COUNTRY
. CHAPTER XXI--AN EXPLANATION IN PART
. CHAPTER XXII--A DARE
. CHAPTER XXIII--LED BY A MAN
. CHAPTER XXIV--THE END OF THE HOUSE
. CHAPTER XXV--A TALK WITH THE TRAMP
. CHAPTER XXVI--CONCLUSION
THE GO AHEAD BOYS AND THE MYSTERIOUS OLD HOUSE
CHAPTER I--THE OLD MEEKER HOUSE
"Do you see that house?"
"You mean that low, old house on the corner of the road?"
"Yes."
"What of it?"
"Well, that's one of the oldest houses in this part of the country."
"It looks the part. How old is it?"
"It's at least one hundred and seventy-five years old."
"It's old enough to look better, then. Is that one of the houses that
Washington slept in?"
"I guess so."
"It must be, from the stories you have told me since I have been here.
How old was Washington, anyway, when he died?"
"He was in his sixty-eighth year."
"I think there's some mistake about that."
"No, sir. Those are the correct figures. He was born in 1732 and he died
in 1799."
"I'm not going to dispute you, George. I'll take your word for it, but
it always seemed to me that Washington's age must have been a good deal
greater than the histories say it was."
"Why?"
"Because he slept in so many houses. I have figured it up and if he had
spent about a quarter of an hour in every one of the houses that you say
he slept in, it will figure out that he was a good deal more than
sixty-seven years old. Indeed, I have begun to think that Methuselah was
an infant-in-arms compared with George Washington, if ten per cent of
the stories you have been telling us are true. By the way, how old was
Methuselah, anyway?"
"'And all the days of Methuselah were nine hundred and sixty and nine
years and he died.'"
"Well, poor old man, I should have thought he would have been ready to
die. Just think of it, having to live in this world almost a thousand
years! I wonder how his hearing was and if he could see straight. I have
always thought that no matter how long I might live I should want people
to feel when I came to die that I had a little more of a record than
born in 1899 and died some time in the future."
"That's the best thing some men ever did."
"What?"
"Why, to die. They'd give up their places to others who could fill them
better."
"What's all that got to do with that old house?"
"Nothing. I didn't start to talk about Methuselah."
"That's all right, but what about this house?"
"It's haunted."
A hearty laugh went up from the three boys who were the companions of
George Sanders in his automobile.
The conversation which has been recorded had been carried on by George
Sanders and his friend Fred Button. These two boys, together with John
Clemens and Grant Jones, were close friends and schoolmates. Although
they were nearly of the same age they were markedly different in their
appearance. Fred, who was the pygmy of the party, was a little,
round-faced, bright-eyed fellow, who was able to say quick and keen
things and who was the inspiration of most of the pranks of which the
band was guilty.
John Clemens was perhaps Fred's closest friend. He was six feet three
inches tall, but he did not weigh very much more than the shorter Fred,
who made up in breadth what he lacked in length.
Grant Jones, the most quiet and thoughtful member of the party, seldom
entered into the wordy contests, although he took special delight in the
pranks of his comrades.
George Washington Sanders was the owner of the automobile in which the
four boys were riding.
The day was one of the most beautiful of early summer. In Northern New
Jersey, not far from the border of New York State, George's father had
an extensive farm. To this place from their early childhood the four
friends had been accustomed to come from the great city and the many
good times they had enjoyed there seemed to increase in number and
quality with every succeeding summer.
Not all their summers had been passed on the farm, however. There had
been frequent trips, which the boys had taken to different parts of
their own land and others. A few years before this time they had been
accompanied by the father or uncle of one of the boys, who had acted as
guardian and guide. On these various trips they had not only had many
enjoyable times, but also many stirring experiences. Some of these
adventures have already been told in other stories of this series.
Among themselves the boys frequently referred to the quartet as the Go
Ahead boys. They had selected this name as one that was most expressive
of their purposes. They had found it in the famous motto of Davy
Crockett, who, years ago, was himself familiarly known as "Go Ahead"
Crockett.
On the day when this story opens they were on their way to George's
farm. They had approached within a mile of their destination when their
host had called their attention to the low building which commonly was
referred to as the Meeker House. It was an unpretentious structure,
containing a story and a half, with a lean-to or addition, that looked
much as if it had been built as an afterthought, or as a postscript is
added to a letter.
The sides of the building were weather-beaten and it was manifest that
it had been long since any one had dwelt in the house.
"It seems to me, George," spoke up Fred, "that you're finding new
historical places around the farm every summer. Let me see, what was it
last summer?"
"You are doing better, Fred," laughed George. "You remember now that
there was a last summer. I have sometimes been afraid you wouldn't
remember even that much, but for your sake I'll tell you that last
summer I told you the story of the young fellow who was captured in
Ramapo Pass. He was Washington's messenger, you will remember, although
he did not know it at the time."
"I do recall now," said Fred pompously, "some information you were kind
enough to dole out to us. It seems to me that you told me that this
young fellow was sent purposely by Washington down through the Ramapo
Valley so that he would be captured by the British and taken to New
York. If I'm correct he had a letter sewed inside the lining of his coat
and this letter contained instructions for General Heath, who was at
Morristown, to join him, that is Washington and not the boy, in taking
New York."
"That's right. It all comes back to me, too," joined in Grant. "This
fellow was taken to New York and he felt pretty mad at Washington. He
could have found his way across the country all right, he thought, and
would have given the message to General Heath without any trouble, but
Washington insisted upon his going through to Ramapo Valley and of
course he was caught. Poor chap, he didn't know that that was the very
thing Washington was planning to do. He wanted him caught so that his
letter would be found and Clinton wouldn't dare leave New York."
"What did Clinton want to leave New York for?" broke in John. "I can't
understand why anybody would want to leave little, old New York. That's
the best town on the globe."
"He wanted to take his army south to help Cornwallis, who was bottled up
on the Yorktown peninsula. That was the trick that Washington played on
him. He kept Clinton here, and when at last Clinton got his eyes opened,
he found out that Washington's army was already down across the Delaware
and headed for Chesapeake Bay."
"Did he arrive in time?" inquired Fred innocently.
"For further and detailed information I refer you to any primary history
of the United States," said Grant laughingly. "That's one of the things
no American boy ought to have to learn. He ought to know it before he
begins."
"What about this house back here?" said Fred. "You seem to point it out
as if you thought there was something peculiar about it."
"I told you that it's haunted."
Again the boys laughed heartily as Grant said, "Anybody would think to
hear you talk, George, that you belonged back in the days when they
hanged witches."
"You mean burned," spoke up Fred promptly.
"No, I don't mean 'burned' the witches, I mean 'hanged,'" retorted
Grant. "There are some ignorant people who sometimes talk about the
people of the Salem Colony burning witches, but they didn't burn
them--they hanged them."
"Pardon me," said Fred demurely. "I stand corrected."
"But there really is something queer about this house," said George. "I
know, for I've been there."
The boys all looked back at the little building, which now was far
behind them. The quiet that rested upon it seemed like that of a
cemetery. It plainly belonged to another generation.
"What do you mean by its being haunted!" demanded Fred, at last breaking
in upon the silence.
"I'm telling you what the common report is," said George, somewhat
testily. "Everybody says it is haunted."
"But you said you yourself knew it was."
"No, I didn't. I said there was something peculiar about it."
"Go on with your story, George," called John. "Don't keep us in this
burning suspense. What was it?"
"Why, I went over there one day," explained George, somewhat
reluctantly. "It was just at sunset and a terrible thunder shower had
come up and I ran to the old Meeker House to get in out of the rain."
"When did you learn to do that?" broke in Fred.
"I didn't have to learn," declared George. "At all events I got inside
the house and waited for the storm to pass. But it didn't pass. When it
struck the hills over yonder it was turned back by colder currents of
air, so I got the storm coming and going. The first thing I knew the old
place was dark and then--"
"And then what?" demanded Grant.
"And then,--things began to happen."
"What happened?" inquired Grant. "Don't keep us in this terrible
suspense."
"Well, there wasn't a breath of air stirring," explained George, "but
the window shutters began to slam a half a dozen times and I heard
groans that seemed to come up from the cellar and I was almost sure that
once I heard something or somebody call my name."
"That's a good one," laughed John, who in spite of his flippant manner
was strongly moved by the story of his friend. "You're always expecting
somebody to call you by name whether they know you or not."
"Oh, but they know _of_ him," suggested Fred. "I know _of_ a good many
people that I don't know by sight; for example, there's the President."
"Keep still, fellows," ordered Grant, "and let George tell his story. He
was as far as the slamming of the shutters and the groans that came from
the cellar and the call which some of the evil spirits made on him by
name. Go on, George," he added, turning to his friend, "tell us what
happened next."