Part 1

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Transcriber’s note:

Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).

* * * * * *

_The Mercer Boys in the Ghost Patrol_

BY CAPWELL WYCKOFF

The summer camp of Woodcrest Military Institute was always an exciting event to the Mercer boys and Terry Mackson. But when the cadets camped near Rustling Ridge, the boys ran into a series of startling occurrences: a horse stampede, a mysterious fire, the disappearance of a little girl, and most frightening of all, the Ghost of Rustling Ridge, who seemed determined to drive the cadets away.

Don and Jim, along with Terry, were appointed to the camp’s Ghost Patrol, and how they solved the mystery of the ghost makes one of the most exciting adventures in the Mercer Boys Series.

Other books in the _Mercer Boys Series_

THE MERCER BOYS’ CRUISE IN THE LASSIE THE MERCER BOYS AT WOODCREST THE MERCER BOYS ON A TREASURE HUNT THE MERCER BOYS’ MYSTERY CASE THE MERCER BOYS WITH THE COAST GUARD

* * * * * *

THE MERCER BOYS IN THE GHOST PATROL

by

CAPWELL WYCKOFF

The World Publishing Company Cleveland and New York

Falcon Books are published by the World Publishing Company 2231 West 110th Street · Cleveland 2 · Ohio

WP 651 Copyright 1951 by the World Publishing Company Manufactured in the United States of America

Contents

1 Terry Comes to Grief 9 2 The “Gossip” Runs Wild 21 3 At Rustling Ridge 30 4 Strange Tales from the Ridge 41 5 A Fight and a Stampede 51 6 The Trouble Bug Bites Deep 61 7 The Old Man of the Ridge 71 8 Moving Flame 83 9 Sharp Work as Fire Fighters 93 10 Emergency Service 103 11 The Ghost Patrol 114 12 A Brush with the Sheriff 124 13 The Shape in the Moonlight 134 14 Disobedience Loses the Game 144 15 Dawning Light 153 16 Listening In 164 17 Breaking Up Hydes’ Party 174 18 The Last of the Ghost 190

THE Mercer Boys IN THE Ghost Patrol

1 Terry Comes to Grief

A number of young men in the gray uniforms which formed the ordinary dress of the cadets at Woodcrest Military Institute stood around the counter in the school supply room. It was early in July and the summer encampment was at hand. It was the custom at Woodcrest for the third and second classmen to go to summer camp, while the younger classmen and the seniors went home for their vacation. The score or more of young soldiers who were in the supply room this July afternoon were busy getting their camping uniforms.

During the school year the neat, distinguished gray uniforms were worn, but on the encampment the more serviceable campaign uniforms, patterned after those worn by the United States Army, were required.

A tall, red-headed cadet, with twinkling eyes and a humorous expression perpetually on his good-natured, freckled face, was at the moment the next one to be waited on. He gave the sizes of his garments and then grinned.

“If it is convenient, I’d like a uniform in a shade to match my hair!” he requested. This grin was answered by half a dozen others, for Terry Mackson was a great favorite with his classmates in the new second class, into which he and his pals, the Mercer boys, had just graduated.

“We have nothing as red as all that,” the cadet clerk grinned in return. “Would something in deep orange do?”

“Possibly it would, if you are careful to get something that won’t conflict with my beauty!” returned the cadet.

“We haven’t a thing in stock that would conflict with or detract from your beauty,” said the clerk, gravely. “These uniforms are ugly in the extreme, and I’m sure you won’t find them a drawback in the least, Mr. Mackson!”

“Well spoken, my lad!” approved Terry. “Let’s have the plainest uniform you have. Natural beauty ennobles whatever enshrines it, so bring out whatever you have!”

“Why bother with a uniform at all?” laughed the cadet clerk. “The colonel and the rest of us will be so busy admiring your looks that we won’t notice anything else!”

There was a general laugh at this, as Dick Rowen, the cadet in charge of the commissary department, stepped to the counter, a frown on his face.

Rowen was a handsome young man with glossy black hair. He had never been popular with the cadet body, however, for he continually reminded everyone of the wealth and prestige of his family. But he was a very capable cadet and was respected though not popular. He had been placed in charge of the commissary department much to his annoyance, for he considered it beneath him. Rowen was striving for an officer’s commission, and it did not please him to be “dud chucker,” as the cadets called the commissary clerks. All day the endless routine of passing out uniforms, blouses, hats and shoes had galled him, and at the present moment his temper was ragged.

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

The clerk who was waiting on Terry turned to stare at him. “There’s no trouble, Rowen,” he said.

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

Terry shook his head gravely. “No, Mr. Rowen. I am simply trying to draw a uniform that will match my beauty, that’s all!”

Rowen frowned more deeply. “Have the goodness to understand, Mr. Mackson, that we are very busy here, and that such infant’s prattle merely wastes our time!”

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

“Please don’t be funny, Mackson! That comes natural to some people, and others work hard all their lives without ever managing to be really humorous!”

Terry turned to the others back of him. “Gentlemen,” he observed, “Mr. Rowen has turned philosopher! Some of you fellows are naturally funny, ask Mr. Rowen!”

A dull red flush mounted in the other’s cheeks. “How long are you going to waste our time?”

“Look here!” exclaimed the redhead. “If I’m not mistaken, you are wasting your own time! Here I am, waiting with the patience of an angel for my uniform, and are you getting it? No, twenty times no! Don’t you know that time wasted can never be recovered, Mr. Rowen?”

“I’ll tell you what I do know!” Rowen fairly hissed. “I know that you and those Mercer brothers are too confounded stuck on yourselves! You are the colonel’s own particular pets!”

“Well, well, the Mercer brothers get a tongue lashing, too!” commented a brown-haired, good-looking youth back of Terry. “Brother Don, weep on my shoulder!”

“I cry better outdoors,” grinned Don Mercer, behind his brother Jim. “Gee, how distressing this conversation is getting!”

“You are making us feel dreadful, really, Mr. Rowen!” Terry told the clerk mournfully. At the laugh that went up Rowen lost his temper.

“I’ll make you feel dreadful, all right,” snapped the disagreeable cadet, and before anyone could guess as to his purpose he hit Terry on the point of the jaw, knocking him to the floor.

There was a moment of hushed expectancy while Terry stared up at the supply clerk in surprise. Most of the good-natured grin had faded from his face, and a slight redness had suffused his cheeks. He jumped to his feet. But at that moment Colonel Morrell walked into the office.

Colonel Morrell was a little fat man with gray hair, laughing gray eyes and the air of a real man’s man about him. By the cadet corps he was beloved greatly, and to a man they respected him thoroughly. His keen eye swept over the cadets and he noted that something unusual was in the wind, but with characteristic rare judgment he made no comment on it.

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

“Yes, sir,” answered the cadet, saluting. The colonel returned the salute, turned on his heel and left the room. They heard his footsteps echo down the hall.

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

With that he seized the unprepared cadet by the collar, hauling him bodily over the counter. Rowen was unprepared for the act and flopped across the boards, his head hanging over the side. Although he struggled furiously Terry managed to hold him down while he administered a sound spanking to the surly one. Then he pushed him backward. The assembled cadets had enjoyed every moment of it.

“That’s for you,” said Terry, unheeding the sputtering of the other. “If you act like a baby someone will have to play papa and spank you! I happened to be the nearest one. Next time be careful who you punch on the jaw. It might be somebody who’ll lose his temper and muss you up!”

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

“Well, if you have half a mind, that means that your whole mind is busy on the one subject, because sometimes I think you have only half a mind. Now, you’re wasting my time! One uniform, if you please!”

With very bad grace the uniform was handed to him and the line moved on. As Terry stepped away Rowen spoke to him between half-shut teeth.

“I’ll fix you for this yet, Mackson!”

Jim Mercer halted at the counter. “Was there some complaint about the Mercer brothers, Rowen?” he asked quietly.

“I just said that you two were the colonel’s pets,” replied the clerk. “Just because you two once helped the colonel out of a mess he bows down before you.”

“With all due respect to the colonel,” drawled Don Mercer, “he is a little too fat to bow down! Calm down, Dick.”

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

Terry impishly picked up the telephone, carefully holding down the hook. “Hello, is this the nurse?” he spoke into the transmitter. “If you have time I wish you’d stop in at the commissary department. Mr. Rowen has a very bad pain. I beg your pardon? Oh, it seems to be a Mackson-Mercer pain, if you know what that is! It seems to be——”

Laughing, Jim Mercer caught him by the arm. “Come on, get out of here, you!” he admonished his friend. “Come on up to the room.”

The three boys were devoted pals, having been friends from childhood. They had been in many scrapes and adventures together, sharing their fun and dangers on land and sea. In the first volume of this series, _The Mercer Boys’ Cruise in the Lassie_, they had gone on a long cruise, and from there they had come to Woodcrest, their fun and adventure at that time being related in _The Mercer Boys at Woodcrest_. On their following summer vacation they had encountered some strange events in _The Mercer Boys on a Treasure Hunt_ and later on had worked together on a school mystery, details of which will be found in _The Mercer Boys’ Mystery Case_. Early in the spring of that same year the boys had faced a man’s task on the Massachusetts coast, all of which will be found in the fifth volume, _The Mercer Boys with the Coast Guard_. Now, after a few months of uneventful school life, they were preparing for their first encampment.

Once in their own room the three boys hung up the new uniforms that they would wear the next day. There were no lessons and they had nothing to do except wait until morning, when they would set off for camp. All of the boys looked forward eagerly to it.

“I hear that we are going to a new camping ground this year,” Jim said, as he sat on the edge of his bed. “Rustling Ridge, they call it.”

“Yes,” nodded Don. “Other years they have held the encampment at Perryville, but the colonel hunted up new grounds this time. I heard that there had been quite a bit of building going on near the old camp and the colonel wants to get as far away from civilization as he can.”

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

“No, it isn’t,” agreed Jim. “But it is far enough away for camping purposes. Even the colonel doesn’t know much about this new location.”

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

“I heard that it was,” returned Terry. “Well, the whole outlook suits me perfectly. I wouldn’t have known what to do with myself this vacation, anyway.”

“We might have made a cruise,” Don suggested. “We haven’t been sailing on the good old _Lassie_ for so long that I’m afraid I’ve forgotten how to manage it!”

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

“I rather doubt that. What adventures can we run across on a camping trip? We’ll have a lot of fun, I grant you that, but I don’t look for anything out of the way. We’ll be very busy drilling and practicing all sorts of tactics.”

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

“Rowen is a natural sorehead,” said Don briefly. “The best thing we can do is to let him alone. That kind isn’t made any better by stirring up, and he isn’t worth getting into trouble over. We can just be decent to him and let it go at that.”

“I guess you’re right,” nodded Terry.

Supper that night was a slightly unruly affair, tempered only by the presence of the colonel and the other officers. The young soldiers themselves were in high spirits.

Rowen, after the meal, went into conference with his two roommates, young men who had borrowed from the unpopular cadet and, therefore, felt obligated to him. What went on in that conference was not designed for Terry Mackson’s peace.

When the orders of the day were read that evening all cadets were commanded to be in place at bugle call in the morning, with full equipment and ready to march. It was announced that no excuses would be accepted for failure to report on time.

When the bugle sounded the next morning the cadets sprang from bed, dressed and ate a hearty breakfast. There was still half an hour before assembly and the cadets were at leisure. Just as Terry was turning away from the table a member of the kitchen force approached him. In his hand he had a note.

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

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

“Jack Olson,” replied the cook. “He said Captain Rush gave it to him, but he didn’t have time to give it to you himself.”

Terry nodded and read the note. Captain Rush was the leader of the artillery division to which Terry belonged. The note was brief and to the point.

Mr. Mackson:

Go to the storage room in the barn and get out the extra harness that you will find there.

Rush, Captain.

“Funny he didn’t tell me, instead of sending me a note,” reflected Terry. “Well, orders are orders, and I’m ready as it is. I’ll go out there now.”

He made his way to the barn, finding it quite empty. He knew that there was a small storage room at one side and he made his way to it, opening the door and peering in. There was a pile of harness on the floor and he went toward it.

At that moment the door back of him closed with a bang. A bolt on the outside was shot at the same moment. Terry rushed to the door, pushing against it.

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

His only answer was the sound of retreating footsteps and the point of it all came to him in a rush. He kicked against the door, finding it solid and then looked around the cell. But there was no window and no opening of any kind.

“Tumbled right into the trap!” he groaned, grinding his teeth. “If I don’t get out of here before assembly it will be too bad for me!”

2 The “Gossip” Runs Wild

The whole trick was clear to him now. In the general orders of the day, read to the cadets on the previous day, the fact that no excuse would be accepted had been sternly emphasized. Terry was not the kind who would carry tales even if he thought they would excuse him and win him sympathy, and as he realized how badly fooled he had been his eyes flashed in anger.

“I see the whole business, now,” he reflected. “Jack Olson is a crony of Rowen’s and he carried that note supposedly signed by Rush. They know I won’t tell Rush about it, and there isn’t any use in thumping Olson, because he probably had to take his orders from Rowen. But I sure would like my hands on that surly guy!”

Realizing that every moment counted the red-headed youth looked around the small room, his eyes having grown used to the darkness. He hoped that there might be some instrument that would make it possible for him to pry up a board and so make his escape, but the only thing in sight was the pile of harness. There was not even a piece of metal on the harness and although he examined every corner of the little cell he was unable to find a single object that would aid him.

“Guess I’ll just have to use my hands and feet, if that will do any good,” he reflected.

Dropping on his hands and knees he examined the floor carefully to see if any of the boards were loose, but all of them were securely fastened to the huge beams that made up the framework of the barn. The boards were very thick and any thought of escaping under the barn was out of the question. From there he went to the door, feeling carefully along the sides to see if any signs of weakness existed here, but once again he was disappointed. Like the rest of the barn the door and the frame had been strongly constructed and it did not even quiver under his hearty kicks.

“About the only thing I can do—if I can do it—is to kick a board off the side of the wall,” he decided.

With this thought in mind he raised his foot, but then a sound reached his ears, a sound that made his blood chill.

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

“Good night!” groaned Terry, the sweat breaking out on his forehead. “There goes the call to assemble! If I’m ever going to get out of here in time, now is the moment!”

With desperation Terry kicked stoutly at the wall boards, but with the first kick the bitter truth was forced upon him. The sides of the barn were as strongly composed as the rest of the building, and all the kicking in the world would not get him out of the room in which he was held prisoner. To further worry him certain sounds told him that the process of assembly was going forward rapidly.

Doors slammed, running footsteps sounded on the parade grounds, voices rang out as the assembling cadets gathered. The butt of a rifle cracked on the pavement, and the noise of stamping horses reached his ears. The cavalrymen, of which Jim Mercer was the chief, were leading out the spirited mounts, and the creaking of leather, the snorts of the horses, and the cries of the young soldiers, reached the ears of the unfortunate young cadet. Hoping to attract their attention he pounded and yelled at the top of his voice, but no response came back to him. They were making too much noise themselves to hear him.

Closer at hand there was a deeper rumble and Terry groaned in spirit. It was the members of his own division, the artillery, taking out the field guns that they were to take with them for the summer practice. He was the chief gunner on the sleek steel monster which he had named the “Gossip” and he knew that the others of his crew must be wondering where he was. Just as soon as the guns were in formation and the roll call sounded he would be officially marked absent from duty and held guilty of disobeying orders. As he heard the guns roll out of the barracks and heard the noise of the towing cables being connected he knew it was too late.

From the barracks to the parade ground there was a slight hill and the trucks began to pull the weapons up the grade. He heard them go up one by one and then something seemed to go wrong. There was a snap, a rumble and somebody cried out.

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

That gun was Terry’s own piece of equipment. From the cries that arose he gathered that the gun had broken from the cable and was rolling down the hill. There was an increasing rumble that seemed suddenly close at hand, and before his brain had time to realize what had happened there was a tremendous crash, the boards of his cell burst open like matchwood, and the butt of the “Gossip” halted a scant foot from his stomach!

For a single instant Terry was stunned. The sudden glare of morning sunlight made him blink, the dust filled his mouth and the echoes of the crash remained in his ears. But it did not take him long to regain his composure and spring forward. He placed affectionate hands on the gun.

“Good old ‘Gossip,’” he whooped. “You wouldn’t go on parade without me, would you? Talk about luck!”

A half dozen artillerymen appeared at the opening, led by Captain Rush. At the sight of Terry they halted and stared in amazement.

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

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

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

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

“Then the accident was a lucky one for you,” nodded the captain. He turned to the young artillerymen. “We have only a few minutes to make the parade grounds. Snap to it!”

Terry threw himself into the work, rejoicing in the chance to be busy. The truck was backed down the hill and the broken cable was stripped from it and new material substituted. A loose pin was driven into the shaft and when the “Gossip” was harnessed it was drawn up to the top of the hill in safety and wheeled swiftly into position. And on the rear box sat Terry, grinning from ear to ear.

When his name was called he answered brightly, stealing a look across the parade ground to the infantry, where Rowen stood in the second rank. The face of the sullen one was a study in amazement.

In accordance with previous instructions the cavalry swung out first, taking the long, dusty road that led to Rustling Ridge. Next in line marched the infantry and the artillery rumbled in the rear. Terry sat on his gun, happy and thankful for the good fortune he had had. He smiled frequently, but there was a grim set to his jaw nevertheless.

All through the morning they marched and it was noon before they paused to make temporary camp. Just as soon as the long column came to a halt and broke up Terry made his way to where Rowen and his few friends sat on a grassy bank. He halted directly in front of the other.

“Didn’t work, did it?” Terry asked.

Rowen looked at him with a haughty frown. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” he said.

“Yes, you do. Your plan to lock me in the barn until I was late for camp didn’t turn out very well, did it?”

“I don’t know anything about it, and you can’t prove that I do,” snapped the dark-haired boy.