Part 7

“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.