Goodwin Harold Leland
The Blue Ghost Mystery: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story

CHAPTER V
Night Alarm

Rick lathered a hot dog with mustard and took a satisfying bite. It was a down-to-earth hot dog with no mystery, no eerieness about it, for which he was grateful. He hadn't admitted it, but the incident in the mine had shaken him.

Dr. Miller passed the milk pitcher to Rick, then asked, "Are you certain you heard laughter? It wasn't a trick of the wind?"

"I'm sure it was laughter," Barby said solemnly. "Captain Costin was laughing at mortals who dared to enter his tomb."

Rick glanced at his sister, hoping she was joking. She wasn't. "I'm not certain," he admitted. "It all happened at once. I mean, the torch went out, there was a sort of sudden breeze, and we got out of there into the daylight."

He had a mental image of he and Scotty executing that ancient and honorable maneuver known as getting out of there! They had reached the mine entrance in a dead heat, probably breaking several world's records for foot racing.

"We didn't stop to listen," he added with some embarrassment. "We just got."

"Well, I should think so!" Jan Miller said vehemently. "It's a wonder your hair didn't turn white."

Scotty raised a hand and ruffled his dark crewcut. "Didn't it?" he asked ruefully. "I took it for granted that it had."

Dr. Miller chuckled. "Put on a few more hot dogs," he called to his wife. "These boys need nourishment. They've been through an ordeal." To Rick and Scotty he said seriously, "You needn't be embarrassed. The fear of the unknown, combined with the fears we have of closed places, almost complete darkness, and our own physiological reactions to the unexpected make us do our thinking with our legs instead of our heads in some situations."

It was neatly put. Rick acknowledged the scientist's statement. "It isn't as though we had been scared away for good. We're going back, equipped with lights a ghost can't blow out."

"And I'm certain you'll find nothing but an abandoned shaft," Dr. Miller replied. "After all, the dust showed no sign of human occupancy, you said."

"Ghosts don't leave tracks," Barby murmured.

Scotty accepted another hot dog from Mrs. Miller. "Thank you. Look, everyone, we can make two assumptions. Either that the ghost is real, in which case we call in the Society for Psychic Phenomena, or that the ghost is a man-made thing, in which case we search for the man."

"I'm still not buying assumption number one," Rick stated flatly. "My hair may be white, or close to it, and I'm ready to admit that the apparition is a mighty convincing spook, but I don't really feel it's a ghost."

Jan Miller spoke up. "Rick's hunches are pretty good. If he doesn't believe in the ghost, it isn't just because he's a doubting Thomas. I think the boys should go ahead with their investigation on the assumption that the ghost is caused by someone."

Barby shook her head, more in sorrow than in anger. "I thought you had more faith than that, Jan."

"It isn't a question of faith," Jan explained. "It's a question of where you start. If we start by accepting the ghost as real, there's nothing we can do. Anyway, we invited the boys down to try to solve a mystery, didn't we? I guess that proves we didn't truly believe in the ghost."

Rick grinned at the dark-haired girl. "Okay, Jan. Now, to carry on where Scotty left off, if we assume the ghost is man-caused, we have to assume it isn't a practical joke, or that it is. What's the vote?"

"No evidence," Dr. Miller said thoughtfully. "It could be a practical joke, although it's an elaborate sort of thing. More complicated practical jokes than this have been pulled by expert jokesters. On the whole, however, I'm inclined to vote against the joke assumption on the grounds that it has been going on too long. Jokesters are not noted for their staying power. By this time the secret would be out, or we'd be having variations. The apparition wouldn't have fallen into a routine."

Dr. Miller had spotted exactly the thing that was troubling Rick. It was routine, but ghosts are traditionally far from routine. That was actually the biggest argument for assuming that it was man-made, and that it was not a practical joke.

He voiced his thoughts aloud, then asked, "If man-made, and not a practical joke, what's the motive?"

No one replied, because no one had a possible answer.

"Find the motive and you find just about everything else," Scotty commented.

"True enough," Rick agreed. "But if we can't guess a motive, let's try another tack. When did the ghost first appear?"

Barby answered. "Right after the Civil War."

Rick was patient. "I know. I mean, when did the ghost start making his recent appearances?"

"About a month ago," Dr. Miller replied. "We first heard about it from our tenant farmer when we arrived here from Spindrift. He was full of the news, as you can imagine. The ghost first appeared at a Girl Scouts' campfire. An annual event. The girls are supposed to camp overnight. Needless to say, they didn't."

Rick had a quick mental impression of uniformed girls scattering like leaves in a hurricane. "The appearances have been regular since then?"

"Yes. So far as we know, the ghost always appears at nine."

Rick scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I wonder if he appears when there's no audience?"

Scotty chuckled. "That's like the question about does a falling tree make a noise if there's no one to hear it. How can you tell?"

"I just wondered if the ghost would appear for a small audience, like one or two people."

"Meaning us," Scotty said with resignation. "When do we try, tonight?"

"Could be. Are there any picnics or meetings scheduled for tonight, Dr. Miller?"

"Not that I know of. The next big affair is two days from now. The Sons of the Old Dominion have their annual steak and crab feast. This is the Old Dominion State, you know. It's a major event in this area."

"Then we'll try tonight," Rick stated, with a glance at Scotty. His pal nodded.

Over a second hot dog, then a third, Rick continued his line of questioning. Not until he began to ask more about details of mine ownership did one interesting fact come to light. Dr. Miller had received an offer to buy his property at a price considerably above the going market rates just before the ghostly appearances started.

"The offer wasn't for all the property," Dr. Miller added. "Only for the portion along our eastern line. It includes the field where you landed, the picnic ground, and our part of the mine property. The house and orchard were not included."

"How valuable is the part asked for?" Rick queried.

"Not valuable at all, except that the field could be used for hay or alfalfa. That's why I was rather puzzled."

"Who wanted the land?" Scotty asked.

"I don't know. The offer came through Jethro Collins, a local real-estate man. He said he was acting as agent for out-of-town interests that preferred to remain unknown for political reasons. It sounded fishy to me, and I refused."

"Because it might be crooked?" Rick asked quickly.

"No. That didn't occur to me. I thought that industrial interests might want the property, and I'm not anxious to have a glue works or something set up as a neighbor. Besides, I don't care for Collins. I'd rather not do business with him."

"Could the old mine have any value?" Rick persisted.

"No. The lead remaining is of such poor grade that it wouldn't be of any use. I'm sure that the mine would have been abandoned even before the Civil War if the South hadn't needed the lead so badly. Of course we're only part owners, anyway. My grandfather owned it jointly with the Hilleboes, our next-door neighbors. They own the property beyond ours, and uphill from the mine. We've never worried over the ownership of the mine itself, because it's worthless for any purpose."

Rick thought it was curious that an offer should be made for worthless property just as the ghost put in an appearance. It required looking into. He wondered how to go about it, and decided perhaps a chat with the real-estate agent might be useful. Dr. Miller readily gave his permission to try.

To Rick's other question, Dr. Miller had no answer – that was the odd location of the pipe from which the spring water trickled. The scientist could make only one suggestion. "Perhaps the hole was drilled vertically, and a horizontal feed put on for convenience. Then, later, the area was covered over by tailings from the mine, leaving only the horizontal pipe. After all, the pipe is not directly over the mine shaft. It is well to one side, perhaps six or eight feet."

That was a reasonable suggestion, and Rick let it drop for the time being. In fact, the boys let the entire subject drop for the rest of the afternoon, although Rick kept worrying the problem as was his way when confronted with a puzzle.

The Millers had a badminton court in the shade of an enormous old oak, and after a short pause to let the hot dogs digest at least partially, Rick and Scotty let themselves in for a series of trouncings by the girls, who had obviously been playing intensively. It was embarrassing, to say the least, but neither boy begrudged the girls their success.

Not until dinner was ended did the subject of the ghost in Union blue come up again, then Rick started his probing once more.

"The business about an offer for the property may not be connected, but it's a curious coincidence. Now, what else happened about the time the haunting began? Any other facts, even unconnected ones?"

The Millers could think of none, but Mrs. Miller suggested that Belsely, their tenant, would know of anything new or unusual. Rick agreed to talk with him.

At eight o'clock, armed with flashlights, the boys departed for the old mine. They approached the area with caution, on the alert for any possible visitors. But the picnic ground was completely abandoned.

A quick inspection of the mine showed only their own footprints. The boards had been left off the entrance during their earlier inspection, and apparently no one had been there since. Then, at Scotty's suggestion, they looked for a place of concealment from which to hold vigil.

Rick found it, high in an oak. It was an easy climb, and from the huge limb they could look through a screen of foliage and see without being seen. Both boys were satisfied that they were unobserved. No humans knew they were in the vicinity.

The Virginia mosquitoes were not so easily deceived. Both boys were promptly located by a scouting party, and mosquito communications went into fast operation. Within a few minutes the entire local mosquito air force had invaded the tree. Rick waved his hands futilely at the whining swarm and muttered unhappily, "There are so many they have to line up for a bite."

"I know," Scotty replied in a whisper. "I wonder if they bite ghosts?"

"We'll soon see. It's a few minutes to nine."

In spite of the insects, the boys concentrated on the catch basin, alert for any sign of the ghost. Their flashlights were ready to probe the apparition if it should appear.

Rick glanced occasionally at the luminous dial of his watch. Then, on the stroke of nine, he whispered, "Now."

Nothing happened. The boys bore the mosquitoes stoically and waited. Not until his watch showed 9:15 did Rick speak aloud. "Let's get out of here. I doubt that the ghost will be any later than this. He's not performing tonight."

They dropped to the ground and scratched luxuriously. Scotty shook his head. "No audience, no ghost. Mighty interesting."

"I'm with you," Rick agreed. "Now, suppose the ghost had known we were going to be there. Would he perform for an audience of two?"

"Good question."

"We'll try for an answer tomorrow night," Rick stated. "Tomorrow we'll spread the word around town that we're going to be watching, and let's see what happens."

Scotty scooped up a pebble and tossed it into the creek as they crossed the bridge. "You're sold on the man-made idea, huh?"

"Aren't you?"

"I would be if I had the slightest clue about how a ghost can be produced. But this one baffles me. No darkened rooms, no ghost trumpets, no knocks on tables, not even a chain clanking. A puff of mist and the ghost appears. How is it done?"

Rick didn't know. He didn't even have an idea. "The pool bubbled," he remembered. "That's our only clue. Why did the pool bubble?"

"Essence of spook," Scotty replied. "Spook essence does that to water. Seriously, we poked in the bottom of the pool and found nothing."

"That doesn't mean there was nothing while the ghost was performing," Rick pointed out. "Only that no trace was left."

"You thinking about chemicals?" Scotty lengthened his stride toward the inviting lights of the Miller farmhouse. "And speaking of same, I need some for these mosquito bites."

"Chemicals can produce a mist," Rick pointed out, "without leaving a visible trace. We didn't taste the water in the pool. I'm going to take a sample tomorrow and see what I can find out."

The girls and the Millers were on the screened porch, waiting anxiously.

"No show," Rick called, anticipating the questions from the four on the porch. "Not a sign of a spook. Only mosquitoes."

"I have something for those bites," Mrs. Miller replied quickly. "The mosquitoes are fierce this year. Come into the kitchen and we'll treat both of you."

Between applications of the aromatic ointment the boys reported on their experience, or lack of it. Rick concluded, "So the ghost performs only before an audience, and then only when notified in advance."

Dr. Miller smiled. "A pretty sweeping conclusion from a pretty small sample, Rick. One experiment doesn't do more than give a single point on the curve. You need more evidence than tonight's failure."

"We'll try again," Rick answered. He outlined the plan to let it be known that they would be watching.

"That will be added evidence, but not conclusive," the scientist warned. "But you're on the right track, I'd say. Now, let's leave ghosts and go on to something more tangible. I have an interesting device made up of alternate black and red squares, on which various carved pieces, resembling royalty …"

Rick held up a hand. "Say no more. I will be delighted to take you on for a game of chess."

Barby and Jan returned to their own project, creating monograms to be embroidered on their summer clothes, while Scotty and Mrs. Miller settled down with books.

Rick knew from the start that he was no match for Dr. Miller, but he resolved to give him as good a game as possible. An hour passed before it was clear that Rick would be checkmated in two moves. He sighed. "You've got me, sir. I guess …"

The sentence was never completed. The quiet was abruptly shattered by the strident blasting of the plane's alarm system!

Rick and Scotty were on their feet and running on the instant. Rick reached the door first and threw it open, almost upsetting Belsely, the tenant farmer.

The man's eyes were wide, and his face was pale under the tan.

"It's the ghost!" he shouted. "It's him! In the field, by the plane!"

CHAPTER VI
The Dark Pit

The plane's klaxon horn wailed through the night with a noise audible for miles. The boys pushed past the tenant farmer and ran through the screen door on the porch. The plane was not yet in sight and it was very dark out. The moon was hidden by a bank of low-lying clouds, a precursor of rain.

Rick ran as fast as his long legs would carry him, which was fast enough to hold a track record or two at Whiteside High. Scotty, in spite of his greater weight, was not far behind.

At least one question was answered, Rick thought as he sped through the trees, ducking now and then as he caught a glimpse of a low branch. The ghost could set off an alarm system! He fumbled in his pocket to be sure that he had the keys to the plane, and wondered if he would be in time to keep the apparition from causing damage.

In the next instant he burst through the fringe of the orchard and broke stride as he saw a pale-blue light dancing in the air around the dark shadow of the Sky Wagon!

Scotty was right behind him. He, too, paused for an instant as he saw the light, then both boys were moving at their best speed again.

Rick tried to control his breathing. The spurt was taking its toll, but if he kept going he would get his second wind. He had to get to the plane! He wondered briefly if a supernatural being could do physical damage, then discarded the thought. He wasn't ready to accept that anything supernatural could trigger purely physical alarm systems!

The light seemed almost to have features as Rick drew closer, like a pale-blue jack-o'-lantern, but it was soon clear that this was no hollowed pumpkin head. It was like a human head illuminated from within by some ghastly luminescence.

"It's moving," Scotty called, his voice shaky. Rick saw at the same time that the apparition was retreating, slowly, away from the plane.

It kept the distance constant, always retreating as the boys neared. Their own pace had slowed; the initial sprint couldn't be kept up.

Rick ran directly for the plane, jumped the low wire fence, and inserted his key in the door. He turned the key and the deafening blast of the horn cut off, leaving a deep silence. He turned the key back again, resetting the alarm system, then he jumped the fence once more. "Where is it?"

"There." Scotty pointed to the bank of the creek. The ghostly blue light was swaying, as though in invitation, but it was no longer retreating.

"What is it?" Rick asked. "It looks like a human head lighted from within. But it's too far in the air to be at head level, unless this Union bluecoat was seven feet tall."

Scotty replied with conviction. "It has to be someone carrying a light."

"Can you see anyone under it?"

"No, but that means nothing. The trees make a dark background. I thought I caught a glimpse of a body under it while we were running, but I can't be certain."

"There's one way to find out," Rick said, and was astonished to find that he didn't get cold chills at the thought. "Let's catch him!"

Scotty's reply was to take off in a racing start toward the blue light. Rick had to stretch his legs to catch up, and saw the ghost begin its retreat again, always maintaining the distance between itself and the boys. It danced in the air like a will-o'-the-wisp, as though inviting the boys to hurry.

The pace was slower now, because the relatively smooth surface of the field had been left behind and the course led through bunch grass with an occasional clump of brambles. The ghost danced along the creek bank. Whatever might be under the light was constantly invisible against the fringe of trees. Then it vanished among the trees for a moment, only to reappear.

Rick thought grimly that it was going to be a long chase. Once he stopped in his tracks and whispered to Scotty to do the same. Both listened, but there was no sound other than the normal night noises. Rick knew their own passage had been noisy, marked by the crunching of dry bunch grass, the crack of an occasional small twig of brush, and other sounds of hurrying feet, but the ghost moved with the silence of a – well, a ghost!

In spite of himself Rick felt a moment's chill, then he pressed his lips tightly together and hurried on. It was no ghost, he told himself. It was no ghost! Someone was carrying a light, that was all. Ghosts do not carry lights.

The chase led into the trees, and onto rising ground. There were rocky outcroppings now, and Rick knew they had reached the foothills. The creek cut its way through the foothills for a short distance, then turned to follow an easier path on its way to the sea.

The underbrush was thicker now. This was typical Virginia second-growth forest, full of low brush and creepers. Rick knew it only by feel, however, because it was so dark he could only sense the presence of trees before crashing into them. The blue light vanished periodically behind trees, only to reappear again as though urging them on.

Then, as they broke into a denser thicket, the light vanished completely. Scotty muttered under his breath. Rick peered through the blackness eagerly, taking deep breaths. He had thought they were actually gaining for a moment.

He stood still, his chest heaving. Scotty stopped beside him. There was no sound. Even the night noises of the forest had ceased. There was a weird feeling of hollowness in the air, as though they stood in some great cavern. Rick whispered, "Where did it go?"

"Don't know," came Scotty's breathless reply. "Keep an eye out while I tie my shoe."

Rick sucked in his breath. The blue light! It was closer, tantalizingly close. He suddenly realized he stood on the edge of a clearing, and the blue light hovered on the opposite edge. It danced mockingly.

"Come on!" Rick bounded away from Scotty, and crashed through a dozen feet of underbrush, intent on the light. It wasn't moving! It hovered, as though waiting. For an instant his determination faltered. One thing to chase an object, another to have it wait for you!

He charged on, and his foot slid on soft dirt. He lost balance and his arms flailed to regain his footing, too late! He slid, his back striking painfully as he flew into blackness!

Rick fell, turning slowly through the air. He had time for one brief yell of fear and warning before the wind was smashed out of him. He plunged deep into icy water and struggled frantically as he plummeted into the depths.

It seemed to Rick as though he plunged downward for an eternity. He had no breath; it had been slammed out of him from impact with the water. But he resisted the terrible temptation to breathe and drove his arms downward to check his plunge. In a few seconds he was shooting to the surface again, his chest an agony from lack of air. His arms and legs worked as he literally clawed his way to the air once more, and he shot high into the blessed atmosphere as he broke the surface.

Rick floated, lying on his back, breathing deeply and grateful just to be alive. He heard Scotty calling his name, but had to wait for several breaths before he could manage a weak yell.

He didn't know what had happened, except for one clear thing: they had been mousetrapped. The ghost had lured them on, waiting until the pit was reached before pausing in flight to give them a chance to catch up. And the chance had turned out to be the trap.

"Rick! Can you hear me?"

"I hear you." Scotty seemed terribly far away. Then Rick saw his friend's silhouette, as a dark shape against the lesser darkness of the sky. At a guess Scotty was fifty feet up.

"Hang on while I get a light!"

Rick wondered if his pal was going all the way back to get one of the flashlights they had left behind in the precipitous chase. He wasn't worried about his ability to stay afloat.

He had his breath back somewhat now, so he paddled slowly to a point on the wall of the pit under Scotty's position. He bumped gently into rock and felt with his hands while treading water. The rock surface was rough, but the roughness was regular, the wall flat. Then his fingers felt a groove and his mind created the image to match it. A drill hole! He was in a quarry!

It made sense, Rick thought. This was good limestone country. The ghost had simply led them to an abandoned limestone quarry, and he had obligingly fallen in! A miracle he hadn't broken his neck.

Yellow light cut the darkness and he looked up. Scotty apparently didn't intend to be caught without matches again, for in a moment he appeared, a torch of dry twigs in his hand. It blazed brightly. Scotty placed it on the quarry's lip and added more fuel. The flames mounted higher as the wood caught. Only when the flames were high enough to see by did Scotty look down.

"See a way up, Rick?"

Rick was already searching. On the side to the right of where he had fallen in was a shelf about two feet above the water. It led to another shelf. He swam for it and pulled himself out, shaking water from his clothes. The second shelf was easily reached, but then he was stuck. It was easily twenty feet to the rim. The flickering light showed a sheer wall that could not be climbed without a rope.

Scotty could see the problem, too. "I guess it's us for a rope. I'm sure glad you didn't fall on that side."

"Amen." Where Rick had fallen was a sheer drop into the water. On any other side he would have landed on a shelf.

"Will you be okay?" Scotty asked. "I'll leave the fire burning."

"Take off," Rick replied. "I'm happy as a cliff swallow on my little shelf. Don't be long."

"Okay." Scotty was gone, leaving only the yellow glow of the fire for company.

Unless, Rick thought, the Blue Ghost was hovering nearby, snickering at the success of his efforts.

Thankful that it was a warm night, he removed his garments one at a time and wrung the water from them. The surface of the quarry pool caught the yellow light of the waning fire as he poured water from his shoes. He was very thoughtful. What was the meaning of the night's events?

His wringing out finished and his damp clothes back on, he sat down on the limestone shelf to be as comfortable as possible while waiting.

He had set out at top speed to catch a ghost, but the ghost had caught Richard Brant. He wasn't sure what that meant, but he was sure it meant something. He shivered, as much from reaction as the dampness. Maybe time would tell.