Scott Morgan
Oakdale Boys in Camp

CHAPTER XIII.
QUEER SLEUTH

The visitor also rose to his feet, repressing admirably such annoyance as he may have felt.

“I’ve simply given you the story as I’ve heard it,” he said. “That it’s true in the main there is sufficient evidence to prove. As to the matter of the island being haunted, I will reiterate that I have seen flashing lights upon it at night, and once or twice I’ve heard the howling of a dog, which seemed to come from the island itself. I think you’ll all admit that the story is interesting, at least.”

“It sure is,” agreed Grant, “and we’re much obliged to you for telling it. It ought to make a right good newspaper yarn.”

Granger nodded. “It has appeared in several newspapers this year.”

“The newspapers will print anything,” said Piper.

The visitor shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, boys,” he said, “I think I’ll be going. I hope you enjoy yourselves and have plenty of sport. Perhaps I’ll see you again.”

“Cuc-come over any time,” Springer hastened to invite. “You’ve helped liven up a rather hot and dull afternoon.”

“Yes, come again,” said Stone.

“Perhaps,” suggested Grant, “after we’ve been here a while we might be able to put you wise to the good fishing places. Our friend, Piper, although he hasn’t yet tried his hand at it, is a right wonderful angler.”

“When the fish hear that he’s araound,” grinned Crane, “they crawl right aout on dry land and hide themselves.”

“Funny, hey?” snapped Sleuth. “Good joke! Ha! ha!”

Somehow, this seemed to amuse Mr. Granger greatly, for he continued to laugh as he made his way toward his canoe. Piper glared at the young man’s back and muttered; unlike the others, he did not go down to the shore to see the visitor off.

“Queer chap, that chum of yours, boys,” said Granger, ere getting into the canoe. “Anything wrong with him in his garret?”

“Nothing except the sus-stuff he reads,” answered Springer. “Some folks might think Sleuthy a bit queer, but he’s no fool, as he’s demonstrated more than once.”

“I should say not,” agreed Stone. “I surely have reasons to feel mighty grateful toward Piper. Naturally, people laugh at him on account of his poses in imitation of the great detectives of fiction; but less than a year ago, when I was arrested on a false charge, he turned the laugh and materially aided in clearing me through some genuine detective work that was really clever.”

“I can hardly believe such a thing possible,” murmured Granger.

“It’s a fact,” asserted Ben.

“And I’ll swear to it,” supported Phil, “for I was in the courtroom when he told his sus-story that upset the case against you and astonished everybody who heard it. Sleuth may be queer, but it’s a fact that he’s no fuf-fool.”

“Well, so long, boys,” said Granger, pushing off and dipping his paddle into the water.

They watched until he was some distance away, heading for the further shore to the south of the hotel.

“A right agreeable chap,” commented Grant, “though he didn’t seem inclined to tell a heap about himself.”

“He was too busy telling us about Lovers’ Leap and the old hermit,” said Stone, as they made their way toward the shade in the vicinity of the tent. “Those yarns were very interesting and very well told.”

“That’s a fact,” agreed Piper, “and that’s the reason why the brand of fiction was so plain upon them.”

“Naow yeou look here, Sleuthy,” cried Crane. “Mebbe there ain’t no proofs to back up the Injun story, but everybody knows the principal features of the other yarn are true. The old hermit did live on Spirit Island, and after he was faound dead folks said there was evidence to show that he was an escaped convict.”

“That much may possibly be true,” admitted Piper, with evident reluctance; “but think of claiming that the spirits of the Indian lovers appear on the cliff once a year and leap off clasped in each other’s arms! Piffle! And all that stuff about the ticking of an unseen clock in the hermit’s hut, and mysterious rappings, and ghostly lights, and the howling of a dog, and white figures seen vaguely on the island! Bah! Rot!” With those final explosive ejaculations he burned the brand of condemnation upon such preposterous moonshine.

“Oh, of course we didn’t really believe them things,” protested Crane, although his manner seemed to indicate that he would have found a certain amount of satisfaction in believing them.

“You must recall,” said Grant, “that Granger did not make the assertion that such things really happened; he simply claimed that some people believed or told that they happened.”

“No, sir,” denied Piper promptly; “he declared that he himself had seen mysterious lights on the island, and had likewise heard the doleful howling of a dog. I’ll admit that he was clever in avoiding assertions that might be disproved by investigation or the light of reason’s torch, which must illuminate the minds of all intelligent men; but, nevertheless, in a subtle, crafty manner, he sought by every possible device to inveigle us into accepting as truth the fanciful chimeras of his, or some other person’s, imaginative mind.”

“Oh, wow!” whooped Sile. “Yeou hit the English language an awful wallop that time. Yeou had the dictionary backed up against the ropes and gaspin’.”

“Nobody’s eager to swallow it all, Pipe,” said Grant. “All the same, I’ll admit that Mr. Granger has made me curious to pay a visit to Spirit Island. I’d like to see the holes people have dug searching for the loot John Calvert is supposed to have buried there.”

“Me, too,” nodded Crane. “It’s too hot to paddle araound much naow, but we’ll have to go over to the island fust chance we get.”

“I wouldn’t mind that myself,” said Sleuth. “It will give us something to do.”

“You’ve got sus-something to do,” reminded Springer, “unless you want to sleep on a mighty hard bed tonight. Why don’t you cut some boughs?”

“Seems to me,” returned Sleuth, “you fellows cut enough yesterday. You might give me some of your boughs.”

“Not on yeour life, you lazy tyke!” returned Crane. “If yeou want boughs you’ll cut ’em.”

“Oh, all right,” snapped Piper. “Where’s the hatchet? I’ll do it now.” He found the hatchet and stalked away into the woods in search of boughs.

“Queer old Sleuthy,” laughed Springer, as they heard him chopping a short distance from the camp. “I’m glad he came along with us, for he’s certainly provided some amusement.”

After a time Piper reappeared with an armful of boughs, dripping perspiration from every pore and looking weary and disgusted. He would have flung the boughs down carelessly in the tent, but Grant compelled him to put them in the proper place and arrange them for his bed.

“I never dreamed camping out was such hard work,” grumbled Sleuth.

“Work!” returned Rod. “Why, we haven’t worked, any of us; it’s nothing but play. Hurry up, Pipe, for we’re going in swimming pretty soon.”

“And me all hot and reeking like this? Now that’s a pretty trick to play on a fellow, get him overheated and then announce that you’re going in swimming.”

“We’ll wait till you cuc-cool off some,” promised Springer.

Half an hour later, feeling secure from observation, they stripped off their clothes and went plumping, one after another, into the cool, inviting water off the bold rocks of the point. The delight of it set them tingling and shouting joyously as they disported themselves like porpoises.

“It’s great!” cried Crane. “Warm! I never saw the water so warm. Somebody get a white stone. Let’s dive.”

A white rock twice the size of a hen’s egg was found and tossed into the water, and one after another they took turns diving for it, casting it each time, when recovered, a little further from the shore. Grant proved himself the most expert at this diversion, for he brought up the stone, after all the others had failed to find it, in particularly deep water. In impromptu races, also, the Texan was able to defeat any one of them, although Springer pushed him hard.

“I took swimming lessons at school,” he explained. “After a fellow gets so he reckons he can swim about as well as anybody he will usually learn a lot by taking lessons from a good instructor.”

They were loath to come out, but presently Rodney urged them to do so, and, after a vigorous rubbing with rough towels, they dressed and found themselves bubbling with fresh vigor, like a lot of young colts.

As the sun declined and the afternoon waned Springer mentioned the fact that the time for evening fishing was approaching.

“We really ought to have two canoes,” he said, “so four of us could go out. I suppose it will be a good pup-plan for one of us to be at camp all the time.”

Promptly Piper announced:

“I’m going fishing myself tonight, and I’m going in the canoe, if I have to fight for the chance.”

“Dinged if I ain’t with ye, Sleuthy,” cried Sile. “Rod and Phil had all the fun this morning, and naow it’s aour turn.”

“But we didn’t go fuf-fishing in the canoe,” reminded Springer.

“Because you couldn’t, that’s why,” said Sleuth. “It wasn’t here.”

“We had to foot it along the shore and up that brook, you know,” put in Grant.

“But that was fun,” snickered Piper. “No work about it; nothing but fun. That’s all there is to camping out.”

“Look a’ here, yeou bold pioneer of the wilderness,” said Crane, “if yeou come with me in the canoe yeou don’t want to git a notion that I’m goin’ to do all the paddlin’. Not on your life. Yeou’ll have to do yeour part of it.”

“Depend on me, comrade,” said Piper promptly. “I’ll be with you, even to the death.”

So, as the others good-naturedly yielded, it was Piper and Crane who put forth in the canoe with their rods and gear to lure the finny denizens of the lake with artificial flies.

CHAPTER XIV.
THE HAUNTED ISLAND

Luck did not seem to favor the anglers, for, though they paddled along the shores, casting into the shadows, and varied this by trying deeper water, the sun had set before they got a single rise. At last, however, there was a swirl as Crane lightly dropped a “Morning Glory” as far as he could send it from the canoe, and the buzz of the reel made the hearts of both lads jump.

“I’ve got one – by jinks! I’ve got one,” palpitated Sile.

“You haven’t got him yet,” said Sleuth. “He’s hooked, but you can’t be sure of him until we dip him into the canoe.”

“Ginger! see him go,” cried Crane. “He must be a bouncer. Grab the paddle, Pipe, and follow up.”

Having reeled in, Sleuth did as directed, and at the first dip of his blade the boys saw the fish leap clear of the water, with a tremendous slap, as it tried to shake the hook free. With a splash, he fell back and took to running again.

“Shades of the Pilgrim Fathers!” gasped Sleuth in envious admiration. “He’s a monster. He’s the father of them all. Why didn’t I have the luck to hook him?”

“It’s a salmon, and a peach,” fluttered Crane, reeling in as the fish yielded. “Have that net ready, Pipe.”

“No hurry,” returned Sleuth wisely. “Don’t you get the idea that that fellow is going to let us dip him in a hurry. You’ve got your work cut out for you for some time, old man.”

He was quite right about this, for the gamey fish fought like a shark, resorting to all the devices and stratagems of its kind. Time after time the salmon leaped high out of the water, and whenever it did so both boys were filled with apprehension until the tautening of the line again told them that the creature had not broken away. At least twenty minutes were consumed in the delightful, nerve-racking task of playing that fish, and Crane repeatedly brought him close to the canoe, only to have him turn and run with a fresh burst of strength and a persistence that threatened to leave the reel bare of line. At last, however, with the soft twilight thickening, the salmon betrayed unmistakable evidence of weariness. Slowly and resentfully it permitted itself to be brought closer, its efforts to run becoming shorter and weaker. Grasping the bamboo handle of the landing net, Piper awaited the proper moment, ready to dip.

“Work easy, Sile – work easy,” entreated Piper. “Don’t let him fool you. He may be playing possum.”

“Jest yeou be ready to do yeour part of the job,” advised Crane. “That’s all I want of yeou.”

To Sleuth’s credit, he did his part well, and the very first dip of the net secured the salmon, who came out of the water writhing in the meshes and shining beautifully, despite the semi-darkness.

“Bate he weighs five paounds,” exulted the triumphant angler, removing the capture from the net. “Oh, say, Sleuth, what do you think of that! Them fellers that ketched a little mess of brook traout this morning are beat to death.”

Sleuth had nothing to say. He sat there in the bottom of the canoe gazing dejectedly at the beautiful fish, his heart heavy with chagrin because his was not the glory of the capture.

“But there may be others around here,” he suddenly exclaimed. “Perhaps I’ll get the next one.”

“Do you realize that it’s dark and we’re clean over on the side of the lake opposite aour camp?” asked Sile. “It’s too late to fish any more tonight, old feller, and we’d better be hikin’ for Pleasant Point.”

“That’s it!” rasped Sleuth. “That’s the way of it! You don’t want me to catch anything. You want to hustle back with this big fellow, so that you can crow over me.”

“Oh, flumydiddle!” retorted the other boy. “Yeou can see for yourself that it’s gettin’ too dark, and we’ve got a long distance to go. The fellers will be worried abaout us if we don’t git in pretty soon. Yeou’ve got some sense; anyway, we told Granger that you had.”

Piper yielded with poor grace, and when the canoe was headed toward Pleasant Point there was little vigor in his strokes. He had boasted of his skill as an angler, and, returning empty-handed with a companion crowned with victory, he seemed even now in fancy to hear the jibes of the three lads who were waiting at Camp Oakdale.

Crane made no complaint, even though he realized that the canoe was being propelled almost wholly by his paddle; really generous, although inclined to practical jokes, Sile was sorry for Sleuth.

The rekindled fire was blazing on Pleasant Point, and this light guided them. Presently, near at hand and only a short distance away, a wooded island loomed in the darkness.

“Gee!” said Crane in a suppressed voice. “That’s Spirit Island. We’re pretty close.”

“Yah!” Piper flung back. “You’re scared, I’ll bet.”

“No, I ain’t,” denied the other boy stoutly. “I didn’t take no more stock in the ghost part of Granger’s yarn than yeou did, not a bit. Say, if we had time I’d jest as lief land on that island right naow.”

“I dare you!” challenged Sleuth. “Come on.”

“But yeou know we ain’t got time.”

“We can just step ashore for a minute, and then we’ll have the satisfaction of telling the fellows at camp what we did. It won’t take more than a jiffy or two.”

Crane, however, continued to protest, which seemed to make his canoe-mate all the more set upon the project. They had paused a moment in their paddling, and Piper, dipping his blade, swung the frail craft toward the near-by shore, beyond which the dark, gloomy pines could be seen standing thickly a rod or more from the water’s edge.

“I’m going to put my foot on that island tonight,” declared Sleuth. “The rest of you had lots of fun with me last night, but I’ll show you that I ain’t afraid of – ”

He stopped suddenly, the paddle upheld and dripping. Seemingly from the midst of the black pines came the long-drawn, mournful howling of a dog, and that sound, so doleful, so eerie, sent a shivering thrill through both lads.

“Great Jehosaphat!” gasped Crane.

“Did you hear it?” whispered Piper.

“Think I’m deef? Course I heard it.”

“It was a dog.”

“Mebbe it was.”

“Of course it was. Don’t you know the howling of a dog when you hear it?”

“I know the howlin’ of any ordinary dog, but somehaow that saounded different to me.”

“Different? What do you mean?”

“Why,” faltered Sile, “it – it was – was sort of spooky, yeou know. Didn’t saound just like the howlin’ of any real live dog I ever heard.”

“But,” protested Piper, “it had to be a live dog, you know; it couldn’t be anything else.”

“Perhaps,” suggested the other boy, with a touch of mischief, “it was a cougar.”

“This is a fine time to try to crack any stale chestnuts,” flung back Sleuth. “I’d really give something to know just what it was we heard.”

“Perhaps,” returned Crane, confident now that his companion had lost all desire to make an immediate landing on the island, “we might find aout by goin’ ashore and prowlin’ araound in them dark woods. Come on.”

But now it was Sleuth who objected. “There isn’t time, you chump; we’ve got to get back to the camp. Only for that, I’d be willing to – ”

He was interrupted again by a repetition of that protracted, mournful howling, which seemed to echo through the black pines and apparently proceeded from a point much nearer than before. The sound of a real flesh-and-blood dog howling mournfully in the night and in a lonely place is enough to give the least superstitious person a creepy feeling, and, with the tragic story of the hermit and his faithful dog fresh in their minds, it was not at all remarkable that the two lads should now feel themselves shivering and find it no simple matter to keep their teeth from chattering.

“The confaounded critter is coming this way!” whispered Sile excitedly.

“We’re pretty near the island, aren’t we?” returned Sleuth. “Let’s be getting along toward camp.”

With the usual perverseness of human nature, even though he fancied he could feel his hair rising, Crane proposed to linger a while longer.

“If we do,” he said, “mebbe we’ll see something.”

“Lot of good that will do us,” hissed Sleuth. “And there’s a big chance of seeing anything in this darkness, isn’t there? I thought you wanted to get to the camp?”

“And I thought yeou wanted to land on the island. Yeou don’t believe in spooks, yeou know.”

“What’s that got to do with it? Think I want to be chewed up by a hungry, vicious dog? I’m no fool.”

“Mebbe not,” admitted Crane, in a manner not at all intended to soothe the other boy. “Public opinion is sometimes mistaken abaout folks.”

Sleuth dipped his paddle nervously into the water.

“I’m hungry, anyhow,” he declared. “They’ll have supper waiting for us. It will spoil.”

“Look!” sibilated Sile, crouching a bit and lifting his arm to point toward the island. “I can see something! There’s something movin’! See it, Pipe – see it?”

Out from the edge of the pines, faintly discernible through the darkness, came something white which plainly resembled a dog. As both lads stared, motionless, at this thing, it seemed to squat upon its haunches, and, with lifted muzzle, it sent out across the water a repetition of that fearsome howling.

“It’s the spirit of Old Lonely’s dog!” panted Crane. “Sure as shootin’ it is, and we’ve both seen and heard it.”

“See! See!” fluttered Piper in a perfect panic. “There’s something else coming out of the woods! It’s a man!”

Slowly, like a thing materializing from thin air, a white figure resembling a human being appeared before their staring eyes. It remained standing close to the border of the dark pines, motionless, but seeming to become more and more distinct as they stared at it in stony silence. And now their teeth were chattering, beyond question.

“I guess you’re right, Sleuth,” Crane finally gulped; “that supper will spile if we don’t get to camp as soon as we can.”

With something like frantic haste and vigor they wielded the paddles.

CHAPTER XV.
THE MYSTERIOUS LIGHT

When they ventured again to look toward the island the white figures had disappeared; but presently they heard, for the fourth time, the blood-chilling howling of the dog, which ended in a sinking, quavering wail that, to their overwrought imagination, resembled a dying moan of agony.

Not until they were approaching the camp and the cheerful fire which gleamed welcomingly across the water did they exchange further words. The firelight shone on the snowy tent, and they could see their friends moving about. Then it was that Piper dogmatically asserted:

“There are no such things as ghosts.”

“Perhaps that’s so,” admitted Sile, with a touch of resentment; “but I’d certainly like to know what it was we heard and saw.”

“Think we’d better say anything about it?”

“If yeou’ve got the idee that I ain’t goin’ to tell the other fellers, there’s another guess comin’ to yeou.”

“They’ll chaff us.”

“I don’t give a hoot for that. I’m goin’ to tell ’em the plain, straight truth, and they can chaff as much as they please.”

One of the boys came out to the extremity of the point, cupped his hands to his mouth and sent a halloo across the water. His figure made a black silhouette against the firelight.

“That’s Grant,” said Crane. “They’re gettin’ nervous abaout us. Oh! ho! Here we are! We’re comin’!”

“Well, it’s time you were,” flung back the Texan. “Hike along some.”

Grant and Springer met them as the prow of the canoe grounded on the sandy beach.

“Wha-what luck?” asked Phil.

“I got one,” answered Sile.

“Only one? Well, what the dickens kept you so long?”

“Only one,” returned the successful angler defiantly; “but yeou wait till yeou see him. He’s a baby. Come on to the fire and look him over. We’ve got a heap to tell ye, too.”

Silently Piper followed them to the fire, where Crane proudly displayed his catch, swelling with importance as he listened to the admiring comments of the three lads who had remained behind.

“What did you get, Sleuth?” asked Stone, after stooping to turn a big brown loaf of frying pan bread, which had been placed on edge and propped up before a glowing bed of coals.

“Nothing,” answered Piper, who had flung himself wearily upon the ground. “We only had one strike all the time we were out, and it was just Crane’s luck to get that and land his fish.”

“I’m sus-surprised,” said Springer. “Why, I thought you – ”

“Now cut that out!” snapped Piper sharply. “Can it! If there are no fish to be caught, how is anyone going to catch them?”

“There must be plenty of fish in the lake,” said Grant.

“Oh, yes, likely there is,” returned the disgruntled angler; “but they weren’t swarming around us. It was after sunset when Crane hooked that one, and it was pretty near pitch dark before we dipped him. No time to fish after that.”

“Alas! it’s true,” sighed Springer – “it’s true that the finny denizens of the water take to dry land when they learn that Pipe is after them.”

“Think up something original and new,” advised Sleuth. “You’ve worn that gag out.”

“Anyway,” said Ben pacifyingly, “if we don’t get any more, this big fellow should provide a bite for us all. You didn’t return skunked, fellows; you had some excitement.”

“Excitement!” said Crane, eager to tell of their remarkable experience. “I should say we did! Didn’t yeou fellers hear a dog howlin’ in the direction of Spirit Island a while ago?”

“In the direction of Spirit Island?” said Grant quickly. “Yes, we heard it, but we reckoned the creature was over on the opposite shore.”

“Well, it wasn’t,” asserted Sile; “it was right aout there on that island. Guess we know, for we was nigh enough to jump ashore.”

“On the island!” cried the boys who had remained at the camp, looking at one another questioningly.

“Are you sus-sure, Sile?” asked Springer.

“Yeou bet I be. Sleuth knows. Ask him.”

Piper nodded. “There’s no doubt about it,” he declared solemnly.

“That wasn’t all, either,” added Crane. “We saw something.”

While they listened in wonderment, he told of the two white figures resembling a dog and a man.

“Oh, say, what do you tut-take us for?” snapped Phil. “You and Sleuth have been fuf-faking up a fine story, haven’t you?”

“I told you, Crane,” said Piper, with a shake of his head – “I told you they wouldn’t believe it.”

“Don’t care whether they do or not. It’s the straight goods, by jinks! We was goin’ to land on that island for a minute when we fust heard that critter howl, but afterwards Sleuthy didn’t have no stomach for landin’. Scat! Say, his teeth rattled jest like dice in a box.”

“Now,” flung back Piper in hot resentment, “I knew you’d say that, and you were the one that was scared in the first place.”

“If your story is true,” said Grant, “I opine you were both some disturbed; and this adds interest to the yarn of the fanciful Mr. Granger. What do you think about that now, Sleuth?”

“Piffle,” pronounced Piper. “Anyone knows there are no such things as spooks.”

“Then what did you see on the island?”

“We saw two white things that resembled a dog and a man. What they were I’m not ready to assert at this time.”

“Whatever they were,” said Rodney, “I’m for visiting Spirit Island tomorrow.”

The boys had plenty to talk about all through supper, at which Piper and Crane demonstrated that their unusual experience had not dulled the edge of their appetites.

After supper Crane cleaned the salmon, and for a time they sat around chatting in the soft, warm darkness. Of them all, Piper was the only one who seemed moody and thoughtful, ignoring the efforts of the others to rally him.

Finally, growing drowsy, Grant rose, yawned and stretched his arms above his head, announcing that he intended to turn in. Suddenly his arms came down with a snap and he leaned forward a little, staring out upon the lake.

“Look here, fellows,” he said, a touch of suppressed excitement in his voice, “what’s this? Tell me what you see away yonder in the direction of Spirit Island?” He had lifted his arm and was pointing.

They sprang to his side and stood in a group, staring over the placid, night-shrouded waters of Phantom Lake, every one of them feeling his nerves tingle and thrill.

“It’s a lul-light!” cried Springer. “See it? There it is!”

“A light,” echoed Piper, “and it’s on Spirit Island! There, it’s gone!”

They had all seen the light, which seemed to stare at them like a huge fiery eye that suddenly winked and vanished. Breathless and in dead silence, they waited, and in a moment or two the glaring eye shone forth again for a twinkling and vanished. A dozen times this was repeated before the light disappeared and was seen no more, although they continued to watch for it for a full half hour.

“Well,” said Piper at last, “perhaps you’ll believe what we told you, now.”

“A howling dog, ghostly figures and a mysterious vanishing light,” muttered the Texan. “This sure is all very fine and interesting. Yes, fellows, we’ll visit that island tomorrow.”

Presently, when they went to bed and tried to sleep, Piper was not the most restless one among them. On the previous night, after disposing of the sleeping bag, he had rolled and groaned while his companions snoozed comfortably and serenely, but now he heard first one and then another stirring on the bough beds, and it was a long time before the breathing of any boy indicated that he had succeeded in cajoling slumber. Even after he was asleep Crane tossed and muttered incoherently. Piper was just drifting off when Sile uttered a sudden yell, which was followed by a tremendous commotion.

“I’ve got ye!” cried Crane wildly. “I’ve got ye!”

“Lemme go! Take your hooks off my windpipe!” wheezed the voice of Springer. “Help, fellows! Sile has gone loony! He’s ch-choking me!”

In the darkness there was a scramble to separate the struggling bed-fellows, and, with remarkable forethought, Piper, keeping away from the mix-up, struck a match and lighted the lantern. The light revealed Grant clutching Crane and struggling to hold him, while Stone had a grip on Springer. The latter was protesting.

“Let up!” he entreated. “I’m not dud-doing anything; it was Sile. He gave a yell right in my ear that near sus-split the drum, and then he straddled me and began shutting my wind off.”

Crane seemed a bit dazed. “I’m all right naow,” he protested in evident shame. “I guess I was dreaming. Confaound them things on Spirit Island, anyhaow!”

Piper leered at his late angling companion. “You’re a brave one!” he scoffed. “You wanted to land on the island, didn’t you? You wasn’t a bit afraid, were you?”

“Shut up,” growled Crane. “Put that lantern aout, and we’ll go to sleep.”

“Oh, yes, we’ll have a nice time going to sleep, with you cutting up. I was just snoozing beautifully when you yelled like a wild Indian.”

After a time the boys quieted down again, and, with the lantern extinguished, they fell asleep, one by one, until only Sleuth, still resentful because he had been awakened, was denied the relaxation of slumber. A long time he lay seeking it, with the others breathing heavily and regularly, and some of them snoring. Once more his ears were acute to all the mysterious night sounds of the woods, and, though he succeeded in dozing a little, he awoke again and again, until it seemed that the night had stretched itself to the length of a year and morning had somehow become side-tracked.

At last in a period of wakefulness he was possessed by a great desire to take another look toward Spirit Island, and, making as little noise as possible, he crept out of his blankets and stole to the front of the tent, which had been left open to admit air.

The moon, rising in the east, shed a pale light upon the bosom of the lake. By this light he could see the distant mountains outlined against the sky, and it was not impossible, even, to perceive a dark spot in the midst of the lake, where lay the haunted island. There it was, black and silent and soundless, with no mystic light flashing from its shores and no howling dog to disturb the serenity of the tranquil night. Nevertheless, there seemed to be something eerie and awesome pervading the very atmosphere and made doubly acute by the absence of any unusual sight or sound.

“If it isn’t really haunted,” whispered Sleuth to himself, “it ought to be. A commonplace solution of the mystery would be a great disappointment to me.”

Then he returned to his bed and once more besought sleep.