The Galloping Ghost

  CHAPTER VII A JOURNEY IN THE NIGHT

  While Drew Lane sat meditating on the various aspects of the kidnaping,Tom Howe groaned and sat up.

  "Drew," he drawled, rubbing his head, "I've been felled by a ghost, agalloping ghost."

  "You don't mean to say you believe that stuff!" Drew held up the pinksheet.

  "I believe," said Howe with a wry grin, "that I have a large lump on thetop of my head and that it's sore. I believe it was put there by a thingthat looked like a ghost. That's all I have to say about that."

  "Well, then, what have you to say about this?" Drew held up the envelopecontaining the shavings and bullet.

  "What is it?"

  Drew showed him the contents and read the note.

  "Curious sort of writing," he ended. "And look how he signed it: 'TheG.G.'"

  "That," drawled Howe, "could stand for 'The Galloping Ghost.'"

  "It _must_!" Drew struck the table with his fist. "But why all thesecrecy?"

  "That," Howe replied thoughtfully, "will probably come out later. Theonly question that matters seems to be: Is this ghost with us or againstus?"

  "With us. Can't be any doubt about that."

  "Then we'd better follow his suggestions."

  "Collect pocket knives?"

  "Why not? Interesting collection. What sort of knives do crooks carry?Bet you can't tell. Well, now we'll know."

  "Guess you're right. But say!" Drew exclaimed. "What did you get from thecar, the one the Red Rover was snatched from?"

  "A bed sheet." Howe held it up.

  "Marked?"

  "Not a mark."

  "Then what--?" Drew stared at his partner.

  "Some one had stepped on the bed, probably with his shoe on. I thoughtI'd try the ultra-violet ray on it. Surprising what it brings outsometimes."

  "Probably worth a try." Drew was not enthusiastic. Howe had gone in forscientific crime detection lately. Drew was still for going out andgetting his man.

  "Howe," he demanded after a moment of silence, "who fired that shot backthere in the train yards?"

  "You answer that. A hand was all I saw, a hand thrust out from behind acar. Fired point-blank at me. And missed."

  "This may be the bullet," Drew mused, weighing the battered bullet fromthe mystery envelope in his hand.

  "It might be. Don't seem likely, though. That bullet struck the side of asteel car."

  "Might have glanced. Mighty fine evidence. Find the gun that fired thisbullet and you've got the man. Gun scratches the bullet as no other gunwould. Microscope brings out that, doesn't it?"

  "Sure does. You find the man and his gun. I'll do the rest." Howe gavevent to a low chuckle. "Nothing would please me more! Not a nice thing,this being shot at."

  "Kidnapers are not nice people." Drew's tone changed. "Fact is, they'reabout the worst people in all the world. Should be shot at sunrise, everyman of 'em.

  "It's not so bad," he philosophized, "stealing diamonds. They're only alot of stones after all. And money. 'Who steals my purse steals trash.'Twas mine. 'Tis his, and has been a curse to thousands.'

  "But think!" He sprang to his feet. "Think of the cowards that steal ahuman life, a helpless woman, an innocent child, and then send back word,'Money, much money, or we will take the life of this one we havesnatched.'

  "That--why, that's like going into battle holding a woman before you tostop the bullets! Howe, old boy, we've got a task laid out for us, aman-sized task, and we're going to do it! You see if we don't!"

  Howe smiled in a quiet way. A quiet chap, was this slender detective;quiet, but feared in the underworld as many a big blustering cop was not.

  "Drew," he said after a long silence, "why did they snatch the RedRover?"

  "Revenge, perhaps. The university has been fighting kidnapers. Think whata bold stroke it would be to carry off their super-star just a few daysbefore the final great game of the season!"

  "Sounds pretty," said Howe thoughtfully. "But it doesn't click. Crookswaste little time on revenge. Dough is what they are after. Money. Money.Money. That is their long cry."

  "But where's there money in snatching a football star?"

  "Who knows? Perhaps they're being paid."

  "Paid? By whom?"

  "Northern wants to win. Isn't Northern Old Midway's ancient rival?Doesn't the championship hang in the balance? What's a few thousanddollars when such a prize is at stake?"

  "But universities are not like that!"

  "Not the schools. Of course not. But alumni. Who can say what some richand over-enthusiastic alumnus would risk to see that game won?"

  "Not much sense to that."

  "Perhaps not. But what then?"

  "They may be hoping that Old Midway will dig deep to get their starback."

  "If that's the racket we'll know soon enough. There'll be letters, phonecalls, demanding ransom. What say we turn in? To-morrow is just aroundthe corner. And to-morrow we must be out and after 'em."

  "What's the first move?"

  "Trace that speed boat down the river, the one that carried him away. Itwent south, that's clear enough. I saw where they tied up to an old scow.Scraped her side when they left; rubbed off a lot of mud. The shape ofthe spot showed plain enough which way they were going. Somehow we've gotto find their hide-out and get the Red Rover back."

  Had the speaker been privileged to see the Red Rover at that moment ankledeep in icy water, making his way as best he could with pole andimprovised paddle on a raft that, turning round and round, seemed to gonowhere, he would surely have understood that a long trail lay beforehim. Not being granted such a vision, he crawled into his bed and wentsound asleep.

  * * * * * * * *

  There was no sleep for Red Rodgers and his mysterious little friend onthe raft.

  There had been clumsy, flat-bottomed boats in the rust-blackened slipswhere monster ore boats lay near Red's boyhood home, but no rafts.

  Just how does one propel a raft? By a long pole where water is shallow.But one does not endeavor to drive the raft in the direction he wishes togo. He is more likely to achieve his end if he shoves in the oppositedirection. For a raft, like an ox, a mule or a reindeer, is likely to goits own cranky way.

  This Red learned soon enough. Scarcely had he begun poling than the raftstarted spinning like a top. It was only under the girl's expertdirection that he at last started for the shore that loomed dark andragged in the distance.

  They had not gone a dozen yards when the bottom sank beneath the end ofthe pole.

  "Now we must paddle." Heedless of the icy water, the girl dropped uponone knee, seized a narrow slab of wood and began a vigorous dip-dip thatin time, it seemed, must take them somewhere.

  Following her example, Red, on the opposite side, did his bit.

  Under this treatment the raft behaved admirably. Keeping in view only theshore they had left, they paddled for a good half hour when, with a shockthat all but sent them splashing into the water, they struck a hardobject that gave out a hollow sound.

  "Shore?" There was relief in Red's tone.

  "No shore." The girl stood up. Her head struck something and she bounceddown again.

  "Thunder and guns! What now?" Red turned about to stare with all hiseyes. The thing they had bumped into was a hydroplane, the very one thathad carried them to this deserted spot.

  "Oh!" The girl seized his arm. "Can--can you fly it?" Hope and fear weremingled in her tone.

  "I--I'm sorry," Red stammered. "To-night I took my first airplanejourney.

  "And I can't say I wanted to come," he added as a witty afterthought.

  "But say!" he exclaimed suddenly. "You just hang on here a bit. I--I'llbe right back."

  They were beneath one of the machine's great wings. Reaching up, he swunghimself to the upper surface, and disappeared into the dark.

  "Dangerous business," he muttered to himself. "May have heard that bump,those fellows. May see my light. Mi
ght come upon us here any minute, butit's a chance you can't pass up."

  By dropping here, climbing there, then moving over to the right, hereached one of the twin motors. There, after flashing his light for amoment, he put out a hand, fumbled about, then pocketed a small object.These actions were repeated when he reached the second motor.

  After that, with a sigh of relief, he dropped back upon the raft.

  "Fix 'em!" he muttered. "Fix 'em plenty, the dirty dogs!

  "Now come on. Let's get out of here quick! Wish we could take one ofthose pontoons for a boat; but that's impossible."

  A cloud had gone over the moon. He felt the girl's cold hand as shesteadied him down to a safe place of balance on the raft, and he chidedhimself for being so long.

  "Cabins," he whispered. "Cabins with fireplaces, easy chairs, blankets,and things to eat."

  All this seemed very, very far away. And yet with youth "hope springseternal."

  Once again they worked their imperfect oars. In a surprisingly short timethey once more bumped. With a low cry of hope, the girl sprang ashore.

  "There should be a trail," she called back.

  "Moose trail?"

  "Moose and men. Here! Here it is! We go this way."

  She led on over a trail so carpeted with moss that their footsteps madeno sound.

  "This girl knows a lot about this island," Red said to himself. "Howcome?"

  Once again he was tempted to believe that she was in league with thekidnapers. "That doesn't make sense either. Mixed up mess. Just have totramp on and see how it all comes out."

  He tramped on.