CHAPTER XIII THE NIGHT WATCH
A group of excited boys gathered in Dave Wilbur’s garage that afternoonand listened to the astonishing story which Ned Blake and his fellowsleuths had to tell.
“So there is somebody else besides us who is interested in the Colesonhouse!” exclaimed Charlie Rogers.
“There seems to be no question about that,” agreed Ned, “and what ismore, they evidently want the whole place to themselves.”
“But I can’t see why anybody should want to drive _us_ out,” complainedTommy Beals in an injured tone. “We won’t horn in on theirbusiness—whatever that may be—if they’ll just lay off us!”
Ned shook his head. “I’m afraid we won’t be able to get that ideaacross, Fatty. There’s something going on out there that we don’tunderstand; something that somebody is afraid we’ll get wise to. Thatletter to Sam and the ‘ghost’ he saw at his window were attempts toscare him away from the place. This paper nailed to the door is the nextstep and is meant for _us_. They succeeded in frightening Sam away; nowthe question is, are we going to quit?”
“Not on your life!” yelped Dick Somers, whose wrath had been steadilyrising during this discussion. “We’ve put a lot of money and hard workinto this scheme of ours and I say stick it out!”
“If they’ll be satisfied with trying to scare us with letters and ghoststuff, why we’ll be able to stay with ’em until we’ve got our money backanyhow,” said Beals, cautiously. “The dance crowd is looking for almostanything in the spook line and they will stand for quite a bit of it,but what worries me is the possibility that if ghosts don’t drive usout, something else may be tried—some rough stuff, you know.”
“You don’t suppose old Coleson may have a hand in it after all,”ventured Wat Sanford.
“Coleson? Not a chance!” declared Rogers, positively. “Coleson’s dead.”
“Well, er—even if he is dead,” persisted Sanford, uneasily, “what if—”
“Cut it out, Wat! Use your _bean_,” drawled Dave Wilbur. “As for me,” hecontinued, “I’m voting to keep the dances going till I get paid for allthe hard work I did out there,” and Dave yawned wearily at therecollection of his labors.
“It would be a shame if we had to quit now. Everybody is talking aboutour ghost dances, and there will be a big crowd out there next time,”volunteered Jim Tapley.
“We may have a fight on our hands,” began Ned Blake, “but I’d ratherfight than run, any time! As I see it, we’ve got to find out who it isthat we are up against; what their game is; and why they think we areinterfering with it.”
“Rather a large order, as a starter,” remarked Dick. “However, it soundsinteresting. What’s your plan, Ned?”
“We ought to keep guard over that house night and day for a while,” wasthe quick reply. “Quite likely _we_ are being closely watched, and itwould be a good plan for us to do some watching. Two of us can take gruband blankets and camp there for twenty-four hours, or till relieved bythe next two.”
“That sounds reasonable. Who’ll volunteer to be the first sentry?” askedDick.
“We’ll draw lots,” decided Ned.
This was done and the short straws were found to be held by CharlieRogers and Tommy Beals.
“All right, Fatty! We’re it!” exclaimed Rogers. “The sooner we start thebetter. Get plenty of grub and blankets and bring that big hammock ofyours; it will come in handy!”
The two left for home at once to procure the necessary supplies, andthat afternoon Dave Wilbur deposited them and their belongings on theporch of the Coleson house.
“Any last request you want to send back to the folks at home?” grinnedDave, as he backed the car around and headed for town.
“Yeah, tell ’em to have a steak and onions ready for me at six tomorrownight,” sighed Beals. “It’s going to be hungry work hanging around outhere!”
“I wish we hadn’t floored over this opening into the cellar. I’d like toget a look down below,” said Rogers, thumping the solid oak with theheel of his shoe.
“Not for me!” decided Beals emphatically. “I’m for minding my ownbusiness and I recommend that policy to you, Red, but if you’re curious,you can hunt for an outside entrance to the cellar. I should think theremust be one somewhere.”
Acting on this suggestion, Rogers searched diligently among the debristhat lay along the foundation of the house, but without success. Theheavy granite wall showed no opening and the masonry which sealed themouth of the old mine-shaft was undisturbed.
“Come on in and eat!” summoned Beals.
Reluctantly, Rogers gave up his search and rejoined his companion, whowas already making steady inroads upon the baked beans, bread andpickles that comprised the evening meal. Supper over, the two sat beforean open window, watching the colors fade from the quiet surface of thelake.
“I suppose we’ll have to take turns with the sentry stuff,” remarkedRogers, as darkness at last settled down upon the landscape. “I’ll standwatch till midnight and then you can take your turn for a couple ofhours.”
To this arrangement, Beals readily agreed, and climbing into thehammock, which had been strung across a corner of the room, he was soonasleep.
For a while, Charlie Rogers sat, chin in hand, staring out into thedeepening dusk. Along the northern horizon distant lightning wasflashing and from this quarter heavy clouds swept up the sky, blottingout the stars and reducing the moon to a dim disc, which paled and fadedbehind the thickening canopy. Sounds of night life came to the ears ofthe watcher. Somewhere off to his left a giant bullfrog bellowedhollowly for a “jug-o-rum.” A night-hawk swooped past the window with astartling whirr of wings. From the woods on the far side of the house anowl hooted lonesomely.
Rogers got up, stretched, and glanced hopefully at the illuminated faceof his watch. “Only ten-thirty!” he muttered. “Gee! This is a tediousjob! I thought it must be nearly midnight!”
Returning to the window, he pillowed his head upon his folded arms andlistened to the soothing splash of the little waves which a rising windwas sending upon the pebbly shore of the lake. His breathing becamelonger and more regular; his body sagged forward upon the sill. Onceagain came the hoot of an owl from the woods beyond the house and thistime the cry was answered from a point closer at hand. It was the dullache in his arms that finally brought Charlie Rogers to his senses.Again he consulted his watch.
“Quarter past one!” he gasped. “Great Scott! I must have—”
He paused in mid-thought and listened with every nerve a-tingle. Was hedreaming or had he really heard something? His pounding pulses wereticking off the seconds in his brain. Yes, there it was again! Ametallic clink or rattle accompanied by a dull thud—faint but distinct.
Backing away from the window, Rogers crossed the room with noiselesssteps.
“Wake up, Fatty! Wake up!” he gasped. “There’s something doing outside!”
Beals was up in an instant and together they crept back to the window.The waves were breaking upon the beach now with a steady surge, butabove their murmur a strange fluttering sound, not unlike the flappingof huge wings, came to the four straining ears.
“It’s outside at the other end of the house!” breathed Rogers in ascared whisper.
“It’s up to us to find out what it is,” replied Beals, and crossing theroom with Rogers at his heels, he noiselessly opened the front door.
A vivid flash of lightning, followed a moment later by the jarringrumble of thunder, greeted the boys as they traversed the porch andcrept down the steps. Keeping close to the wall of the building, theymade their way cautiously toward the end of the house and peered pastthe corner.
The lightning flash had been succeeded by a pitchy blackness which theirstraining eyes could not penetrate, but the strange flapping sound hadincreased with their approach and the clinking rattle, as of metal uponmetal, came at irregular intervals.
“Lie low and wait for the next flash
of lightning!” whispered Bealsclose to his companion’s ear.
Crouched against the wall of the house they waited breathlessly.One—two—three minutes passed, and then once more the white glare oflightning blazed forth.
Brief as was the flash, it afforded the boys an instantaneous glimpse ofsomething that struck them dumb with amazement. Extending from the endof the house to the edge of the woods, a distance of more than onehundred feet, stretched a grayish something. It was not unlike a layerof mist or smoke; and seemingly knee-deep in its billowing, heavingfolds, a bent, misshapen figure, like a gigantic hunchback, stoodoutlined against the grayness beneath. It was but a fleeting glimpse,for instantly the scene was blotted out and with the splintering crashof quick thunder there came a pelting rush of rain.
“Beat it!” gasped Beals, and together the frightened boys raced for thedoor, and plunging into the shelter of the house, they shut and lockedthe heavy oak barrier behind them.