Frank Merriwell’s Pursuit E-Book

Burt L. Standish

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Do you know what is striving for your dream? Most likely, each person aspires to some peak. Frank Merriwell is no exception. The protagonist of the hero demonstrates how to go to his goal, what a difficult path to the top. After this story, you will again believe in your strength.

Leseprobe

Contents

CHAPTER I. THE OATH OF DEL NORTE

CHAPTER II. THE TERROR OF O'TOOLE

CHAPTER III. NEW ARRIVALS AT THE LAKE

CHAPTER IV. TWO GHOSTS

CHAPTER V. THE WOLVES

CHAPTER VI. IN THE GRASP OF DEL NORTE

CHAPTER VII. THE SENTINEL

CHAPTER VIII. AT THE FOOT OF THE PRECIPICE

CHAPTER IX. THE KNIFE DUEL

CHAPTER X. THE LANDSLIDE

CHAPTER XI. BURIED ALIVE!

CHAPTER XII. IN THE CAVE OF DEATH

CHAPTER XIII. HOW RAILROADS ARE BUILT

CHAPTER XIV. ANOTHER OBSTACLE

CHAPTER XV. HAGAN SECURES A PARTNER

CHAPTER XVI. ARTHUR HATCH

CHAPTER XVII. EVIL INFLUENCE

CHAPTER XVIII. THE POLICE RAID

CHAPTER XIX. ALVAREZ LAZARO

CHAPTER XX. THE AVENGER

CHAPTER XXI. THE FIRST STROKE

CHAPTER XXII. THE SECOND STROKE

CHAPTER XXIII. OLD SPOONER

CHAPTER XXIV. THE FLAMES DO THEIR WORK

CHAPTER XXV. THE PATIENT AND THE VISITOR

CHAPTER XXVI. A SURPRISE FOR FIVE THUGS

CHAPTER XXVII. A DUEL OF EYES

CHAPTER XXVIII. AT NIAGARA FALLS

CHAPTER XXIX. IN CONSTANT PERIL

CHAPTER XXX. THE END OF PORFIAS DEL NORTE

CHAPTER I

THE OATH OF DEL NORTE

Rain had ceased to fall, but the night was intensely dark, with a raw, cold wind that penetrated to one’s very bones.

Shortly after nightfall three men crossed the east branch of the Ausable River and entered the little settlement of Keene.

Of the three only one was mounted, and he sat swaying in the saddle, seeming to retain his position with great difficulty.

The two men on foot walked on either side of the horse, helping to support the mounted man. At intervals they encouraged him with words.

A few lights gleamed from the windows of Keene. Before a cottage door the trio halted, and one of the men on foot knocked on the door.

A few moments later a man appeared with a lighted lamp in his right hand, shading his eyes with his left as he peered out into the darkness.

“Who are you?” he gruffly asked, “and what do you want?”

“We want a surgeon or a doctor as soon as we can find one,” answered the man at the door. “One of our party has been wounded by accident, and we wish to have his wound dressed.”

“Another city sportsman shot for a deer, eh?” said the man in the doorway, with a touch of scorn in his voice. “It’s the same old story.”

“Yes, the same old story,” acknowledged the man at the door. “He may die from the wound if we do not find a doctor very soon.”

“There’s no doctor nearer than Elizabethtown.”

“Is there none in this place?”

“No.”

“How far is Elizabethtown?”

“Twenty-five miles.”

“How is the road?”

“It might be worse–or it might be better. You can’t follow it to-night.”

“We must. This is a case of life or death. See here, my friend, if you will help us out we will make it worth your while. We will pay you well. Have you any whisky in the house?”

“Mebbe so.”

“It’s worth five dollars a quart to us, and we will take a quart or more.”

“I reckon I can find a quart for you,” was the instant answer.

“If you will secure two horses and a guide to take us over the road to Elizabethtown to-night we will pay you a hundred dollars.”

This offer interested the man with the lamp.

“Bring your friend in here,” he said, “and I will see what I can do for you. Perhaps I can get the horses, and if I can––”

“Do you know the road?”

“I have been over it enough to know it, but it will be no easy traveling to-night. Better take my advice and stay here until morning.”

The man outside, however, would not listen to this, but insisted that the journey to Elizabethtown must be made that night. He returned to his companions, and the mounted man was assisted to descend from the saddle. One of them held his arm while he walked into the house, and the other took care of the horse.

The lamp showed that the injured one had bloody bandages wrapped about his head. He was pale and haggard, and there was an expression of anxiety in his dark eyes. At times he pulled nervously at his small, dark mustache.

“Bring that whisky at once,” said the wounded man’s companion, as he assisted the other to a chair. “He needs a nip of it, and needs it bad.”

The whisky was brought, and the injured man drank from the bottle. As he lifted it to his lips, he murmured:

“May the fiends take the dog who fired that bullet! May he burn forever in the fires below!”

The liquor seemed to revive him somewhat, and he straightened up a little, joining his companion in urging the man who had procured the whisky to secure horses and guide them, over the road to Elizabethtown.

“We have money enough,” he said, fumbling weakly in his pockets and producing a roll of bills. “We will pay you every cent agreed upon. Why don’t you hasten? Do you wish to see me die here in your wretched hut?”

The man addressed promised to lose no time, and soon hurried out into the night. He was not gone more than thirty minutes. Those waiting his return heard hoofbeats, and the light shining from the open door of the cabin fell on three horses as they stepped outside.

“It’s fifty in advance and fifty when we reach Elizabethtown,” he said, as he sprang off. “I will not start till the first fifty is paid.”

“Pay him the whole of it,” said the wounded man, “and shoot him full of lead if he fails to keep his part of the bargain.”

Stimulated by the whisky, this man had revived wonderfully, and soon the four rode out of Keene on the road that followed the river southward.

Through the long hours of that black night the guide led them on their journey. The road was indeed a wretched one, winding through deep forests, over rocky hills and traversing gloomy valleys. As the night advanced it grew colder until their teeth chattered and their blood seemed stagnating in their veins. Many times they paused to give the wounded one a drink from the bottle. Often this man was heard cursing in Spanish and declaring that the distance was nearer a hundred miles than twenty-five.

Morning was at hand when, exhausted and wretched, they entered Elizabethtown. Soon they were clamoring at the door of a physician, into whose home the wounded man was assisted as soon as the door was opened.

“Examine my head at once, doctor,” he faintly urged, as he sat back in a big armchair. “Find out where that infernal bullet is. Tell me if it’s somewhere inside my skull, and if I have a chance of recovery.”

In a short time the bandages were removed and the doctor began his examination.

“Well! well!” he exclaimed, as he saw where the bullet had entered. “How long ago did this happen? Yesterday afternoon? Forty miles from here? And you came all this distance? Well, you have sand! At first glance one would suppose the ball had gone straight through your head. It struck the frontal bone and was deflected, following over the coronal suture, and here it is lodged in your scalp at the back of your head. I will have it out in a moment.”

He worked swiftly, clipping away the hair with a pair of scissors, and then with a lance he made an incision and straightened up a moment later, having a flattened piece of lead in his hand.

“My friend,” he said, “you have grit, and I don’t think you’ll be laid up very long with that wound. You’re not at all seriously injured. It must have been fired from some one below you. Was he shooting at a deer?”

“Yes, señor,” was the answer.

“Very strange,” said the physician. “This is a thirty-two-calibre bullet, and it’s not like the kind used to shoot deer. Most remarkable.”

He hastened to cleanse and dress the wound, again bandaging the man’s head.

“You are certain, señor, that this injury is not serious?” questioned the wounded man, when everything had been done.

“I see no reason why it should be,” was the answer. “It is not liable to give serious trouble to a man of your stamina, endurance, and nerve.”

The doctor’s bill was paid, and then they sought a hotel, where they found accommodations, and the wounded one was put into bed. Ere getting into bed he shook hands with his two companions and said:

“It’s not easy, señors, to kill one in whose veins runs the blood of old Guerrero. They thought me dead, but the dog that fired the shot shall pay the penalty of his treachery, and I swear I will yet crush Frank Merriwell as the panther crushes the doe. That’s the oath of Porfias del Norte!”

CHAPTER II

THE TERROR OF O’TOOLE

Watson Scott, familiarly known as Old Gripper, was a man of great hardihood and endurance, and, therefore, for all of his recent experience with Frank Merriwell’s enemies, for all that he had been imprisoned by his captors in a natural well and had stood for hours in water up to his hips, he rapidly recovered after arriving once more at the cottage of his friend and business associate, Warren Hatch, on Lake Placid.

But Old Gripper had been aroused, and he was determined to make it hot for his recent captors, who, led by Porfias del Norte, had gone to desperate lengths to obtain valuable papers which were the basis of a business combination that threatened the interests of Del Norte and his associates.

“Unless they move on the jump I’ll have the bunch of them nipped before long,” Old Gripper declared.

To his vexation he found it was impossible to properly swear out a warrant for the arrest of Del Norte’s companions without making the journey to Saranac Lake.

“I’ll do that the first thing in the morning,” he said.

In the morning, however, he found himself stiff and lame, and he was induced to delay until noon.

During the forenoon he decided to return without further delay to New York. Having settled on this, he sent a message to Saranac Lake, stating his charges against Porfias del Norte’s band of desperadoes, and asking that the warrant be drawn up and brought to him at the station as he was passing through. He also gave instructions that officers should be on hand to immediately take up the work of running the gang down.

Before noon Belmont Bland, Old Gripper’s private secretary, was apparently taken ill, and when the time came for Scott to depart Bland seemed unable to travel. He asserted that it was one of his usual nervous attacks, and declared he would be all right by the next day. Therefore it was arranged that he should remain at Lake Placid.

Frank Merriwell had given in to the urging of Warren Hatch, who almost begged him to stay over another day and fish again in the morning.

“It’s not often I strike a fisherman after my own heart,” said Hatch. “When I do I don’t like to let him slip through my fingers. Stay over until to-morrow at least, Merriwell. There is no reason why you should tear away in such a hurry.”

“You can stay, Merriwell,” declared Scott. “We have settled the railroad deal right here. Bragg and I will get things to moving in the city. Leave that to us.”

“I’m very willing to leave it to you,” laughed Frank. “I’ll stay one more day, Mr. Hatch.”

“If we can have another good morning to fish–ah, we won’t do a thing!” chuckled Hatch, ending with a cough.

“You ought to stay up here for the next month,” declared Old Gripper. “That cough of yours––”

“Oh, it’s nothing! I’ve had it for a year, and it’s not serious in any way–only annoying.”

At Saranac Lake Scott saw that the warrant for Del Norte was placed in the proper hands and the machinery of the law set in motion.

When Frank and Warren Hatch returned to the cottage of the latter they were surprised to find the place locked, the shutters closed, and an air of desertion hanging over everything.

But it was not deserted.

While Hatch was fumbling on the door they heard a stir within and a voice shouted:

“Be afther getting away from there, ye divvils, ur Oi’ll blow yez full av lead! It’s arrmed Oi am to th’ tathe!”

It was the voice of Pat O’Toole, an Irishman who had been one of Del Norte’s gang, but out of gratitude, had saved Frank’s life and had been actively concerned in the rescue of Old Gripper.

“O’Toole!” cried Frank; “why the dickens have you locked yourself up this way?”

“Is it you, Misther Merriwell?” cried O’Toole, joyously. “It’s a great relafe to hear your foine, musical voice wance more! Wait a minute unthil Oi open th’ dure.”

The door was unlocked and thrown open. O’Toole stood with a rifle in his hands, looking pale and agitated. Around his waist was a belt holding a pair, of pistols and a knife.

“What’s the matter, man?” asked Hatch. “You look like a walking arsenal?”

“It’s me loife Oi’m ready to defind to th’ larrust gasp,” declared the Irishman.

“Your life? Why, what––”

“Oi’m in danger of bein’ murthered.”

“In danger?”

“Ivery minute av me ixistence.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Oi don’t think it; Oi know it. Afther ye wint away to th’ shtation Oi sat on th’ verandy shmokin’ me poipe an’ thinkin’. The longer Oi thought th’ more froightened Oi became. It wur Porrfeeus dil Noort thot paid me well to assist him in a litthle schame to trap a certain young gintleman named Frank Merriwell. Oi took his money and promised to rinder me best assistance. Oi know this parrut av th’ counthry well, an’ so Oi was valuable to Dil Noort. Oi towld him about th’ owld hut in th’ valley an’ th’ natural well. Oi towld him a man dhropped inther thot well moight shtay there an’ rot widout ivver bein’ found. That wur pwhere he meant to dispose av you, Misther Merriwell. Afther that it was yersilf thot saved me loife at Sarrynack Lake. Thin Oi says, says Oi, ‘O’Toole, ye miserable divvil, av ye don’t git aven wid thot foine young gint, ye ought to be hanged fer a shnake.’ Oi knew ye would be thrapped thot same noight, Misther Merriwell, an’ Oi rode loike th’ ould bhoy to cut yez off an’ get me finger in the poie. You remimber pwhat happened.”

“I remember that you aided me to escape from the hands of Del Norte and his paid desperadoes,” nodded Frank.

“An’ got mesilf disloiked fer it. Oi knew Dil Noort would be ready to cut me throat on soight. Oi thought th’ safest thing wur to hilp capture Dil Noort, an’ thot’s pwhat took me here, pwhere Oi arrived just in toime to hilp in the search fer Misther Shcott.”

“And help us you certainly did,” nodded Merry. “Aided by you, we lost no time in finding the valley and the well in which Mr. Scott was imprisoned.”

“But it’s th’ divvil’s own doin’s there was before thot,” said O’Toole. “Oi wur in a bad shcrape whin Oi run inther th’ hands av Bantry Hagan an’ he marruched me to thot old hut, where Oi was bound hand an’ foot. Nivver a bit did Oi drame th’ drunk aslape on th’ flure av th’ hut an’ shnorin’ away wur yersilf, Misther Merriwell. Aven whin Oi lay chlose to yez an’ ye began to untoie me bonds Oi couldn’t suspict it was yersilf. Whin Dil Noort showed up Oi knew it meant throuble, an’ sure it wur a relafe to feel in me hand th’ pistol ye put there. Th’ divvil bent over me wid a knoife in his hands, an’ Oi saw murther in his oies. Thin Oi didn’t wait, but Oi shot him through th’ head.”

“But I don’t understand what all this has to do with the fear you profess to feel,” said Hatch. “I didn’t fancy you were a coward, O’Toole.”

“No more Oi am; but Porrfeeus dil Noort is a moighty dangerous mon, and he––”

“Is dead. You’re not afraid of dead men?”

“It’s dead Oi saw him before me,” nodded the Irishman; “but Oi wish Oi had seen him buried, so Oi do. Whin we returned afther pulling Misther Shcott out av th’ well Dil Noort’s body wur gone.”

“His companions carried it away,” said Merry.

“Mebbe thot’s roight,” said O’Toole; “but afther ye left me here, wid Joe gone an’ mesilf all alone, it’s nervous Oi became. Oi took to thinkin’ it all over, an’ in th’ air Oi hearrud a voice whisper, ‘O’Toole, yure goose is cooked, fer, dead ur aloive. Porrfeeus dil Noort will get aven wid ye!’ It made me have cowld chills down me back, an’ out in th’ grove yonder Oi saw shadows movin’ an’ crapin’. Oi began to ixpect a bullet through me body, an’ afther a whoile Oi joomped up an’ run inther th’ cabin, jist shakin’ loike Oi had a chill an’ me tathe knockin’ togither. Oi fashtened th’ dures an’ closed th’ shutters av ivery windy. Thin Oi arrmed mesilf, an’ nivver in all me loife did Oi hear swater music than whin ye shpoke outside, Misther Merriwell.”

Merriwell laughed.

“I declare, O’Toole, I’d never expect a man of your courage and wit to be frightened in such a manner. Del Norte is dead, and it’s almost certain his companions have taken to their legs to get away as fast and as far as possible. Mr. Scott will have officers searching high and low for them. They are fugitives from justice. Even though they were not under the ban of the law, with Del Norte gone, there is not one chance in a hundred that any of them would ever lift a hand to annoy or molest you or me. The fall of their leader put an end to their work, and they will scatter and keep under cover until the storm blows over.”

“That’s right, O’Toole,” declared Warren Hatch. “You rendered Mr. Merriwell and the rest of us a great service when you fired the shot that brought Del Norte down. They won’t dare have you arrested for that shooting, as no one would venture to appear against you. If they escape from the officers, I expect we’ll hear in a few days how Del Norte’s body was carried out of the mountains and expressed to friends somewhere.”

“They may not dare do that,” said Frank. “They may bury him here in the mountains, rather than take any chances of being captured themselves. At any rate, it’s foolish for you to worry, O’Toole. Of course it’s not a pleasant thing to think you have shot a man, but you did it in self-defense, and were justified.”

“It’s roight ye are on thot point, me bhoy; but it’s a long toime before Oi’ll rist aisy from thinkin’ av it an’ belavin’ me own loife in danger. Oi’ll be afeared av me own shadder in th’ darruk. Porrfeeus dil Noort wur th’ firrust man Oi ivver saw that made me fale as if bullets wouldn’t kill him an’ kape him dead. Wur he to roize before me this minute nivver a bit surphrised would Oi be.”

Although Merry jollied the Irishman, it was no easy matter to relieve O’Toole’s nervousness.

Later Belmont Bland appeared at the cottage, having sought the advice of a physician who was spending an outing at the little settlement on the southern shore.

“I’m feeling better already,” said Bland. “The doctor gave me some medicine to quiet my nerves. I’ll be all right to leave for the city to-morrow, I hope, although I feel that I need several days of rest.”

Frank wondered why Bland had lingered at the lake.

CHAPTER III

NEW ARRIVALS AT THE LAKE

Late that afternoon Warren Hatch and Frank went out to fish and remained until after nightfall.

Lights were gleaming from the cottage windows as they rowed slowly back.

Away at the southern end of the lake were other lights, indicating the location of the little settlement of cottagers. Lake Placid was a popular resort at this season of the year.

Joe, the man of all work, came down to the shore and took care of the boat.

“Take care of the fish, Joe,” called Hatch, as he hastened after Merry, who was striding toward the cottage.

The shades were drawn and the place seemed silent enough until Frank opened the door and stepped inside. Then he was surprised and startled to find himself seized by four pairs of hands, which hustled him about amid bursts of laughter and shouts of welcome.

“Hold on! hold on!” he gasped, in the greatest astonishment, for he recognized his four assailants as his friends, Bart Hodge, Bruce Browning, Inza Burrage, and Elsie Bellwood. “Where in the world did you all drop from?”

“We have run you down at last,” said Hodge; “but you gave us a merry old chase.”

“It’s been the greatest game of hide and seek I ever played,” grunted Browning, ceasing from his attack on Frank and dropping lazily on a chair, which creaked beneath his weight. “Just when we would think we were going to put our hands on you sure you would disappear like a wizard.”

“Aren’t you glad to see us?” demanded Inza.

“If you’re not, we’ll go right away,” said Elsie.

“Glad!” cried Frank. “I’m speechless with delight. But I don’t understand it yet.”

Then they explained how they had followed him to Boston and from that city to New York, and how in the latter place, after no end of trouble and detective work, they learned that he was off for Lake Placid, in the Adirondacks. Arriving at Newman late that afternoon, they had driven over to the cottage of Mr. Hatch, which they reached while Frank and his host were still out fishing.

“Here is Mrs. Medford, Frank,” said Inza, calling his attention to a smiling, middle-aged lady who sat near the open fireplace.

Mrs. Medford was a relative of Inza’s who often accompanied her as companion and chaperon.

“Mrs. Medford,” said Merry, hastening to clasp the smiling woman’s hand, “I am delighted to see you again. I’m quite overcome with surprise and pleasure. It’s evident I am, for I have forgotten Mr. Hatch.”

No wonder Mr. Hatch had been overlooked, for he had stepped back and remained quiet during all the chatter and laughter of the meeting between Frank and his friends.

“I am greatly pleased to meet your friends, Mr. Merriwell,” he declared, as Frank introduced one after another. “If the accommodations at my poor cottage––”

“Oh, we wouldn’t think of putting you to the slightest inconvenience!” declared Inza. “We can find accommodations in Newman, Mr. Hatch, and we wouldn’t think of––”

“Unless it is too uncomfortable here,” Hatch hastened to say, “I shall consider it a favor to entertain you as the friends of the cleverest fisherman and finest young man it has been my good fortune to meet in twenty years. Anything and everything here is yours as long as you choose to remain, and you can’t remain too long for me.”

That was quite enough, for they saw he was in earnest. He could thaw out and be genial and pleasant when he chose, and this was an occasion when he had no difficulty in thawing. He called Joe and gave orders about supper, and soon the delightful odor of cooking fish came faintly to their nostrils.

While supper was being prepared Frank related the story of the many adventures which had befallen him since he hastily left Maine in pursuit of the Mexican who had stolen one of his valuable papers.

As she listened Inza flushed and paled by turns. She was elated by his success, and she found it difficult to check a tremor as she realized how many times he had been in deadly danger.

“Where is O’Toole?” cried Hodge, as Frank finished. “I want to congratulate him on his job in ending the career of that snake, Del Norte.”

O’Toole was aiding Joe in the cook house, and he was finally induced, under protest, to appear in the cottage. He stood before Frank’s friends, grinning bashfully and bowing awkwardly.

“O’Toole,” said Bart, shaking the Irishman’s hand, “you never did a better bit of work in all your life than when you shot Porfias del Norte.”

“It’s not so sure Oi am av that,” declared the man. “It’s nivver a bit will Oi shlape till Oi know fer sure th’ baste is dead an’ burried six fate under ground.”

“Why, Frank said you shot him through the head.”

“Oi did thot, but whin we returned to th’ hut pwhere he was it’s up an’ gone he had.”

“Frank says the body was carried off by his friends.”

“Mebbe it wur, Oi dunno; but whoy th’ ould scratch they wur afther takin’ all thot throuble an’ risk is pwhat bates me. Somehow Oi’m thinkin’ th’ mon up an’ walked away all by hissilf, an’ it’s cowld chills Oi git from thinkin’ he may be lookin’ fer me to sittle our account.”

“You’ll get over that feeling after a while,” said Hodge. “Frank knows when a man is dead, and you heard him pronounce Del Norte dead.”

In Browning’s ear Frank whispered:

“I confess I’d feel better satisfied if I had seen him buried; but I don’t intend to tell O’Toole that.”

In due time supper was cooked and served in the plain but comfortable dining room. The death of Del Norte was forgotten, and it was a jolly crowd that gathered about the large table.

“Hold me!” cried Browning, as he drank in the odor of baked potatoes, cooked fish and steaming coffee. “If you don’t look out I’ll wade in here and create a famine. I feel as if I might eat everything on this table without half trying.”

“There is plenty of everything,” said Warren Hatch. “Joe tells me there is more fish. Here he comes with some of his hot biscuits right out of the oven.”

Joe appeared with a heaping plate of biscuits, and soon all were enjoying the meal.

Inza was unusually vivacious, her cheeks being flushed and her dark eyes sparkling. The pleasure of being with Frank again was enough to put her at her best, and indeed she was a most beautiful girl.

Elsie was quieter, but there was no mistaking the expression of deep satisfaction which hovered on her sweet face. The fact that Inza was happy was enough to give her pleasure.

In the midst of the meal there came a rapping at the door. Mr. Hatch answered the summons and was gone some time. When he returned he explained that there was to be a masquerade dance at a pavilion used for dances and picnics down at the cottage village, and, having learned of the presence of guests at his cottage, invitations had been extended to them all.

“Perfectly jolly!” cried Inza. “But we have no costumes.”

“Never mind that,” said Mr. Hatch. “Without doubt there will be others in the same predicament. You can easily manufacture some masks, and, being strangers here, no one outside your own party will recognize you. I’m sorry I can’t assist you in the matter of dress, but I can help the male members of the party. I have a full Indian rig and a cowboy outfit, which will do for two. The third can dress in old clothes, like a hunter or guide. The whole thing can be arranged somehow if you care to go. Where there’s a will there’s a way, you know.”

“Oh, say,” grunted Browning, “count me out. I’m no dancer. Besides that, I’m tired.”

“The same old complaint,” laughed Frank. “What do you think about it, Elsie?”

“If Inza wishes to go, I’m ready,” answered Elsie. “We might have a good time.”

Hodge expressed a willingness to go along, and then Frank cried:

“It’s a go, my children! Let’s enter into this thing in earnest and have a high old time. Bruce, you ought to be ashamed of your laziness.”

“Don’t begin that old song!” said the big fellow. “There’s not enough laziness in this world. Everybody howls about strenuousness and hustle, and people wear themselves out and die before they should. I’m setting a good example, and I’ll continue to set.”

“Or sit,” nodded Merry. “All right, Lazybones, stay here by your lonesome and content yourself thinking what a fine time we’re having.”

“Thanks,” grunted Bruce.

CHAPTER IV

TWO GHOSTS

The colony on the south shore of Lake Placid was about to break up. Cold weather was setting in. Already many of those who had spent much of the summer there were gone. Others were going. Soon that region would be left entirely to the hunters and the fishermen.

Before returning to the city the cottagers had planned a last grand time in the form of a masquerade dance. They did not call it a “ball.” There was to be nothing formal about it.

Thus it happened that the party at Warren Hatch’s cottage received an invitation.

Mrs. Medford was tired; she would not attend the dance; but she offered to assist the girls in getting up their costumes.

“Costumes!” cried Inza. “Where will we find them? We’ll have to go without special preparation in that line. Frank and Bart are the lucky ones.”

“Come with me,” smiled Mrs. Medford, after consulting in a low tone with Mr. Hatch, who smiled and nodded. “Perhaps we can find something.”

The girls followed her to the upper part of the cottage, leaving Frank and Bart to make up below.

Merry gave Bart his choice of the two rigs, and Hodge took the Indian outfit, leaving the cowboy costume for Frank.

At intervals the sound of laughter came from above, indicating that the girls were making progress.

Mrs. Medford came down first and announced that the girls would follow in two or three minutes.

“They are putting on the finishing touches,” she said.

She professed to be alarmed by the fierce appearance of Merriwell, who swaggered toward her in “chaps,” woolen shirt, and wide-brimmed hat, a loose belt about his waist, with a pistol peeping from the holster, while his face was hidden by a mask in keeping with the rest of his outfit.

“It’s a whole lot tired we’re getting of waiting for them yere gals, madam,” said Frank. “I opine they’d better hurry some, for we’ll have to hike right lively if we shake a hoof at this dance to-night.”

Then Hodge danced forward in his Indian rig, flourishing a tomahawk and uttering a war whoop.

“Heap right,” he cried. “White woman bring gals.”

“Mercy!” gasped Mrs. Medford, retreating toward the table and suddenly turning the lamp very low.

Then came a rustling sound on the stairs, followed by a low moaning, and into view glided two ghostly figures in flowing robes of white. These figures paused in a corner of the room where the shadows were deepest, and the surprised witnesses seemed to see through their white draperies the gleaming outlines of the upper portions of two skeletons. The ribs, the waving, bony arms, and the horrible, shining skulls were plainly beheld. After a moment the two apparitions advanced.

“Heap spook!” cried Hodge, while Frank pretended to be greatly alarmed.

Browning sat bolt upright, uttering a grunt of surprise.

As the forms came forward into the dim light the skeleton figures faded and disappeared.

“I reckon these are the real things, Injun,” said Frank.

“Much so,” nodded Bart.

Then the girls broke into laughter and Mrs. Medford turned up the lamp.

With the aid of two sheets, a needle and thread and a few pins, Mrs. Medford had made some very ghostly garments for the girls, fitting them with a skill which partly revealed and partly concealed the graceful outlines of the wearers. Eyelets had been cut, and the general effect was indeed striking.

“But the skeletons we saw?” questioned Frank.

“A little phosphorus produced them,” explained Mrs. Medford. “I drew the skeleton outlines on the sheets with phosphorus. Of course they’ll be visible only in the dark.”

“Mrs. Medford, you’re a wonder!” declared Hodge. “Now we’re all right. There’ll be ghosts abroad in the Adirondacks to-night.”

After a general inspection of their costumes, the party prepared to start.

“Almost wish I had decided to go,” confessed Browning. “But I’ll stay here and take care of Mrs. Medford.”

“If you wish to go, I can take care of her,” assured Warren Hatch.

“It’s too late now,” said Bruce quickly. “Besides that, it’s quite a walk over there, and I’d get tired of dancing in short order. I’ll stay here and rest.”

They paused a moment on the veranda. The night was very still, and the moon was just rising above the treetops, silvering the mirror-like surface of the lake.

From far away on the southern shore came the sound of music and they could see the gleaming lights.

“Take care of those girls, boys,” called Mrs. Medford. “If anything happens to them I’ll never forgive myself for letting them out of my sight.”

“Don’t worry,” advised Frank. “You may rest assured that they are quite safe in our care. We’ll guard them with our lives, but there is no possibility of danger to-night.”

Little he knew what would happen before the night passed.