Part 8 (2/2)
”I'm glad of one thing,” ventured Bandy-legs.
”That you didn't get three fingers scorched; is that it?” asked Steve.
”Naw!” answered the other, indignantly, ”Tell you what it is, boys; I didn't believe much of it when they said it was ghosts up here on Catamount Island. Now we know there ain't none around.”
”Well, how do you know it, Bandy-legs?” asked Max.
”Because ghosts--whoever heard of them wanting a fire, either to cook with, or else keep warm? Still, that awful howl we heard last night--I keep wonderin' what it meant, fellers?”
No one attempted to answer Bandy-legs. They believed they had about exhausted that subject while sitting around the camp fire on the previous evening, before starting to go to their blankets; and did not feel like reopening the question.
”Let's get out of this,” suggested Steve, with a s.h.i.+ver.
”Second the motion,” declared Toby, speaking straight again.
”Unless Max wants to hang around a little longer, in the hope of striking a clew that might tell us something about this queer old place, and the mysterious party that's been sleeping here,” Owen followed with.
”Oh, I think I'm done looking around in here,” the one mentioned remarked, with a shade of disappointment in his voice; for Max disliked to give up any object he had set out to attain.
”We might run across some tracks outside,” suggested Steve.
”I meant to give that a try,” Max explained; ”but somehow I don't feel as if we'd have any great success there; because, when we came in I noticed that the ground was kind of poor for showing footprints--rocky, and covered with dead leaves that have drifted in here right along.”
But all the same Max spent some little time hovering around, now down on his knees and closely examining the ground; again looking up at the swaying limbs of the overhanging trees, as though knowing that they could explain the mystery, if only they might speak.
”Any use, Max?” called out impatient Steve, presently; for he had been fretting at the delay for several minutes now.
”Give it up,” returned the other, turning his back on the strange cabin with its green roof and lichen-covered walls.
”Which way now?” asked Steve, evidently pleased that they were going to make a move of any sort; for inaction galled him always.
”Back to camp?” queried Bandy-legs, hopefully; because he believed that was the one comfortable spot on all that island, and regretted ever having left it; though they could never have tempted him to remain in camp alone; not on that island with the evil name, at any rate.
”Well, after starting out, we ought to poke around a little farther than we've done this far, I should think,” Max replied; ”still, I'm ready to do whatever the majority say; three against two has always been our rule. How about it, boys?”
”G-g-go on!” exclaimed Toby, promptly.
”Same here,” from Steve.
”Count me in,” came from Owen, smilingly; for whatever Max thought right, his cousin could usually be depended on to back up.
”And I move we make it unanimous; because I don't just like being the only one on the other side,” Bandy-legs ended up with.
”That settles it, then; so come along, and we'll keep on to the upper end of the island,” Max suggested, leading off, gun in hand.
”Oh, wait, I've forgotten something!” cried Bandy-legs, running back.
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