Part 28 (1/2)
”A-a-a-all who he-ear my voi-oi-oice shall die-ie within the hou-ou-our!” came the wail once more.
”O-o-o-h! Please don't!” screamed Hen Dutcher, burrowing in under the ma.s.sed overcoats. ”Please spare me! I'll be a good fellow after this!”
”Keep quiet!” ordered Tom, striding over to the bunk and giving Hen three or four vigorous prods. ”If you don't we'll throw you outside!”
”But it's just aw-aw-aw-awful!” chattered the terrified Hen.
Truth to tell, none of the boys were feeling at his best, just then.
d.i.c.k's glance pa.s.sed the face of the clock, showing the hour to be just midnight.
Had it been possible to travel through the forest, the Grammar School boys would have felt sure that it was Fred Ripley's crew. Then they would have gone forth to see what was up. But feeling sure that they were the only living beings in this part of the forest, it was impossible to account for the awful sounds that came from without. What made the wailing sound still more frightful was the fact that it all seemed a part of the wind that was now rising gradually. And the clearly uttered, sepulchral words made it all real enough. The wind never talks in words.
Again came the wailing, though this time without words.
”I never believed there were such things as real ghosts,” declared Harry Hazelton.
”Then you're a fool. Everybody knows that there are ghosts--and they're fine people that do n.o.ble work!” proclaimed chattering Hen from under the weight of clothing. He was trying to win the favor of the ghosts.
”If there are any ghosts around here I wish one of 'em would pick you up in a sheet, take you away and drop you in your own home in Gridley,”
declared Tom, becoming decidedly irritated by this babyish imitation of a boy.
”Oh, please don't say that!” begged Hen piteously. ”The ghost might hear you.”
”If he does, and takes Tom's advice,” hinted Dave, ”we'll soon see it happen.”
That was enough to send thirteen year old Hen burrowing more frantically than before.
The cabin was warm and bright inside. d.i.c.k, while trying to puzzle out the matter to his satisfaction, carried four more logs to the fire, one after another, and placed them.
Not one of the Grammar School boys had any desire to go to bed at that time, save Hen, who wouldn't dare to be anywhere else. In fact, the Dutcher youngster may have wondered whether he could stand on his feet if he slipped out and into his clothes.
One by one the boys found seats. Dan picked up the air rifle and sat with it across his lap.
”Whoever it is that's doing this trick has surely got us going,” laughed d.i.c.k uneasily.
”He has,” affirmed Dave. ”I don't believe in ghosts, but, under the circ.u.mstances, this thing that's annoying us is more than some creepy.
If we could explain it I don't believe we'd let it worry us any. But I suppose human beings are always most afraid of what they cannot understand.”
The wailings came at less frequent intervals now, though they continued to be sufficiently awesome. But when the clock showed two minutes before the hour of one in the morning these words came in a blast:
”The hou-ou-our of de-eath is at hand. The Gr-r-rim Rea-eaper is at the doo-oor!”
”Then please, please, please--GO AWAY!” screamed Hen, his teeth clacking a bone solo.
CHAPTER XV
d.i.c.k STRIKES A REAL FIND