"If that spook don't talk Indian when it's at home, I'm very much
mistaken," he whispered to Clark, who was nearest. "You boys
stay here."

Since they had no intention of doing anything else, they obeyed
him implicitly and without argument, especially as a flitting
white figure appeared briefly and indistinctly in a
shadow-flecked patch of moonlight. Crouching low in the shade of
a clump of bushes, Grant stole toward the spot.

When he reached the place, the thing was not there. Instead, he
glimpsed it farther on, and gave chase, taking what precautions
he could against betraying himself. Through the grove and the
gate and across the road he followed, in doubt half the time
whether it was worth the trouble. Still, if it was what he
suspected, a lesson taught now would probably insure against
future disturbances of the sort, he thought, and kept stubbornly
on. Once more he heard the dismal cry, and fancied it held a
mocking note.

"I'll settle that mighty quick," he promised grimly, as he jumped
a ditch and ran toward the place.

Somewhere among the currant bushes was a sound of eery laughter.
He swerved toward the place, saw a white form rise suddenly from
the very ground, as it seemed, and lift an arm with a slow,
beckoning gesture. Without taking aim, he raised his gun and
fired a shot at it. The arm dropped rather suddenly, and the
white form vanished. He hurried up to where it had stood, knelt,
and felt of the soft earth. Without a doubt there were