Back to the Woods | Page 9

dog in the neighborhood began to hurl forth a series
of the most distressing bow-bows I ever heard. I arose, put up the
window and looked out.
I saw a tall man with a bunch of whiskers on his face flying across the
lot pursued by a black-and-tan pup, which snapped eagerly at the man's
heels and seemed determined to eat him up if ever the runner stopped
long enough.
I felt in my bones that the one in the lead was Bunch, and I sighed
deeply and went back to bed.
I must have dropped into an uneasy sleep for Clara J. was tapping me
on the arm when I started up and asked the answer.
"There's somebody in the house," she whispered, not a bit frightened, to
my surprise and dismay, "Maybe it's only the ghost you told us
about--what a lark!"
"Somebody in the house," I muttered, going on the stage blindly to play
my part; "and there isn't a gun in the castle."
"Yes there is," she answered, joyfully, I fancied; "mother brought
father's revolver over yesterday and made me put it in my satchel. She
said we would feel safer at night with it in the house. Do let me shoot
him; I can aim straight, indeed I can! Why, John, what makes you
tremble so?"

"I'm not trembling, you goose!" I snarled; "I can't find my shoes, that's
all. Doggone if I'm going to live in a joint like this with ghosts and
burglars all over the place."
Just then an alarming yell ascended from the regions below, followed
by a crash and a series of the most picturesque, sulphur-lined oaths that
mortal man ever gave vent to.
It was Bunch. His trademark was on every word. I could recognize his
brimstone vocabulary with my eyes shut.
But what dire fate had befallen him? Surely, not even an amateur
cracksman would give himself and the whole snap away unless the
provocation was great.
Lights began to appear all over the house. Aunt Martha in a weird
makeup came out of her room screaming, "What is it? What is it?"
followed by Uncle Peter and his trusty bow and arrow.
I began to pray. It was all over. A rosewood casket for Bunch. Me for
the Morgue.
Just as I was ready to rush down to investigate, Tacks came bounding
up the stairs, two steps at a time, clad only in his nightie.
_Up the stairs_, mind you! The nerve of that kid!
"Gi'me the prize, sister!" he yelled; "I caught the ghost! I caught him!"
"What do you mean?" I said, shaking him.
Tacks grinned from ear to ear. "You know they's a trap door in the hall
so's to get down in the cellar and it ain't finished yet, so this evening I
took the door up and laid heavy paper on it so's if the ghost walked on
it he'd go through and he did, and I get the prize, don't I, sister?"
I rushed down to the scene of the explosion, followed by my excited
household.
Leaning over the yawning cellar trap door I yelled, "Who's down
there?"
"Oh! you go to hell!" came back the voice of the disgusted Bunch,
whereupon Aunt Martha almost fainted, while Uncle Peter loaded his
bow and arrow and prepared to sell his life dearly.
Great Scott! what a situation! The man who owned the house nursing
his bruises in the muddy cellar while the bunch of interlopers above
him clamored for his life.
While I puzzled my dizzy think-factory for a way out of the dilemma
there came a terrific knock at the door and Tacks promptly opened it.

"Have you got him? Have you got him?" inquired the elongated and
cadaverous specimen of humanity who burst into the hall and stared at
us.
"I seen him early this evening a'hangin' around these here premises and
I ups and chases him twicet, but the skunk outrun me," the newcomer
gurgled, as he excitedly swung a policeman's billy the size of a fence
rail.
"Then I seen the lights here and says I, 'they has him'! Perduce the
maleyfactor till I trot him to the lock-up!" and with this the minion of
the law rolled up his sleeves and prepared for action.
"I presume you are the chief of police?" inquired Uncle Peter, with an
affable smile.
"I'm all the police they is and my name is Harmony Diggs, and they's
no buggular livin' can get out'n my clutches oncet I gits these boys on
him," the visitor shouted, waving an antiquated pair of handcuffs
excitedly in the air.
Tacks watched him open-mouthed. That boy was having the time of his
life and it would have pleased me immeasurably to paddle him to sleep
with Harmony's night