The Chums of Scranton High on the Cinder Path | Page 3

useful for
nut-cracking, went almost through his thumb, and gave his such an

electric shock that in the confusion the frightened animal managed to
escape once more to its native wilds.
Hugh, as he went along toward home, was really taking mental notes
concerning the lay of the land, and with an object in view. He was
entered for the fifteen-mile Marathon race (an unusually long distance
for boys to run, by the way, and hardly advisable under ordinary
conditions), and one of the registering places where every contestant
had to sign his name to a book kept by a judge so as to prove that he
had actually reached that particular and important corner of the
rectangular course, had been the quaint little old road tavern just half a
mile back of them.
"You're wondering just why I'm so curious about the country up here, I
can see, fellows," Hugh was saying about the time we meet them; "and,
as we all belong to the same school, and our dearest wish is to see
Scranton High win the prize that is offered by the committee in the
Marathon, I don't mind letting you in. I know something about this
country up here, and have traced on a surveyor's chart the ordinary
course a fellow would be apt to take in passing from the second tally
post, that old tavern back of us, along this road to the canal, and from
there across the old logging road to Hobson's Pond, where there's going
to be the last registering place before the dash for home. Well, I've
figured it out that a fellow would save considerable ground if he left
this same road half a mile below, and cut across by way of the Juniper
Swamp trail, striking in again along about the Halpin Farm."
His remarks created no end of interest, for there were several others
among the bunch who had also entered for that long-distance race; and,
naturally, they began to figure on how they might take advantage of
Hugh's discovery. It was all for the honor and credit of good old
Scranton High; so that it really mattered little just which fellow crossed
the line first, so long as he "saved the bacon."
"It sounds pretty fine to me, Hugh," said Julius, "only I don't like one
thing."
"What's that, Julius?" demanded the Juggins boy.

"By following that Juniper Swamp trail and the old road Hugh
mentions, we'd have to pass close to that deserted stone quarry; and say,
the farmers all vow it's sure haunted."
CHAPTER II
ON THE OLD QUARRY ROAD
When Julius made this assertion, the other fellows looked at each other
in what might be said to be a queer way. In fact, they had all heard
certain absurd stories told in connection with the old quarry that had
not been worked for so many years that the road leading to it across
country had grown up in grass and weeds. Some adventurous boys who
went out there once declared it was a most gruesome place, with pools
of water covered with green scum lying around, and all sorts of holes
looking like the cave Robinson Crusoe found on his island home to be
seen where granite building rocks had been excavated from the
towering cliffs.
It was K. K. who laughed first, actually laughed scornfully, though
Julius took it all so seriously. Thad Stevens followed with a chuckle,
after his peculiar fashion.
"You give me a pain, Julius, you certainly do," ventured K. K.
"To think," added Thad, assuming a lofty air of superior knowledge,
"of a fellow attending Scranton High believing the ridiculous yarns
these uneducated tillers of the soil and their hired help pass around,
about there being some sort of a genuine ghost haunting the old
quarry--why, it's positively silly of you, Julius, and I don't mind telling
you so to your face."
"Oh, hold on there, fellows!" expostulated the other boy; "I didn't say
that I really and truly believed any of those awful stories, did I? But so
many different persons have told me the same thing that, somehow, I
came to think there might be some fire where there was so much smoke.
Of course, it can't be a ghost, but, nevertheless, there are queer
goings-on about that deserted quarry these nights--three different

people, and one of them a steady-going woman in the bargain, assured
me they had glimpsed moving lights there, a sort of flare that did all
sorts of zigzag stunts, like it was cutting signals in the air."
"Hugh, do you think that could be what they call wild-fire, or some
folks give it the name of will-o'-the-wisp, others say jack-o'-lantern?"
demanded Horatio Juggins, who had been listening intently while all
this talk was going on.
"I'd