The Galloping Ghost | Page 2

that lay before him, a broad, deep bay fringed by a black ribbon of spruce and balsam. The moonlight, forming a path of gold across the water, fell upon some dark object. As the oars of the boat creaked, the dark object made a splashing sound; it moved.
As if reading the boy's thoughts, the oarsman ceased his labors to cast the circle of a powerful flashlight in the direction of the moving creature.
With a quick intake of breath Red stared enchanted; for there, not twenty yards away, standing at the end of the small island which he had reached at this moment was a moose.
Nowhere in all his life had the boy beheld such complete majesty. Erect, silent, powerful, the monarch of the forest stood there defiant and unafraid.
"Where in all the earth could one find a spot such as this?" Red breathed to himself "A spot so sheltered that even the shyest of the forest's great ones shows no fear."
He had expected the oarsman to drag a rifle from the prow and fire point-blank at this moose. Instead, he sat there for a second, his rough face disfigured by a semblance of a smile; then, pocketing his flashlight, he once again took up his oars.
For Red there was little enough time for thought.
The boat swung about. Before them lay a point of land, perhaps the end of an island. At its extreme end was a little half clearing where a score of girdled birches pointed their barren trunks, like dead fingers, toward the sky.
At the edge of this clearing was a small log cabin.
From this a pale light gleamed. Toward this cabin the boat directed its course.
"'This is the forest primeval.'" The words sprang unbidden to the boy's lips. "'The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, stand like Druids eld, with voices sad and prophetic, stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.'"
"And to-morrow was to have been--"
As he closed his eyes he saw what it was to have been: a wild, shouting throng; college songs, college yells, bands, waving banners. "Go, Midway! Go"
Two squads battling for victory. Wild scrambles.
Futile dashes. And, with good fortune, a mad dash of fifty yards to triumphal victory.
"Life," he whispered, "is strange."
The boat bumped. A narrow landing lay beside him.
"We get off here." There was something impersonal in the tone of this strange pilot of the night. "This'll be home for you, son, for quite some considerable time."
"I hope you're wrong," Red thought.
The room he entered a moment later was small and very narrow. In one corner was a cot, in another a table and chair. Across from the table was a curious affair of sheet iron that, he guessed, might be a stove.
The place was agreeably warm. There must be a small fire. On the table a candle burned, Turning about to seek for an explanation of all that had been happening and of his strange surroundings, he was not a little startled to find himself alone. The door had been silently closed behind him. And locked? Well, perhaps. What could it matter? He was, beyond doubt, surrounded by water, the merciless water of the north country--some north country in November; surrounded, too, by determined men, hostile men, perhaps, who had apparently ordained that his stay in the cabin should be a long one. Once again, as he dropped into the chair, there came to his mind that forceful interrogation:
Why?"
As before, he could form no adequate answer.
His mind was busy with this problem when, with startling suddenness, his attention was caught and held by the low sound of voices.
"Have you signed?" It was a man who spoke. The voice was not gruff; a low, smooth, persuasive voice, too smooth, too persuasive.
Quite in contrast was the answer. Unmistakably feminine, it came sharp and crisp as the crash of icicles fallen from the eaves. "I will never sign."
"But consider." The man's voice was not raised, still smooth, persuasive. "You are on an island."
"An island. I thought so," Red whispered to himself. "But who can this girl be?" That the one beyond the partition was a girl he did not doubt.
"I will never sign!" the girl broke in upon the other's oily speech. "My father owes you nothing."
"Consider," the other persisted. "You are on a narrow island within a bay. The water of the bay is icy cold. You might swim it in safety, though I doubt it.
Should you succeed, it would be but to find yourself upon a much larger island. That island is fifteen miles from the nearest mainland, a hundred from the farthest. Can you swim that, or row it even if you should find a boat? Ah, no. The waters of this great lake are terrible in their