Under Canvas: or, The Hunt for the Cartaret Ghost. Douglas Alan Captain

grew fainter in the distance, and presently as they stood there the scouts could tell from the change in sounds that those who were fleeing from the wrath of the ghosts must have reached the harder road, for the hoof beats of the horses came with a pounding stroke.

      Gradually even this was dying away. Then the five boys turned and looked at each other, with their faces wreathed in huge grins.

      "Tell me, Elmer, is it safe to let off steam now?" demanded Toby, eagerly.

      "If you're careful not to be too noisy, go it!" came the reply.

      With that Toby threw himself flat on his back, and began to kick his heels up in the air, all the while laughing, and giving queer gurglings that were meant to serve his pent-up emotions about as the escape valve of a boiler does when the steam presses too heavily on the boiler, and relief is necessary.

      He was not alone in his hilarity, although the merriment of the others partook of a different nature. Ted, Chatz and George went around shaking hands, and assuring each other that never in all their lives had they ever run across a more ridiculous diversion than this flight of the bold nut-gatherers.

      "Talk to me about Napoleon's retreat from Moscow," said George, who prided himself on his knowledge of history, "why, it wasn't in the same category as that wonderful escape of the Connie Mallon gang from the raid of the Cartaret ghosts. And say, what thrilling stories they'll have to tell about it all! Believe me, the whole Hickory Ridge will know about it by night time. Oh! I'll never forget it! I haven't had so much fun for a whole year as to-day. It was worth coming twenty miles just to see them on the jump."

      "Why," observed Ted, after he could regain his breath in part, "that Phil Jackthon took the cake when it came to covering ground. Did you thee him clear that log like a buck? I bet you he made a record jump that time, and beat anything he ever marked up on the thlate at a match."

      "Well, they're gone, all right," said Chatz; "and from the way they whipped their poor hosses I'd like to guess they'll keep on the wild run till they get home. And there isn't much chance that we'll be bothered again by that Mallon bunch to-day; how about that, Elmer?"

      "You can set that down as certain," replied the one spoken to. "It would take more spunk than any of that crowd happens to own for them to change their minds, and come back here. And that's why I wanted you to be careful not to give the secret away. We've got the field to ourselves the rest of the day."

      "Unless something comes along to give us a scare too," added Chatz, meaningly; for truth to tell, the superstitious Southern boy was already wondering whether all this playing ghost on their part might not bring something down on their heads savoring of retribution.

      "Then what's to hinder our getting busy, and changing all that pile of fine nuts from their sacks to ours?" George wanted to know. "The spoils of battle belong to the victors every time; and besides, they were trying to beat us out of our share as first discoverers. For one I ain't a bit ashamed to grab everything. Let that silly bunch wake up earlier next time, if they mean to get away with the game."