“I’m going in,” chattered Hogan. “I’m almost frozen.”
“You’ll be recognized.”
“I don’t care.”
When he started forward the others quickly decided to follow him, and in a body they advanced toward the steps where sat the motionless figure. They came up close to it, and then—they suddenly stopped. It was Bunol who uttered first an exclamation in Spanish, and then jabbered:
“Look! See! It is here!”
He was half-crouching, pointing at the figure, and his teeth rattled together like castanets, while his protruding eyes gleamed with terror.
Crauthers uttered a groan, and his legs nearly gave way beneath him.
“A ghost!” he whispered.
For the light of the burning woods seemed to show them sitting there on the steps, hatless, pale, a streak of red down across his temple, Chester Arlington. Never before had those boys been so startled. In fact, they seemed for a moment struck dumb and motionless with horror. Then one of them turned and ran, and the others followed, not uttering a word.
As they disappeared beneath the trees, Dick Merriwell stepped round a corner of the building and spoke to the lad who sat on the steps.