“Great Cæsar’s ghost!” panted Hodge in Merry’s ear. “Whoever it is, he knows you! He is calling your name. What do you think of that?”
“That’s not so very strange, Bart.”
“Why not?”
“Since we came into the valley, either you, or Wiley, or Abe have spoken my name so this unknown party overheard it.”
“Frank Merriwell!” distinctly spoke the mysterious voice; “come to me! You must come! You can’t escape! You buried me in the shadow of Chaves Pass! My bones lie there still; but my spirit is here calling to you!”
“Booh!” said Wiley. “I’ve had more or less dealings with spirits in my time, but never with just this kind. Now, ardent spirits and spritis fermenti are congenial things; but a spooky spirit is not in my line.”
“I tell you to keep still,” whispered Hodge once more.
“I am dumb as a clam,” asserted the sailor.
“Do you hear me, Frank Merriwell?” again called the mysterious voice. “I am the ghost of Benson Clark. I have returned here to guard my mine. Human hands shall never desecrate it. If you seek farther for it, you are doomed—doomed!”
At this point Worthington broke into a shriek of maniacal laughter.