“Your generosity overwhelms me. But it must not be forgotten that we yet have Frank Merriwell to dispose of. It is vain for you to try to frighten him away from this valley. Last night you attempted it with your spook trick, but it didn’t work.”
“What’s that?” exclaimed Henry. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh,” said the sailor, “you can’t deceive little Walter. We heard you doing that spook turn. But it was time wasted.”
Henry and Shawmut exchanged puzzled looks.
“You certain will have to explain what you are driving at,” growled Shawmut.
“Don’t you know?”
“None whatever.”
“I fear you are still seeking to deceive me.”
“Not a bit of it,” averred Henry. “Whatever was yer talking about, Wiley?”
“Why, last eve, after we had partaken of our repast and were disporting ourselves in comfort on the bosom of mother earth, there came through the atmosphere above us a singing voice which sang a sweet song all about dead men and such things. Afterward the voice warned us to hoist anchor, set sail, and get out of this port. It claimed to be the voice of Benson Clark, the man who first found the mine here, and who was afterward shot full of holes by some amusement-seeking redskins. I surely fancied you were concerned in that little joke, mates.”