While preparations for breakfast were being undertaken by those appointed for this purpose, Elmer strolled out of the camp. He wished to carefully examine the open patch of ground at the point where the two sentries had been so positive the uncanny white object had appeared to them.
Disappointment awaited him there, however. Numerous footprints told how those of the scouts whose duty it was to secure a fresh supply of firewood that morning had passed back and forth directly across this open place. If there had been any suggestive tracks they were surely trampled out of sight by the army of boyish feet that had gone over many times.
Elmer shook his head. He felt that he had been hoodwinked in one sense, but no matter, even this setback must not induce him to give up the task he had set for himself. He owed it to Chatz and his infirmity to discover a reasonable explanation of that ghost theory. And while the solution might be delayed by this unfortunate trampling of the ground, he meant to persist.
"Nothing doing, I guess?" remarked a voice close by, and turning his head the scout leader saw Chatz himself standing there, observing him with a quizzical expression on his dark face.
"Well, if you mean an explanation of the little affair of last night, Chatz, I admit that so far I'm up against it good and hard. You see, I hoped to find some marks here that would give me a clue, but it's all off. The boys ran after wood and back again so many times, that if there was a trail it's been squashed."
"Oh! I don't think that mattered any," remarked the other, with conviction in his tones. "You can't very well discover what there isn't, can you? And I've always believed that spooks never leave a sign behind them when they come and go. Why, a spook is only a vapor, you know, Elmer. They can slip through a keyhole if necessary. And as to a trail, why, you might as well expect to see that cloud up yonder leave a track behind it."
There could at least be no doubt about Chatz being in dead earnest in his queer belief, and as Elmer turned away he was more than ever determined to find the true solution of that strange happening, if only to drive another nail in the coffin of the Southern boy's superstition.
As neither of the sentries felt at liberty to mention the occurrence until the assistant scout master gave permission, the balance of the scouts ate their breakfast, and joked each other, in blissful ignorance of the fact that the camp had again been visited by a hobgoblin, and that this time not only the superstitious Chatz but another had actually seen the misty intruder!