“You ought to know, Mercer,” said Motley. “Wish I had been on that switchboard the other night.”
That night the number of guards was doubled and the greatest care was exercised. The Officers of the Guard visited posts at frequent intervals and checked up on the sentries. But the night went by without anything out of the ordinary happening. In the morning Benson brought news.
“That ghost showed up in South Plains last night,” he reported. “Some farmers saw him over that way. That is some distance from here and the ghost is following orders to the letter. I didn’t hear a thing last night, though I listened to every conversation. Tonight he may come back this way. But I don’t know whether you will have to fear him or not, for if you’ll remember Maul promised to do the job himself.”
“We’ll be on the lookout for both of them,” promised the colonel.
That afternoon was a warm one and the boys went swimming. Terry had developed a slight summer cold and so he did not go. He was sitting in front of the tent on a box whittling a piece of wood industriously. The camp was quiet and the shouts of the cadets in the swimming hole drifted to his ears.
There was a voice near Terry and he looked up. The little Carson boy was approaching down the company street from the direction of the woods and Terry waved to him.
“Hi, Jimmie,” greeted Terry. “How are you today?”
“OK, Terry,” smiled the boy. “Why aren’t you in swimming?”
“Got a little cold and the company doctor told me to stay out for a while,” answered the whittler, gravely. “What’s on your mind today, anything in particular?”
“I want to tell you something,” said Jimmie Carson, sitting down on the edge of the box as Terry made room for him. “You know that old man over in the cabin? The man named Vancouver?”