The colonel showed signs of unusual interest. “Why, yes, a few nights ago a wagon with two men in it tore right through the camp,” he said. “We couldn’t stop it.”
“There was a man and a boy in it,” corrected the pastor. “Well, then you don’t know what sent them flying past you like that?”
“No,” confessed the colonel. “If you had seen the way they flew by, you wouldn’t wonder that I didn’t learn anything about them. But tell me what you know.”
“First, I would like to ask you a question. Have you heard anything about a ghost of the Ridge, since you have been here?”
The colonel snorted. “I haven’t heard much about anything else,” he retorted.
“The ghost scared these two off. The father is a farmer who came down here from Pennsylvania. As it turns out, he is very superstitious, and the very first night on his own farm, while driving into the yard with his only son, he saw the white shape skulking along near his barn. He was just about crazed with fear and fled to the valley, passing your camp as he did.”
“Of course this ghost is simply some would-be humorous person who is having some fun,” was the colonel’s opinion. But Mr. Powers had another opinion.
“I doubt that very much, Morrell. The thing has been going on for years and some very good citizens have given up their homes just on account of it. The joke would have worn out years ago. No, I’m inclined to think that there is something deeper in it than mere fun.”
“Some determined effort should be made to drive the ghost from the Ridge,” grumbled the headmaster.
“Who is to start it?” shrugged the parson. “No one seems to want to and the sheriff of the county simply laughs at the whole business.”