“Don’t forget the ghost of the Ridge,” said a man, seriously. “That’s Maul’s ghost.”
The oldest son had been prowling about the ruins and now set up a cry. “Look-a-here, Pop,” he called. There was an instant rush to the rear of the barn.
In the dim light of a few lanterns they made out the charred outline of wheels and under a smoking board some whisps of straw. A murmur of comprehension went up.
“Loaded a wagon of hay and lighted her up,” shouted a farmer. “Then they rolled it down the hill at the barn.”
There was no doubt that such had been the case. And no one seemed to ask why, a fact that puzzled the colonel and the boys.
“Why should anyone do a thing like that? And who is this Maul?” the colonel asked.
None of the Hydes replied but a neighbor was willing to talk. “A few years back there was a hill feud between the Hydes and the Mauls,” he said. “One or the other of them was trying to drive the other family out. But all of the Mauls disappeared or died several years ago. This here ghost must be one of the Mauls!”
“Evidently a very real Maul, if he can load a wagon with hay and roll it down the hill,” replied the colonel dryly. “Captain Jordan!”
“Sir?” the senior captain replied.
“Take a detail of men and search the hill. If you find anyone that looks suspicious bring him here to me.”