“Yes, we saw him walking along the Ridge and we gave chase,” Don explained. “We trailed him into that old house on the top of the hill and we went all through the place but couldn’t find him. While the others were looking I ran down here to see if you had heard anything. Sorry to have bothered you.”
“Wasn’t any bother at all, and I’m grateful to you for your thought,” responded Vancouver promptly. “I didn’t hear anything because I’ve been sleeping here in the chair. Your knock woke me up. So you saw the ghost, eh? What did he look like?”
Don described the appearance of the ghost and the old man appeared to be deeply interested.
“You say you fellows saw him. How’d you come to do that? You ain’t always out of your camp so late as this, be you?”
Feeling that he might some day help them to find the ghost, Don related the story of the mysterious flagman, the search on the hill and the revolver shot that Rowen had fired off.
“Dear, too bad about that shot,” said the invalid, shaking his head. “If it hadn’t been for that you would have nailed this ghost, eh?”
“No doubt of it,” said Don, his attention attracted by something that the man was doing. “Are you too hot, Mr. Vancouver?”
The invalid had been passing a hand jerkily across his forehead several times, and each time after the act he wiped a somewhat dampened hand on the brown cover. Although it was quite warm in the place it did not seem to be hot enough to make a man sweat, unless Mr. Vancouver was the kind who perspired easily. It seemed to Don that the old man was breathing pretty heavily for one who had sat in a wheel chair all evening, and in the boy’s brain a faint idea stirred. He rejected it, at first, but like a gentle knocking it persisted.
“Oh, no, no,” hastily interposed the cripple. “Do you feel too warm?”
“No, but I thought perhaps you might be a little hot, and I’d open a window or the door for you,” responded Don, seating himself on the edge of the table.