When pans and mess-kits had been washed by the simple method of rubbing dirt on their surfaces to remove the grease, afterward dipping them in the lake, dead limbs and brush were heaped on the fire, and in the circle of light sent forth by the jolly blaze, the boys of Tent Eight settled themselves for an evening of campfire talk.
One story followed another, most of them having to do with strange occurrences, haunted houses, ghosts whose touch made the victim’s hair turn White in a single night. As the hours passed, the air about the little encampment became decidedly spooky. A wailing wind had arisen, and swept mournfully through the overhanging trees. Down the lake on the other side, a leaping torch of flame marked the spot where Tent Two, camped below the baseball field, had built a high fire that danced with every gust and spouted a hail of sparks toward the murky sky.
Oscar Hansen, a freckle-faced blonde boy, was relating the tale of the Golden Hand. He raised his voice as the climax of his story drew near. “—And he heard a footstep outside the door of the room, and a scary voice said: ‘Who’s got my Golden Hand?’ Then he heard the door swing open, and something said, in a louder voice: ‘Who’s got my Golden Hand?’ But he couldn’t see anything there. His hair stood on end. He sat up in bed. The thing was right at the foot of his bed, saying in an awful screech: ‘Who’s got——’”
“Good evening!”
Everybody jumped, and little Barstow cried out in fear. A dislodged stone rolled down into the fireplace. Peering eyes made out the towering form of a stranger just beyond the circle of firelight. A man had come upon them unawares as the group sat absorbed in the ghostly tale.
“Hope I don’t interrupt your fun. But I saw the fire, and just thought I’d step over and warm my hands a bit.”
Dr. Cannon rose to greet the newcomer. “Glad to have you. We were telling ghost stories, and I’m afraid you’ startled us a bit, Mr. ——”
“Diker. I’m from the state penitentiary over beyond Elmville.” The stranger shook hands, and pulled aside his slicker for a moment; the red glow flashed on the metal of an official badge. “Glad to know you, sir. Well, if it isn’t my friends the twins!”
Jerry stuck his elbow in Jake’s ribs. It was the man in blue again! The prison guard! Now that they looked closely, they could see that what they had first taken for a stick in the man’s hand was in reality the gun which he never seemed to be without.
“Hello, boys. I’m just staying a minute,” the guard went on. “A warm fire feels mighty good. I wouldn’t be surprised if we had a good-sized storm before morning. You’re lucky you don’t have to prowl around here in the dark all night, the way I do.”