He looked ahead at the back of the man riding only a few feet in advance of him.
Should he take the chance? He knew that Ted or Bud or any of the boys would do so. Why not he?
If the man was only human a bullet would soon settle the matter. But if he should be a ghost or an emissary of the devil, as Carl strongly suspected, nothing like a ball from a forty-five would do him harm.
This had the effect of staying his hand, and the revolver stopped halfway out of its holster.
Then Carl thought of the boys, and what they would say if they knew that he had not nerve enough to pot the enemy when he met him.
Carl was not the bravest fellow in the world, and he was intensely superstitious.
Again the thoughts of the taunts of the other boys, should they ever know that he lacked the nerve to take advantage of the moment, came to him, and he gulped something hard that rose in his throat, and drew out his revolver.
At that moment the man in black turned and looked over his shoulder, his dead face gleaming white, out of which shone those terrible black eyes.
The revolver stopped suddenly in its upward course, and Carl's jaw dropped as he stared in abject fear at that white and expressionless face.
Then the man in black turned his horrible face once more to the fore, and rode on.