“Maybe he dreamed some of it, and probably he drew pretty heavily on his imagination for the details,” agreed Tommy, “but something must have happened Saturday night, and whatever it was, it scared him foolish!”
“Do you mean after he got home Saturday night?” inquired Ned. “You remember we took him right to his gate that night.”
Beals nodded. “You know Sam lives alone in that shack of his and sleeps in a little room off the kitchen. He says that soon after he got into bed Saturday night he heard a queer noise. He sat up in bed to listen and there at the window he saw something that he insists was the face of Eli Coleson. Sam knew Eli well enough, and he swears he saw the old man with his white beard—copper stains and all.”
“What happened then?” asked Dick.
“According to Sam’s story, old Eli came right through the wall and struck at him with a pickax; but my own idea is, that if Sam thought he saw something white at the window, he was down deep under the bed covers about one second later. Anyhow, he’s so scared you couldn’t get him to go near the Coleson house again for a million dollars—and that’s that!”
“Let’s take a walk down to Sam’s shack. I’d like to see what the place looks like by daylight,” suggested Ned.
“Good idea. Maybe we can find the place where old Eli went through the side of the house,” laughed Dick.
A short walk brought the three boys to Sam’s house, about which they prowled, peering in at the closed windows and examining the little garden where the negro cultivated a few vegetables and flowers. There was no evidence of a forced entrance into the house, but in the soft earth of a flower bed, just below the bedroom window, was the distinct imprint of a rubber-soled shoe.
“Does Sam ever wear that kind of shoe?” asked Ned as he pulled aside the foliage for a better view of the footprint.
“I don’t believe he owns a pair of rubber-soled shoes, and anyhow, his foot is two or three sizes bigger than this print,” replied Beals.