“If they’ll be satisfied with trying to scare us with letters and ghost stuff, why we’ll be able to stay with ’em until we’ve got our money back anyhow,” said Beals, cautiously. “The dance crowd is looking for almost anything in the spook line and they will stand for quite a bit of it, but what worries me is the possibility that if ghosts don’t drive us out, something else may be tried—some rough stuff, you know.”
“You don’t suppose old Coleson may have a hand in it after all,” ventured Wat Sanford.
“Coleson? Not a chance!” declared Rogers, positively. “Coleson’s dead.”
“Well, er—even if he is dead,” persisted Sanford, uneasily, “what if—”
“Cut it out, Wat! Use your bean,” drawled Dave Wilbur. “As for me,” he continued, “I’m voting to keep the dances going till I get paid for all the hard work I did out there,” and Dave yawned wearily at the recollection of his labors.
“It would be a shame if we had to quit now. Everybody is talking about our ghost dances, and there will be a big crowd out there next time,” volunteered Jim Tapley.
“We may have a fight on our hands,” began Ned Blake, “but I’d rather fight than run, any time! As I see it, we’ve got to find out who it is that we are up against; what their game is; and why they think we are interfering with it.”
“Rather a large order, as a starter,” remarked Dick. “However, it sounds interesting. What’s your plan, Ned?”
“We ought to keep guard over that house night and day for a while,” was the quick reply. “Quite likely we are being closely watched, and it would be a good plan for us to do some watching. Two of us can take grub and blankets and camp there for twenty-four hours, or till relieved by the next two.”
“That sounds reasonable. Who’ll volunteer to be the first sentry?” asked Dick.