“I’ll have to admit that this doesn’t explain much,” began Ned, as he replaced the fragment of paper in his pocket. “In fact, it raises more questions than it answers, but at least we can be reasonably sure that one or more of our nightly visitors has been making some use of this old shack and also of this old road. Now let’s see if we can find what use.”
With interest roused to a high pitch, the boys resumed their exploration of the wood-road, scanning every tuft of grass and every broken bush as they passed. After leaving the shanty, the road surface had become more sandy and the marks of rubber tires more frequent as well as more distinct, until at length they formed a clearly defined track in which the ribbed pattern of the tires showed plainly.
“We’re coming to the end of the road!” exclaimed Rogers, pointing to a wall of solid green that blocked the way some thirty yards ahead.
The boys had halted to consider this surprising fact, when an exclamation from Dave Wilbur drew all eyes in his direction. The lanky youth had dismounted from his car and now stood staring wide-eyed at the roadway immediately before him.
“What’s the matter, Weary?” gibed Rogers, a bit maliciously. “Do you see a ghost?”
“The tracks!” blurted Wilbur. “Where are the tire tracks? They’ve disappeared!”
It was true. From the point where the boys stood, to the wall of foliage that apparently marked the end of the road not a tire mark showed upon the smooth, firm surface of the ground. As if actuated by a common impulse, all eyes turned back along the road. Yes, the marks were there plainly enough, but at a point almost beneath their feet the tracks ceased as abruptly as if the mysterious car had suddenly left the earth like an airplane.
Dave Wilbur was the first to speak. “Fellows,” he began in a tone quite different from his customary lazy drawl, “I’ll crawfish. I said I wanted to see some of this ghost stuff that you’ve been telling about. I’ll admit I thought it was bunk, but now I’m satisfied that ghost, or no ghost, there’s some darned funny business going on here!”
“If this is the end of the road, I suppose we’ll have to turn round and go back the way we came,” observed Tommy Beals with a nervous glance along the back track.
“Maybe so, but first I’d like to have a closer look at what’s ahead,” suggested Ned, and moving forward, he approached the barricade of living green that merged with the foliage of a giant oak. In a moment he was shouting for the others to join him, and as they hurried to do so, Ned parted the curtain of thick growing creepers to disclose the smooth surface of the main highway not twenty feet beyond.