“Well, the path is pretty fair, and we shouldn’t have too much trouble, even though it is a mite rough in spots.”
In another hour, pitchy blackness enveloped them, and travel became increasingly slow. A hasty, careless step on the rough trail might mean a sprained, or even fractured, ankle. Luckily, it was a windless, quiet evening. The restless airs over lake and prairie were still for once, and the boughs of the scattered groves of trees, through which they passed, did not move. After a time, however, they came to the realization that they had lost the path; but almost at once they blundered onto another trail, which Bright Star assured them ran parallel to the first.
Suddenly, Tom Gordon, who was in the van as they trod the dark path, came to an abrupt halt, and despite all his resolute nature and self control, shuddered violently.
“Great Scott,” he cried hoarsely, “that gave me a start! I’m all over goose-pimples as big as buckshot!”
“What in thunder’s the matter, Tom?” yelled Ben, hastening forward with Bright Star.
“Look up in the trees!” replied his excited brother. “See those long, dark objects! What in blazes are they?”
“Search me. What are they, Bright Star?”
“Indian burial place,” the Pottawattomee informed them.
“Oh, that’s it,” said Tom. “This is an ancient Injun burying ground. These are mummies swinging from the boughs.”
“Wow,” groaned Ben, “what a ghostly place! Let’s get out of here in a big hurry!”