Jim checked his horse suddenly and calmly demanded, “Who be ye?”
No answer came from the ghost; it simply stood there quietly in the moonlight. The rope had caught in the ring and it could not sink back.
“Speak!” ordered Jim, reaching for his revolver. No answer from the ghost.
“Ping!” went a shot. A yelling and scrambling through the brush followed. “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” cried Dick.
“I thought you could speak,” said Jim; “I never seen a ghost that couldn’t.” With that he spurred his pony up to the open grave and emptied his revolver into the canvas. Then he rode on, chuckling to himself.
It cost the mischief-makers a dollar apiece to pay for the shot-riddled canvas, but the fun was worth the money.
As for Noisy, Hanks forgave him, and offered to let him keep his job, but he found it even harder to face his tormentors than ghosts.
Chapter XV
THE FATAL THROW
THE shack talk, together with the roundup preparations, touched off the growing desire in Dick and Fred to become “crack cowboys.” Dick especially was stirred to a high pitch of enthusiasm. He seized every chance to practice the arts of roping and riding, so that when the chance came to display his skill he might not be called a tenderfoot.
It happened that a day or two after the night just pictured, Dick galloped into Fred’s herd feeding quietly on the flat, and began the cutting out act, dashing here and there on Ginger, his buckskin pony, a bright little beast at the cow business, and leading the cows a merry chase. Fred, hearing the noise, emerged from the willows on Brownie to learn the cause.