“Whoa there!” called the farm hand to the restless steeds, that had jumped nervously at the sound of the old man’s weird scream.
“Come on!” cried Natalie. “I’ve had enough of this. I won’t sleep a wink to-night. Come on, girls!”
“Yes, it’s—getting late,” added Marie. “We must get back to camp.”
“Not to mention staying here after dark,” added Mabel. “Oh! Perhaps it’s silly, but I don’t like it. Are you sure you saw something, Nat?”
“Of course I did. I don’t know what it was, but it looked like a face— Oh, don’t let’s talk about it,” she begged.
Mr. Rossmore had rushed from the shack with the last few of his household goods. He threw them into the wagon.
“Go on!” he cried to the farm hand. “Drive away from here as fast as you can. I don’t ever want to see the place again. It near had me that time.”
“What was it?” demanded Mrs. Bonnell.
“The hant, sure. Oh, what a place!” and leaping up on the wagon seat he called to the horses which seemed glad enough to leave the eerie place.
“Come on, girls!” cried Natalie, as the wagon rattled off down the road. “We must get back to camp.”