“It’s a bad night for ghosts,” Jack declared.
“But the trouble is, we don’t know what species this particular ghost belongs to,” Bob reminded him.
Along about midnight Bob awoke. It was still raining hard and the wind remained in the same direction that it had held all day.
“It’s not apt to quit till the wind changes,” he thought as he turned over.
At that instant, above the sound of the wind, he heard the strange cry which had disturbed him the two nights previous. It was, however, a good ways off, and although it was repeated a number of times, it did not seem to come any nearer. None of the others woke so far as he could tell, and he soon drifted off to sleep again. When he again awoke day was just breaking and, to his great joy, he saw that the weather had cleared.
“Wonder if we’ll have any tracks,” he thought as he rolled out of his blanket.
Early as it was, Kernertok had a fire going and the coffee pot on.
“See any more of those tracks?” he asked, as he joined the Indian.
“Just same last night, heap big ones.”
“Do you have any idea of what it is, Kernertok?” Bob asked in a low tone.