“Maybe we’ll catch the ghost,” Bob laughed.
“No catch heem ghost. No can shoot heem.”
“What do you know about it?” Bob asked. “We’ve heard there was a ghost up there.”
“My brudder, Baptist, heem work up dar for Jacques two-tree year, but heem no work dar no more. Heem come here two-tree week ago an’ heem tell me ’bout dat ghost. Heem see heem one dark night. Heem big, ten feet mebby twelve, all white an’ fire. Heem say heem ver’ bad ghost, oui. You no go that camp.”
“But did you ever hear of a ghost hurting anyone?” Bob asked.
The man scratched his head slowly as if thinking deeply.
“My fader, heem see ghost an’ heem die one week after.”
“What did he die of?” Jack asked.
“Heem geet ver’ bad fever, heem die. You no go, eh?”
Neither of the boys laughed. They had too much respect for the man to let him see that they thought him foolish in his fear of ghosts. It is a common belief among the half-breeds and cannucks of northern Maine and very few of them are free of it. So Bob was perfectly sober as he told him that they were not afraid of the ghost and would go. The forester showed deep concern and again shook his head as he said: