“It’s the finest bit of spruce I iver saw an thot’s sayin’ sumpin’. An’ there’s four hundred acres of it jest like thot,” he added as he again led the way.
“How far from the tract is Ben’s camp?” Bob asked as they trudged along.
“Not morn fifty rods, but he’s cuttin’ on the ither side of his camp. He’s got some mighty good timber thar too, but it’s not like this,” Tom replied.
They made nearly a complete circuit of the four hundred acre tract but found no evidence of any cutting nor did they meet anyone. They got back to camp just in time for dinner, with, as Jack declared, “some appetite.” The afternoon was spent with the crew and when quitting time came they both were, as Bob declared, “dead tired.”
They had nearly finished supper, when, suddenly the door of the mess house burst open and a Frenchman by the name of Devaux, stumbled into the room. His face was bloodless and he was shaking so that he could hardly stand.
“Der devil, I see him!” he gasped hoarsely, as he leaned for support against one of the bunks.
Several of the men sprang to their feet and crowded around him, all of them asking him questions at the same time. Bob threw a quick glance at Tom and he answered with a slow shake of the head.
“Out der by der woods,” they heard the frightened man reply to the questions which were being hurled at him, and the men made a rush for the door.
Tom and the boys followed as quickly as possible, and as soon as they were outside, looked eagerly toward the place which Tom had pointed out to them that morning. But nothing unusual greeted their eyes. There was no ghost visible.
“That Devaux, he drink too much der hooch,” Bob heard one of the men say as they trooped back into the building.