It was nearly twelve o’clock when they turned in but in spite of the lateness of the hour it was long before Bob slept. He well knew how much depended on the success of his plan. If anything should happen to cause a stampede among the men it would mean the loss of the contract as it would be practically impossible to get others to take their places this late in the season. As he lay thinking the matter over, he suddenly raised himself on one elbow and listened.
CHAPTER IV.
THE GHOST HAS ITS PICTURE TAKEN.
Through the stillness of the night came a cry. At first Bob thought it was a wildcat, but, as it was repeated a moment later, he knew that he was mistaken. No animal with which he was acquainted ever made a sound like that. Beginning in a low note, which sounded like the rumble of distant thunder, it rose in pitch as it increased in volume until its shrillness seemed to reach almost to the breaking point, then it slowly died away in a wail indescribable in its weirdness.
“What in the name of goodness can it be,” he thought as he listened. Soon it came again and now it sounded nearer. A slight sound of the movement of bodies in the bunks told Bob that he was not the only one who was listening, and a shudder of fear permeated him. Not fear caused by the cry itself, but fear of the effect it would have on the men. None knew better than he the fickle nature of those men, brought up as they had been, on the lore of ghostly legends of the north country.
Six times the cry was repeated and each time it seemed nearer, and now he knew that a good part of the men were awake, although none of them had gotten out of his bunk, fearing probably that he would be called a coward by someone. There is nothing which these hardy woodsmen so hate as a taint of cowardice, and many a one has gone to his death rather than refuse a dare.
For a long time Bob lay in his bunk and listened, but after the sixth time the cry was not repeated, and finally the cessation of the sound of movements in the various bunks told him that most if not all of the men had fallen asleep again.
“Did you hear it?” Jack whispered to Bob, as they were dressing the next morning.
“Sure, but don’t say a word to anyone,” Bob cautioned. “We’ll talk it over with Tom later when we’re alone.”
No mention of the matter was made at breakfast table, but both boys were quick to sense an air of uneasiness among the men, and later, as he caught the eye of the foreman, the latter shook his head as much as to say that he feared the outcome. All that day Bob and Jack worked with the men, felling the great spruces, but although they tried hard to joke and laugh as usual with them, the Frenchmen, almost to a man, lacked that joyous spontaneity of spirit so characteristic of them when everything was to their liking.
They had had no opportunity for more than a word with Tom Bean, as he had left, immediately after breakfast, for Greenville. He was back, however, when they returned to camp, as dusk was beginning to fall; and, standing in the doorway of the office, he motioned for them to join him.