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Coming within a few yards of the scow, we were startled by a sound of footsteps. Instantly I thought of the ghost, and, reversing my strokes I quickly brought the boat to a stop.
“If it is the ghost,” Scoop whispered, squinting at the scow, a squat black patch on the darkened water, “now’s our chance to find out who it is.”
“I’m like Red,” I said, admitting to a lack of courage. “I almost wish I was home.”
“Shucks! It’s a friendly ghost.”
“It was yesterday,” I said, with a nervous shrug. “It may be an unfriendly ghost to-day.”
He stood up and took a long look ahead.
“Can you see anything, Jerry?”
“Nothing but a black patch.”
“I thought I saw something white.”