“Oh! I see now!” cried George; “you mean that ghosts needn’t be afraid of a handful of bird shot. Is that it, Jack?”
“That’s what I meant. I’ve read lots of ghost stories, just like Josh here; though I never believed them for one minute. But in every case the fellow who tells the yarn declares that bullets have no effect at all on real goblins. Am I right, Josh?”
“It’s true, every word of it, Jack!” the other answered, promptly. “Why, I’ve heard where a soldier whacked the head off a ghost, who coolly picked it up and stuck it on again as neat as you please. Oh! no, they needn’t be afraid of little bird shot, not a bit of it.”
“Well, this ghost was timid, you see,” Jack proceeded. “He fell over just as soon as I called out about my gun.”
“Look here, you mean something by that, sure you do!” remarked Herb.
“Fellers, he’s hinting that it was a job set up on us—that’s what Jack means,” declared Nick.
“Out with it, Jack. Don’t you see that we’re all in a blue funk over this queer deal? If you know anything, share it with your pards,” said Herb.
“That’s it,” observed Josh, who had by now somewhat recovered from his fright; “put us wise old commodore. What d’ye think it was, now?”
“I’ll tell you, boys,” Jack said, impressively. “In my opinion, honest Injun, now, somebody was trying to frighten us away from here.”
“Say, it did wave its long, bony arm, all right!” exclaimed Josh.