"Will you just keep your ears open, old fellow?" I said. "Something, or someone, is going to surprise us to-night."
He didn't laugh at me. We animals have a great regard for each other's ability to smell, hear or feel things that often escape human beings.
"Is it the ghost?" he asked.
"No—whose ghost?"
"The old Highlander's. You know he was the first white man to come to this Lake. He traded with the Indians before they were all moved to the Reservation."
"Oh! is that why we see no Indians here—well, tell me about the Highlander."
Drunkard and I were by the garden as we talked, and the old dog settled down on the gravel walk and began to lick a sore place on his paw. Between whiles he told me about the Highlander who used to wear a rabbit cap and a coonskin coat, and who had the gift of second sight to a marked degree.
"I've often seen him," said Drunkard, "especially on moonlight nights like this. He goes all over the place—a kind of shadowy furry figure, and then he smiles and disappears in the log cabin. I think he sleeps in the loft."
"I believe I've seen that old coonskin coat," I said. "I once saw a kind of misty shape bending down from the wheat mow in the log cabin. It was hovering over me. He knew I was a stranger."
"Wait till you've been here long enough," said Drunkard. "You'll see him quite plainly. He's a nice, kind old fellow and he loves to know that the Deverings have this place. Did you know Mr. Devering had gone with the warden to catch the bad poachers who shot at the White Phantom?"