It was a sad-looking little company that the breaking day beheld. Huddled on the ground, shivering in the gray chill of early morning, they sat with anxious glances directed toward the still figure lying on the ground blanketed with their coats. Westy and Artie could not suppress the tears brimming in their eyes, from the emotion and pity they felt for Uncle Jeb and the quiet form at their feet.
Almost about to give up hope, the sounds of natural breathing returned in Ol’ Pop and they moved nearer joyously. Each taking a hand and rubbing his wrists, they waited anxiously.
Opening his shrewd eyes, he raised his head weakly, but yet showing that the ordeal wouldn’t have any further effect on his general health, which was as hardy as any of his type.
He looked toward the smoldering embers, that were the only remnants left of the little rustic Inn, standing just the day before in all its quaint and native beauty. He shook his head sadly, then the dawn of a sudden thought seemed to light in his mind.
“Wa-al, pardner!” he said with a hint of exasperation in his voice. “You ’n I hev lived ter be this age, ’n hed to git fooled fer the fust time in our lives by a tenderfoot. Jes’ goes ter show yure never too old ter git kicked!”
“What makes you say that?” Westy asked without being invited, and before either Uncle Jeb or Artie had time to get their breath.
“Fust o’ all,” continued Pop, ignoring Westy’s question. Raising on his elbow he shook his finger with determination. “How’d ye all git here and git me out ’n the bargain?”
Uncle Jeb acted as spokesman and explained as quickly as possible of Westy’s discovery in the sky. He omitted, whether intentionally or not the two boys wondered, mentioning about the ghost.
“Yuh all lissen ter me, ’n I’ll tell yer somethin’, fer it don’t make a bit o’ difference now, becuz it’s gone by this time anyhow.”
“Gone?” they all asked in a chorus.