"What haunts it?" jeered the man, pushing back from the table and glancing sharply down the trail toward town.
"A—a ghost," the twins half whispered.
"A man killed himself there once," said Susie.
"Or was murdered," shuddered Inez.
"Or else he just died," put in practical-minded Irene. "Anyway, they found him there dead."
"And sometimes now folks hear queer things there."
"And see lights."
"Tabitha never has," Irene declared. "And she lives nearest it."
"Well, 't any rate, it's haunted and no one ever goes there now, not even Tabitha, who ain't afraid of a thing."
The stranger rose slowly to his feet, yawned as if bored by their chatter, picked up his hat, and started for the door; then paused, and casually surveying the pan of taffy on the window sill, remarked, "Believe if I was you, I'd eat that all up before the rest of the folks get back. There's just about enough for three, and I've a notion that Miss Tabitha will think you didn't keep your promise very well if she ever finds out how near you came to setting the house a-fire. She'll never dare trust you again. It might be well not to mention that I dropped in, either. Tramps aren't often welcome visitors, even in a mining camp, you know. But I appreciate your dinner, and thank you kindly. Good-day, ladies."