"Who's the 'fraid cat now?" taunted Billiard.
"Not me! To-night's the time. We'll set the alarm-clock for half-past ten."
"Suppose it wakes the rest of the bunch?"
"They'll think it's a mistake, and in a few minutes will be asleep again, and we can steal outside without their hearing us at all."
So it was decided, and though each boy, deep down in his heart, hoped that the other would back out before the hour set, both resolved not to show the white feather, and as the alarm-clock pealed forth its summons in the silence of the night, two sleepy lads crept stealthily out of bed, drew on their clothes, and without exchanging a word, started for the haunted house at the other end of town.
Never, it seemed to the quaking boys, had the desert night seemed so black. The stars were shining, to be sure, but the very heavens seemed further away, and the silence was appalling. Nervous, excited, dreading the ordeal, each boy waited for the other to propose that they give up their wild-goose chase; but neither was willing to acknowledge his cowardice first, so they stumbled fearfully on, clutching each other's hands to keep from falling, they told themselves, but really to feel the nearness of another human being.
At length, however, they reached the old, abandoned shack, where they were to keep their ghostly vigil, and with bated breath they opened the sagging door and crept trembling over the threshold into the black shadows of the interior. Fear held them tongue-tied, and they crouched upon the dusty floor as close to the door as they could get. The silence was intense, terrifying.
Then the stillness was sharply broken by a hoarse whisper, "What was that, Bill?"
Billiard, thinking Toady had spoken to him, was about to reply when a second voice answered, "Only the wind, I reckon. Shut up."
"But it sounded like someone opened the door."