“It must be the Old Nick himself!” moaned Sandy. “There’ll be no quieting them critturs, Sam, with that thing hovering over them.”
Too well did the ranch owner realize this fact—and he also realized that unless he did something to remove the suggestion of the supernatural from the mysterious apparition, he would be unable to control either men or cattle.
Just what the thing was, he did not know. Yet, being a man of an unimaginative mind, he decided to find out.
Without saying a word of his intentions to his assistants, the owner of the Double Cross threw his rifle to his shoulder, took a hurried sight at the spectral form and pulled the trigger.
As the report rang out, the cowpunchers leaned forward in their saddles, watching the form intently.
To shoot at a ghost required more courage—in view of the traditions relating to ill-luck and curses such an act brought down upon the head of one so rash—than they possessed, and the cowboys fully expected some dire punishment to be instantly meted out to their boss.
For an intense moment, there was no apparent result from the bullet sent at the floating form.
Then a mocking laugh rent the air, and the white spectre vanished as completely as before!
“There’s more human than spook to that voice!” exclaimed Bowser.
“Skulls and crossbones! I have it! It’s a raid!” cried Sandy.