“What, go chasing a ghostie?” gasped Sandy, the very thought of any man daring to investigate an apparition seeming akin to sacrilege to his superstitious mind.
“Sure. Why not? It won’t eat you.”
“Well, you can go if you like. But I ain’t particular,” returned the foreman. “That ain’t any part of my job.”
The necessity for any one to go, however, was suddenly obviated.
With an abruptness that was in keeping with its coming, the spectre vanished.
“Skulls and crossbones! Did you see that? It just floated away and we looking straight at it!” moaned Sandy.
The uncanniness of the apparition’s disappearance impressed even the ranch owner, and he was wondering as to the course he should pursue to reassure his men, when Pinky whispered:
“Let’s go into the house before the blamed thing lights on us here!”
The thought that the mysterious spectre might appear face to face with them unnerved these men of the plains—men to whom danger in any tangible form was a delight—and they were on the point of dashing into their bunkhouse in utter panic when they were recalled to their normal selves.
Simultaneously with the disappearance of the spectre came a pitching and swaying among the cattle, followed instantly by terrified bellowing and the wildest confusion.