“Well of all things, a haunted cabin take the cake,” declared Dolph. “Now, I’d just like to play ghost, for once, and give those fellows a scare that’d make their hair stand up on end.”
“Shall we make a bee line for the hut, as I said?” asked Teddy.
“Sure. You’re the captain of this relief expedition. Whatever you say for me to do I’ll try and carry out, you understand, Teddy.”
“Good enough. And I’ll warrant you never dreamed of such a business as this when you helped me map out our little canoe trip across the neck of Michigan to White Fish Bay and perhaps the Pictured Rocks, eh, Dolph?”
The other fairly snorted his disgust.
“Well, I should think not,” he remarked; “and who would? Why, if I’d been over in Greece, or Spain, or Italy, I might have guessed that something of the kind would have turned up; but away up in this Michigan wilderness—well, it faizes me, all right. But then, I reckon human nature’s pretty much the same all over the world. The temptation to get hold of the mighty dollar makes men do heaps of queer stunts, I don’t care whether they’re white, red, black or yellow. Now, I guess you’re intending to sneak around, and creep up to this same haunted cabin by the rear route?”
“Yes, that’s the game,” replied Teddy.
“That is, while these two poacher chaps are lying in a snug little ambush at some point along their own trail, why, we can be spying on the cabin on our own account?” Dolph went on to remark.
“You’re on, I see,” chuckled the other.
“It looks good to me,” Dolph continued, reflectively. “As I said before, tell me what to do, and I’ll carry it out to the letter.”