“I wonder what time it is?” mused Tom, when he had been up the third time to throw wood on the blaze. “Must be near morning.” He looked at his watch, and was somewhat startled to see that it was only a little after twelve. Somehow it seemed much later.
As he was putting the timepiece back into his pocket the lad looked around at the dark and gloomy mountains, amid which they were encamped. As his gaze wandered toward the peak of the one on the side of which the tent was pitched, he gave a start of surprise.
For, coming down a place where, that afternoon, Tom had noticed a sort of indefinite trail was a figure in white. A tall, waving figure, which swayed this way and that—a figure which halted and then came on again.
“I wonder—I wonder if that can be a wisp of fog?” mused the young inventor. He rubbed his eyes, thinking it might be a swirling of the night mist or a defect of vision. Then, as he saw more plainly, he noticed the thing in white rushing toward him.
“It's the phantom—the phantom!” cried Tom, aloud. “It's the thing the miner saw! We're on Phantom Mountain now!”
CHAPTER XIV—WARNED BACK
Tom's cries awakened the sleepers in the tent. Mr. Damon was the first to rush out.
“Bless my nightcap, Tom!” he cried. “What is it? What has happened? Are we attacked by a mountain lion?”
For answer the young inventor pointed up the mountain, to where, in the dim light from a crescent moon, there stood boldly revealed, the figure in white.