“Wow!” yelled the “ghost,” as he went down in a heap, the revolver falling from his hand.
“Come on!” cried Tom. “I have him!”
His friends rushed to his aid. There was a confused mass of dark bodies, arms and legs mingled with something tall and thin, all in white. Suddenly the moon came from behind a cloud and they could see what they had captured—for captured the phantom was.
It proved to be a rather small man, who wore upon his shoulders a framework of wood, over which some white cloth was draped. It had fallen off him when Tom made that tackle.
“Well,” remarked the young inventor, as he sat on the struggling man's chest. “I guess we've got you.”
“I rather guess you have, stranger,” was the cool reply.
CHAPTER XVIII—BILL RENSHAW WILL HELP
They were all panting from the exertion of the run up the mountain and the contest with the phantom—a phantom no longer—though, truth to tell, the struggle was not nearly so fierce as Tom had expected. He thought the “ghost” would put up a stiff fight.
“Got any ropes to tie him with?” asked Mr. Damon, who was helping Tom hold the man down.