"Ghosts?" asked Tom, with a smile.
"Ghosts!" exploded the tramp. "I'd rather meet ghosts than some of the guys what hangs out there. Tough babies—an' I don't mean maybe!"
"A rough crowd, eh?" asked Ned.
"Tougher'n what I like," admitted the tramp. "I don't claim to be no saint, but I'm pretty decent compared to some of the hard-boiled eggs that hide around Dismal Mountain."
"Then you wouldn't advise us to go there?" Tom asked.
"It's none of my business, Boss," was the answer. "You know what your own game is better'n what I do. But I wouldn't advise you to take any valuables with you when you go to Dismal Mountain."
"Thanks," murmured Ned. "We aren't wearing any diamonds."
"Some of the guys there'll steal the laces out of your shoes," went on the tramp.
"Just what kind of criminals hang out there?" inquired Tom.
"A kind I never travel with," was the quick rejoinder. "I'm a bum—I don't deny it—and I'm not lookin' for work. But I'd sooner work than pull off some o' the things that those babies do. Keep your eyes open if you go there."