The Gray Ghost

by Robert F. Schulkers

  “Where is the blue flame?” I asked. “What had that to do with this?”

  We looked for a long time. But the blue flame did not come again. It had disappeared. Whatever it was that caused the blue flame, it had been stopped by the terrible cry of the thing that had killed Simon Bleaker’s pony.

  “We can do nothing here,” said Harold Court. “There might be some fish left. Let’s go back.”

  Which we did.

  CHAPTER 30

  In the Tree Door

  THERE is no use to deny it—I was terribly afraid. The things that had happened and were happening around our riverbank and nearby had me stumped. I could not figure it out. The cry in the night—what was it? The blue flame—what did it mean? The door in the big tree—what was behind it? Something alive and dangerous was surely roaming over Burney’s Field—making that terrifying sound. Something was causing the blue flame to appear—we had seen it again, two or three nights. And behind the tree door, Simon Bleaker and his friends had a secret hiding place in which, I thought to myself, I might find the answer to all of these mysteries.

  Yet I hesitated to attempt it. I dreaded to go into that tree door, because I knew, being unwelcome and not invited, all we could expect would be trouble. And if Bleaker and his crew had been just ordinary fellows, like us boys, why, we could have taken a chance; a little scrap won’t hurt any real, red-blooded boy. But they were not regular fellows; they were of a kind that one seldom sees, and they treated their enemies mighty rough.

  And yet we had to go. We had to see inside that big tree. The Skinny Guy would not give me a minute’s peace, always urging me to go and take a peep into the tree door. I held him off a long time, but the day we were down to the island for a little picnic, it so happened that I had to go along and take a look at what was inside that big tree.

  We were all paddling back in our canoes. The canoes have all had new paint, and each one is painted a different color. It makes a pretty picture to see them all strung out on the river, going fast. And when we passed the place where we had landed the big boat on the day we first saw the tree door, Harold Court spoke up.

  “There’s a movement in that treetop to the left,” he said. “Now, don’t all of you look at once. But watch it.”

  I looked out of the corner of my eye and saw presently a slight motion in the branches of a rather high tree on the bank. Link and Will Standish were in the canoe ahead of me. I was riding with Perry Stokes. The last canoe, the one behind mine, was paddled by Shadow Loomis and Harold Court. Somehow or other our three canoes, being the last three in the line, drifted slowly until the others had turned up the bend of the river. We brought our canoes together.

  “I think it’s McJinty,” whispered the Skinny Guy. “And I’m goin’ to give him a little chase. The beggar can show us something, maybe.”

  “I’m with you,” said Will Standish. “Will you come, Hawkins?”

  I didn’t answer. Harold spoke.

  “I’ll go with you,” he said. “This is a strange place with the woods going uphill over there. I’d like to take a short walk through. It’s an hour yet till sundown.”

  “Alright,” I said. “Come on, Perry, bring the rifle.”

  “Shan’t I stay and watch the canoes, sir?” asked Perry.

  “No,” I said. “I won’t take any more risks. I want you fellas all to come along together so we will be safe.”

  Just as we pulled up the last canoe, I heard a dull sound against one of the sides and looked down at it quickly. A wellmade strong and sharp arrow stuck in the yellow canoe. Its tip had gone far into the birch, and the heavy tufted end was still swinging to and fro.

  “What do you think of that!” exclaimed Harold. “Link, it’s McJinty—”

  But the Skinny Guy had already turned and was making for the tree where we had seen the motion in the branches. Link outran us, and before we came up, we could hear the cries of McJinty, the little kid who could climb like a monkey. He was shinning down the tree like a cat when we came up and was yelling because he saw Link standing below waiting for him.

  “You let me alone!” he yelled. “You better not hurt me. You let me alone, now.”

  Slung around his shoulder was a bow, and in his belt were three or four more arrows like the one he had sent into the yellow canoe. Now, although the Skinny Guy was quick, McJinty was quicker. He acted as if he were coming down the left side of the tree, and then, when he was about four feet from the ground, he slid around, quick as a wink, and jumped on the other side. By the time Link had run around, McJinty was off, making his way up the hill through the trees.

  “Follow him,” I whispered, for I wanted to take those dangerous sharp-pointed arrows away from him. No telling what he might do with those things. So we all flew along after him. Just as we expected, he made for the tree in the corner of the hillside. He stooped and picked up the stone and rapped upon the tree—one-two-one-two-one-two-three-four—that was the signal to get in, yeah. I counted the raps as he pounded on the tree. But it didn’t open immediately. He turned around to face us, for he knew that the door wouldn’t open before we would be upon him.

  “I’ll hit you with this stone,” he cried. “If you come a step nearer, I’ll let it fly at you—”

  Link made a grab for him. McJinty threw. The stone went wild, over our heads. The little kid jerked away from Link and, turning, ran back down the way we had come.

  “Let him go,” I said. “I’ve got the combination of this safe. Wait, let’s try again.”

  There were plenty of round stones lying around. I picked one up and tapped on the tree, just as McJinty had done—one-two-one-two-one-two-three-four raps in rapid succession. We all waited. Not a sound came from within. Once again, I repeated the tapping. Then we waited again. Ah, this time we had roused somebody.

  There came a slow footfall from behind the bark of the tree.

  “Don’t give him a chance,” I whispered. “As soon as he opens, jump on him and clap your hand over his mouth so he can’t yell.”

  We waited. The footsteps sounded close. Little by little, the door in the tree opened. I had my eyes on the Skinny Guy. He was watching, like a cat, for the door to open wide enough and, when it did—ah!

  Link made a flying leap. The Skinny Guy can do those things. He must have springs in his heels. I saw him fly off his feet and land between the open door of the tree, and there came a cry—

  “It’s Jude, Hawkins,” he called out to me, turning his head as he sat upon the fallen figure of Jude the Fifth. “What’ll I do with him?”

  “Let him up,” I ordered.

  Jude got up as Link stepped away from him. Harold and Will Standish held the door open.

  “Well, you got me,” said Jude in a sullen voice. “I’m in for it; you tricked me again, Hawkins.”

  “Jude,” I said. “I haven’t tricked you at all. I’ve always liked you. If you had let me explain long ago, you would know that I am your best friend and ready to help you all I can. We have come to take a look at this place. What is it, anyway?”

  Jude didn’t seem to hear my question. His mind was only on one thing.

  “You’ve always hounded me,” he said. “Time was when I thought you was a swell fella, Hawkins. I used to tell Harkinson that. I told the same thing to Androfski. Little old Seventh-in-Line Lasky was your friend, too, and he always stuck up for you. And so did I till you gave me away, like a snide.”

  I smiled. I didn’t answer Jude. What was the use? I couldn’t make him believe me.

  “Take us through,” I said, “or you know the consequences.”

  “The sheriff, I guess,” and Jude sneered as he spoke. “Ah well, I’m overtime now. I should have been turned over to the sheriff along with Harkinson—him who did me the most good of any fella I ever knew.”

  “Whose place is this?” asked Harold Court, stepping up in front of Jude.

  “It’s mine,” said a new voice.

  We had all entered the big hollow tree, wh
ich was really an entrance to a cave under the side of the hill. At the sound of the new voice, we all turned. There, standing in the open door of the big hollow tree, was Simon Bleaker. He leaned upon a hickory stick that he used for a cane or a crutch.

  “It’s my place,” he repeated, as we stared at him without speaking, “and I find you boys in it without my asking. I’ll take charge of this, Jude.”

  He limped forward. I saw that he was lame. I felt sorry. Simon Bleaker had been so handsome a boy. Now he was lame. There was a sad look upon his handsome face. A sad look, a look of pain, rather. He hobbled forward and stood in front of me.

  “Is this your work, then, Seckatary Hawkins?” he asked. “Have I got you to thank for this?”

  I coughed. I couldn’t answer him right off the reel. I saw Will Standish start to speak, but I held up my hand.

  “It’s the end, Simon Bleaker,” I said. “This is the end of your strange doings around this riverbank.”

  He stared at me. Simon Bleaker stared at me long and hard. Ah! what was it about this handsome-faced boy that told me he was not as bad as he seemed? What was it that made me like this kid, crippled now and walking on a hickory stick? What was it that made me feel sorry for him now?

  “I have never harmed you, Seckatary Hawkins,” he was saying in a very low, soft-toned voice. “I have never done a thing against anybody who never done a thing against me. Yet you come here and tell me I’m at the end of my string now that I’m lame and can’t fight you like I used to.”

  There was a complete silence. Not one of the boys in that strange hiding place of Simon Bleaker’s had a word to say. As for myself, there was a big lump in my throat; I could not talk.

  “And I always said,” continued Simon, talking in his same soft-toned voice, “I always said to Jude and Three-Finger Fred that if there ever was a boy whom I admired, it was Seckatary Hawkins. Now you come to me and tell me just because I am down and out that this is the end of me. What do you know? Just what can you tell me about myself, Seckatary Hawkins?”

  “I’ll tell you,” I answered, for I did feel sorry for Simon, and I did want him to make things clear to me. “I’ll tell you, then. You’ve been acting strange. There have been times when you came around our clubhouse, and by the things you did, made all of the boys believe that you were the same person who came to our clubhouse in the disguise of a boy we call the Gray Ghost, or Stoner’s Boy.”

  Simon looked me straight in the eye for a full minute. Then he crumpled up; like a bag of rags he crumpled up and fell upon the floor. A figure shot out from a doorway beyond us.

  “That’s a lie,” he cried.

  It was Three-Finger Fred! Dear old Fred! In spite of all his faults, in spite of the fact that he went back to Stoner’s Boy after I had got him away from the Gray Ghost, in spite of it all—dear old Three-Finger Fred! I love him still. Even to this day, whenever I think back, whenever I let my thoughts roam back to the old days, I think of dear old Three-Finger Fred with the kindliest feelings. For after all, he was a fine boy. He was just in wrong, that’s all. There’s many a fine boy today called a bad boy just because he’s in wrong.

  “This is my time to talk,” said Three-Finger Fred, “an’ I’ll say this, an’ you know it’s true, Seckatary Hawkins. Simon Bleaker is the best pal I’ve ever had—just like you been to me, Simon’s been to me. He helped me git away from Stoner, so help me, he did. An’ this time, I am through with the Gray Ghost forever. He used to have a spell cast over me, Stoner did, an’ Simon stopped it.”

  “Just a minute, Fred,” I said. “There has been too much misunderstanding here. I know you’re a pretty good scout, and I’ll take your word, but how comes it that we find Jude the Fifth here—one of the old Red Runner crowd, who is wanted by the sheriff? There have been suspicions that your friend Simon Bleaker and Androfski the Silent are one and the same.”

  Jude the Fifth jumped up. Three-Finger Fred stepped aside.

  “I’ll tell you,” he said. “I’ll tell you the truth. It was Simon Bleaker who told me what to do. He got me away from Androfski, and I’m glad he did it, you can bet your life. And I’d never be a Red Runner again—”

  “What’s all this talk?” asked a new voice. We all turned. Standing in the door of the tree was a bulky figure of a boy whose broad bulbous nose and straight standing hair made him seem a joke picture drawn by a Sunday cartoon artist.

  “Big Ike,” said Jude. “These boys have come to—”

  “I’ll talk,” broke in Simon Bleaker. He moved with difficulty on his hickory crutch. I found myself going forward to lend him a hand. When I reached his side, I found every boy there trying to do the same thing. “If you please,” he said with a smile. “If you please, my friends, I can walk by myself.”

  He ambled over to Big Ike.

  “Take Jude and Fred away,” he said. “Keep them in my study till I come. I must talk to these boys. There is much to explain. There has been a great misunderstanding all around.”

  “Won’t you need me, Simon?” asked Big Ike. “I don’t want you to get along by yourself—”

  “Good old Ike,” said Simon, interrupting; he patted the big Swede on the back. “You’ve always been good to me. But I won’t need you now. Take care of everything for me, Ike, won’t you?”

  Ike nodded his head. Simon smiled up at him. The next moment Ike had shoved Fred and Jude out before him.

  “Now then, Seckatary Hawkins,” said Simon Bleaker. For a moment, he bowed his head while a look of pain passed over his face. “I am at your service. You have no silly-willy before you. I can talk about anything you ever read about and then some. What is it you wish to ask me? I’ll answer your every question, Seckatary.”

  I must admit that I didn’t feel like talking. But I said:

  “How did you get crippled, Simon? What on earth caused you to be so—”

  He lifted his head as I spoke. There was a look of fire in his eyes.

  “Ah!” he cried. “Do you want to know what broke my leg, eh? You want to know what made me the pitiable figure I am—well, I’ll tell you, smart Seckatary Hawkins, and you will begin to realize you don’t know so much after all—it was the unicorn, the unicorn—yes, yes, yes, the unicorn on Burney’s Field—that’s what killed my pony—with his single horn he gored my pony, my poor old Benno, my poor-old roan that never did harm to nobody, the unicorn that made me fall beneath my Benno and get my leg broke in two places—the unicorn—the unicorn—”

  With that Simon Bleaker fell over upon his face, as if he were dead. I heard the sound of creaking hinges, as if a door opened. Broad-nosed Big Ike came out.

  “What have you done to him?” he asked in a surly voice. “What have you done to my Simon, you careless boys?”

  He lifted him up in his broad arms.

  I tapped Harold and Will on the shoulder

  “This is enough,” I whispered. “Come, let us get out of this strange place.”

  Which we did.

  CHAPTER 31

  Hard Times for Simon Bleaker

  WE left that secret hiding place of Simon Bleaker’s—secret no longer because we had run the Fox to his hole and entered it by surprise. Yet as I followed my boys out and came once more into the open wedge of the hillside where the last rays of the setting sun fell like melted gold on the trees and rocks, I could not help but feel sorry for poor old Simon. One thing I was glad of—and that was that we had found out for certain that Simon Bleaker was not the Gray Ghost. Stoner’s Boy still remained to be solved. Only a few of us now believed that he was Androfski; certainly, none of us believed that it was Simon. We believed what Three-Finger Fred had told us. There were some who did not believe what Jude had said. But the one thing I was glad of—Simon had not been playing the part of Stoner’s Boy.

  It was late—almost past supper time—when we landed our canoes at the old home shore, and I left the boys at once and made for Doc Waters’s office. Doc was surprised to see me. I had not paid him a visit for so
long a time.

  “Seems like old times, Hawkins,” he said, with a sad smile. “There was a time when your old doctor saw a great deal of you. What have I done to make you stay away?”

  Doc made me feel cheap. I knew I had been forgetting him.

  “It’s not my fault, Doc,” I said. “I been thinking about you the same as ever. But so many dern things been happening on the riverbank lately—”

  “I happen to know that’s true,” said Doc with a twinkle in his eye. “You always forget that I keep an eye on you and the boys in the hollow. Well, what is it now? Have you discovered the thing that makes the terrible noise on Burney’s Field? Or have you captured Stoner’s Boy?”

  “Neither one happens to be what I came for,” I answered. “But there is a little kid down in a secret hiding place in Parks Woods—up in the hills. I saw him a little while ago. Just came from there. He’s been fighting us boys right along, but he’s a regular fella—a true, game sport.”

  “He must be a fine chap for you to say that about him, Seckatary,” said Doc. “You are always so stingy with your compliments—but what is it? Why should you want to come and tell me?”

  “His leg is broke,” I said. “He had a fall—a unicorn, or something or other killed his pony over on Burney’s Field some nights ago. When I saw the poor kid today, he could hardly walk—he leaned on a hickory stick for a crutch—”

  “Good heavens, Hawkins!” exclaimed Doc, rising out of his chair in a hurry. “You mean to say the boy tries to walk on a broken leg?”

  “I saw him,” I broke in. “I tell you, I saw him doing it; that’s why I came. I thought to myself, ‘If this poor kid keeps on walking like he does and doesn’t have a doctor to fix him up, he will surely be lame the rest of his life,’ and Doc, I don’t want to see him stay that way; I like this poor kid, Doc. I want you to help him.”