CHAPTER III
The Blue Ghost
Rick, Scotty, Barby, Jan, and the Millers walked leisurely along theslow-moving creek, down the dirt road to the old Bailey bridge. Theypassed the Sky Wagon and its protecting alarm system, and Rick wonderedhumorously to himself if the alarm would warn of spirits or only ofhumans.
The sun had set only minutes before and the sky was still tinged withred. Rick noted that the waters of the creek picked up the color, andfor a moment his active imagination peopled the empty fields with blueand gray cavalrymen locked in mortal combat. He could almost hear thethunder of hoofs, the excited neighing of the mounts, even the solidsound of a heavy saber meeting yielding flesh. He shivered. After all,it had been like that for a brief period many years ago.
Scotty moved to his side. "This is the oddest ghost-hunting expeditionI've ever been on. No equipment but a flashlight. Not even an electronicspook spotter."
Rick nodded agreement. "Too true. But any experienced ghost grabberknows that you can catch a sackful with only a flashlight and a pair ofshoestrings."
"Why the shoestrings?"
"You tie their ectoplasm together top and bottom and they're trapped init. Like a burlap bag."
The boys had been bringing up the rear of the little procession and theothers had not heard the soft-spoken exchange. Rick was just as glad.Weak jokes somehow didn't fit. It was the very lack of preparation, thesimple walk after dinner to see the ghost, that made it all somehow veryconvincing. The Millers, both quiet people, were never much at smalltalk, but both girls were chatterers. Yet, even the girls were quiet.
"They _know_," Rick thought. "They know what we're going to see. They'reawed and a little frightened, but they're leading us to it, even knowinghow it will be. Scotty and I are the ignorant ones. The others feel theweirdness and we don't."
He lengthened his stride and joined the Millers. "Sir, how can you be sosure we'll see the apparition tonight?"
"One can't be sure, of course. But so far as we have heard, theapparition hasn't missed a public gathering in a month. There will beone tonight, a service-club outing from over in Manassas."
"They must not be afraid of the ghost," Rick commented.
"They may not have heard of it," Mrs. Miller explained. "I don't believeany newspaper has carried a story, so word of mouth would be the onlyway of knowing."
"Or perhaps they have heard but couldn't cancel it," Dr. Miller added."That's the case with most of the affairs now being held at the grounds.A great number have been called off. Only those scheduled far in advancewith lots of guests are still going on, simply because it's toodifficult to change them."
Scotty asked, "Then the ghost is having an effect?"
"Definitely. At this time of year the grounds are usually one of themost popular places around. Families come for cook-outs, and the kidsswim in the creek. Clubs hold their outings almost every night,sometimes two or three groups at once. But since the ghost came peopleare staying away, except for the affairs that would be difficult orawkward to cancel or change."
That was what Barby had meant, Rick thought. He asked, "Is this a publicpark of some kind?"
"No indeed," Dr. Miller answered. "We own part of it, and a family namedHilleboe owns part. But it's not used for anything and we've neverobjected to the public using it. The local Boy Scout troops have takenon the job of keeping it clean as a regular project, and most people arecareful. It's no trouble for us."
Rick glanced at his watch. It was getting dark rapidly now, and theapparition was due in fifteen minutes. The bridge was just ahead. Theywere in plenty of time.
"Strange," he thought. "The ghost of Captain Seth Costin, late of theUnion Army, probably the Army of the Potomac, will perform for allcomers promptly at nine. 'We regret there can only be one performanceeach evening.' Or was that true? Had anyone stayed to see? Maybe theobliging phantom performed every hour on the hour during darkness."
He shook his head as though to clear it of cobwebs. This didn't checkwith any ghost story he had ever heard. No holding hands around a table,no incantations or strange phrases in forgotten languages, no incense,no nothing. It was bum theater.
The group crossed the bridge and entered the trees, still following thedirt road. Rick saw that the road forked, one branch going to town, theother to the picnic area. The trees around them were huge oaks, andalmost certainly most of them had been healthy and along in years whenSeth Costin fought among them.
Rick enjoyed the feeling of history, of a definite past. He resolved todo a little reading on the area.
Barby and Jan, who had been walking boldly in the van, dropped back nowand the group seemed to huddle more closely together. There were voicesamong the trees, and here and there the glow of a fire. Then the edge ofthe tree belt was reached and the group stopped.
There was a clearing beyond the tree belt, and in the clearing wererough-hewn tables and benches. Beyond the clearing a grassy hill rosegently to an upland meadow, except for a section that rose sharply fornearly a hundred feet.
The upthrusting section was barren of grass, and at its base, boardswere nailed across what was obviously the opening into the mine.
"Interesting formation, isn't it?" Dr. Miller asked.
It definitely was, and Rick said so. Even to his relatively untrainedeye, this was a place where a volcanic fissure had opened ages ago,allowing igneous rock to thrust sharply upward through the sedimentarylayers of the older ground. Now the formation had weathered until it waslike a barren hill built on top of a fertile one. On the steep slope ofigneous rock no grass had managed to get hold, although a few hardyweeds clung to it.
Barby pointed to a shelf, actually a terrace in the rock structure,above and a few yards to the left of the mine entrance. "He appearsthere," she said.
"Let's get a good position," Rick urged. "It's almost nine."
The sky was still blue in color, but it was already dark on the ground.Fires flared up brightly, but the picnickers were hushed, as though theyknew what was coming. They probably had not seen the ghost, and it waslikely few believed they would see anything, but the unknown casts astrong web, and they were feeling its effects.
The Spindrifters moved along through groups of picnickers until theywere directly opposite the old mine shaft, and took up positions in theshelter of an oak tree.
"There's a pool of water on top of that shelf," Dr. Miller told theboys. "It's from a spring, actually an artesian well. There's a pipeoutlet up there from which water flows constantly. It collects in thepool, which overflows into a natural drainage ditch."
The scientist pointed to where the tiny stream made its way down thehillside and disappeared among the trees. "Over the years it has cut anatural channel to the creek. So far as anyone can remember, it hasalways been here. The pipe was replaced a few years ago, apparently bydriving a new one into the hillside. The original well probably wasdriven during the Civil War."
Rick examined the terrain. "Odd, water coming out of a hillside likethat, especially when the hillside isn't part of a mountain."
"The water comes off the Blue Ridge, and it develops a pretty good headof pressure in its underground channels. Whoever drove the original wellsimply tapped that hydrostatic head, although why they didn't drive thewell at this level is beyond me."
A sudden scream from nearby brought the conversation to an abrupt end.Rick turned in time to see a spout of water vapor, or something thatmade a white cloud, rise from the place where Dr. Miller had said thepool was located.
Rick felt a chill run through him and the short hairs on the nape of hisneck bristled in a reaction older than the race of man. "You've got tokeep calm," he warned himself sternly. "Be objective. Don't miss athing!"
Scotty let out a low whistle, and Rick suddenly felt Barby's fingersbiting into his arm. For, through the white rising mist, there came anofficer in Union blue, and from under the broad cavalry hatbrim,piercing eyes looked straight at them.
Rick swallowed hard. He was vaguely awa
re of the terrified scurry aroundhim as most of the picnickers departed as fast as their legs would carrythem.
The apparition extended hands, as though in welcome to a loved one. Theyouthful, handsome face smiled.
Rick shook his head to clear it. This couldn't be happening! Theapparition was faintly blurred, as though by the writhing of the mistsin which he appeared, but details were clear enough. Rick could see thesmile vanish suddenly, and shock replace it. He could see the gauntletedhands suddenly clasped to the chest, see red spurt from between thegloved fingers.
Jan Miller let out a long-drawn, soft, shuddering sound from betweenclenched teeth. Barby's fingers clamped tighter on her brother's arm.
Rick fought to shake off the feeling of horror and dread. "There aren'tany ghosts," he tried to tell himself. "This isn't a ghost. There are noghosts."
Except that he was looking at one!
The apparition began to fade, holding out bloody hands. The phantomofficer swayed a little, and the young face was distorted with agony. Itgrew dimmer and dimmer until only the white mist remained.
Rick was aware of Barby's soft sobs next to him, but his eyes remainedriveted on the white mist.
A yell from Scotty snapped him out of his reverie.
"Let's go, boy!"
Without quite knowing how it happened, Rick found himself next to hispal, climbing frantically up the rocky slope to the shelf, hurrying tocatch the Blue Ghost before even the mist vanished!
Not even bothering to draw themselves to an upright position, the boysflung themselves forward into the rapidly vanishing mist. Rick felt withhorror a thin, icy tendril curl around his face, and he heard a gentlebubbling sound, like phantom laughter.
Scotty's flashlight probed with a bright yellow beam, and Rick saw, inthe instant before the mist vanished and all movement ceased, that thesurface of the pool boiled gently and then was quiet.
The flashlight beam disclosed solid rock, broken only by the pipe fromwhich water trickled.
There was no ghost.
There was no place he could have gone.
_There was no place the Blue Ghost could have gone_]
There was no sign of human handiwork.
There was--nothing.
The Blue Ghost Mystery: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story Page 3