The Mercer Boys in the Ghost Patrol

by Capwell Wyckoff

  7 The Old Man of the Ridge

  Jim’s punishment did not last long. A circumstance came up that made thecolonel suspend judgment for some time.

  One morning, soon after the incidents related, a man in a battered oldcar drove up to the camp. He was a minister who preached in a regularcircuit of county churches and he was known to the colonel. Theheadmaster received him with great pleasure and the two men talked ofmany things as they sat in the colonel’s tent.

  “By the way,” said the Reverend Mr. Powers, after a time. “Did someonego past your camp very hurriedly a few nights ago?”

  The colonel showed signs of unusual interest. “Why, yes, a few nightsago a wagon with two men in it tore right through the camp,” he said.“We couldn’t stop it.”

  “There was a man and a boy in it,” corrected the pastor. “Well, then youdon’t know what sent them flying past you like that?”

  “No,” confessed the colonel. “If you had seen the way they flew by, youwouldn’t wonder that I didn’t learn anything about them. But tell mewhat you know.”

  “First, I would like to ask you a question. Have you heard anythingabout a ghost of the Ridge, since you have been here?”

  The colonel snorted. “I haven’t heard much about anything else,” heretorted.

  “The ghost scared these two off. The father is a farmer who came downhere from Pennsylvania. As it turns out, he is very superstitious, andthe very first night on his own farm, while driving into the yard withhis only son, he saw the white shape skulking along near his barn. Hewas just about crazed with fear and fled to the valley, passing yourcamp as he did.”

  “Of course this ghost is simply some would-be humorous person who ishaving some fun,” was the colonel’s opinion. But Mr. Powers had anotheropinion.

  “I doubt that very much, Morrell. The thing has been going on for yearsand some very good citizens have given up their homes just on account ofit. The joke would have worn out years ago. No, I’m inclined to thinkthat there is something deeper in it than mere fun.”

  “Some determined effort should be made to drive the ghost from theRidge,” grumbled the headmaster.

  “Who is to start it?” shrugged the parson. “No one seems to want to andthe sheriff of the county simply laughs at the whole business.”

  As a result of this talk the colonel called Rowen and Jim into his tentafter drill that very afternoon. They faced him expectantly.

  “Gentlemen,” said the colonel. Then he paused, and a frown swept overhis face. “I call you gentlemen, and will continue to do so until one ofyou is proved guilty of deliberate lying. Your conflicting stories showthat one of your statements, coming from one or the other of you, is adeliberate falsehood. But to get back to the business in hand: I havejust heard some more tales concerning this ghost of the Ridge, and inview of it I have decided to drop the suspension against Captain Mercer.The word of one of you is as good to me as the word of the other, anduntil I prove that one of you is trying to conceal anything I mustconsider the case dismissed until further notice. Mr. Rowen, you say youdid not hear Mr. Mercer call out nor did you see the white shape. But onthe other hand, Captain Mercer did tell you immediately that he had seena white shape, and that the ghost—or whatever it was—had started thestampede. Inasmuch as you did not see Captain Mercer start the stampede,and you doubted his word, I shall be able to hold him only on the countof being absent without official leave. For that Captain Mercer willreceive demerits. It that all clear, and satisfactory?”

  “Very much so, to me, sir,” approved Jim. Rowen muttered.

  “What was that, Mr. Rowen?” the colonel asked, sharply.

  Rowen lost his temper in his sudden fright. “I simply said that ofcourse a Mercer would get the breaks, sir!” he sneered. Then, realizingthe slip he had made, his face turned white.

  “So!” murmured the colonel. His eyes flashed but his voice was calm. “Iasked you if my decision was satisfactory, Mr. Rowen.”

  “Yes, sir,” murmured the disappointed cadet.

  “Very well. You are both dismissed,” nodded the colonel. Left alone, hisbrain worked busily. He saw a good many things in a clear light now.

  “Petty jealousy, and he is trying to revenge himself on Mercer,” thoughtthe little colonel. “I guess I can pretty well tell which one of thoseyoung men is lying!”

  On the following morning, when the Orders of the Day were read, Jim andhis friends were delighted to hear in the crisp voice of the battalionorderly that the charges brought against Captain Mercer by Sentry Rowenwere to be temporarily dismissed, with the exception of the charge ofleaving camp unofficially, for which Captain Mercer was to receivetwenty-five demerits.

  A hundred demerits were sufficient to send a man home from theencampment and two hundred at school would dismiss any cadetpermanently.

  That afternoon there was a partial holiday and the cadets set out toenjoy themselves. It was a mild and warm afternoon, with a fleecy skyoverhead, through which the sun peeped at intervals. Don and Jim sat inthe tent, trying to decide just what to do.

  “What do you say to a hike over the Ridge, a sort of exploring trip?”was Don’s suggestion.

  “Sounds good,” approved Jim. “Who can we get to go along with us?”

  “We’ll scout around and find out,” announced Don, getting up from hiscot.

  After looking up their most intimate friends they found that only Terryand Raoul Vench cared to go tramping.

  “We’ll be glad to go along,” yawned the redhead. He and Raoul had beenidly watching the swimmers when Jim and Don found them. “I’m weary o’doing nothing!”

  “Too lazy to do anything but watch the other fellows swim around andenjoy themselves, is that it?” inquired Jim.

  “Yes, but you see, I enjoy it that way,” returned Terry, seriously. “Ihave a vivid imagination and in time, by concentrating on the swimmers,I too feel the cool of the water and the exhilaration of the exercise.Just requires a little imaginative concentration, Jimmie my friend.”

  “You’re a wonderful fellow,” glowed Jim. “Just you imagine me a coupleof ice-cream sodas, will you?”

  “Pay me first!” grinned Terry. “Money back if I fail to come across.”

  The four cadets set out at a brisk pace up the slope of the Ridge. Itwas heavily wooded and every now and then they came across a clearing inwhich a farmhouse could be seen. They were not long in reaching the verytop of the series of hills called Rustling Ridge and they paused to lookdown into the opposite valley from the one above which their camp waspitched.

  “Nice picture,” observed Terry. “Why do they call this place RustlingRidge?”

  “In the fall, when the wind blows hard, the leaves rustle, and from thatfact comes the name,” Don volunteered.

  “How’d you learn that?” Vench wanted to know.

  “I asked a farm boy who was watching us play baseball the other day,”replied the infantry lieutenant.

  “Look at that old house up there,” called out Jim, pointing to a hugesquare structure that showed a battered roof with leaning chimneys overthe tops of the trees. “Looks like a fitting habitation for the ghost ofthis place.”

  “Just about,” agreed Vench. “But that little cabin down below looksbetter to me, because I bet we can get a good drink at the place. Let’sgo down.”

  The others agreed and they tramped down the side of the slope toward aplain little cabin, constructed of unpainted boards, with a roofed frontporch on it. At some distance below them they could see the largest townin the county.

  “What town is that?” asked Jim.

  “I think that must be Rideway,” replied Don.

  Reaching the cabin they rounded the corner, to halt suddenly as they sawa figure there. It was a little old man in a wheelchair, a man withsparse gray hair, sallow cheeks, and a few good teeth remaining. Hiseyes were keen and penetrating and he was puffing in evident enjoymenton a huge pipe.

  He greet
ed them readily enough. “Hi, there, boys, step right up,” heshrilled, in a rasping voice. “Soldiers, eh? You look pretty young.Where you stationed?”

  “We aren’t soldiers of the United States Army,” Don told him. “We arecadets from Woodcrest Military Institute, and we’re camping over on theother side of the Ridge. We were passing by and thought we’d drop in fora drink of water.”

  “Thought you were too young-looking for regular soldiers,” nodded theold man, taking in every detail of their uniforms. “Want a drink of goodwater, eh?”

  “Yes,” Don replied. “But we wouldn’t want to trouble you any.”

  “Oh, hush up!” was the good-natured reply. “I know that you’re thinkingI’m out of commission and I can’t help you. Just sit down on the porchhere and see how old Peter Vancouver does it.”

  With that the old man gave the right wheel of his chair a whirl and tothe astonishment of the boys shot himself around in a half circle and inthrough the open door. From there they saw him roll across the room andvanish through the door of another room.

  “My gosh!” breathed Terry. “Can’t he work that buggy of his!”

  “Probably years of practice has made him proficient,” said Don, softly.

  With the same bewildering speed and dexterity the man returned in hischair, holding a pitcher and a tin cup in his hand. Even while in motionhe poured the water out.

  He seemed to enjoy watching the boys drink deeply, and when they hadfinished he wheeled back to the kitchen and returned at lightning speed.Noting the interested looks of the boys he chuckled.

  “Guess the old man knows how to walk well’s if he had feet, eh?”

  “You walk better than a whole lot of people who have feet,” gravelyaffirmed Vench.

  “If you was spending your life in one of these all-fired things you’dknow how to ride one, too,” he told them. “Don’t you fellows go. I don’tsee a heap of folks and I like to chin once in a while.”

  “We’ll be glad to stay and talk with you, Mr. Vancouver,” smiled Jim,leaning back against a post. “We are just out exploring and we’d just assoon sit here and talk as wander around.”

  “Glad to hear you say it,” approved the old man. “Let’s hear somethingabout that there camp of yourn.”

  The boys told him several things about the camp, all of which seemed tointerest him deeply. In the course of the talk the incident of the ghostand the stampede was mentioned. The old man bent eagerly forward.

  “Did you get a visit from the ghost?” he cried.

  “Yes, he stampeded our horses,” Jim told him. “What do you know abouthim, Mr. Vancouver?”

  The man chuckled. “All a poor old invalid would know about such like hehears,” the man replied. “I ain’t never seen the thing, but I heardplenty. Raises old Ned in the hills here, and has been at it for years.”

  “If we get a chance we are going to nail him good,” Don promised.

  “Good idea,” Mr. Vancouver approved. “Blasted business has been drivingpeople off the Ridge for years. Wouldn’t be surprised if the fellowdrove you cadets home.”

  “Drive us out of camp!” ejaculated Vench, stirring.

  “He might!” the old man said.

  “He’ll have to go some to do that,” snorted Terry. “He’ll be lucky if wedon’t steal his best nightgown right off him!”

  “Getting late, fellows,” warned Don. “We had better be getting back.Thanks a lot for your good drink of water, Mr. Vancouver, and we’veenjoyed being with you.”

  “Enjoyed being able to talk to you boys,” he returned heartily. “Come upagain some time.”

  “We’ll be glad to,” promised the boys, as they started off. Mr.Vancouver called a final word after them.

  “You had better keep your eyes open for that cussed ghost! No tellin’when he’ll pop up and scare the life out of you!”

  The cadets laughed good-naturedly and walked at a rapid pace up the sideof the Ridge. The sun was going down in the west and they would have tokeep up a good stride in order to arrive in time for supper.

  “Interesting old fellow, that Vancouver,” Jim observed.

  “He surely is,” Vench agreed. “We’ll have to chat with him some othertime.”

  “Too bad he can’t move around—that is, walk around,” Don said. “As amatter of fact, he does move around mighty fast, but I mean it is ashame he can’t go walking around, same as you and me.”

  “Like everybody else around here, he believes that dog-goned ghost isthe last word in efficiency,” growled Terry. “I guess the real troubleis that nobody dares to put on a real hunt for the ghost. Fellows, we’llhave to make it our business to run down that ghost!”

  “If it pops up again soon, we will,” Don promised.