"Why haven't you ever done it, then?" snapped the elder Gayle, sore over his partial failure. "Why, nobody has ever tied my hands behind me," came in seemingly hurt explanation from Biddie, and the crowd laughed. McKenzie had directed them not to wait for him, and they did not. Another five minutes found them eating like young wolves around a languishing fire. Later, when the fire winked lower, and the meal was finished--when the screech-owls began to send their blood-chilling, shivering screams through the forest--they drew closer together and began to talk of weird and haunting things. "Over yonder, on the real 'Death Head,'" began Roger, bringing the interest down to the spot, "is the haunted tree where----" "Look out," broke in young Rowell, "a little more of that and friend Danny over here will cut for home and mother." "I'll do nothing of the kind; I'm not a baby!" exclaimed Danny indignantly. But all the same, his heart was already in his mouth, for Danny had never been distinguished for signal bravery. "No, you are not 'a baby,'" put in the unquenchable Biddie, "but before we get out of these woods you are going to wish you _were_ a baby, and a _girl_ baby at that!" Danny did not reply to this. He only sat very still, wishing that Willard McKenzie would return from his prolonged trip, and thinking of the mother who was looking to him to play the man. The scene lost its glow. The surrounding forest grew darker, taller, and began stealing up closer about them. "If you cry like a baby--!" Danny's mother was whispering to his sinking heart. The others had fallen into an argument about the exact location of the haunted tree, but presently Ed Rowell asked impatiently: "Well, what is it about the place, anyway?" "Haunted!" exclaimed Ham. "A murderer, hunted with dogs through the mountains, hanged himself on----" "And the old tree died in the night," assisted his brother. "And it stands there now, naked and stark and dead. At night----" Danny's heart stood still to hear. "At night," broke in Whitman, "if you creep up close, you can see the dead man swinging in the wind!" "_Listen!_" exclaimed Biddie under his breath. It will have to be recorded that they all jumped violently at the exclamation. "What?" demanded L. C. "And hear old Danny being quiet!" finished the teasing scamp. "You bet you, and he'd better be quiet--" began Roger. But Whitman interrupted: "Danny's afraid of ghosts, anyway," he declared, "I tried to leave him in the graveyard once, but he was home in his mama's lap before I started running." "I'm not any more afraid of ghosts than you are," Danny protested hotly. "Oh, _aren't_ you?" "No, I'm not!" "All right, then," the big boy taunted; "I've been to the haunted tree by myself at night--these fellows all know I have--now suppose _you_ go." "Sure, tenderfoot," put in young Rowell; "here's a perfectly good chance to show your nerve." "He hasn't any," sneered Alex Batré.