Sure enough, some one was sitting on the steps outside the door. Who was it? They halted beneath the leafless trees and held a consultation. What was to be done? “We must get in somehow,” said Hogan. “I’m sorry I came out to-night,” averred Crauthers. “It’s been a bad night,” came dolefully from Stark. Miguel Bunol had kept near them, but he did not venture to take part in the conversation. They watched the figure on the steps for some time. Now and then they looked away toward the strip of burning woods, and the reflected light revealed the terror in their eyes. They thought of the boy who had been stricken down and left for the flames, and it robbed them of strength and courage and manhood. “If that fool would leave the steps!” muttered Stark. “But he sits there like a dummy.” “I’m going in,” chattered Hogan. “I’m almost frozen.” “You’ll be recognized.” “I don’t care.” When he started forward the others quickly decided to follow him, and in a body they advanced toward the steps where sat the motionless figure. They came up close to it, and then—they suddenly stopped. It was Bunol who uttered first an exclamation in Spanish, and then jabbered: “Look! See! It is here!” He was half-crouching, pointing at the figure, and his teeth rattled together like castanets, while his protruding eyes gleamed with terror. Crauthers uttered a groan, and his legs nearly gave way beneath him. “A ghost!” he whispered. For the light of the burning woods seemed to show them sitting there on the steps, hatless, pale, a streak of red down across his temple, Chester Arlington. Never before had those boys been so startled. In fact, they seemed for a moment struck dumb and motionless with horror. Then one of them turned and ran, and the others followed, not uttering a word. As they disappeared beneath the trees, Dick Merriwell stepped round a corner of the building and spoke to the lad who sat on the steps. “I thought that you would give them a shock. You had better get up to your room now.” Chester Arlington, for Chester it was, made no retort and no move. He sat there dumbly, not even looking at Dick. “Come,” said young Merriwell, taking his arm. Chester rose, and they entered the building. Dick assisted Arlington to his room. “Are you sure you are all right?” asked young Merriwell. Chester nodded. “All right,” he said, in a mechanical manner. “Only my head hurts some.” At the wash-bowl the blood was washed out of Chester’s hair and from his face. “Perhaps you had better have the doctor,” suggested Dick, but Arlington objected, saying: “I don’t want the doctor! He’ll ask too many questions. I’m going to take care of myself. Tell me again how it was you happened to find me there in the woods.”