Crane seemed a bit dazed. “I’m all right naow,” he protested in evident shame. “I guess I was dreaming. Confaound them things on Spirit Island, anyhaow!” Piper leered at his late angling companion. “You’re a brave one!” he scoffed. “You wanted to land on the island, didn’t you? You wasn’t a bit afraid, were you?” “Shut up,” growled Crane. “Put that lantern aout, and we’ll go to sleep.” “Oh, yes, we’ll have a nice time going to sleep, with you cutting up. I was just snoozing beautifully when you yelled like a wild Indian.” After a time the boys quieted down again, and, with the lantern extinguished, they fell asleep, one by one, until only Sleuth, still resentful because he had been awakened, was denied the relaxation of slumber. A long time he lay seeking it, with the others breathing heavily and regularly, and some of them snoring. Once more his ears were acute to all the mysterious night sounds of the woods, and, though he succeeded in dozing a little, he awoke again and again, until it seemed that the night had stretched itself to the length of a year and morning had somehow become side-tracked. At last in a period of wakefulness he was possessed by a great desire to take another look toward Spirit Island, and, making as little noise as possible, he crept out of his blankets and stole to the front of the tent, which had been left open to admit air. The moon, rising in the east, shed a pale light upon the bosom of the lake. By this light he could see the distant mountains outlined against the sky, and it was not impossible, even, to perceive a dark spot in the midst of the lake, where lay the haunted island. There it was, black and silent and soundless, with no mystic light flashing from its shores and no howling dog to disturb the serenity of the tranquil night. Nevertheless, there seemed to be something eerie and awesome pervading the very atmosphere and made doubly acute by the absence of any unusual sight or sound. “If it isn’t really haunted,” whispered Sleuth to himself, “it ought to be. A commonplace solution of the mystery would be a great disappointment to me.” Then he returned to his bed and once more besought sleep. CHAPTER XVI. ANOTHER ENCOUNTER. In the morning Grant was the first to awaken, but, although he got up as quietly as possible, Springer heard him and also crept out of the blankets. “Needn’t think you’re going to sus-sneak off by your lonesome, you old Texas Ranger,” chuckled Phil, following Rod from the tent. “Like one of Sleuthy’s Wampanoags, I’m on your trail.” They were surprised to hear a low voice behind them: “I’m watching you both. Nothing but cooking on a camping expedition is becoming somewhat monotonous, and I propose to get into the real sport this morning.” It was Stone, and they grinned at him welcomingly.