"Bill Simms, der cow-puncher vot we picked up on der drive, informationed me about it. He says a man was kilt in dis shack, und dot he valks aroundt mit it ven der night cooms." "That Bill Simms is ther worst liar in forty States. He tried ter fill me with wild dreams about a feller what rides ther line on this yere ranch what can stand havin' ther contents o' a six-shooter pumped inter him, an' it don't feaze him none." "Yah. Dot's der ghostes vot runs dis shack. I don'd vant ter stay here, Pud. Please let us camp out in der snow." "Why, yer doodle, can't ther ghost come out yere jest ez easy ez he kin' go inter ther house--that is, if he's a sure-enough ghost?" "Yah, I guess he can. Vat vill ve didding?" "I don't care what you do, but I'm goin' inter ther shack ter start up ther fire an' get warm. I don't care what you do, but I'm 'most froze." "Don't leaf me alone, dear Pud. Please, I imploring you." "Come on, then." Bud stepped inside, and, as he did so, he uttered an exclamation of surprise. Both the purloined hats lay in the middle of the floor. "There, didn't I told you?" exclaimed Carl, in an awed voice. Bud simply stared at the hats. "Nopody but a ghostes could haf did dat." Bud looked around the room, and then up at the ceiling. Then he burst into a roar of laughter. "Thar's ther ghost," he shouted, grasping Carl by the arm and twisting him around so that he could see. In the corner just below the ceiling were two sharp, green points of light that glowed in the faint radiance cast by the fire, which had sunk to embers. "Ach, mutter, save your liddle Carl. It vor der ghostes." "That ain't no ghost," said Bud scornfully. "Ain't you never hear tell how ghosts look? They're all white an' long an' skinny, an' when they walk they carry chains what clanks, an'----" "Oh, Pud, stop. Don't say it some more. My plood vas chilling now so I ain't aple to svallow in my troat alretty. I vas so scared as nefer vas I." "Yer a cheerful roommate, I must say. See, ther ghost is gone." "I ain't nefer goin' ter be happy some more. I haf seen a ghost. I vill die, I am sure." "Yer kin bet on that ez a shore thing, an' I reckon I will, too." "Listen!" Carl grasped Bud by the arm with the clutch of despair. There was a faint and stealthy noise on the roof. Both stood for a few moments listening breathlessly. Then they heard a faint, far-away wail, like that of a banshee. Carl threw his arms around Bud in an agony of fear. "Dere it iss. Ve are gone. All iss lost." Again the gruesome wail came to them, this time louder and clearer, and in a moment or two a hand was at the door. The latch clicked softly, and the door swung slowly open. CHAPTER IV. THE BIG COON TREE. "Hello, what's the matter with you fellows? Are you going to have a waltz, or is it going to be a two-step, or a catch-as-catch-can wrestling match? Perhaps you've suddenly grown very fond of one another."