The Blue Ghost Mystery: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story. Goodwin Harold Leland

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СКАЧАТЬ boys' eyes met. "The pool bubbled a little last night," Rick recalled.

      Scotty nodded. "I saw it, too. But there's nothing there to make it bubble."

      Jan Miller shuddered. "I almost died when you two idiots scrambled up here. You went right into that awful mist!"

      Rick remembered the icy tendril that had curled around his face and a little chill went through him. "It was cool," he said. "At least the Blue Ghost isn't warm. Maybe he's blue with cold."

      Scotty used his jackknife to probe at cracks in the rocky hillside. It was seamed with them, but he found nothing unusual. "I give up," the dark-haired boy said, his face showing his bewilderment. "There's absolutely nothing here. So where did the ghost come from?"

      "Where does any ghost come from?" Rick asked. "Same place." Their inspection should have settled it, but he wasn't ready to quit yet. To give up would mean admitting that the Blue Ghost was really a spook. He might have to admit it eventually, but not until all avenues of investigation were closed.

      "Now what?" Scotty asked.

      "Let's look around some more."

      Barby thought this was nonsense and let them know it. "You two can prowl around all you want to," she said. "But I'm not going to get an overdose of sun spook hunting on the rocks. Coming, Jan?"

      "Lunch at noon sharp," Jan reminded the boys. "We'll go help Mother. Good luck."

      Rick and Scotty watched them go, then sat down next to the pool.

      "What's on your mind?" Scotty asked.

      Rick shrugged. "Nothing. I haven't the ghost of an idea about this ghost."

      "It was pretty real," Scotty remembered.

      "Too true." It was so real that Rick almost believed in it. But he was bothered by a vague feeling that something was wrong.

      "Look, Scotty. I've read plenty of ghost stories, and I've read the book by Charles Fort that Dad has in the library. Nothing was ever said about this kind of ghost. I mean, a ghost that went in for public appearances promptly at nine whenever he had an audience. Of course, there's no rule that says a ghost has to behave in any definite way, but this is too … well, it's too perfect, if you know what I mean."

      "I do. It's almost like a show, isn't it?"

      "That's it. It's a performance more than an appearance, if there's any distinction. The ghost did exactly what he's been doing. Same act."

      Scotty grinned. "Why not? The act is part of the legend, and it's a pretty convincing one."

      Rick cocked an eyebrow at him. "Whose side are you on? The ghost's or mine?"

      "I have an open mind," Scotty explained.

      The phrase rang a bell in Rick's head. Open mind – open mine. Could there be some connection between the abandoned mine and the ghost? After all, the shaft was almost under them. He broached the idea to Scotty.

      His pal rose. "Nothing like finding out. Are you for it?"

      "I'm for it. Can we get in?"

      "We'll soon see."

      The boys scrambled down the hill and inspected the entrance. Boards had been nailed across the timbered opening, but the nails were rusted and the boards weathered. They could get in simply by pulling the boards loose.

      "How about light?" Scotty asked. "We didn't bring a flashlight."

      "We can do that later. Right now let's take a look at the entrance. That will tell us if there has been any traffic around."

      The boards came off easily with the screech of old nails pulling loose. In a few moments enough boards were pulled away to allow them to enter on hands and knees. A top board was pulled off to admit light, and they went in together, inspecting the ground closely.

      "No sign of visitors," Scotty said. "Look at the dust. It hasn't been disturbed for a half century."

      Rick thought his pal probably was right about the length of time. The dust was fine, and thick. No human tracks disturbed it, but the boys saw the delicate tracery where a small animal, probably a field mouse or a chipmunk, had left his spoor.

      The tunnel was about eight feet high and wide enough for three people to walk abreast. Probably the lead ore had been taken out in carts when the mine was in use.

      The shaft went straight in, past the range of light filtering in from the entrance. Nowhere was there a sign of human occupancy or activity, except for the ancient marks on the tunnel walls made by tools in the hands of miners long dead.

      "Nothing here," Rick said, and his voice was lost in the emptiness of the shaft.

      Scotty grunted. "Another dead end. Okay, where did the ghost come from?"

      Rick didn't know. He couldn't even imagine. He puzzled over it as they walked outside, then suddenly snapped his fingers. "Did you see any sign of water in there? Or a pipe?"

      "No. It was dry. No pipes. Why?"

      "How was the original artesian well driven? Right into the hillside? If so, why didn't the mine tunnel strike water?"

      Scotty scratched his chin. "Now that you mention it, I haven't the faintest idea. Have you?"

      "Negative. I can't ever remember having so few ideas. But it's strange. We'll have to ask Dr. Miller about it."

      "Maybe the answer is deeper in the mine," Scotty replied. "Let's go back and see."

      Rick reminded him that they had no lights. "I suppose we could make torches out of junk from the trash cans."

      "Easy, if we can find some newspapers."

      There were several trash cans spotted around the picnic area, and it was indicative of the kind of neat people in the vicinity that they were used. There was no litter.

      The second can yielded two entire newspapers, one a bulky edition of a Washington paper, the other a ten-page local sheet. The boys split the papers evenly, then rolled them tightly. They frayed one end with a jackknife to make the torch.

      "Got a match?" Rick asked.

      Scotty looked at him blankly, then grinned. "No, have you?"

      "No match, no flint or steel, no … hey, wait! I've got a pocket lens!"

      Rick's enthusiasm for microscopy had extended to the purchase of a twelve-power pocket lens to supplement the microscope Barby had given him. The pocket lens was used for examining specimens before taking them home for closer scrutiny under the more powerful instrument. Rick had not yet gotten used to carrying the small lens and had forgotten it until the need for a burning glass arose.

      He took the lens from his watch pocket and unfolded it from the protective metal case. It focused the sun's rays to a pinpoint of intense light and heat, and the charred paper then burst into a tiny flame. Rick blew the flame into life, then put his lens back for safekeeping.

      "Nothing like the scientific method," he told his pal. "Who needs matches? Come on. Let's burn that ghost out of there."

      Scotty grinned. "Nothing СКАЧАТЬ