r
wild turkeys. I was tired out and I rested against a tree and went
into a doze. All at once I felt something cross my face. What it
was I couldn't make out. I jumped up and just them I heard somebody
cry out: 'I am dead! Who will bury me!' or something like that. I
thought somebody was fooling me, and I called back: 'Who is there?'
Then, as true as I am sitting here, I heard somebody in the air
laugh at me! I called again, 'Who are you?' And the party, or
ghost, or whatever it was answered: 'They murdered me! Who will bury
me!' Then I got scared and leaped into my canoe and paddled away.
When I was out on the lake I looked back into the woods, but I could
not see a soul."

"Are you sure you weren't asleep and dreamed all that?" asked Snap.

"No, I was wide awake. But that isn't all. Early this morning I
was asleep over on the shore yonder, just where you can see that
blasted pine. It was, I think, about three o'clock, and quite
dark. I heard a cry and I sat up to listen. Then I heard the most
hideous laugh you can imagine. Then a voice called out again,
'I am dead! Come to my grave! He is dead! I am dead! He is
dead!' Then I looked out on the lake and I saw something like a
ghost, only it was yellow instead of white. It moved over the
water like a spirit, and in a few minutes I couldn't see it any more.
Then I made up my mind I wouldn't stay up here any longer. You can
camp here if you want to---I am done with Lake Narsac."

The young hunters of the lake looked at each other. What the
hermit had to say coincided in many respects with the story told by
Jed Sanborn. Certainly there was something queer in these strange
calls, and in the appearance of the ghost or spirit in yellow.

"I must say I don't like this," said Shep, after they had questioned
the old hermit to ascertain that his story was a straight one.
"There seems to be something supernatural about it; don't you
think so?"

"Perhaps it can be explained," answered Snap, slowly.

"We promised ourselves not to be afraid of any ghost," put in
little Giant. "I, for one, don't believe in turning back until
we have seen and heard these things for ourselves."

"I'd like to have my shotgun handy when that yellow ghost shows
itself," said Whopper. "I'd soon find out whether it was real or not."

"I don't think your shotgun would do you any good," answered Peter
Peterson, with deep conviction. "You can't shoot a spirit."

"Well, if I ai