sity what he lacked in
courage. Dutcher was out of his bunk in an instant, slipping on shoes
and some clothing before he followed the others.

"You see," Dick was explaining, "I've been thinking of this matter ever
since we heard the first 'ghost' noises. I knew the noises had to come
from something. Now, while I was scared, I don't believe in such things
as ghosts. Well, then, the noise must have come from some human throat.
When I got up at five this morning I began to think harder than ever.
Then I went and got this gimlet out of the little tool box and bored a
tiny hole through the wood in this shutter. When I peeped I saw a light,
surely enough, in the shack. There were sparks, too, coming up out of
the chimney. Then I saw a shadow, and next I saw Mr. Fits himself at the
window for a moment. Next I waked up Dave, Tom and Dan, and they dressed
as quietly as they could, and took some peeps, too. Then Dave said it
was so cold that perhaps the snow had a real crust on it. He went to the
door and opened it. We all went out on the snow. We found the crust so
hard and thick that we could stamp on it with force. Dave said that that
was a good enough crust for him. So off he started, and Tom and Dan went
with him. They ought to be back, with men to help, in an hour more."

"Hurrah!" glowed Greg. "Oh, I do hope that the constables get here in
time to nab Mr. Fits."

"It'll be a good thing, all around, if that happens," nodded Dick. "But
now--are you fellows hungry?"

Greg and Harry scurried away to wash hands and faces.

"I think you had a cheek to let three fellows go after help," grumbled
Hen.

"Well, why?" asked Dick patiently.

"S'pose old Fitsey takes it into his head to come over here, on top of
the crust, while there's just us four here?" shuddered Hen.

"There are only three of us here, Dutcher. You don't count," interposed
Greg ironically.

"Fitsey'd eat us up alive if he guessed the truth and came over here,"
contended Dutcher stubbornly. "Hey, Dick! What on earth are you doing?"

"Shoving one of the shutters back," Prescott answered, going on with his
task.

"Hey! Don't do that!" pleaded Hen hoarsely, running over to Dick and
grabbing one of the latter's arms. "Why, this is--it's suicide, that's
what it is!"

"Yes?" Dick queried calmly, shaking off Hen's hold and going on with his
task.

"It certainly is," Dutcher maintained fearfully. "Why, with a shutter
open, Fitsey can jump right through the w