another minute
Pumpkin Bill, the dunce of the boomer's camp, "a nobody from nowhar," to
use Cal Clemmer's words, came rushing along, hatless and with his wild
eyes fairly starting from their sockets.

"Save me! a ghost!" he yelled, swinging his hands over his head. "A
ghost full of blood! Oh, oh! I'm a dead boy! I know I am! Stop him from
following me!"

"Pumpkin!" ejaculated Dick, striding up and catching the fleeing lad by
the arm. "Hold on; what's this racket about?"

The dunce paused, then stood stock still, his mouth opening to its
widest extent. He was far from bright, and it took him several seconds
to put into words what was passing in his mind.

"About, about?" he repeated. "Dick Arbuckle! Oh, dear me! I've seen your
father's ghost!"

"Pumpkin!"

"Yes, I did. Hope to die if I didn't. I was just coming to camp from
town. Some men kept me, and made me sing and dance for them--you know
how I can sing--tra-la-la-da-do-da-bum! They promised me a dollar, but
didn't give it to me. I was running to get out of the wet when I plumped
into something fearful--a ghost! Your father, covered with blood, and
groaning and moaning, 'Robbed, robbed; almost murdered!' That's what the
ghost said, and he caught me by the hand. See, the blood is there yet,
even though I did try to wash it off in the rain. Oh, Dick, what does it
mean?"

"It means something awful has happened, Pumpkin, if your story is
true----"

"Hope to die if it ain't," and the dunce crossed his heart several
times. Suddenly, to keep up his courage, he burst into a wild snatch of
song:

"A big baboon
Glared at the moon,
And sang la-la-la-dum!
'Come down to me
And I will be
Your lardy-dardy----'"

"Stop it, Pumpkin," interrupted Dick. "Come along with me."

"To where?"

"To where you saw my father."

"Not for a million dollars--not for a million million!" cried the
half-witted boy. "It wasn't your father; it was a ghost, all covered
with blood!" and he shrank back under the Delaney wagon.

"It was my father, Pumpkin; I am sure of it. He is missing, and
something has happened to him. Perhaps he fell and hurt himself. Come
on."

The dunce stopped short and stared.

"Missing, is he? Then it wasn't a ghost. La-la-dum! What a joke. Will
you go along, too?"

"Of course."

"And take a pistol?"

"Yes."

"Poor mon, Oi thrust he is not very much hurted," broke in Rosy Delaney,
who had been a close listener to the foregoing. "If