gures perched upon the low bough of an oak. They were
shaped like men, but the outlines of arms and legs could not be seen.
Rather they were the bodies of warriors completely enclosed in buffalo
robes or deerskins for the grave, and these figures, swaying back and
forth in the moonlight, and bearing all the aspects of supernatural
visitors, filled the superstitious hearts of the Miamis with the terrors
of the unknown and invincible. The two shapes showed a ghostly white in
the pale rays, and the Miamis, in fancy at least, saw fiery and accusing
eyes looking down at the sacrilegious men who had presumed to put foot on
the island dedicated to Manitou and the departed.

A gentle wind brought a low groan to the ears of every man among them.

The blood of the warriors chilled quickly in their veins. All their
superstitions, all the inherited beliefs of many generations, all the lore
of the old squaws, told about innumerable camp fires, came crashing back
upon them as those two ghostly white shapes, hovering there in the
darkness, continued to transfix them with an accusing gaze. There was an
involuntary shudder, a sudden clustering together of the whole party, and
then, with a simultaneous cry of horror, they broke and fled in a wild
pellmell far out upon the icy surface of the lake, and then on, bearing
with them in the rout both Yellow Panther and Braxton Wyatt. Nor did they
dare to look back, because they knew that the terrible eyes of the long
departed, upon whose territory they had intended to commit sacrilege, were
boring into their backs. The island was haunted, and would remain so for
many a year, despite all that Braxton Wyatt and Yellow Panther had said.

About the time the Miamis reached the mainland, and darted among the trees
in the race for their own village, Paul Cotter and Long Jim Hart leaped
lightly from the low bough of the oak, took off the enfolding robes of
white tanned deerskin, with holes for the eyes.

"Jehoshaphat!" said Long Jim, as he threw the robes on the ground, "I'm
glad that's over. Bein' a ghost jest about a minute is enough fur me. I
wuz scared to death lest I didn't groan good an' horrible."

"But you never did a better job in your life, Jim," said Henry, as he came
from behind a tree. "You and Paul were the finest ghosts I ever saw, and
no Indian will dare to set foot on this island in the next hundred years."

"It shorely was a sight to see them braves run," said Shif'less Sol.
"Thar