Gulch', and I had 'The Dismembered Hand',
or 'The Disembowelled Corpse', or some such names. They were first-class
preparation for a ghost.

I was reading away, and getting drowsy, when I noticed a movement and
saw Dave's frightened head rising, with the terrified shadow of it on
the wall. He was staring at the door, over his book, with both eyes.
And that door was opening again--slowly--and Dave had locked it! I never
felt anything so creepy: the foot of my bunk was behind the door, and
I drew up my feet as it came open; it opened wide, and stood so. We
waited, for five minutes it seemed, hearing each other breathe, watching
for the door to close; then Dave got out, very gingerly, and up on one
end, and went to the door like a cat on wet bricks.

'You shot the bolt OUTSIDE the catch,' I said, as he caught hold of the
door--like one grabs a craw-fish.

'I'll swear I didn't,' said Dave. But he'd already turned the key a
couple of times, so he couldn't be sure. He shut and locked the door
again. 'Now, get out and see for yourself,' he said.

I got out, and tried the door a couple of times and found it all right.
Then we both tried, and agreed that it was locked.

I got back into bed, and Dave was about half in when a thought struck
him. He got the heaviest piece of firewood and stood it against the
door.

'What are you doing that for?' I asked.

'If there's a broken-down burglar camped round here, and trying any of
his funny business, we'll hear him if he tries to come in while we're
asleep,' says Dave. Then he got back into bed. We composed our nerves
with the 'Haunted Gulch' and 'The Disembowelled Corpse', and after a
while I heard Dave snore, and was just dropping off when the stick fell
from the door against my big toe and then to the ground with tremendous
clatter. I snatched up my feet and sat up with a jerk, and so did
Dave--the cat went over the partition. That door opened, only a little
way this time, paused, and shut suddenly. Dave got out, grabbed a stick,
skipped to the door, and clutched at the knob as if it were a nettle,
and the door wouldn't come!--it was fast and locked! Then Dave's face
began to look as frightened as his hair. He lit his candle at the fire,
and asked me to come with him; he unlocked the door and we went into the
other room, Dave shading his candle very carefully and feeling his way
slow with his feet. The room was empty; we tried the outer door and
found it locked.

'It muster