een on the roadside. There was no
doubt that it had made a deep impression upon him, for he never tired of
talking about it. Andrews laughed at him, ridiculed his vivid
imagination, cross-questioned him, and reasoned with him upon the
absurdity of his hallucination, but all to no effect; Drysdale
maintained in the most dogged manner, that he had seen a ghost.

On Friday, they were to return to Atkinson, and in the morning Andrews
rode over to make a short visit to a neighbor. He was so hospitably
entertained, however, that he did not get away until after two o'clock,
and it was nearly three before they started on their homeward ride. As
before, it was growing dusky, when they reached the banks of Rocky
Creek, and Drysdale was in a state of high nervous excitement.

On reaching the spot where Drysdale had seen the ghost before, he kept
close at Andrews' side, and endeavored to appear unconcerned. Suddenly,
he grasped Andrews by the arm with a faint groan, and said:

"Andrews, look! look! for God's sake, tell me, don't you see it?"

As he spoke, he pointed toward the same ghastly object which he had seen
before. There, right under his eyes, passed the image of the murdered
George Gordon.

"There, I was afraid you would have the same folly again," said Andrews,
soothingly, as if anxious to attract his attention away from his ghostly
friend. "What the devil is the matter with you?"

"Tell me, tell me, Andrews," gasped Drysdale, in such terror that his
parched throat and quivering lips could hardly pronounce the words;
"can't you see that horrible man close to the fence, walking toward the
creek?"

"I tell you, my dear fellow," replied Andrews, earnestly, "that you are
laboring under a most unpleasant hallucination. There is absolutely no
person, or any moving object in sight, except you and me."

At this moment, the sound of approaching hoof-beats could be plainly
heard, and Drysdale turned his head to look back in the direction whence
they came. On looking for the ghost again, it was nowhere to be seen.

"Andrews, it is gone--the earth has swallowed it up," he said.

He would have fallen from his horse, if Andrews had not caught him
around the waist, and just as he did so, Mr. Breed and Mr. O'Fallon, the
station agent, rode up, one on each side of them.

"What's the matter with Mr. Drysdale?" asked O'Fallon.

"Didn't you see it? Tell me--did the ghost pass you?" Drysdale queried
eagerly, turning toward the new