e other things," confessed Hen vaguely. "I can't tell you all
that crowd has, for I didn't see it and they wouldn't tell me about it."

"And you turned on Central Grammar boys to help a lot of High School
fellows out?" asked Dick in fine scorn.

"Well, I was crazy to have a day or two out here in the woods, and you
fellows didn't ask me," protested Hen. "The other crowd did."

"Yes; because they wanted to use you for a tool against us. They wanted
to make you their catspaw, Hen Dutcher. Oh, you must feel fine! And the
other Central Grammar fellows back in Gridley will be so proud of you!"

"You don't have to tell 'em," urged Hen Dutcher pleadingly.

"No; we don't have to," confirmed Tom Reade. "But we can. And most
likely we will. We want to separate the wheat from the chaff at the old
Central Gram."

"But, please don't tell 'em," whined Hen.

"We'll see about that," said Dick Prescott. "We won't make a solitary
promise. It may depend on how you act, Hen. Now, is there anything more
you ought to tell us about what Fred Ripley's crowd intends to do?"

"No-o-o. I don't believe so."

"Who's with Fred Ripley?"

"Bert Dodge."

"Who else?"

Hen named five other young fellows, two of whom were rather worthless
High School sophomores.

"And their plan," added Hen, unburdening himself, "was to swoop down
here this evening, lay the lines for a first class ghost scare and then
see you fellows start running and never stop till you reached Gridley.
They've brought some provisions along with them, and they were going to
move in here and camp, and laugh, and have a great joke about how the
Grammar School kids got cold feet, and----"

"Where are they now?" Dick queried.

"They were going to my Uncle Joel's for a few hours, have supper there
and then slip down here. But Uncle Joel's place must be four miles from
here, and even he didn't know just where this camp was. So the fellows
made me get the best idea I could from my uncle, and then sent me down
here to find the place. They'll be mad 'cause I ain't back."

"More likely they'll come, without waiting for you, Hen," observed Dave
Darrin grimly.

At this moment the latch-string moved; there was a click of wood against
wood as the latch was raised.

"Fellows, it's our ghost party!" whispered Dick, hoarsely. "Stand close
by me and sail in when I give the word. We'll do our best to make it hot
for the ghost!"

There were varying degrees of bravery shown in that in