sted Greg.

"Bosh! Fred Ripley would have to be a real ghost before he could get
over the deep snow in the woods," Dick retorted.

Once more came the sound, more piercing than ever. Dick leaped from his
bunk and began to dress. Dave and Greg followed suit.

"We'll do our best to find out what it is, fellows," Dick promised them.

Hen Dutcher was chattering and half sobbing.

"If I--I ever g-g-get out of this alive," he chattered, "I'll never
stick around y-y-y-you fellows again. I was a f-f-f-fool to let you
fellows coax me into staying here."

"Get out, then!" retorted Tom Reade half savagely, as he landed on the
floor and began to dress. All were soon up except Hen, who, when a more
dismal and bloodcurdling wail than ever came along, hid his head under
one of the overcoats that covered him.

"It's a wild cat--that's what it is," declared Greg Holmes.

"Only one objection to that idea," returned Dick Prescott. "No one has
ever heard of a wild cat in these parts in forty years."

"Then it's some one out perishing in the cold," suggested Dave.

"Whoever might be out in the cold wouldn't have much time to yell like
that about it," argued Dick. "A wayfarer, out in the cold and deep snow
to-night, would soon lie down and freeze to death."

But now something happened that made the blood of all the listeners run
cold.

"Dea-ath sta-a-alks through the for-r-r-rest!" came the wailing chant.

"That must be the Ripley gang," contended Dick.

"But how can it be? How could they get through the deep snow that won't
bear 'em?" Tom wanted to know.

"Then what can it be?"

"Mr. Fits," suggested Harry Hazelton.

"But Fits isn't in the shack, or wasn't," Dave argued. "We haven't seen
him around, outdoors or in the shack, since the night we ordered him to
go there. If Mr. Fits got away from this neighborhood it was simply
impossible for him to get back since then."

"A-a-a-all who he-ear my voi-oi-oice shall die-ie within the
hou-ou-our!" came the wail once more.

"O-o-o-h! Please don't!" screamed Hen Dutcher, burrowing in under the
massed overcoats. "Please spare me! I'll be a good fellow after this!"

"Keep quiet!" ordered Tom, striding over to the bunk and giving Hen
three or four vigorous prods. "If you don't we'll throw you outside!"

"But it's just aw-aw-aw-awful!" chattered the terrified Hen.

Truth to tell, none of the boys were feeling at his best, just then.
Dick's glance passed the face of the clock, s