. A one-legged Indian! Oh, help!"

"Haw-haw-haw!" mocked Stacy, striding away disgustedly while the shouts
of his companions were ringing in his burning ears.

But the mystery was unsolved. Tad did not believe it ever would be,
though he never ceased puzzling over it for a moment. That day no one
got a lion, though on the second day following Ned Rector shot a small
cat. Tad did not try to shoot. He wandered with Chunky all over the
peaks and through the Canyon in that vicinity trying to rope more lions.

"You let that job out," ordered the guide finally. "Don't you know
you're monkeying with fire? First thing you know you won't know
anything. One of these times a cat'll put you to sleep for a year of
Sundays."

"I guess you are right. Not that I am afraid, but there is no sense
in taking such long chances. I'll drop it. I ought to be pretty well
satisfied with what I have done."

Tad kept his word. He made no further attempts to rope mountain lions.
In the succeeding few days three more cats were shot. It was on the
night of the fourth day after the escape of the captive that at
something very exciting occurred in Camp Butler.

The camp was silent, all its occupants sound asleep, when suddenly they
were brought bounding from their cots by frightful howls and yells of
fear. The howls came from the tent of Stacy Brown. Stacy himself
followed, leaping out into what they called the company street, dancing
up and down, still howling at the top of his voice. Clad in pajamas,
the fat boy was unconsciously giving a clever imitation of an Indian
ghost dance.

Professor Zepplin was the first to reach the fat boy. He gave Chunky
a violent shaking, while Nance was darting about the camp to see that
all was right. He saw nothing unusual.

"What is the meaning of this, young man?" demanded the Professor.

"I seen it, I seen it," howled Stacy.

"What did you see?"

"A ghost! I seen a ghost!"

"You mean you 'saw' a ghost, not you 'seen'," corrected the Professor.

"I tell you I _seen_ a ghost. I guess if you'd seen a ghost you
wouldn't stop to choose words. You'd just howl like a lunatic in your
own natural language-----"

Dad hastily threw more wood on the dying camp fire.

"I guess you had a nightmare," suggested Tad.

"It wasn't a mare, it was a man," persisted Stacy.

"He's crazy. Pity he doesn't catch sleeping sickness," scoffed Ned.

"Tell us what you did see," urged the Professor in