Young Hunters of the Lake Part 23

"I feel sleepy enough to take a good snooze," said Shep, stretching himself. "What's the matter with staying here for to-day, and then hunting a regular camping spot to-morrow? I guess you fellows are as tired as I am."

They were tired and the proposal to rest met with instant approval.

It was decided to roast the wild turkey for dinner and to spend several hours in fis.h.i.+ng,---all after a sleep of several hours.

"There ought to be some fine pickerel in this lake," said Snap, and he fixed his rod and line for that specimen of the finny tribe and Giant did the same. Shep and Whopper went in for whatever they could catch. The fis.h.i.+ng was highly successful and the boys soon had all the fish they would want for several days.

"Might as well give It up," said Snap, when a call from Whopper interrupted him.

"Somebody is coming down the lake," was the announcement. "A very old man in a canoe."

CHAPTER XVIII

THE OLD HERMIT'S TALE

All of the young hunters watched the approach of the old man with interest. He was a very tall individual, with snow-white hair and a flowing beard. He was dressed in a suit of rusty black, and on his head he wore a wide-brimmed straw hat, with a big hole in the top. His canoe was of birch bark, light and strong, and he propelled it with a short, broad paddle.

"I'll wager he is a character," said Snap, as the man drew closer.

"Shall I hail him?" questioned Whopper, as it looked as if the occupant of the canoe was going to pa.s.s without speaking.

"Might as well," was the answer, and the boys set up a shout. At first the old man paid no attention, but presently he turned his craft toward sh.o.r.e and came to a halt directly in front of the camp.

"How are you?" said Snap, cordially. A look told him the Stranger was at least seventy or eighty years old.

"Pretty well, for an old man," was the answer. "Who are you?"

"We are four boys from Fairview. We came up here to go camping.

Who are you?"

"Me? Don't you know who I am? I am Peter Peterson."

"Oh!" exclaimed the boys. They remembered having once heard Jed Sanborn speak of Peter Peterson as an old fellow who lived among the hills bordering Lake Cameron. Peterson was a hermit, and having been crossed in love when he was a young man, he hated the sight of a woman.

"My name is Charley Dodge," said Snap. "My father owns a share in the Barnaby saw mill." And then the leader of the club introduced his chums. In the meantime the old hermit allowed his canoe to drift to sh.o.r.e and he stepped out and sat down on a rock.

"I know your father," he said to Snap, "and I know your folks," and he nodded to Shep. "Your father gave me some medicine when I was sick. So you came up here to go camping?"

"Yes."

"You are pretty brave lads to do that."

"Oh, we've been out camping before. We came out last summer and also last winter."

"Up here?"

"No, to Lake Cameron and Firefly Lake."

"That's different from Lake Narsac. Don't you know this place is haunted?" And Peter Peterson looked at the boys very solemnly.

"We've heard something about that, but we aren't afraid," said Shep.

"We are more afraid of snakes than we are of ghosts," added Whopper.

"We met a lot of them just before we reached the lake."

"To be sure you did,--- the river is full of them, and so is the north side of the lake sh.o.r.e---anybody who has camped up here can tell you that. But I don't mind the snakes---but I do mind ghosts."

And the old hermit shook his head in a manner to prove he meant what he said. "I would stay up here to do some fis.h.i.+ng and hunting only---"

"Only what?" asked Giant.

"I don't like the ghosts, or spirits, or whatever you may call them."

"Have you seen any ghosts?" asked Snap.

"Well, I've seen something, and heard it, too. I don't know what it was,---but it didn't suit me," answered Peter Peterson. "But maybe I hadn't better tell you about it---it might only worry you,"

he continued, thoughtfully.

But the boys wanted to hear the old man's story, and so they invited him to take dinner with them. During the meal he told his tale, which was certainly a curious one.

"The first of it happened day before yesterday," said Peter Peterson.

"I was up to the very end of the lake, in a little cove, looking for wild turkeys. I was tired out and I rested against a tree and went into a doze. All at once I felt something cross my face. What it was I couldn't make out. I jumped up and just them I heard somebody cry out: 'I am dead! Who will bury me!' or something like that. I thought somebody was fooling me, and I called back: 'Who is there?'

Then, as true as I am sitting here, I heard somebody in the air laugh at me! I called again, 'Who are you?' And the party, or ghost, or whatever it was answered: 'They murdered me! Who will bury me!' Then I got scared and leaped into my canoe and paddled away.

When I was out on the lake I looked back into the woods, but I could not see a soul."

"Are you sure you weren't asleep and dreamed all that?" asked Snap.

"No, I was wide awake. But that isn't all. Early this morning I was asleep over on the sh.o.r.e yonder, just where you can see that blasted pine. It was, I think, about three o'clock, and quite dark. I heard a cry and I sat up to listen. Then I heard the most hideous laugh you can imagine. Then a voice called out again, 'I am dead! Come to my grave! He is dead! I am dead! He is dead!' Then I looked out on the lake and I saw something like a ghost, only it was yellow instead of white. It moved over the water like a spirit, and in a few minutes I couldn't see it any more.

Then I made up my mind I wouldn't stay up here any longer. You can camp here if you want to---I am done with Lake Narsac."

The young hunters of the lake looked at each other. What the hermit had to say coincided in many respects with the story told by Jed Sanborn. Certainly there was something queer in these strange calls, and in the appearance of the ghost or spirit in yellow.

"I must say I don't like this," said Shep, after they had questioned the old hermit to ascertain that his story was a straight one.

"There seems to be something supernatural about it; don't you think so?"

"Perhaps it can be explained," answered Snap, slowly.

"We promised ourselves not to be afraid of any ghost," put in little Giant. "I, for one, don't believe in turning back until we have seen and heard these things for ourselves."

"I'd like to have my shotgun handy when that yellow ghost shows itself," said Whopper. "I'd soon find out whether it was real or not."

"I don't think your shotgun would do you any good," answered Peter Peterson, with deep conviction. "You can't shoot a spirit."

"Well, if I aimed right at it and it wasn't touched, I'd know it was a ghost for sure."

"That's true, but I reckon when you came to fire on that ghost your hand would be so shaky that you couldn't hit the side of a barn,"