"More than likely," answered his chum. "Nat and Link travel together, and both are down on our crowd."
"Did they tell Mr. Marcy that the ghosts would be schoolboys?" asked Dave.
"No, ghosts," answered Billy, nodding his head gravely. "They told Mike an' he told me, an' we got the shotguns to scare 'em off. Mike don't want ghosts around this place."
"Here comes Mike Marcy now," whispered Ben. "Had we better get out? "
"I'll not run for him," was Dave's answer.
"Sure, an' what do you fellers want here?" demanded the big, brawny Irish-American farmer as he strode up, horsewhip in hand.
"Mr. Marcy, we want to have a talk with you," said Dave, coldly. "I guess you remember me."
"I do. You're the lad I once had locked up in my smokehouse," and the farmer grinned slightly.
"Yes. But I am not here about that now,—nor am I here to tell you that I was one of the boys that found your mule when he was lost and sent you word. I am here to ask you about the shooting that took place about a week ago."
"Shooting!"
"Exactly. Who were the boys who came here and told you to go to the end of your farm and shoot at a lot of innocent lads having a little fun by themselves?"
