The Blue Ghost Mystery: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story

"I don't know what we can say," Scotty objected. "We have few facts. We have only some observations. We can try to interpret our observations, but we can't prove them. For instance, there is the fact that we were given a bath of something by the Blue Ghost that seemed to freeze our faces. There is the fact that the Frostola man bought a quantity of methyl chloride. There is the fact that methyl chloride could have produced the effect we felt. But how can we say that it's a fact that the Frostola man somehow doused us with chemical?"

"You can't," Jan Miller agreed.

"So if we stick to demonstrable facts, we don't get far," the scientist concluded. "But can we settle for mere speculation?"

"No, sir," Rick stated. "But let's admit that speculation has its uses. After all, circumstantial evidence is permitted in court. Speculation can give us the circumstances that need to be proved, and that tells us where to put our efforts. I think that's fair enough."

"So do I," Dr. Miller agreed.

Rick arose. "Then we'll continue working the way we've been doing it. It's not the best way, but at least we're uncovering little items that can be tied together if we find just two missing facts."

"Like what?" Barby demanded.

"We go back to our assumption that the ghost is man-made. On this assumption, the things we need to know are how and why is the ghost produced?"

CHAPTER XVI

Trapped!

It was, as Rick said, time for action and not for words. He and Scotty set out to track down every possible shred of evidence. They armed themselves with flashlights, and Rick made sure he had his pocket lens, and they started out.

The first stop was in the field, to locate the places where last night's ghostly party had paused.

As the boys walked across the field toward the plane, Rick wondered aloud. "What did the ghost want with the plane?"

"Sabotage?" Scotty asked.

"Maybe. But if so, why?"

"Because he was afraid of what we might see from the air, maybe."

Rick considered. "It could be, I suppose, but we've examined the whole area from the plane. I didn't see anything suspicious or particularly interesting."

"Not a thing," Scotty confirmed. "But it might be a good idea to take another look."

"Okay. We can do it later this afternoon. Now, according to what I remember, the first stop the ghosts made was right about here. Let's work like hunting dogs and see what we can turn up."

Rick dropped his handkerchief on a clump of bachelor's-buttons for a marker, then he and Scotty walked in ever-widening circles, scanning the ground for any trace of the ghosts.

Scotty's keen eyes saw the first sign, a heelprint in a bare place in the grass. The boys examined it. "Doesn't match anyone's shoes," Scotty said. "Not of our gang. Leather heels, a little worn, run down on the outside edge. You can see the nail marks. No rubber heels would make those marks."

There were other prints, now that they were searching closely. Clearly, three men had walked the field last night. But nowhere did they find a clue to what the men had searched for. There was no raw dirt, no impressions left where something had been removed.

"Fact," Rick stated. "Three men were here."

Scotty laughed. "This does not mean there were not also three ghosts who left no tracks."

Rick had to laugh, too. "Now what do we do?"

"Look in the upland cornfield."

They started the survey of the cornfield directly above the mine entrance, where they had first seen the three ghosts. Tracks were visible almost at once.

"We're lucky," Scotty said. "Even with the weeds between the rows there's enough bare ground so we can do some real tracking. Let's see how the tracks run."

As Scotty had predicted, the tracking was much easier. A few yards into the cornfield they came to a gap where a few seeds had failed to germinate or the plants had died. It was a bare space, sparsely grown with weeds.

Scotty pointed to the three sets of tracks, and put his own feet in one set, while Rick did the same with another set. From the position of the third set it was clear that the three men had faced each other.

Rick said excitedly, "They paused and bent over. But over what?"

They scrutinized the ground minutely. It seemed normal enough. There was absolutely no sign that the earth had been disturbed.

Rick picked up a handful of soil and examined it. "Dirt," he said. "Plain dirt. Why was it so interesting to the spooks?"

"Try your lens," Scotty reminded him.

Rick did so. The lens showed the usual combination of mineral and organic matter of various sizes and colors. "I can't see anything unusual," he reported. "Maybe the lens isn't powerful enough. I'll take a sample and look at it under the microscope later." He found a scrap of paper in his wallet and folded a bit of dirt into it.

"Let's continue," Scotty urged.

They worked their way across the cornfield, following the tracks. Twice more they found places where the ghosts had paused to confer about something, or examine something.

Then, at the edge of the cornfield, they lost the tracks in a rank growth of weeds. Probably the ghosts had trampled the weeds last night, but they had sprung up again and left no trace of the passage.

Scotty took the lead. "I'll show you where the car was parked."

They traveled through alternate weeds and hay to where the hilltop dropped away rapidly to a valley about three hundred feet below. This marked the end of the igneous outcropping in which the lead mine was located, Rick guessed. The hill was steep, and overgrown with blackberry bushes.

"I got caught a thousand times in as many feet last night," Scotty commented. "It's easy by day, but don't try it by night." He led the way through clear spaces between the thorny patches, always going downhill.

It wasn't long before Rick saw the road, if it could be called that. It was two ruts with grass growing between them.

"Doesn't look like U.S. Highway Number 66," he remarked.

"There's a man who thinks it is," Scotty replied.

Rick looked to where his pal pointed. The Frostola man was approaching on his scooter. The sound of the little motor was just audible, and Rick's first impulse was to duck, but Scotty said, "Too late. He saw us just as we saw him. Let's walk down to the road and make it casual."

They did so, and the peddler approached, bumping over the uneven surface.

"Howdy," he greeted them. "Where does this road go?"

"We don't know," Scotty replied.

Rick added, "We're strangers in the area."

"I'm pretty new myself," the man said cheerfully. "Saw this road and thought there might be a settlement where I could find some new customers."