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

Rick thought he remembered it, too. "We'll look up methyl chloride in the dictionary," he promised. "That will tell us if it has an odor."

The mine took a sharp turn. "They lost the vein here and had to chew out some rock to find it again," Rick pointed out. "Notice everything is on one level? Must have been just one vein. It ran out and the mine closed down."

"Looks that way," Scotty agreed. "How far have we come?"

Rick hadn't kept track, but he estimated they were perhaps halfway under the hill. "This must end somewhere," he said. "Notice there isn't any water at all, not even seepage? I'm still baffled by that spring and the pipe."

They traversed another hundred yards in silence, flashlights constantly scanning the mine. There was nothing out of the ordinary, no sign of ghost, projector, or even of human visitation for dozens of years.

"We're on another wild-goose…" Rick began. He never finished, for sound suddenly reverberated through the mine, the sound of rock crashing downward.

Both boys turned and ran back toward the entrance, afraid of what they would find. Long before they reached it, billowing clouds of dust told them what had happened.

Their racing legs confirmed it as they came to a stop against rock that choked the tunnel from top to bottom.

The timbers had given way. They were trapped!

CHAPTER XVII

In Darkness

For one despairing instant the two peered at the fallen rock through the thick haze of dust, then Scotty snapped, "Back into clean air."

They retreated the way they had come. Rick clicked off his flashlight instinctively. They might need it.

When clean air was reached again they stopped and Scotty swept his flashlight beam over the rocky floor. "Pick a seat and get comfortable. We'll be here for a while."

"We won't get out of here by sitting down," Rick replied.

"No, and we won't do much until the dust settles, either. Relax and get cooled off. When the dust has settled a little, we can go back and see just how bad the block is."

Rick remembered the tons of rock above the timbers. The block had to be bad, he thought. There was plenty of rock there. Then, as he thought about it, he wasn't so sure. A pretty large area had shown cracks, but perhaps only a layer had fallen. They might be able to dig out. Nothing to do about it but wait and see.

Scotty switched off his light and the blackness closed in. Rick shifted uncomfortably. Once before he had been lost in complete blackness like this, in the Caves of Fear. But that had been different; he hadn't been exactly trapped in the same way then, and the caves had covered miles under a Tibetan mountain. At least he knew exactly where he was this time.

He said, "We should have brought a picnic lunch."

Scotty chuckled, but didn't reply.

Rick said, "Suppose we can't get out?"

"We will. Dr. Miller will be hunting for us sooner or later. He couldn't miss the mine, especially with the boards off the entrance."

"Then all we need is patience and a tight belt."

"That's it."

The boys fell silent. Rick was cheered by Scotty's estimate of the situation. He closed his eyes, and for perhaps the hundredth time started mulling over the chain of events, searching for a clue to the two things they needed to know: how and why the ghost was produced.

But as he thought about it he wondered if perhaps they didn't know why. The ghost was a means of keeping people out of the area. It had succeeded to a considerable degree. There were no more night family picnics and swimming parties. There were only occasional long-scheduled events.

He explored the idea. The mine area was private property. To keep people out one would need only to post "No Trespassing" signs. But in all probability that wouldn't be suitable, because it would raise too many questions, and Dr. Miller would have to be let in on the secret of the ghosts that walked the fields.

But why keep people out of the area? To be sure, privacy for the conduct of secret operations was an obvious reason, only what were the secret operations, and why did they have to be kept secret?

He gave up finally. There simply weren't enough data on which to hang a conclusion.

"Think the dust has settled?" he asked.

"Could be. Suppose we go take a look. I'll use my light. Save yours."

They followed the yellow beam of Scotty's flashlight through the dark tunnel to the rockfall. There was still plenty of dust in the air, but it was bearable.

Scotty flashed his light on the timbers, then on the rockslide. One pair of uprights arose from the sloping pile of rock to a sound crosspiece.

Both boys knew what that meant. Rick put it into words. "If that's the set of timbers nearest to the ones that were bad, it means at least ten feet of rock on this side, and probably the same or even more on the other. A total of twenty feet of rock."

Scotty grunted. "One thing is for sure. We won't dig our own way out for a few days. I'm not even sure we can. We might collapse from lack of water if we try working real hard."

"But we can't wait for help from the outside," Rick pointed out. "We can at least work while we still have our health."

"Can you work in the darkness?"

"I suppose we'll have to. The lights won't last long."

"Then let's get to it."

They retreated to an alcove and put their shirts in a safe place, then went to work in their T shirts. Lugging rocks would work up a sweat, and it was chilly underground. The shirts were for use during rest periods.

"Let's see how it goes," Scotty invited, and turned off his light.

Rick groped for a rock and found a good-sized one. He carried it back and promptly bumped into a wall and dropped it. Keeping a straight line was going to be a problem. He groped for the rock and found it again, but this time he tucked it under one arm, using the opposite hand to guide him along the wall.

"I'm on the right-hand wall," he told Scotty. "I'll return along the left-hand wall."

"Good system," Scotty approved.

It was, too. They passed each other in the dark and Rick was pleased, until he tripped on a rock and stumbled into the pile.

"We're going to have to count paces," he said ruefully as he nursed a bruised knee. "Say twenty paces up and twenty paces back."

"Better make it twice that," Scotty replied. "We can't pile all the rocks in one place. We'll have to spread them out."

"Forty it is," Rick agreed, and found another rock.

The work went on, gradually assuming the proportions of a dream – or a nightmare. Pick up a rock, tote it forty paces, drop it. Then thirty-five paces as the passageway got cluttered. Now and then they had to join forces to lug a particularly big piece.

Rick's watch showed him that two hours had gone by. "Let's take a break," he suggested.