Chapter XII: Nan and the Jersey Bull

There came a soft clatter of feet on the shaded greensward, and into view came the flying form of a girl, barefooted, sunbonneted, with a cheap calico gown showing a pair of graceful ankles, her touzled but abundant hair hardly half held by the pins. A second glance assured the boys that they knew that reddish coiffure, though now in disarray, and that supple form. It was undoubtedly the girl of the hay wagon, her finery laid away, and now chastely clad in the dangerously skimpy home attire, wherever that still mysterious home of hers might be.

Seeing the boys, their car, and the remains of the noonday meal, she paused, hesitated, then burst forward, exclaiming:

"Oh, oh! It's you, is it?" She gave a frightened glance behind her, and at the same time the boys thought they detected a low but growing rumble indicative of a coming bellow. "I'm so glad--ah-h! Listen at him!"

"What is it, Miss Nan?" queried Phil, at once alert.

"It's Dad's Jersey bull," she said. "He's got loose somehow."

Just then the rumble rose into an unmistakable bellow, and a yellowish, bovine form hove into sight from the timber, halted and stared wildly about. First he saw the boys and the barefooted girl. Then, lashing his tail, he came on at a galloping run, uttering angry snorts at every step.

Realizing before the others that here might be actual danger, Phil again rose to the emergency. He pulled out a flaming scarlet bandana handkerchief, which Paul had more than once made fun of, and which Phil seldom was caught using. Happening to have it with him now, Phil pointed at the Big Six standing near, bright colored and easily attractive to a mad bull.

He darted toward the oncoming Jersey, crying:

"All of you get in the car--quick! I'll draw the bull! When he takes after me start her up! Then I'll take a chance and jump in, if you'll swing round near me. Hump yourselves!"

Dave at once saw what Phil was up to. He wanted to save the car from the bull's attack, for the animal was in a mood to attack anything bright enough, gay enough. Before Phil had finished, Dave sprang into the driver's seat, while Paul and Billy, both assisting the girl, jumped into the tonneau. Dave released the clutch and off they went, the bull missing the rear end by hardly a yard.

Daunted by the fierce snorts emitted by the car the bull halted, roaring. Then his eye caught the flare of a brilliant red something that Phil was waving to and fro under his inflamed nostrils. The sight of scarlet always went to his bullish head, and now made him more mad. With another louder roar his bullship turned furiously on this new tormentor.

For several moments it was nip and tuck between the Jersey and his foe, who always was just behind that flaring expanse of scarlet. Only a brief spell of such hairbreadth maneuvering was sufficient to produce shortness of breath on Phil's part, at least.

Would that car never wheel in his direction? Fearing exhaustion, but flirting the bandana behind him, Phil made straight for the shady copse under which they had dined. Then he vanished so quickly that Mr. Bull, scenting mystery, halted and lashed his flanks with his tail. Dave saw the trick Phil was playing. His car veered round the other side of the copse, whirling up to within ten feet of where Phil stood panting, while the Jersey plunged round the far side. Paul flung open the door of the tonneau.

"In with you, Phil! Lively now!" came the command.

Phil made the first leap, then the second. His face was red with exertion, his legs wabbly under the strain they had been under, and at the third and final plunge they threatened to give way under him. With a half cry, half scream, Nan pushed herself through the door Paul was holding wide open, as the car veered close under Dave's dexterous hand.

"Ketch my hand, mister!" she cried and managed to clutch Phil's fingers in a grip surprisingly strong for a girl. With his free hand Paul clutched Phil's other hand and the two managed to half drag, half pull Phil inside, where he fell panting to the floor of the tonneau.

Meantime Dave, far from idle, saw that Phil was making the connection. He also saw that Mr. Bull was dangerously near making another kind of connection with the near wheel's guard with one of those sharp pointed horns.

"Here we go!" he shouted, and the Big Six made a powerful spring forward, beyond the reach of this four-footed terror that bawled, glared and snorted in a now vain pursuit.

Both Paul and Nan helped Phil up and, with a gasp or two he sank back on the seat, still flourishing the kerchief.

"Well, what d'you think of that!" cried Paul, after assuring himself that Phil was all right. "Did you ever see a madder bull?"

Meanwhile Dave, taking to the road again, soon placed distance and some timber growth between themselves in the Big Six and the bull.

"Well, Miss Nan," said Phil, who had recovered, "that was what you were scared at and I don't wonder. Does he often do that way?"

"Not often." The girl was trying to hide her feet, somehow feeling that she was now where clothes assume greater importance than they do at home on the farm. "I was out after blueberries. Sam--that's what we call him--had got out of the pasture, and when he saw me I think a bee or something had stung him. Anyway, he blamed it on me. He took after me full tilt and I had to run. I don't know what I'd done but for you all."

"I'm sure we were glad to be where we could help," encouraged Phil, "though I feel sure I don't long for another such narrow escape. I must thank you, too, Miss Nan, for helping Paul drag me aboard, for I was about all in."

"Don't you worry, Nan," broke in Paul, who had been taking in the girl's embarrassment. "I lived on a farm when I was smaller, and we didn't bother much about how we dressed. I'm sure you look well, no matter what clothes you wear."

Nan blushed while Paul, feeling that he had done well, turned to Dave.

"Where you going now, Mac?"

"Just jogging along. But perhaps we better stop and find out what we're going to do next. What you think, Phil?"

"Oh, there's my berry pail!" said the girl, pointing at an overturned tin bucket near the roadside. "If you will let me out I'll be going on."

"Do you live near? But of course you do, or you wouldn't have run across your bull. Could we take you home?" This from Phil.

"I--I wouldn't mind," she rather hesitatingly said. "But I must get the pail." And out she jumped, running to the overturned bucket, scooping up most of the berries that had been spilled, then hurrying back, saying as she got in:

"I wouldn't bother you but there's an old tumble-down house that folks say has a ghost or something near here. It used to be a tavern 'way back years ago. Somehow I always dread to go near it alone, and I always go round it when I'm out after blueberries, but this road goes right near it."

"Why, I don't see any sign of a house round here," remarked Dave. "I've stuck to this old road because I supposed it would lead somewhere."

"I know," she returned. "The woods, so plentiful about here, are thicker'n ever where the ruins be. We're about two miles from my house. It's more open there; fields and so on. Sam must 'a' strayed a good bit."

"We'll take you home, Nan," quoth Paul, and Billy nodded in assent. "But maybe you could tell us more about that house. When we get close, you know."

Here Phil gave both the other boys a warning look as he inquired if they must turn round in order to go where her home lay. Nan nodded, pointing eastward as she replied:

"Just follow the road the way I'm pointing now. I'll tell you when we get nearest to that old place. It's about two miles to our house from there."

Congratulating himself that they were so easily put in the way of finding what they had come so far to see, Phil passed the signal round for the others to keep still and let him do the talking.

By this time Nan was much more at her ease with the boys. She told them of the extent of the woods and how she lived on a small farm at one edge of the great second-growth timber which was the predominating feature of this half swampy section. Moreover Phil, too, noted that here and there were larger hemlock trees, though none of very great size or ancient appearance.

"Has anyone seen the ghost lately?" queried Phil. "Is it a real ghost, or merely the echo of tales that have been current around here for years?"

"I'm sure I don't know," said Nan. "Once, not long ago, father and I were riding by after dark. I'm sure I saw a kind of brightness in the thick woods where we knew that old tavern was. It was brighter, yet somehow pale; made me think of ghosts right away."

"What did your father think of it?"

"He never said, but when I spoke of it he drove along faster; but all he'd say was, 'Shucks!' I guess he don't more'n half believe in them ghosts nohow."

They laughed at this, but they noted that the timber grew thicker as the car glided at slow speed along the little used road. Finally Nan began pointing in a certain direction as the road curved, and a thicker growth of cedar, pine and other evergreens began not far away.

"It's somewhere in there," she said. "We'll glimpse some of the roof and walls presently."

Sure enough, as the car hummed along, through the thick foliage they glimpsed weather beaten walls and parts of a roof covered by roughly rived boards, with gaps here and there, and all brown with age. It looked as if it might be eighty to a hundred yards back from the mere wagon trail the road had now become.

"Shall we stop and take a look?" asked MacLester, gradually slowing up. "It's bright, noonday sunshine and if there are any haants about, I reckon now's the time of day when they take a rest."

But as the car slowed down Nan's alarm began to increase. Phil watched her curiously. She did not look like a girl unduly afraid of ghosts, at midday especially. Yet it was plain enough to see that she was vaguely uneasy. After all, why stop now? They knew where the old tavern was and could begin their investigations later. Besides, they did not want outside witnesses.

"Better drive on, Davy," said Phil. "We must take Miss Nan home."

The girl's relief was evident at once when Dave increased the speed. In another minute or so the house was no longer visible. Paul, looking back, said half to himself:

"It's a cinch, Phil! By Ned! I'm going to see more of it before night, or bust a trace!"

"Ugh!" shuddered Nan. "You can't mean that you want to go back there, do you?"

"Why not? We're strangers round here and when we find something curious yet unknown, that scares off the folks that have lived by it for years, it's only natural to get our curiosity up to a point that we've just _got_ to do something."

The car sped on through the woods, then past open fields and soon they came up to a rather battered farmhouse with sundry outbuildings near it and stacks of hay which had been cut evidently from the neighboring marshes that jutted in and out of the timbered lands. At the gate Nan sprang down, and at the same time out came the farmer, followed by the same boy they had before seen on the hay-load.

Being invited inside, the boys entered the sitting-room, where two other men, garbed more like town dwellers, were seated. The farmer greeted the boys warmly, recalling to them their kindly behavior along the side-hill road a day or so before. At the same time the two men got up to leave, giving the farmer a modest price for their dinners and remarking that they might be back again shortly.

"Keep a bright lookout, Mr. Feeney. No knowing what you might run up against," one said and they were gone. After this the boys had a sociable chat with Feeney, who pressed them to stay all night.

"Shan't cost you a cent, boys, for you were good to us when Jack and Jill might have balked and dumped us over that bluff."

"Well, it is possible we may come back. But in the meantime we want to have a look round at the timber."

"Int'rested in timber, are ye? How'd ye come to meet up with Nan?"

The incidents connected with the Jersey bull were briefly related, Nan emphasizing how Phil had risked himself in her behalf and that they had kindly brought her home. This too pleased Feeney, who insisted more than before that they should stop with him while they were in the neighborhood.

"This is, in the main, a thick settled country, lads," said Feeney. "But right about here for a few miles there's hardly anybody but us really livin' here."

"It may be that we will take up your offer," remarked Phil. "But you must not let us stop here unless we pay you a fair price. If those men come back you'll hardly have room for more."

"Don't worry about that. We'll make room. Them men, I don't know what they be up to. They won't be back from Midlandville for a day or two, I guess."

With no definite promise to return the boys left, going along the road they had come with Nan, and on the way Phil busied himself in studying the pencilled map on the old envelope which had been given to Paul by Coster.

There was a square in the center marked "Tavern," doubtless the place the boys had seen that day through the thick timber growth. A straight line ran off in one direction to a point marked on the border of the map "south," followed by the note: "From Tavern half a mile." Close to this was a rude skeleton, with a black spot close by marked "treasure rock." The skeleton of a tree had a huge split through the trunk, in which were the words "big split hemlock."

On the opposite edge of the map marked "north" was added "to railroad, half-mile." East and west through the center, lengthwise of the envelope, ran an irregular line close by the tavern, which was indicated by the word "highway."

The whole thing was simple and seemingly plain, and all they apparently had to do was to take a due south course from this building shown as the ghost tavern, for half a mile. Right near where they had paused when Nan was showing glimpses of the old building, they turned the car into a grove of young second-growth spruces and halted. They were now hidden from view from the road, that was clear.

"Can we leave this car here safely?" queried Billy dubiously.

"I doubt if it is safe," replied Dave, naturally cautious where the Big Six was concerned. "Billy, let's you and me flip a nickel to see who stays with the car. I ain't anxious to go that half mile; I _am_ anxious to know the car'll be here when we come back."

After some discussion there was a toss up and Dave won. Billy looked vexed.

"Aw, what's the use of anyone staying?" he growled. "The car's safe enough."

"What is the use of running risks?" rebuked Phil. "After what we went through back at Griffin we must take no more chances."

Worth resigned himself to the inevitable, but it was evident that he would much rather have gone with the others.

As the three boys disappeared Billy blinked a while, finally stretching out in the tonneau, pulling over himself Paul's big rug and--though he did not mean to--he soon fell asleep. The woods were unusually quiet; no wind, much shade, with a soothing buzz and hum of insects that was in itself conducive to drowsiness.

The other three, not deeming it necessary to actually visit the old tavern just then, took the compass with which Paul had provided himself and struck out due south.

"How will we know when we have gone half a mile?" suddenly questioned Paul. "It's too thick with underbrush to pace off so many yards. Say, how many yards in half a mile? Anyone know?"

"Seventeen-sixty in a mile," said Dave, drawing from his pocket one of those circular shielded tape measures. "Figure it out for yourselves."

"Eight hundred and eighty, you gander!" This from Paul, looking after Phil, who had gone on ahead with the compass. "Gimme hold of one end! How long is the thing, anyhow?"

Stretched out, it seemed that the tape was ten yards long. With Paul linking a finger in the ring and Dave holding the circular shield, the boys began their march after Phil. Paul, breaking a twig when he came to a stopping place, would forge on again with Dave carefully following, keeping the line taut until Paul, stumbling, jerked the reel from Dave's hand and thereby created some confusion. Both had been keeping count of each ten yards, but there was a difference of one length of the tape between.

"Aw--why didn't you hold to your end? I tell you my count is right!"

"No, it ain't," was MacLester's reply. "What I know, I _know!_"

This difficulty finally adjusted, the pair resumed their march in Phil's wake, who had taken particular pains to leave a trail of broken branches so that the rest could follow. Going thus, they diligently but slowly kept on until Dave suddenly looked up, shouting:

"Eighty-eight lengths! We're there--eight hundred and eighty yards. Hullo! What's become of Phil?"

No Phil was in sight.