True,
Johnny was not a Greaser; but even ghosts might make mistakes once in a
while.
Hopalong laughed, dismissing the subject from his mind as being beneath
further comment. "Well, we won't argue--I'm too tired. An' I'm sorry you
got that eye, Dent."
"Oh, that's all right," hastily assured the store-keeper, smiling
faintly. "I was just spoiling for a fight, an' now I've had it. Feels
sort of good. Yes, first thing in the morning--breakfast'll be ready
soon as you are. Good-night."
But the proprietor couldn't sleep. Finally he arose and tiptoed into
the room where Johnny lay wrapped in the sleep of the exhausted. After
cautious and critical inspection, which was made hard because of his
damaged eye, he tiptoed back to his bunk, shaking his head slowly. "He
wasn't drunk," he muttered. "He saw that ghost all right; an' I'll bet
everything I've got on it!"
At daybreak three quarrelling punchers rode homeward and after a
monotonous journey arrived at the bunk house and reported. It took
them two nights adequately to describe their experiences to an envious
audience. The morning after the telling of the ghost story things began
to happen. Red starting it by erecting a sign.
NOTISE--NO GHOSTS ALOWED
An exuberant handful of the outfit watched him drive the last nail and
step back to admire his work, and the running fire of comment covered
all degrees of humor, and promised much hilarity in the future at the
expense of the only man on the Bar-20 who had seen a ghost.
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