Four were in the party and they all
carried bulky loads on their backs and grunted with pleasure and
relief as they entered the entrance in the wall. When the last man had
disappeared and the noise of their passing had died out, Johnny's rope
sailed up and out, and the ghost swayed violently and then began to sag
in an unaccountable manner towards the trail as the owner of the rope
hitched its free end around a spur of rock and made it fast. Then he
feverishly scrambled down the steep path to join his friends.
Hopalong and Red, wriggling on their stomachs towards the crack in the
wall, paused in amazement and stared across the canyon; and then the
former chuckled and whispered something in his companion's ear. "That
was why he lugged his rope along! He's just idiot enough to want
a souveneer an' plaything at the risk of losing the game. Come
on!--they'll tumble to what's up an' get away if we don't hustle."
When the two punchers cautiously and noiselessly entered the crack
and felt their way along its rock walls they heard fluent swearing in
Spanish by the man who worked the ghost, and who could not understand
its sudden ambition to take root. It was made painfully clear to him
a moment later when a pair of brawny hands reached out of the darkness
behind him and encircled his throat a hand's width below his gleaming
cigarette.
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