“Very well, we’ll try that scheme.”

Accordingly, after they had left the suspicious miner the two proceeded to a small milling town, not far from Indian Ridge.  There they engaged rooms for the night at the only hotel, and, after supper they sat around the combined dance hall and gambling place.

There were wild, rough scenes, which were distasteful to Tom, and to Mr. Jenks, but they felt that this was their only chance to get on the right trail, and so they stayed.  As strangers in a western mining settlement they were made roughly welcome, and in response to their inquiries about the country, they were told many tales, some of which were evidently gotten up for the benefit of the “tenderfeet.”

“Is there a place around here called Phantom Mountain?” asked Tom, at length, as quietly as he could.

“Never heard of it, stranger,” replied a miner who had done most of the talking.  “I never heard of it, and what Bill Slatterly don’t know ain’t worth knowin’.  I’m Bill Slatterly,” he added, lest there be some doubt on that score.

“Isn’t there some sort of a landmark around here shaped like a great stone head?” went on Tom, after some unimportant questions.  “Seems to me I’ve heard of that.”

“Nary a one,” answered Mr. Slatterly.  “No stone heads, and no Phantom Mountains—­nary a one.

“Who says there ain’t no Phantom Mountains?” demanded an elderly miner, who had been dozing in one corner of the room, but who was awakened by Slatterly’s loud voice.  “Who says so?”

“I do,” answered the one who claimed to know everything.

“Then you’re wrong!” Tom’s heart commenced beating faster than usual.

“Do you mean to say you’ve seen Phantom Mountain, Jed Nugg?” demanded Slatterly.

“No, I ain’t exactly seen it, an’ I don’t want to, but there is such a place, about sixty mile from here.  Folks says it’s haunted, and them sort of places I steer clear from.”

“Can you tell me about it?” asked Mr. Jenks, eagerly.  “I am interested in such things.”

“I can’t tell you much about it,” was the reply, “and I wouldn’t git too interested, if I was you.  It might not be healthy.  All I know is that one time my partner and I were in hard luck.  We got grub-staked, and went out prospectin’.  We strayed into a wild part of the country about sixty mile from here, and one night we camped on a mountain—­a wild, desolate place it was too.”

The miner stopped, and began leisurely filling his pipe.

“Well?” asked Tom, trying not to let his voice sound too eager.

“Well, that was Phantom Mountain.”

The miner seemed to have finished his story.

“Is that all?” asked Mr. Jenks.  “How did you know it was Phantom Mountain?”

“’Cause we seen the ghost—­my partner and I—­that’s why!” exclaimed the man, puffing on his pipe.  “As I said, we was campin’ there, and ‘long about midnight we seen somethin’ tall and white, and all shimmerin’, with a sort of yellow fire, slidin’ down the side of the mountain It made straight for our camp.”