“And the ghost isn’t likely to find us here,” added Mr. Damon.  “Where are you going, Mr. Parker?” he asked, as he saw the scientist tramping a little way up the side of the mountain.

“I am going to make some observations,” was the answer, and no one paid any more attention to him for some time.  Supper was nearly ready when Mr. Parker returned.  His face wore a rather serious air, and Mr. Damon, noting it, asked laughingly: 

“Well, did you discover any volcanoes, that may erupt during the night, and scare us to death?”

“No,” replied Mr. Parker, calmly, “but there is every indication that we will soon have a terrific electrical storm.  From a high peak I caught a glimpse of one working this way across the mountains.”

“Then we’d better fasten the tent well down,” called Tom.  “We don’t want it to blow away.”

“There will not be much danger from wind,” was Mr. Parker’s opinion.

“From what then?” asked Mr. Jenks.

“From the discharges of lightning among these mountain peaks, which contain so much iron ore.  We will be in grave danger.”

The fact that the scientist had not always made correct predictions was not now considered by his hearers, and Tom and the two men gazed at Mr. Parker in some alarm.

“Is there anything we can do to avoid it?” asked Mr. Jenks.

“The only thing to do would be to leave the mountain,” was the answer, “and, as the iron ore extends for miles, we can not get out of the danger zone before the storm will reach us.  It will be here in less than half an hour.”

“Then we’d better have supper,” remarked Tom, practically, “and get ready for it.  Perhaps it may not be as bad as Mr. Parker fears.”

“It will be bad enough,” declared the gloomy scientist, and he seemed to find pleasure in his announcement.

The meal was soon over, and Tom busied himself in looking to the guy ropes of the tent, for he feared lest there might be wind with the storm.  That it was coming was evident, for now low mutterings of thunder could be heard off toward the west.

Black clouds rapidly obscured the heavens, and the sound of thunder increased.  Fitful flashes of lightning could be seen forking across the sky in jagged chains of purple light.

“It’s going to be a heavy storm,” Tom admitted to himself.  “I hope lightning doesn’t strike around here.”

The storm came on rapidly, but there was a curious quietness in the air that was more alarming than if a wind had blown.  The campfire burned steadily, and there was a certain oppressiveness in the atmosphere.

It was now quite dark, save when the fitful lightning flashes came, and they illuminated the scene brilliantly for a few seconds.  Then, by contrast, it was blacker than ever.

Suddenly, as Tom was gazing up toward the peak of Phantom Mountain, he saw something that caused him to cry out in alarm.  He pointed upward, and whispered hoarsely: