“‘Say,’ said one of them, ’how about that white board up there in the rafters?  About right, huh?’

“We pulled it down, and it was just the size.  They were tickled to get it, for they hated to drive twelve miles to town through snowdrifts over their heads.

“‘That’s the big white board that Baldy saw,’ said Don suddenly.  Yes, by George!  We sent for Baldy that night to make sure, and it was just what he had seen, and the very men that came for the board.  Baldy was mighty glad he wasn’t the corpse.”

“Mercy,” said Carol, twitching her shoulders.  “Are you sure it is true?”

“Gospel truth.  I was right there.  I took down the board.”

“I know one that beats that,” said the Scotchman promptly.  “They have a sayin’ over in my country, that if you have a dream, or a vision, of men comin’ toward you carryin’ a coffin, you will be in a coffin inside of three days.  One night a neighbor of mine, next farm, was comin’ home late, piped as usual, and as he came zigzaggin’ down a dark lane, he looked up suddenly and saw four men marchin’ solemnly toward him, carryin’ a coffin.  McDougall clutched his head.  ‘God help me,’ he cried.  ‘It is the vision.’  Then he turned in his tracks and shot over a hedge and up the bank, screamin’ like mad.  The spirits carryin’ the coffin yelled at him and, droppin’ the coffin, started up the hill after him.  But McDougall only yelled louder and ran faster, and finally they lost him in the hills.  So they went back.  They were not spirits at all, and it was a real coffin.  A woman had died, and they were takin’ her in to town ready for the funeral next day.  But the next day we found McDougall lyin’ face down on the grass ten miles away, stone dead.”

The girls shivered, and Carol shuffled her chair closer to David’s bed.

“Ran himself to death?” suggested David.

“Well, he died,” said the Scotchman.

“Is it true?” asked Carol, glancing fearfully through the screen of the porch into the black shadows on the mesa.

“Absolutely true,” declared the Scotchman.  “I was in the searchin’ party that found him.”

“I—­I don’t believe in spirits,—­I mean haunting spirits,” said Carol, stiffening her courage and her backbone by a strong effort.

“How about the ghosts that drove the men out into the graveyards in the Bible and made them cut up all kinds of funny capers, and finally haunted the pigs and drove ’em into the lake?” said Barrows slyly.

“They were not ghosts,” protested Carol quickly.  “Just evil spirits.  They got drowned, you know,—­ghosts don’t drown.”

“It does not say they got drowned,” contradicted Barrows.  “My Bible does not say it.  The pigs got drowned.  And that is what ghosts are,—­evil spirits, very evil.  They were too slick to get drowned themselves; they just chased the pigs in and then went off haunting somebody else.”