“That will be all the better,” said George. “The darker the night the better the spooks behave. They say it’s almost impossible to find any there on a moonlight night.” 

 “I hope we’ll find some to-night,” laughed John, but his voice somehow seemed to belie his confidence. 

 At all events there was not much conversation in the automobile as it sped swiftly down the road. 

 George, who was driving, occasionally referred to the various stories he had heard of the deeds in the Meeker House, but his efforts did not meet with any marked response until he said, “I have heard that Claudius Smith sometimes shows up in the old house.” 

 “Who’s he?” 

 “He was a Cowboy. He lived more than one hundred and twenty-five years ago. You have got to speak of him as one who ‘was’ and not ‘is’.” 

 “What makes him come back to the old house?” 

 “It was one of his favorite places, I’m told.” 

 “What was he?” 

 “I told you he was a Cowboy. He got to acting so badly that at last all the farmers and their boys that could be spared from the army got together and chased him clear down on Long Island.” 

 “Did they get him?” inquired Fred. 

 “They did. They brought him back and took him to Goshen, where they hanged him in the old courtyard.” 

 “I shouldn’t think he would come back here to the Meeker House,” suggested Grant. “I should think his ghost would ‘hang’ around the court house up at Goshen.” 

 “I can’t tell you about that,” said George, “but it may be that he follows the road he used to travel. That may be the reason why part of the time he’s here at the old Meeker House.” 

 “He must have been a great boy,” suggested Fred. 

 “He certainly was, and he wasn’t the only one. I have heard my father tell about a man here in Jersey named Fagan. He was one of the Cowboys that they used to call the Pine Robbers.” 

 “Who were they?” inquired John. 

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