CHAPTER XIV.
THE MYSTERIOUS VOICES OF THE NIGHT "Wow! Wow-ow-ow-oo-whoo-oo-oo!" It would be impossible to convey the weird sound in words.
Six boys and a whiner were asleep in their bunks in the log cabin when that awesome sound first smote the air.
Outside the wind had nearly died down.

Dick Prescott, the first to waken, felt a cold chill creep down his spine.
"Wow-ow-ow-ow-ow! Whoo-oo-oo-oo-oo!" "Wh-wh-what is it ?" gasped Dan Dalzell, sitting up in his bunk.
"I don't know," Dick admitted.
Again came the fearsome sound, now louder than ever.

Dave Darrin and Tom Reade were now awake and startled.
"What on earth can it be ?" demanded Tom.
"It must be Fred Ripley's ghost party," suggested Greg.
"Bosh! Fred Ripley would have to be a real ghost before he could get over the deep snow in the woods," Dick retorted.
Once more came the sound, more piercing than ever.

Dick leaped from his bunk and began to dress.

Dave and Greg followed suit.
"We'll do our best to find out what it is, fellows," Dick promised them.
Hen Dutcher was chattering and half sobbing.
"If I--I ever g-g-get out of this alive," he chattered, "I'll never stick around y-y-y-you fellows again.