“A ghost!” Pete cried. “Run, Bob!”

Stumbling over each other, they ran pell-mell from the old saloon. The invisible crowd roared behind them, and the piano still played. Out on the hot street they ran madly towards the mine.

Inside the mine, the long tunnel was lighted! They ran on down the sloping shaft, and saw Jupiter and Cluny ahead.

“Jupe! A ghost attacked —!” Pete began, and stopped.

Jupiter and Cluny were pale and shaking and staring ahead down the dim mine shaft. Bob and Pete became aware of noises — the sound of water dripping, of machinery clanking, and then wild, lost insane laughter. A shot exploded in the mine, seemed to zing past the boys, and reverberated on up the tunnel.

“Wha-what… is it, Jupe?” Bob stammered.

Jupiter swallowed hard. “I… I don’t know. We came in here, and… and… he shot at us! He —”

Pete and Bob saw him!

Not more than twenty feet ahead in the dim tunnel, he stood aiming an old rifle at them — a grizzled, bearded miner in a red wool shirt and buckskin trousers and high leather boots!

“We know how to deal with claim-jumpers!” the apparition said in an echoing voice.

Laughing nastily, the dim shape raised the rifle and pulled the trigger!

The shot exploded straight at the boys! And another shot! At point-blank range!

Ashen-faced, Pete stood in the shaft with his eyes shut.

“Am… am I… hit?” he wailed.

The tall investigator opened his eyes and looked at the others. They were all pale.

“He missed us!” Bob cried.

Cluny stammered, “He… he’s just scaring us, fellows!”

“But what does he —?” Pete began.

The bearded apparition laughed wildly again, raised the old rifle once more, and called out nastily, “We know how to deal with claim-jumpers!”

And pulled the trigger again!

Two shots exploded once more at point-blank range.

“Missed us again!” Cluny cried. The red-headed boy glared at the old miner and took a step forward. “What do you want from —?”

“Wait, Cluny!” Jupiter said suddenly, staring at the crazy old miner. “Everyone watch!”

They watched the old miner warily. The noises of water and machinery still sounded through the mine. After a long minute, there was a faint click and whir, and the old miner laughed his wild laugh. His rifle rose!

“We know how to deal with claim-jumpers!” he boomed, pulling the trigger. Two more shots rang out — and missed!

“It’s a fake!” Jupiter cried, and began to laugh. “It’s a mechanical dummy, men! With a recording in it. The noises are just some kind of sound track.”

Bob suddenly groaned. “Am I dumb! I remember now! I read about it in the newspaper, fellows. They’re restoring Powder Gulch and making it into a tourist attraction! Rides, and ghosts, and western shows. That’s why the town’s locked up.”

“Of course,” Jupiter said glumly. “I read that, too. Some time ago.”

Pete walked up to the old miner and touched the face. “It’s moulded plastic. Boy, it sure looks real. I guess our ghost in the saloon was a fake, too. They sure do some job on dummies these days.”

“They do,” Jupiter agreed, “but we have other matters to think about. Has anyone seen anything that could be a clue to Angus Gunn’s plans?”

Bob told him about the ledger in the general store, and the food old Angus had bought for a lot of men.

“Or if not many men, a long job of building something,” Jupiter reasoned. “So we know that whatever Angus built for a surprise for Laura was a pretty big job. What we don’t know yet is what it was, or where he built it.” He opened the thin journal and frowned at it. “There just isn’t enough in the entry for October 29 to help.”

“We never did look for messages in the saloon,” Pete said.

“All right, we’ll go back there next,” Jupiter said, closing the journal. “Then we’ll try the jail — the sheriff back then might have left some records — and look for a newspaper office.”

They started back out of the old mine. Pete and Bob noticed details they’d missed on the way in — refurbished mining carts, some old tools, and another dummy — a black-bearded miner with a pick in his hands.

Pete grinned. “Boy, those plastic dummies are real-looking. That one with the pick looks like —”

The black-bearded miner dropped the pickaxe, jumped at Jupiter, grabbed the journal, and ran out of the mine shaft!

“Java Jim!” Bob gasped.

The boys stood paralysed by the shock of the dummy leaping to life. Then Jupiter recovered.

“He got the journal! After him!”

They pounded along the dimly lit mine shaft and out into the hot afternoon sun.

“There he goes!” Cluny cried.

The short sailor was far down the main street, running hard.

“Stop, you thief!” Pete yelled.

“He’s getting away!” Cluny shouted. “Stop, robber!”

Java Jim glanced back with a laugh and ran past the saloon — just as a shadowy figure in black appeared in the doorway. A figure with a big, black pistol in each hand!

“It’s our ghost!” Pete gulped.

Java Jim saw the menacing, wraithlike figure in the saloon doorway. With a cry, the bearded sailor veered away from the saloon — and fell sprawling over an old horse trough. The journal flew from his hand. He scrambled up, then stumbled again. “He’s a thief!” Pete yelled. “Grab him!”

The “ghost” looked towards the boys, and then started down the steps of the wooden sidewalk towards Java Jim. His pistols caught the sunlight. Java Jim didn’t wait. He turned and ran off behind the buildings to the fence, scrambled over, and vanished into the thick, dry undergrowth along the creek bed.

The boys ran up to the “ghost.” Outside in the light, he was just a man dressed in black western clothes. Jupiter picked up the thin journal where Java Jim had dropped it.

“You boys shouldn’t be in here,” the “ghost” said. “You better tell me what this is all about, and give me that book if it belongs to this town.”

“It doesn’t, sir,” Jupiter said. “We’re sorry we climbed the fence, but we didn’t know anyone was here, and we had to investigate.” He explained that they were trying to discover Angus Gunn’s business in Powder Gulch. “You certainly scared us with your tricks!”

The “ghost” grinned. “I decided to practise our special effects on you. I’m the caretaker here.” He rubbed his jaw. “Angus Gunn, eh — Maybe I can help. I’ve got all the old records in my office. If your Angus Gunn did anything here, I’ll find it.”

They went through the saloon into a small office. The caretaker opened a filing cabinet. “All the names in the old records have been indexed and cross-referenced, boys. Part of the work of the restoration. Let’s see what we have for Gunn.”

He read a file and shook his head. “Just two references. The purchase you saw in the general store, and a two-line notice in the Gulch newspaper for 1872 offering a short job for miners. That’s all.”

“A dead end,” Pete groaned. “We —”

They heard a voice yelling outside. “Boys!.. Cluny Gunn!.. You boys…!”

“It’s Rory!” Cluny said.

They hurried through the saloon. Rory McNab stood out in the street with the man Bob had talked to at the Historical Society — Professor Shay. The round-faced little professor hurried up to the boys.

“Boys! You gave us quite a turn! I bumped into Mr. McNab outside the gates. He told me you were supposed to be here, and then we found your bikes. We were afraid something had happened to —”

“Trespassing!” Rory snapped. “I knew ye’d get into trouble. That’s why I came after — to see ye didna’ hurt yersels!”

“No harm done, Mr. McNab,” the caretaker said. “Maybe Professor Shay would be interested in the boys’ comments on our special effects. The professor is our historical adviser, boys. The Society is helping with the restoration.”