The Mystery at Bob-White Cave

Uncle Andrew said. “I’ll have a lot to say later about this idea of cave exploration— I assure you. Now that we’ve finished our dinner, let’s go into the other room. Mrs. Moore, too. Leave the dishes where they are. The young people will help after a while.”
    Uncle Andrew sat in his armchair in front of the fireplace and motioned to Trixie to sit on the ottoman at his feet.
    “This is one of the things that bothers me,” he said. “Speaking of ghost fish... I’d like to know first what ghost fired the shot that killed that wildcat.” Uncle Andrew brushed his hand lovingly over Trixie’s curls.
    “We looked everywhere we could, and there wasn’t a sign of him,” Brian said. “Whoever got that big cat was a dead shot; that much we know for sure!”
    Mrs. Moore sat quietly in her chair, twisting her hands in her lap. No one spoke for a while. Then she asked timidly, “Mr. Belden, do you believe in haunts?”
    “Ghosts, you mean?” Uncle Andrew asked. He took his pipe from his mouth and smiled. “No, Mrs. Moore, I don’t. There isn’t any such thing as a ghost—though it does look as if a ghost saved my Trixie’s life today, doesn’t it?”
    “I think so. Don’t say you don’t believe in them, Mr. Belden. They don’t like that.” Mrs. Moore’s voice was very serious.
    “No, sir.” Linnie spoke up. “There are plenty of ghosts in the Ozarks. We know, don’t we, Mama?”
    “Yes,” Mrs. Moore answered, then was silent.
    “Ghosts?” Trixie asked, all ears. “Tell us about some of them. Maybe that was a ghost today,” she added, my guardian ghost.”
    “I think it could have been,” Mrs. Moore said.
    “Ghosts don’t like being denied. They really haunt our mountains. Anyone will tell you that. Right down the hollow from here, Mrs. Massey lived. Jake Massey’s second wife she was, and she was mean to his children. She beat them. She didn’t feed them right. One day— she told this herself—she was alone in the cabin, and a hard blow knocked her flat on the ground. Then she heard a voice say, ‘Be good to those children!’ She showed the red mark the ghost’s hand made on her face. It changed her into a better mother.”
    “Hmmm,” Uncle Andrew said.
    “Tell us more!” Honey urged.
    “Go on, please!” Trixie begged.
    “I know of so many ghosts around here, I wouldn’t know where to stop,” Mrs. Moore said. “There’s an old cabin not far from here on the trail to White Hole Springs. Linnie will point it out to you. The people who once lived there murdered a stranger who stopped for a night’s lodging. They stole the few dollars he had and buried his body out in the cow lot. He came back every night to haunt them. His ghost drove them out of these parts. No one will go near the cabin. If they did, they’d still hear him moaning.”
    “Didn’t anyone ever have nerve enough to stay there?” Mart asked. “I would. I’d like to see a ghost.”
    “No one I know of ever stayed in that cabin, and you’d not stay long, either, if you heard that man moaning, Mart. Another place, though, an old man was murdered for his money. His ghost came back there, too, and people were afraid to stay in the cabin. One night a man who didn’t know about the ghost was traveling through, and he took shelter there overnight. Toward morning, he woke up and saw the ghost sitting by his bed. ‘Follow me,’ the ghost said, ‘and I’ll show you where they buried my money.’
    “They went outside, and the ghost pulled some boards away from the cellar wall. The money was there, wrapped in some old rags. ‘Give it to the poor,’ said the ghost. But the man was greedy. He wanted the money for himself and said so. He told the whole story to one of the Cardway boys who passed the cabin right afterward. Anyway, he was going to town to put it in the bank, when the mule he was riding stumbled as he was crossing Ghost River, and the man was drowned. That’s where the river got its name. They never found his body or the money.”
    “Jeepers, Mrs. Moore, you really do know about ghosts, don’t you?” Trixie said, shivering.
    “I do. I know many a story, and they’re all true. The thing that bothers me all my days is that I’ve never had a chance to talk to the spirit of my husband—to find out how he was killed. There! I’d better get the dishes done. Do you want to help me, Linnie? No, sit still, the rest of you. Mr. Belden wants to talk to you about the dangers of caves. At