"Well, I wanted to scare Gene," she confessed. "I did, too. I
just know he's a cowardy-cat, because he's always trying to scare
ME. It's Gene's fault--he told me the grove is haunted. He said
a long time ago, before Uncle Hart settled here, a lot of Indians
waylaid a wagon-train here and killed a girl, and he says that
when the moon is just past the full, something white walks
through the grove and wails like a lost soul in torment. He says
sometimes it comes and moans at the corner of the house where my
room is. I just know he was going to do it himself; but I guess
he forgot. So I thought I'd see if he believed his own yarns. I
was going to do it every night till I scared him into sleeping in
the house. I had a perfectly lovely place to disappear into,
where he couldn't trace me if he took to hunting around--only he
wouldn't dare." She pulled down her sleeve very carefully, and
then, just as carefully, she pushed it up again, and took another
look.
"My best friend TOLD me I'd get shot if I came to Idaho," she
reminded herself, with a melancholy satisfaction.
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