William Johnston - Max Smart and the Ghastly Ghost Affair

“Into that dark? Not me. I’m going to stay back here with the lantern-even if it isn’t real.”

“What I was getting at is, I wonder if we could borrow your lantern?”

“You don’t know any more about ghosts than you do about iron horses,” the old prospector replied. “How can I loan you the borrow of my lantern if it isn’t real? Oh, I could loan you the borrow of it, but how would you carry it? Wait a few days, though. Then, you’ll be a ghost, too, and you won’t have any trouble at all carrying it.”

“By then, I won’t need it,” Max said.

“Could you do this?” 99 said to the old prospector. “Could you guide us? We can see fine as long as you’re around with the lantern.”

“Guide you?” the old prospector said. “I’d be a fool to do that. Why should I guide you to that long lost gold when I can’t even find it myself? I might be dumb enough to strike a light around a gas leak, but I’m not so dumb as to guide a couple of complete strangers to a place I don’t even know where it is myself. Try me again in a couple days-after we know each other a little better.”

“You still don’t understand!” 99 said woefully. “Honest, we’re not after your gold. All we want is that Coolidge-head penny.”

“You’re wasting your time. I been in every tunnel in this mine-almost-and not once have I ever seen a Coolidge-head penny.”

“We know that,” Max said. “We only lost it a couple days ago.”

“Please!” 99 begged.

“Welllllllll. .” the old prospector said. “It’ll take a little while for you to turn to ghosts. I suppose, just to kill a little time-if you’ll pardon the expression-I could show you around the mine. You’ll be interested in seeing where you’ll be living-though, that’s not exactly the word for it-the rest of your life-though, that’s not the word for it, either.” He motioned. “Come on.” Then, followed by Madame DuBarry and Max and 99, he led the way deeper into the mine. “Now, on your right,” he said, “you’ll see a long scratch along the wall about belt buckle high. There’s a very interesting story that goes with that scratch. It seems that one day-”

“You can just skip the commentary that goes along with the tour,” Max said. “We’ll be looking for the Coolidge-head penny, and we don’t want to be distracted.”

“Oh, there’s no commentary,” the old prospector said. “I just want you to hear about that scratch on the wall about belt buckle high. It’s an interesting story, and you’d be after me to tell it to you sooner or later. This way, if I tell it to you now, you won’t have to ask later. It seems there was this nosy old prospector who came wandering in here one day, looking for a long lost gold mine, more than likely, and what did he run into but the ghost of the previous old prospector-him and his mule and his lantern. Well, this trespassin’ old prospector got so all-fired scared that he didn’t even take time to turn around and run. No, sir. He only took time to half-turn. And that put him facing the wall. And that’s how he run out, too-facing the wall. That’s how come that wall’s got that long scratch on it belt-buckle high. It was made by that old prospector’s belt buckle. Now, coming up on the left here, you’ll see an entrance to another tunnel. The history of the mine would not be complete without the telling of the story connected with this here tunnel. It has to do with a love story. I recall the incident as clear as if it’d only happened maybe twenty or thirty years go. There was this rich old man that lived in a big white house on the hill. He went by the initials of A. S. He was the fella in the story. The girl in the story was a woman that went by the initials of M. M. Well-”

“Her initials were M. W.,” Max corrected.

“Yeah, that’s right,” the old prospector nodded. “I have a little trouble remembering all the details, it happened so long ago. Be that as it may, though, this couple, this crazy old man that had his mind set on inventin’ the railroad steam engine, and this beautiful young lady that lived in the hovel in the valley, they-” He halted and looked questioningly at Max. “You know this story, do you?” he said.

“No. But, frankly-”

“If you don’t know it, how come you know it’s about Albert Senagalese and Marybelle Wastehanger?”

“I don’t,” Max replied. “I thought it was about Abe Shuster and Mable Wamsutter.”

“It is,” the old prospector said. “You don’t think I’d use their right names, though, do you? We don’t mention them around here any more-not since the tragedy.”

“That’s understandable, I suppose,” Max said. He pointed ahead. “That tunnel up there,” he said, “have you ever explored in there? If my calculations are correct, that’s the direction we should go to get to the spot under the saloon.”

“The saloon is the other way,” the old prospector said.

Max pointed in the opposite direction. “That way?”

The old prospector shook his head. “Nope-the other way.”

Max pointed forward. “ That way, you mean, then?”

“Keep trying,” the old prospector said.

“The only other way is the way we just came,” Max pointed out.

“Right. You go back to the entrance and, by super-human strength, you move all them big rocks out of the way, then you walk back to town and just on the other side of the bakery you’ll find-”

“Max, he’s stalling!” 99 said. “He has no intention of trying to help us.”

Max peered at the old prospector challengingly. “For your information,” he informed him, “I happen to think you’re trying to stall us. Furthermore, I’m beginning to suspect that you have no intention of trying to help us.”

The old man sighed. “You seen through me like a brick wall,” he said. “I confess-you’re right. The truth is, it’s been so long since I had anything like human company that I was just stringing you along to keep you from leaving. But, I can see it won’t work any more. Why, a couple of young, handsome folks like you can’t be expected to stand around in a dark and dank old mine and listen to an old prospector like myself run off at the memory for very long. You got things to do. You got corn to plant. You got ears to shuck. You got grain to grind. You got flour to bag. You got cakes to bake. You got icing to mix. You got coffee to brew. You got a sugar bowl to get down off the cupboard shelf. You got a cow to milk. You got-”

“A cow to milk?” Max broke in.

“Oh. . you want that coffee black? I thought you’d take cream in it. But, in that case, you got-”

“Hold it!” Max broke in again. “Look, old prospector, we’ve wasted enough time. Unless you cooperate, I’m afraid I’m going to have to get nasty.”

The old man glared at him. “You threatening me, boy?”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” Max said threateningly. “Either you cooperate, or I’m going to stop believing in you. Do you have any idea what happens to ghosts when people stop believing in them?”

The old prospector snapped to attention. “At your service, sir! Anything you want, sir! Where to, sir!”

With the old prospector and his mule guiding them, Max and 99 explored tunnel after tunnel. They found a number of things. They found all the instruments of a brass band that had marched into a tunnel and had been unable to get out because it had never learned to march backwards. They found the remains of a newsreel photographer who had entered a tunnel to film the remains of a newsreel photographer who had been trapped in the tunnel earlier. They found a pile of old and young bones and near them, scratched on the wall, the message: “All things considered, A.S. is relatively fond of M.W., and vice versa.” But they did not find the Coolidge-head penny.