Ghost Town by Joan Lowery Nixon Page B

Bodie,” Mike said quickly. He couldn't tell anybody about Jack's visit. “I'm going to—to look at some of the buildings now,” he said. “Thanks for the information.”
    “Check that large bulletin board near the door,” Susan suggested. “Sometimes the kids who write to us include what they've learned in class about our historical characters. I don't remember anything written about Rough and Tumble Jack, but it wouldn't hurt to check.”
    Mike thanked Susan and walked to the board to have a look. Most of the postings were letters from kids who'd visited on school tours. Some wrote about the schoolhouse and the Boot Hill cemetery. Some had illustrated their letters with drawings, and a few had taped things to the letters: wildflowers, a horse made out of Popsicle sticks, a row of tiny cardboard tombstones.
    Suddenly Mike saw the words “Bad Men from Bodie,” and he bent to read the letter. There was another letter tacked nearby. Both writers told about the rush of bad guys to Bodie to rob the stagecoaches carrying gold from Bodie to Aurora; the claim jumpers, who stole each other's mining property; andthe gunslingers wanted by the law. Neither of the letters mentioned Rough and Tumble Jack, who didn't seem to be nearly as famous—or infamous—as he himself thought.
    Mike left the center and strolled down the street, past a few scattered groups of visitors. Looking for somewhere to hang out, Mike turned on King Street and walked into a livery stable.
    “There you be,” a deep voice growled.
    Far back in the shadows Mike saw Jack sitting on a bale of hay. Jack pushed his grimy hat from his forehead and held up his mangled left hand. “I want my bone,” he said. “You wouldn't deny me the right to be all in one piece, would you?”
    Mike pulled the bone from his pocket and held it out. “Here it is. You can have it. Right now.”
    “Just what am I supposed to do with it?”
    “Well, you said—”
    “
You
have to bury it. I can't.”
    “Okay,” Mike said. He sighed with relief. All he had to do was put the bone back into the hole where he'd found it and cover it with dirt.
    “It has to be buried in the cemetery,” Jack said.
    “Well… okay.” “With the rest of my body.”
    Mike gasped. “How am I going to do that?”
    “Simple,” Jack said. “You dig up my coffin, put my finger bone in with the rest of my bones, and bury the coffin again.”
    “I can't,” Mike said.
    Jack sniffed and looked down his nose. “When I was a lad, I was taught never to say ‘can't.' ”
    “Be reasonable,” Mike said. “I'm just a kid. How am I going to dig up your coffin?”
    “With a shovel.”
    Mike shook his head and took a step back. “No way,” he said.
    Jack's face grew dark. He scowled. He glowered. “I forgot to say what I should have said—you bury it right…or else.”
    Mike slowly took another step back. “Or else what?”
    Now Jack grinned wickedly. “You don't want to find out.”
    Mike backed to the edge of the stable door; it pressed against his back. “I'll think about it,” he shouted, and dashed out of the stables.
    He found his father in the graveyard, still copying information from the tombstones. Dr. Nelson looked up at Mike in surprise, as if he wondered for a moment just who Mike was and what he was doing there.
    He seemed suddenly to remember, and his eyes lit up with pleasure. “Did you find the answers to your questions, son?” he asked.
    “Yes, but now I have another question that you can answer,” Mike said. “How do you get somebody who's been buried in a cemetery dug up and then buried again?”
    Dr. Nelson dropped his pencil. “Is this a hypothetical question?” he asked.
    “No, the guy's really dead,” Mike said.
    “Suppose you tell me why…”
    Mike tried to think of a good excuse. Remembering something he'd heard on a television show, he answered, “I'm interested in—uh—forensic science. You said to explore ideas, Dad. Well, right now I'd like to see