“The vote seems to be in favor of it,” said Frank, with a smile.
“Well,” drawled Stummer, chewing vigorously at the straw, “don’t blame me if you get chased away from the mill. I’ve warned you.”
His eyes twinkled. His whole purpose in telling the lads of the mystery that surrounded the mill had been to send them in that direction, for he realized the attraction the place would have for the boys when they knew that the mill was running again. He was rather curious, too, about the three men who were in charge of the place and he thought that perhaps the boys might pick up some information that he had been unable to get.
“Have a good hike,” he said, as he turned to go back to the farmhouse. “Don’t get into any trouble.”
“We won’t,” they assured him, and forthwith started back down the lane.
They met Chet, who had by this time managed to retrieve his belongings and was trudging along in the dust meditating ways and means of getting even with his companions. He was not vindictive and he had taken the joke in good part, grinning cheerfully as he saw them approach.
“Think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?” he said, in mock resentment, as they came near. “I’ve got so many thistles in my feet you’ll have to carry me home now.”
With that he began to limp in an exaggerated manner, as though he had been completely crippled by his efforts to regain his socks and shoes.
“We wouldn’t carry you to the end of the lane,” said Frank promptly. “You’d better keep your feet moving if you want to come with us.”
“Where are you going?”
“Down to the old mill. Stummer tells us the place is running again.”
“Hurray!” shouted Chet. “I’ll race you!” and, forgetting all about his tender foot-soles, he led the crowd in a mad race toward the main road.
VII
In the Mill Race
An hour later, the Hardy boys and their chums reached the vicinity of the old mill.
They had lunch in the shade of the trees along the deserted road, and it was early in the afternoon when they arrived at the top of the hill that overlooked the river.
The old mill was a sturdy structure that had once been strong and imposing but was now weatherbeaten and showed the ravages of the years. The mill wheel turned slowly, creaking painfully as though it objected to being forced to labor again after its long rest.
Outside the front door, they could see three figures, two men and a boy. At that distance it was impossible to distinguish their features, but as the lads descended the hillside and drew closer they saw that the men were middle-aged fellows, far from reassuring in appearance.
Because of Stummer’s remarks, the Hardy boys and their chums took good care to keep to the shelter of the bushes as they went along the abandoned roadway, now overgrown with weeds and undergrowth. Their approach was not noticed, and at last they were standing not more than a hundred yards away from the mill, effectually concealed by the trees and shrubs.
“I don’t like the looks of the men,” remarked Frank, in a low voice.
“Neither do I,” agreed Joe.
One of the men was apparently about fifty years of age. He had a dirty, greying beard and he wore spectacles. He was clad in a torn and stained pair of overalls and his sleeves were rolled to the elbows, revealing his blackened arms.
“For a miller, there’s mighty little flour on his hands,” commented Frank. “He looks more like an automobile mechanic.”
The other man, who looked older, was similarly attired, but he was of a more benevolent appearance. He did not wear glasses and his shaggy brows almost hid a pair of keen, sharp eyes. He fondled his long white beard reflectively as the other man talked to him in low tones.
The boys could not overhear what the pair were saying, but they saw the boy, a fair, curly-headed youth of about fifteen, in ragged clothing, look up at the older man and say something to him.
Instantly the old fellow lost his look of benevolent reflection. He gave the boy a cuff on the ear that almost staggered him.
“Be off with you!” he ordered harshly. “Go away and play. Don’t be hanging around here while we’re talking.”
He spoke so loudly that his words could be clearly heard by the lads hidden in the bushes. The curly-headed boy stood his ground, and evidently repeated what he had said before, for the old man at once became furious.
“Go away and play, I tell you!” he shouted in shrill tones. “I’ll call you when I need you. And be sure you come in a hurry when you hear me.”
He reached behind him for a heavy cane that was leaning beside the doorway and he struck out viciously at the lad with it. But the boy dodged the blow and ran off toward the mill race, while the old man watched him go, muttering imprecations.
“Leave him alone,” said the other man in a guttural voice. “We’ve got other things to attend to than that brat.”
“He’s a nuisance, I’ll whale the hide off him when he comes back.”
“Leave him alone. Markel is waiting for us. Let’s go inside.”
“All right—all right,” muttered the old man peevishly. He turned and followed the other through the doorway.
“Nice tempered old chap,” remarked Jerry, when the pair had disappeared into the mill.
“I’ll say he is,” declared Joe. “I don’t think either of them is up to much.”
“The young fellow looks all right,” Chet said. “He looks as if he has a sweet life here with those men.”
Phil said:
“I thought Stummer told us there were three men running the mill.”
“They said something about Markel,” Frank pointed out. “He’s the man who is waiting for them inside the mill. That must be the other partner.”
“Let’s go up and talk to the kid,” suggested Joe. “Perhaps we
