The Rival Campers Ashore Part 31

"What are you going to do with that old thing?" asked Harvey. "This isn't Fourth of July."

"That's my fiddle," replied Henry Burns, coolly. "I've got the string in my pocket."

With which reply, he took hold of one handle of the wash-boiler and John Ellison the other; and they proceeded up the bank. The others followed, grinning.

"Play us a tune," suggested young Tim.

"Not unless I have to," replied Henry Burns. "You may hear it, and perhaps you won't."

All was desolate and deserted, as they made a circuit of the surroundings of the mill. It certainly offered no attractions to visitors, after nightfall. The crazy old structure, unpainted and blackened with age, made a dark, dismal picture against the dull sky.

The water fell with a monotonous roar over the dam; the cold dripping of water sounded within the sh.e.l.l of the mill. The wind, by fits and starts, rattled loose boards and set stray s.h.i.+ngles tattooing here and there. Dust blew down from the roadway.

"He'll not be out to-night," remarked Harvey, as they looked up the road in the direction of the Half Way House.

"You can't tell," replied John Ellison. "We've seen the light in here some nights that were as bad as this. What say, shall we go in?"

They followed his lead, around by the way Henry Burns and Harvey had once before entered, and, one by one, went in through the window. Then they paused, huddled on a plank, while John Ellison scratched a match and lighted a sputtering lantern, the wick of which had become dampened.

Across the planking they picked their way, and entered the main room on the first floor.

Then Henry Burns and John Ellison made another trip and brought in Henry Burns's "fiddle," greatly to the amus.e.m.e.nt of the others.

"That goes on the top floor," said Henry Burns, and they ascended the two flights of stairs with it, depositing it upside down, in a corner of the garret that was boarded up as a separate room, or large closet. Then Henry Burns, producing from his pocket a piece of closely woven cotton rope, skilfully tossed one end over a beam above his head; seized the end as it fell, quickly tied a running knot and hauled it snug. The rope, made fast thus at one end to the beam, drew taut as he pulled down on it.

"That's the fiddle-string, eh Jack?" laughed Henry Burns. "We've made a horse-fiddle before now, haven't we? that rope's got so much resin on it that it squeaks if you just look at it."

He pa.s.sed the free end of the resined rope through a hole in the bottom of the upturned wash-boiler, and knotted it so it would not pull out again.

"Now where's the fiddle-bow, John?" he asked.

John Ellison forthwith produced a long bent bow of alder, strung with pieces of tied horse-hair.

"Listen," said Henry Burns; and he drew the bow gently across the resined rope. The sound that issued forth--the combined agony of the vibrating wash-boiler and the shrill squeak of the rope--was one hardly to be described. It was like a wail of some unworldly creature, ending with a shuddering tw.a.n.g that grated even on the nerves of Henry Burns's companions. Then Henry Burns laid the bow aside and was ready for the search.

"That sounds nice on Fourth of July night," he remarked, "but not in here. Let's see what we can find, John."

They lighted two more lanterns that they had brought and began their search. Strangely enough, however, the possibilities that had seemed so real to John Ellison, as he had gazed day by day upon the old mill he knew so well, seemed to vanish now that he was within. He had thought of a hundred and one odd corners where he would search; but now they offered obviously so little chance of secreting anything that he felt his hopes begin to wane.

Still, they went at it earnestly and thoroughly. Through the garret, with their lanterns lighted, they hunted; lifting aside boxes and barrels; opening dingy closets; peering into long unused bins. Hoppers that had been once a part of the mill's equipment, but which had been displaced by others, were carefully examined; even the rafters overhead were scrutinized, lest some overlooked box might be found hidden thereon.

They went to the floor below, where the great grinding stones were; and where a tangle of belting and shaftings half filled one room. There were hiding places a-plenty here; but not one of them yielded anything. Then, on the main floor, where there was a great safe hidden in one corner, and the desk. Here they were on forbidden ground. The property was clearly Witham's, and they would not touch that. They could only search about the nooks and corners, and sound the boards for secret hiding-places.

So on, up and down, in and out; even through the outer room of the mill, where all was rough and unfinished, and only a plank thrown across here and there to walk on. There were places enough where a box or package might be hidden--but where nothing was.

Yet they continued industriously, and were so absorbed in their search that they failed to notice that Little Tim had vanished, until Harvey called to him for something, and he was nowhere to be found.

They were half frightened for a moment, fearing lest he had slipped and fallen somewhere; but Harvey laughed at their fears.

"You can't hurt that little monkey," he said. "He can swim like a fish, and he's a regular cat on climbing. No, he's up to some trick or other."

They were aware of this presently--and just a bit startled--at the sound of a low whistle coming from the outer mill; then Tim Reardon darted in from the darkness, into the circle of lanterns.

"He's coming!" he gasped. "I just met Bess Thornton up the road. Cracky, how I did run! Look out the window; you'll see his lantern. Better turn ours down, quick."

They lost no time in following this advice; then crept to the window that looked on the road and peered out. The swinging and swaying of a lantern could be seen, indistinctly in the distance. Colonel Witham was coming. The boys sped quickly up two flights of stairs into the garret.

What should bring Colonel Witham, night after night, to the old mill, where he had hunted long and fruitlessly? He, himself, could hardly have told. Possibly he felt somehow a sense as of security; that, so long as he was there, there could be n.o.body else on hand, to search; that he was guarding his property--against, he knew not what. And, if ever the thought came to him, that perhaps it had been better for his peace of mind never to have come into possession of the old mill at all, why, he did not allow his mind to dwell upon it. That usually set him to hunting.

Now the door opened, and Colonel Witham stepped within the mill. And for all his being there voluntarily, one might have seen by the pallor of his face that he was half afraid. There, in the shadow, just beyond the rim of his own lantern light, was the desk where Jim Ellison used to sit--and sneer at him. Did Colonel Witham recall that? Perhaps. He lifted the lantern and let the light fall on the spot. The place was certainly empty.

For all the relief of that, Colonel Witham uttered a cry very much like a frightened man, the next moment. Then he was angry, as he felt the goose-flesh p.r.i.c.kling all over him. The sharp night wind had slammed the little door leading to the outer mill, with a bang, and the noise had echoed through all the rooms.

There was nothing in that to be afraid of, and Colonel Witham seated himself in a chair by the desk, with the lantern beside him on the floor. Now that he was here, he scarce knew why he had come.

What was that? Was that a foot-fall on some floor above? Colonel Witham sat bolt upright in his seat and listened. He took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow. Then he was angry with himself again. He was certainly nervous to-night.

Nervous indeed; for he came out of his chair with a bound, as the wind suddenly swooped down on the old mill, shrieked past one corner, with a cry that was almost like a voice, and went on up the stream, crackling the dead branches of trees and moaning through the pines.

Colonel Witham started for the door. It was no use; nature was against him--conspiring to fill him with alarm. He was foolish to have come. He would go back to the inn.

But then his natural stubbornness a.s.serted itself. Should a wild night drive him out of his own mill--when the law couldn't? He turned resolutely and went slowly back. Nor did he pause on the main floor, but started up the first flight of stairs.

Another shriek of the wind, that rattled the loose window panes on the floor above, as though by a hundred unseen hands. The colonel crouched down on the stairs for a moment--and then, oh, what a hideous sound was that!

Somewhere, from the vague s.p.a.ces of the upper part of the mill, there was wafted down to him such a noise as he had never heard; it squeaked and it thrummed; it moaned deep, and it wailed with an unearthly, piercing sound. There was the sorrow and the agony of a thousand voices in it. It blended now with the wind, and added to the cry of that; again it rose above the wind, and pierced the colonel's very soul.

Colonel Witham, clutching his lantern with desperation, fairly slid down the stairs, his legs wabbling weakly as he tried to stay himself. He landed in a heap at the foot. Then, rising with a mighty effort, he fled from the mill, up the road to the Half Way House.

Some moments later, seven boys, shaking with laughter, emerged from the garret room and resumed their search.

Colonel Witham had heard the strains of Henry Burns's horse-fiddle.

CHAPTER XVI

THE GOLDEN COIN LOST AGAIN

"Let's look, Tim! Let me see. Say, where'd you find it? Bring it here to the light."

The crowd of boys, much excited, was jostling Little Tim, plying him with more questions than he could answer, and each one trying to grasp at something that he held in his hand.

Proceeding into the main room of the mill, Tim held his prize close to the light of three lanterns. It was a small box, tied with cords, and contained apparently something like coin, by the clinking sound that came from within.

"I found it out in the mill, where the water comes in and where the big wheels are," said Tim, breathlessly. "Sounds as though there was money in it, don't it? It was just where one of the shafts goes through part of a beam. The beam is cut away there, and room enough left for this, right under the shafting. n.o.body'd ever think of going near it when the mill was running; but I climbed up there and took hold of the shaft, and I spied it."

He was tearing off the cords as he spoke; and now, as he opened the cover, sure enough, there was disclosed a handful or two of small coin: some quarters and dimes and pennies--but nothing of great value. These were intermingled with some papers, folded small.