Following the lead of Elmer, the tall lanky scout and the wiry Southern boy quickly found themselves at the other end of the mill dam.

Lil Artha had cast his eyes about him as he cautiously made his way along. He seemed to be figuring on what chance there might be for an active chap like Nat Scott slipping on one of the wet and moss-covered stones, to go tumbling down toward that suspicious black pool.

Not so Chatz Maxfield.

Apparently he had made up his mind from the start that this strange vanishing of their comrade must have some connection with the mystery of the old mill.

Did they not admit that three separate times people had tried to live there in the dwelling that was part and parcel of the mill; and on every occasion they had given it up as a bad job?

Why?

Well, it seemed to be understood that none of them could stand the sights and sounds which had come to them while under that roof.

People might scoff at such things all they had a mind to, but surely it seemed as if there must be something in it.

At any rate, everyone of those three families believed the mill house haunted. And for many years now, no one had had the nerve to occupy the place.

And yet it had once been a paying venture, for the main road was only a few hundred yards away from this lonely, forbidding-looking pond, where the frogs grew so large and the red-marked “turkles,” as Ty Collins called them, were so saucy.

“Careful here!” warned Elmer, as they arrived at the runway, where in times past the water was turned on when the mill was to be operated.

The boards were rotting and slimy, and if one made a slip he might get a wet jacket in the sluice, where there was more or less running water.

Elmer held up a hand to hold his comrades back. He seemed to be down on his hands and knees, as though examining something that had just caught his attention.

“What is it?” asked Lil Artha.

“He came this way, all right, boys.”

“Do you mean Nat?” questioned Chatz.

“Why, of course,” replied the leader.

“How do you know?” continued Chatz.

“I’ve been following Nat’s trail for miles,” answered Elmer, “and sure I ought to know what his footprint looks like. Here it is on this clay just beside the sluice. Wait till I cross and see if he made the other side all right.”

“He must, because he ain’t in the sluiceway,” remarked the tall boy.

A minute later and Elmer, who had carefully crossed over, testing each board before trusting his weight on it, called out:

“The marks are here, all right, fellows. Nat did start to look into the old mill. Come over, but be careful. Go slow, Chatz,” he warned again, as the impetuous Southern boy slipped, and might have landed in the slimy sluice only that Lil Artha threw out a hand and clutched him.

They were now almost in the shadow of the deserted mill. It looked gloomy and forbidding to the eyes of at least Elmer and the tall lad, though Chatz may have considered it an object well worth coming a long distance to see.

“Wow! I must get some pictures of this same old ruin while we’re up here,” said Lil Artha, who carried a little pocket camera along, and was a very clever artist indeed.

“A fine idea,” remarked Elmer; “but there are a lot of good people in Hickory Ridge who would think a picture of Munsey’s mill very tame and incomplete without the ghost showing in it.”

“Ah!” said Chatz, his face aglow.

“Oh, well,” Lil Artha went on, “perhaps now I might be lucky enough to tempt that same ghost to pose for me. Anyhow I mean to ask him, if so be we happen to run across his trail.”

He looked at Chatz, and then winked one eye humorously at Elmer. But the Southern boy did not deign to take any notice.

“Come, let’s go in, fellows,” he said, impatiently.

With that the three started for the other side of the mill, where an entrance could most likely be much more easily effected.

Elmer continued to watch the ground, and from the satisfied look on his face Lil Artha felt sure the scout master must be discovering further traces of the missing boy.

Perhaps, after all, they would find Nat hiding inside the mill or the dwelling alongside. Perhaps he had been so busy investigating that he had not noticed their shouts, or the bugle call, for the falling water made quite a little noise.

Or, on the other hand, possibly Nat may have been seized with a sudden desire to tease his comrades in return for many a practical joke of which he had been the victim.

But one of the three was quite firm in his belief that neither of these explanations would turn out to be the true one.

Of course this was Chatz Maxfield, through whose mind had run the conviction that poor Nat Scott must have paid dearly for his temerity in invading the haunted mill.

Yes, Chatz feared that the ghost must have got Nat, though he was afraid to openly proclaim his belief. Fear of ridicule was a weakness of Chatz. It often causes boys to hide their real feelings, and even appear to be much bolder than they naturally are.

Once around the end of the mill and they saw the dwelling attached to it.

Here, too, was the old road, now overgrown with weeds and almost hidden from view. And yet, twenty years ago, in Miller Munsey’s time, no doubt farmers daily drove up here with sacks of corn, wheat, or rye, to have the grain delivered to them again in the shape of flour.

“Shall we try to go in by way of the house door?” asked Lil Artha.

“No,” replied Elmer, “he went in through that opening where some boards are off the side of the mill. Perhaps we’d better do the same.”

“A good idea,” remarked Chatz, with the air of one who could not get inside the walls of the mill too speedily to please him.

“Just as you say, Elmer,” the lanky scout observed; for having been in the company of the other when the latter was acting as pathfinder to the expedition, Lil Artha was more than ever filled with admiration for his wonderful talents in discovering things supposed to be lost.

So Elmer without further hesitation ducked through the opening, with his two allies keeping close to his heels.

At any rate it was somewhat more restful inside the mill.

Those walls, even if now going rapidly into a condition of decay, shut out some of the noise caused by the falling water.

Lil Artha and Chatz both looked about them eagerly, even anxiously, as soon as they found themselves within those walls which had once resounded to the clatter of the grinding.

Their motives, however, were probably as far apart as the two poles; while the long-legged scout hoped, yet dreaded, to see the figure of Nat Scott lying somewhere about, Chatz, on the other hand, was anticipating discovering some token of ghostly visitors.

Nothing rewarded either of them, however. The interior of the mill was of course in a generally dilapidated condition. What remnants of the crushing and milling machinery remained were rusty and broken, as though tramps may have made the place a refuge, and tried to destroy what they could not carry away to sell.

The boards creaked dismally under their tread. More than that, they were loose in places, and Lil Artha, stepping upon the end of one, might have vanished through a gap in the floor only that his agility saved him.

“Wow, would you see that, now, Elmer!” he exclaimed, his voice sounding strange amidst such singular surroundings.

“You made a neat side step, old fellow,” said the one addressed. “Some of us, more clumsy, would have slid down into the cellar.”

“Say, now, I wonder-” began Lil Artha, and then stopped to stare at the treacherous plank that formed such a trap.

“You’re wondering whether poor old Nat could have taken that tumble?” suggested Elmer.

“That’s what I was; what do you think?” asked the tall scout.

“Here, lay hold and we’ll soon find out,” remarked Elmer, bending over the loose plank.

It required considerable tugging to get it out of the bed it had occupied so long, even if it was fastened by no nails.

Both of them lay down and thrust their faces into the gap.

“Looks pretty dark down there, don’t it?” asked Lil Artha, who was secretly shivering with the anticipation of making a grewsome discovery, but who would not have his comrades know the true condition of his nerves for a good deal.

“It sure does that,” was Elmer’s reply.

“I can just make out something or other lying down there; it might be an old log, you know, and again, p’raps it ain’t.”

Lil Artha did not venture to say plainly that he more than half feared lest the object he could see might turn out to be poor Nat Scott. But that was a fact.

“Well, let’s find out for sure.”

Elmer, while speaking, was taking something from his pocket. It proved to be an old newspaper, from which he tore a sheet, crumpling it up into a ball.

“I generally carry a newspaper along when I go into the woods,” he said in explanation. “And it’s wonderful what a help it sometimes turns out to be in case you want to start a quick fire. Now for a match.”

“I’m sorry now,” remarked Lil Artha.

“About what?” asked the scout leader.

“That I didn’t think to fetch it along-that new electric hand torch my father gave me on my birthday, you remember, Elmer?”

“Oh,” laughed Elmer, “well, who’d ever think we’d have any need of a torch on this hike! Why, it was an altogether daylight affair, and we expected to be back home long before supper time. I even promised Mark to practice battery work some this afternoon. There, now watch when it drops. I hope there’s nothing down there to take fire.”

“If the old trap did go up in smoke I guess nobody would care much,” muttered Lil Artha, as he pressed his face still further into the opening, after Elmer released his fire ball.

The burning paper seemed to alight upon the damp earthen floor of the cellar. Immediately both boys tried to secure a mental photograph of all there was below them.

“It’s only a log!” cried Lil Artha, in a relieved tone of voice, and at the same time betraying more or less disappointment, for perhaps he had made up his mind that they were to be treated to some species of horror.

“You’re right,” added Elmer, “that’s what it is-an old log that has lain there, goodness only knows how long. Nat doesn’t seem to have slipped down into the cellar, then, does he?”

“Not that you could notice,” replied Lil Artha, and then he added: “but Elmer, didn’t you notice something jump when that paper first went down?”

“Well, yes, I did, for a fact, Arthur.”

“Any idea what it could be?” persisted the other.

“I hope you’re not thinking of that ghost we’ve heard so much about?” said Elmer.

“Now, that’s hardly fair, Elmer; you know I don’t take any stock in fairy tales or hobgoblin yarns. But something sure moved.”

“A big rat I guess, perhaps a muskrat from the pond above. They sometimes find a burrow leads them to some old, unused cellar.”

“But look over there, and you’ll see a lot of white bones, Elmer,” pursued Lil Artha.

“That’s a fact. Some animal must have fallen in here, starved to death, and been eaten up by the rats.”

“But, Elmer, are you sure they are animal bones?”

“I noticed the skull, and I think it must have been a large dog,” replied Elmer.

Then he and the tall scout scrambled hastily to their feet, for Chatz had suddenly given utterance to an exclamation that seemed to contain much of both surprise and mystification.