The woods were dark and silent, and filled with many black shadows, although in spots moonlight sifted through the openings amid the trees.
Stepping cautiously and keeping constantly on the alert, the boys followed the winding road down into the valley, avoiding the patches of moonlight.
Finally a faint murmuring sound of water reached their ears. It came from the little stream that trickled over the broken dam.
A few moments later the boys saw the dark and forbidding outlines of the old mill. All about the mill reigned a stillness like death, broken only by the almost inaudible sound of trickling water.
“It sure doesn’t seem like there is much of anything doing here,” whispered Buckhart. “I hope we haven’t arrived too late, pard.”
“The only way to find out about that is to investigate,” returned Dick, in the same cautious tone.
They approached the mill, circling a last spot where the moonlight shone down through the trees.
True, their hearts were beating faster than usual in their bosoms, but they were fully as undaunted as when they had set out from Robin Hood’s Tavern.
The old mill was reached at last, and they listened as they stood close beside its rotting wall.
No sound came from within.