Of course both Elmer and the lengthy scout followed his directions, and turned an inquiring gaze toward the dimly seen rafters of the old deserted mill.
"Gee whittaker! what in the dickens are they?" exclaimed Lil Artha, as his startled eyes rested on what seemed to be countless numbers of queer little bunches of dusky gray or brown hair.
They looked for all the world like some farmer's wife's winter collection of herbs, tied up in small packages, and fastened in regular order along the different beams.
"Well, I declare," laughed Elmer.
"You know what they are, Elmer; let us in on it, won't you?" demanded Chatz.
"Nothing whatever to do with the ghost, but all the same often found in haunted houses, church belfries, and old towers. See here."
He stooped and picked up quite a good-sized stone that happened to be lying on the floor.
Elmer was a pitcher on the Hickory Ridge baseball nine, and could hurl a pretty swift ball.
When he shot that stone upward it went like a young cyclone, struck the rafters with a loud bang, clattered around from one beam to another, and finally fell back to the floor with a thud.
This latter sound was certainly not heard by any one of the three scouts, for it was utterly drowned in a tremendous rush as of sturdy wings, and several openings above were filled with some rapidly flying objects.