The straw waggled more violently than ever. Mr. Stummer took a long drag at the pipe, which was in imminent danger of going out.
"Oh, I dunno," he said, with a reflective sigh. "Just thought I'd say somethin' about it. I wouldn't go down there if I was you."
"Why not?" inquired Frank. "I know the place is deserted and it's almost falling down, but we can keep out of danger, can't we?"
"It ain't deserted now."
"What do you mean?"
"There's three fellows running the mill now. Funny fellows they are. Been there for a couple of weeks."
The boys looked at one another in surprise. Turner's flour mill was located on a wild part of the Willow River. It had once been on a main road, but the construction of a new highway had left it on a deserted loop which was now seldom traversed. The mill had been abandoned for several years and seemed to have outlived its usefulness. No one had ever expected that the mill wheel would turn again.
"Are they running it as a flour mill?" asked Frank.
Stummer nodded.
"They don't do much outside grindin'. I sent 'em some of my wheat, but their prices was too high. They nearly skinned me alive, so they don't need to expect any more trade from me. I'll send my grain into Bayport after this, where I've always been sendin' it."