“Sun and wind will bring it back to the hills,” said Uncle Dick gravely. “There is no waste in nature.”
I half expected to see a group of men, friends or enemies, waiting about; but not a soul was in sight, and as we reached the gates I shivered involuntarily and thought that people must have very serious spite against us if they left their snug firesides to attack us on a night like that.
Uncle Dick opened the little door in the gate and we stepped in, but to our surprise there was no low growl and then whine of recognition from Piter.
“That’s strange,” said Uncle Jack suspiciously, and he walked on quickly to the door of the building and listened.
There was no dog there, and his chain and collar did not hang over the kennel as if they had been taken from the dog’s neck. They were gone.
This seemed very strange, and what was more strange still, though we went from grinding-shop to smithy after smithy, furnace house and shed, there was no sign of the dog, and everything seemed to point to the fact that he had been led away by his chain, and was a prisoner somewhere.
“Looks like mischief,” whispered Uncle Bob. “Where’s that scoundrel lying asleep?”
We went upstairs to see, and expected to find our careful watchman carefully curled up somewhere, but there was no snoring this time, and Uncle Bob’s threat of a bucket of water to wake him did not assume substance and action.
For though we searched everywhere it soon became evident that Searby was not present, and that we had come to find the works deserted.
“Then there is going to be some attack made,” said Uncle Dick. “I’m glad we came.”