THE BOYS ARE PUZZLED
“It’s a spooky old sort of a place all right,” remarked Blake.
“It sure is,” agreed Phil.
“And it’s going to be uncommon uncomfortable before morning,” declared Jack.
“Want to back out?” asked Phil, pausing in the act of arranging some bags which they had brought to stretch out on.
“Back out? Not on your life!” cried Jack. “We’d never hear the last of it if the girls found it out.”
“They needn’t know,” suggested Blake. “Not that I’m anxious to quit, but I thought perhaps——”
“Say, if those girls were smart enough to find Bear Pond and the Gypsy camp they’d find out about us coming here and then backing out,” declared Jack. “No, we’ve got to stick now, whether we want to or not. Let’s make the best of it.”
The boys had brought their things into the old mill, the reputed mystery of which they intended to solve. Though what that mystery was, beyond Old Hanson having declared he had listened to strange noises of late, was more than the boys could tell. The face Natalie thought she saw did not particularly interest them, for, on talking it over, they had decided that it might have been a pigeon, or a bat, flying about in the old loft of the mill. And the creature might have passed close to the broken window as Natalie looked up.
“But it will be something to say we’ve done,” remarked Jack, arranging the supply of victuals they had brought, and setting down the lantern. “We’ll dare the girls to spend a night here—after we get through.”