“Who’s running the mill for you, Zeb?”
“Nobody,” answered Zeb White, the engineer. “She isn’t supposed to be runnin’!”
“Well, she is running!” declared Tod.
“I believe you’re right!” cried the engineer. “But who could have started her?”
Without another word the two men ran up the little hill, for they were at the bottom of it and away from the mill, and could not look into the place. But when they reached the top they could hear the rattle of the moving carriage more plainly. They could hear the whine and hum of the big saw.
And then they saw Trouble calmly sitting astride the log, playing it was his horse, and, all the while, drawing nearer and nearer to the sharp-toothed saw.
“Whew!” whistled the foreman. “That kid is in mischief again!”
“Do you reckon he started my engine?” cried Zeb.
Tod Everett did not answer. He sprang to catch Trouble off the log, pulling him to one side rather roughly in his strong arms. At the same time the engineer ran for the handle that shut off the power. He pulled it quickly, with all his strength, and the saw slowly ceased buzzing, while the log on the carriage no longer moved forward.
“Say, you little tyke!” cried Tod, for he was angry, “did you start the machinery?”