With that he spoke to the black; the animal trotted forward; and when it reached the ruin, Nat drew it in and turned, facing the structure from the middle of the road.
“Hello!” cried the boy. “Hello, inside there!”
He waited, but there was no answer.
Then he tried again.
“Hello! Don’t think that your keeping silent will deceive me. I know you’re there.”
Still there was no answer. Down the road, Nat saw his three companions, their horses abreast, anxiously watching him. He smiled when he saw the alert posture of Ben, the long rifle in his hands, for Nat knew that his cousin shot with unerring skill, and that he could rest safe under the protection thus afforded. Once more he turned his gaze upon the ruin.
“I’ll give you a minute,” continued he. “If you’re not out in that time, I’m coming in.”
This had immediate results. In the broken doorway of the burned mill appeared a half dozen men; and behind them Nat made out a burly figure which he at once recognized as that of Royce.
“Well,” inquired one of the men, sullenly, “what do you want?”
“I want to have nothing to say to you, sir, at all events,” replied Nat, readily. Then lifting his voice a trifle, he continued: “Stand forward, Mr. Royce. Don’t be backward.”