The lad did not waste any time in search, but speaking to his mount, headed toward the lights of the tavern. Upon the side by which he approached, the land lay low; then the path ascended a knoll, and upon the top of this was a building.
When he had gained the summit of the rise, George recognized that the building was a mill; its solid outline and broken wings showed it to be, perhaps, still another reminder of the Dutch who had held the land in years gone by.
Here the young New Englander dismounted and tied his horse.
He had taken to the path once more and had gone but half a dozen yards, when he suddenly came to a stand. Listening intently, he caught the scuff-scuff of advancing footsteps. Straining his eyes, he dimly made out two figures, arm in arm, and approaching with great caution.
Instinctively young Prentiss shrank back into the shadow of the mill wall; then he waited until the two came up. They were almost abreast of him when they paused.
“This is the place,” spoke one, in a voice strange to the listener. “We can talk inside here without danger of being observed or overheard. Many’s the time I’ve transacted risky business here.”
Once more they advanced, apparently directly toward the lurking figure against the wall; a hand was outstretched, so it seemed to George, to grasp him; but in reality it was to open a door close beside him. The rusty hinges creaked and complained querulously; then the two passed into the mill and the door closed after them.
George waited for a few moments, then he stole to the door. With his ear close against it, he detected the clink of a steel against flint, then through the long seams that now showed between the warped boards of the door he caught the gleam of the spark.
“They’ve lighted a candle,” he murmured to himself.
There was a window some dozen feet above the ground; and he was gazing up at it speculatively when he noticed the shoots of a sturdy vine playing back and forth in the square of light.