"What's that—tell me about that?"
Henry Burns, who had been walking close by, but who had been not greatly interested up to this point, had suddenly interrupted. "What did Witham want?" he repeated.
Little Tim repeated the fortune-teller's words.
Henry Burns, hurrying ahead to where the others were walking, caught John Ellison by an arm and drew him away. "Come back here a minute," he said. "Here, Tim, tell John what the fortune-teller said about Witham."
John Ellison, listening to Tim Reardon, grew pale and clenched his fist.
"That's it," he cried. "There are some other papers, don't you suppose? Lawyer Estes said there might be; but they couldn't find them, though they hunted through the mill. I just know there are some. Witham knew it, too. That's what he was after. Tim, you've found out something big, I tell you. We've just got to get into that mill again and go through it. Don't you say a word to anybody, Tim."
Tim's eyes opened wide with astonishment—but he promised.
All through the work of striking and packing the two tents, and stowing the stuff into the wagon, Henry Burns and John Ellison discussed this new discovery; what it might mean and what use could be made of it. And all the way home, on the long, dusty road, they talked it over. They were late getting started, and it was eight o'clock when they turned in at the Ellison farm.
The mill had ceased grinding for two hours, and night had settled down. But, as they got out of the wagon, John Ellison called to Henry Burns and pointed over the hill toward the mill.
"Do you see?" he said softly, but in excited tones. "Do you see? That's what I see night after night, sometimes as late as nine o'clock."