Ned had risen in his eagerness, and now he made a step toward the door.
"Sit down!" thundered Mr. Moxley. "If you lads try to escape I'll put a hole through you."
He lifted the gun and patted it significantly, and that instant Ned recognized the weapon. It was Mose Hocker's property—the identical muzzleloader which Randy had brought up from the depths of Rudy's Hole. Ned could see the silver plate set in the breech, and could partially read the inscription: "John Armstrong, Maker."
Randy was equally quick to recognize the gun. He gave a little gasp of astonishment and looked at Ned.
The agitation of the boys was not observed by the ruffian.
"Just sit still now," he growled. "If you don't you'll be the worse off. You needn't be alarmed about your friends. I reckon they'll be along this way purty soon."
While speaking Mr. Moxley happened to glance toward the upper end of the mill, and through a gaping crevice between the boards he saw something that caused a sudden wave of excitement to spread over his face.
Rising quickly to his feet, he seized both boys in an iron grasp and dragged them several yards across the floor to a big closet that occupied the corner of the mill. He unbolted the door and shoved his captives roughly inside.
"Don't you dare to whimper," he hissed savagely. "Mind that, my lads. Dude Moxley ain't to be trifled with."
The ruffian slammed the door and bolted it, and the next instant his heavy retreating footsteps shook the rotten floor.