"I wouldn't count on that," replied Ned; "and yet there may be more in it than we suppose."
"Hush!" whispered Randy with his eyes to the crevice. "Here comes the tramp."
Moxley rose and approached the closet. He partially opened the door, and then walked back a few paces behind one of the logs.
"Now step out, you chaps," he commanded sternly. "I have a little business to attend to, and I want it done quietly."
The boys tremblingly obeyed, and when they were grouped before the door the ruffian added, "Now go through your pockets and lay everything you have on this log. See that you don't keep anything back."
It was hard to submit to this audacious robbery, but there was no alternative. Moxley had the gun in his hands.
The boys deposited all they had about them on the log—watches, money, keys, fishing tackle, and handkerchiefs. The fellow made them turn every pocket inside out, and when he was satisfied that all were empty he appropriated the money, watches, and keys. The other articles he contemptuously rejected, and allowed the boys to take them back.
Then he drove his prisoners into the closet and bolted the door—much to their surprise and consternation, for they had confidently expected to be turned loose.
"No racket now," he growled. "I ain't going so far away but what I kin hear you. It won't do to yell or kick, for the door is too strong to break, and there ain't another living creature within a mile."
He tramped heavily across the floor and left the mill.