They paddled with leisurely strokes, maintaining a sharp watch on every patch of reeds and every little inlet. In the first mile there was nothing to reward the searchers—not the slightest trace of the missing canoe or its occupant.
Then the channel made a sharp curve, and when they paddled around it they saw, nearly half a mile above, a gray, weather worn mill, standing in a grove of willows on the right hand shore. The dam was visible a hundred yards or so beyond, and the sunlight was dancing on the foaming torrent that poured through the break.
CHAPTER VI
THE LOST FOUND
Without lessening their vigilance the boys paddled on against the increasing current. When the mill was very near Ned signaled the others to join him.
They quickly crossed to the right shore, and the three canoes were run into a quiet little nook close to the swirling mouth of the race. The mill was twenty yards above, and a little to the right of it a cozy frame house, overgrown with trailing vines, peeped above the willow trees.
"I thought we had better stop here on account of the swift water," said Ned. "We will go up to the dam on foot, and take a look at the deep holes under the breastwork."
Before Clay or Randy could reply a man came briskly through the trees—the miller beyond a doubt, for his clothes and hat were white with flour. He greeted the boys with a smile and a cherry nod.