hanging low down and half-inverted
as if spilling a spectral glamour over the ghostly mists which lay deep
in Lost Creek Valley.

The sweet breath of flowers and of the woods was in the morning air, and
from some cabin afar on the side of a distant mountain a wakeful
watchdog barked till the crags reverberated with his clamoring.

"Thar's somethin' stirrin' at 'Bize Wiley's, ur his dorg wouldn't be
kickin' up all that racket," observed Kate Kenyon. "He lives by ther
road that comes over from Bildow's Crossroads. Folks comin' inter ther
maountings from down below travel that way."

The boys looked around for the mute who had been guarding the mouth of
the cave, but they saw nothing of him. He had slipped away into the
bushes which grew thick all around the opening.

"Come on," said the girl, after seeming strangely interested in the
barking of the dog. "We'll git ter ther old mill as soon as we kin.
Foller me, an' be ready ter scrouch ther instant anything is seen."

Now that they could see her, she led them forward at a swift pace, which
astonished them both. She did not run, but she seemed to skim over the
ground, and she took advantage of every bit of cover till they entered
some deep, lowland pines.

Through this strip of woods she swiftly led them, and they came near to
Lost Creek, where it flowed down in the dismal valley.

There they found the ruins of an old mill, the moss-covered water-wheel
forever silent, the roof sagging and falling in, the windows broken out
by mischievous boys, the whole presenting a most melancholy and deserted
appearance.

The road that had led to the mill from the main highway was overgrown
with weeds. Later it would be filled with thistles and burdocks. Wild
sassafras grew along the roadside.

"That's whar you-uns must hide ter-day," said Kate, motioning toward the
mill.

"Why should we hide?" exclaimed Frank. "We are not criminals, nor are we
revenue spies. I do not fancy the idea of hiding like a hunted dog."

"It's better ter be a live dorg than a dead lion. Ef you-uns'll take my
advice, you'll come inter ther mill thar, an' ye'll keep thar all day,
an' keep mighty quiet. I know ye're nervy, but thar ain't no good in
bein' foolish. It'll be known that you-uns have escaped, an' then Wade
Miller will scour ther country. Ef he come on yer----"

"Give us our arms, and we'll be ready to meet Mr. Miller."

"But yer wouldn't meet him alone; thar'd be others with him, an' you-