We got to his house and sneaked around back, but Jason wasn’t there. We hid in the lilac-bushes and waited maybe twenty minutes. Perty soon the back door opened and out come Jason on tiptoes, acting like an Injun that was creeping up on a helpless settlement of white folks. He took so much pains to act stealthy that anybody could tell he was up to something. When he went past where we were hiding we saw he had an ax in one hand and a crowbar in the other. He mogged right along past us and begun to scramble down the bank toward our mill. “Huh!” says Mark. “Wonder what the old coot’s up to?” “Hain’t no idee,” says I, “but he’s headin’ toward the mill.” “Shouldn’t be s’prised,” says Mark, “if it was a l-l-lucky thing we happened around jest when we did. Wait a m-minute and we’ll foller in Jason’s footsteps.” We waited, and in a minute Mark got up and started right after Jason. When we got to the edge of the bank we could see a dark blob that moved along through our log-yard, and we knew it was him, so down we went, taking all the pains we knew how not to make any sound. When we got to the bottom Jason was out of sight, but we knew he was there somewheres, and Mark said he wasn’t up to any good. I could have told that myself, because nobody goes sneaking onto other folks’s property at night with an ax and a crowbar to do him a favor. Not that I’ve heard of, anyhow. We went across the race and up to the mill, but we didn’t see Jason or hear a sound. “L-listen!” says Mark. We all stood as still as could be and listened. Before long we heard a sort of scraping sound over to our right. It sounded like it was pretty close, but kind of muffled. “Plunk,” says Mark, “you crawl over that way and s-see what you kin s-see.” So I got down on all-fours and crept along till I got to the gate that let the water through to the mill-wheel. It was shut, because we always shut it at night. I hadn’t seen or heard anything yet. I kept on till I was right on the edge of the pit where the water-wheel was and craned my neck over. I couldn’t see anything for a spell, but sure as shooting I could hear somebody moving around, and in a second a match flared up and I could see Jason sticking out his neck and looking at the wheel. There was a little water down there that seeped through the gate—not much, but a little. It came around his ankles. Now I could hear him breathing hard and kind of muttering to himself. “Dum’ hard way to earn money,” says he, soft and low. “But it’s good money and don’t take long. Hope it don’t fetch on the rheumatiz, sloshin’ around in this water.” Then, after a while he says, sort of shaky, “I never see sich a dark hole.” He lighted another match and looked around. Then he picked up his ax and crowbar from where he had rested them against the wall and got nearer to the water-wheel. I didn’t wait for anything else, but went hustling back to Mark.