"He's coming!" he gasped. "I just met Bess Thornton up the road. Cracky, how I did run! Look out the window; you'll see his lantern. Better turn ours down, quick." They lost no time in following this advice; then crept to the window that looked on the road and peered out. The swinging and swaying of a lantern could be seen, indistinctly in the distance. Colonel Witham was coming. The boys sped quickly up two flights of stairs into the garret. What should bring Colonel Witham, night after night, to the old mill, where he had hunted long and fruitlessly? He, himself, could hardly have told. Possibly he felt somehow a sense as of security; that, so long as he was there, there could be nobody else on hand, to search; that he was guarding his property--against, he knew not what. And, if ever the thought came to him, that perhaps it had been better for his peace of mind never to have come into possession of the old mill at all, why, he did not allow his mind to dwell upon it. That usually set him to hunting. Now the door opened, and Colonel Witham stepped within the mill. And for all his being there voluntarily, one might have seen by the pallor of his face that he was half afraid. There, in the shadow, just beyond the rim of his own lantern light, was the desk where Jim Ellison used to sit--and sneer at him. Did Colonel Witham recall that? Perhaps. He lifted the lantern and let the light fall on the spot. The place was certainly empty. For all the relief of that, Colonel Witham uttered a cry very much like a frightened man, the next moment. Then he was angry, as he felt the goose-flesh prickling all over him. The sharp night wind had slammed the little door leading to the outer mill, with a bang, and the noise had echoed through all the rooms. There was nothing in that to be afraid of, and Colonel Witham seated himself in a chair by the desk, with the lantern beside him on the floor. Now that he was here, he scarce knew why he had come. What was that? Was that a foot-fall on some floor above? Colonel Witham sat bolt upright in his seat and listened. He took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow. Then he was angry with himself again. He was certainly nervous to-night. Nervous indeed; for he came out of his chair with a bound, as the wind suddenly swooped down on the old mill, shrieked past one corner, with a cry that was almost like a voice, and went on up the stream, crackling the dead branches of trees and moaning through the pines. Colonel Witham started for the door. It was no use; nature was against him--conspiring to fill him with alarm. He was foolish to have come. He would go back to the inn. But then his natural stubbornness asserted itself. Should a wild night drive him out of his own mill--when the law couldn't? He turned resolutely and went slowly back. Nor did he pause on the main floor, but started up the first flight of stairs.