"But look here, Matty," said Landy, "do you mean to tell me Elmer is getting along about as fast as we've been doing, when he has a blind trail to follow, and we have a plain one?"

"Looks like it, don't it?" exclaimed Red.

"But how under the sun does he do it?" pursued the doubting greenhorn.

"Well," Matty went on, "Elmer lived in Canada, away up where our blizzards come from. He used to ride a wild broncho, throw a rope, hunt antelope and wolves, and was once in at the death of a big grizzly bear that had been playing hob with their cattle."

"Yes, I've heard all that," admitted Landy.

"So you see he learned a lot about following a trail that would never be seen by any fellows like us scouts. He knows a dozen signs that tell him the facts. And when greenhorns like Ty, Nat, and Toby try to fool him, why, he just eats the trail up."

Matty, as he finished speaking, came to a sudden pause.

"We might as well take a breathing spell," he remarked, "because we're getting pretty close to the meeting place anyhow. Besides, here's a chance for me to show you how Elmer manages."

The others crowded around, eager to see for themselves what object lesson Matty expected to lay before them.

"Now I want you to notice right here," he said, pointing to the ground, "that the footprints of the two boys ahead suddenly stop. Here are the plain marks left purposely by Elmer and Lil Artha. Do you notice how they run alongside this fallen tree?"

"That's a fact," declared George, as all of them walked slowly along.

"The two foxes in the lead thought to puzzle the hounds by jumping on this long log, and running its entire length," said Matty, with a grin, "but they had their trouble for nothing. Why, it was such an old trick that Elmer guessed it at a glance. He must have gained quite a lot on 'em here."

George and Landy exchanged glances.

"Well, there's a heap more in this game than I ever thought of,"

admitted the latter.

"Don't see how he does it," remarked George, with a doubting shake of his head.

"Oh, the more you study up on this thing," said Red, "the better you'll like it. No end of clever stunts that can be engineered. But see here, Matty, didn't you say we must be getting near the place where we expected to round up both foxes and hounds?"

"Yes, I'm looking to hear the bugle any minute right now," replied the leader.

"Where was it fixed for?" asked Landy.

"Oh, I thought you knew," Matty replied, as they once more took up the broad trail, at the point beyond the end of the fallen tree.

"I heard some talk about an old mill, but didn't pay much attention to it," remarked Landy, carelessly.

"Then you've got to turn over a new leaf, old fellow, if you expect to ever succeed as a good scout," Red broke in with.

"How's that?" demanded Landy.

"Because," replied the red-headed lad, himself always wide-awake and on the alert, "a scout to succeed must forever keep his wits about him and observe things. In fact, Elmer says he should take as a motto, besides the words 'Be Prepared' the old sign you see at railroad crossings."

"Stop! look! listen!" exclaimed Matty, Larry, and Chatz in chorus.

"I suppose I _am_ somewhat sleepy," grumbled Landy, "but perhaps some day I'll surprise you wide-awake Slim Jims by doing something real smart. But tell me more about this mill."

"You sure must have heard of Munsey's mill?" remarked Matty.

"Oh, I believe it does sound kind of familiar, but then I must have forgotten all I ever heard about it," Landy confessed.

Red and Matty exchanged glances, and shook their heads mournfully. It seemed a pretty tough proposition to ever expect to make a good and profitable scout out of such poor material.

"Well," said the patrol leader, "there is a long story connected with the old ramshackle mill. No use of my going into all the details. It's been abandoned a good many years now. People have tried to live there three times since old Munsey was found dead there, but they had to give it up."

"Yes, suh," Chatz broke in, his eyes shining brightly, for this was a subject that appealed very strongly to him, "they just couldn't hold out. Got cold feet after going through the experience and had to quit."

"But why?" demanded Landy.

"Because they declared the old mill was haunted!" replied Matty.

"Yes, suh, it was haunted," echoed Chatz.

The Southern boy had always confessed to a streak of superst.i.tion in his make-up. He admitted that he must have imbibed it from a.s.sociation with the ignorant little negro lads with whom he had been accustomed to play down on the plantation.

He had even admitted once to carrying in his pocket, as a charm, the left hind foot of a rabbit, which animal had been killed by himself in a graveyard when the moon was full.

The boys plagued Chatz so much that he had by degrees shown signs of considering most of his former beliefs as folly.

Still, the mere mention of a haunted house set his nerves to quivering.

Chatz might be a timid fellow when up against anything bordering upon the ghostly, but on all other occasions he had proven himself brave, almost to the point of rashness.

It was "Doubting George" who burst out into a harsh laugh.

"A haunted house!" he exclaimed. "Ghosts! Strange knockings! Thrilling whispers! Ice-cold hands! Oh, my, what a lark! I've always wanted to get up against a thing like that. Don't believe in 'em the least bit. You could talk to me till you was gray-headed, and I'd just laugh. There never was such things as ghosts, never!"

Chatz looked at him rather queerly.

"Oh, well, perhaps you're right, George," he said, holding himself in check, "but I've read of some people who had pretty rough experiences."

"Rats! They fooled themselves every time," declared the boy who would not believe. "Bet you it was the wind whistling through a knot hole, or a parcel of rats squeaking and fighting between the walls. Ghosts! It makes me laugh."

"Same here," declared Red.

"Listen!" exclaimed Larry just then, making them all start. Through the timber ahead of them came the sweet clear notes of a bugle.

"Told you so, fellows," declared Matty, smiling; "that's Elmer. He's learning to use the bugle nearly as well as Mark himself."

"Then we're at the end of our trail following, are we?" asked Landy, not without a sigh of relief, for it had not been as easy work in his case as with his less stout comrades.

"Well, pretty near," Matty replied. "We've got to keep it up till we come in sight of the mill."

"But why?" asked George, who seemed to want to know every little thing, so that his natural tendency to object might have a chance to show itself.

"Oh, well, there might be one more opening for a message, and our main business is to translate these, you know."