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Hopkinton, Mass., 1912 At last he passed the sluice gates which marked the center of the dam. A few rods further on he knew he must climb up and look over. “I’m afraid you’re right, Ted,” said Bob. “But I sure hate to think it.”.

“Ay, ay, sir,” came this time from two boys who had charge of some logs lashed together and crossed and recrossed by a hash-like lot of refuse lumber, and moored with a dog chain.I tried logging in using my phone number and I was supposed to get a verification code text,but didn't get it. I clicked resend a couple time, tried the "call me instead" option twice but didn't get a call either. the trouble shooting had no info on if the call me instead fails.There was “What things?”

He found Mr. Taylor busy over some blue prints. The engineer looked up as he entered and Bob at once saw that the man was angry. His first question proved it. As he surveyed the place in silent wonder, a sullen groan arose from beneath the spot where he stood. His blood ran cold at the sound, but silence returning, and continuing unbroken, he attributed his alarm to the illusion of a fancy, which terror had impregnated. He made another effort to force the door, when a groan was repeated more hollow, and more dreadful than the first. At this moment all his courage forsook him; he quitted the door, and hastened to the stair-case, which he ascended almost breathless with terror. “P’r’aps that’s got something to do with it, but I’ve a hunch Mr. Whitney’s right about those cattlemen. It’s up to you to find out.” “Was it a close shave?” he asked as Bob sat up..