Rob could see only her back. Silhouetted against the glow from the burning boat, she seemed frozen into immobility by the blaze, apparently hypnotized, entirely oblivious to everything but the shooting flames roaring skyward from the river.
Rob slipped the safety catch on his stolen automatic, so that no unexpected stumble would cause the gun to discharge. Turning his back to the flames, using their light to guide him, he found the trail, slipped as quietly as possible through the rim of trees along the river bank, came to the driveway and found a big, black sedan standing there with the lights off, but with the motor running smoothly at idling speed.
Rob took advantage of the opportunity. He jumped into the car, slammed the door shut, groped for and found the light switch, turned on the headlights, eased the car into gear and drove away fast until he came to the main road.
He had no means of knowing which direction he wanted to turn, save that he had located north and south from the stars. The big river was on the west side of the state, acting as a boundary between it and the adjoining state, and Rob was on the west bank.
He turned north just on a hunch, and within two hundred yards came to a drawbridge. He turned east, crossed the river and then turned south. He felt certain now that he was well to the north of Noonville.
Chapter 17
The big sedan glided into smooth speed. Rob turned his eyes to the illuminated instruments on the dashboard and found that the car was full of petrol, that the oil was circulating, that the generator held the needle poised at zero even with all the lights on, and that the speedometer showed the car had been operated only some seven thousand miles.
There were eager horses under the hood and at a slight pressure on the accelerator Rob felt the car fairly shoot ahead.
He came to an intersection, saw a road sign, learned he was on the right road, and started giving the car the gun.
Looking out to the right on the river he could see a huge red glow in the low-flung clouds. He heard the wail of a siren, saw the red blaze of a spotlight, as a rural fire-extinguishing apparatus came rocketing down the side road, turned back to the north and raced valiantly away in the direction of the roaring flames.
Rob settled the car down to legal speed.
It took him something more than an hour to get to Noonville, and then, on impulse, he parked the car by the side of the road, some four hundred yards from the place where he had his little house and kennels.
He locked the car, slipped the key in his pocket, and started groping his way towards the house, taking the precaution to move quietly over familiar back paths, picking his way so that he could approach his kennels from the rear.
He saw them first as a long, low line of buildings looming against the scattered stars, heard the throaty growl of one of the dogs, the restless stirring of others.
Rob spoke to them quietly, trying to keep them from breaking out in a pandemonium of barking. “Steady boys, quiet.”
The dogs recognized his voice. One dog barked gladly, a single short yelp of welcome, and then, under the influence of Rob’s command, lapsed into silence.
The other, older dogs remained quiet, but Rob could hear the sound of motion and knew that tails were wagging. Occasionally he heard a low whining. The dogs sensed the tension in his voice.
Rob stood up, walked directly to the kennels, and stood by the meshed wire, speaking reassuringly to the dogs.
He started to walk boldly to the house but checked himself as he heard a low whine on his right.
It was too dark to see but there was a peculiarly urgent something about that whine, and Rob moved slowly through the darkness until he heard the rattle of a chain. A moment later he made out the form of a dog pulling against a chain, straining every muscle to reach him. The dog’s muzzle was out-thrust, and a series of low, all but inaudible, whimpering whines came from the animal’s throat.
Rob moved a step forward, put out his fingers to touch the dog’s cold nose, then as he stepped closer, said, “Why, it’s Lobo! What are you doing chained up, Lobo?”
Lobo pushed his muzzle under Rob’s face, then crouched, waiting to be released.
Wondering what had caused Joe to tie Lobo out in the open with a chain, Rob released the catch, and the dog came forward, burrowing his head in Rob’s hands.
Then, even as Rob petted him, the dog straightened and sniffed.
“Well, come on, old fellow. We’ll go to the house.”
He made a couple of steps in that direction.
Lobo held back and growled.
“What’s the matter, fellow?” Rob asked, instantly suspicious.
Lobo stood motionless, his tail slightly elevated and straight out behind him, his nose forward, and every muscle tense, pointing directly towards the house. Again the dog gave a low, all but inaudible, growl.
Rob suddenly realized that, in tying Lobo up by a chain out in the vicinity of the kennels, Joe had tried to convey a message.
In the event Rob approached the house cautiously, knowing at once that something was amiss. There could only have been one reason why Joe would have chained the dog outside, not under any shelter, but on the ground, with only the sky overhead. Someone had ordered him to chain the dog up. Someone who dared not have the dog running loose. Someone who was for the moment in a position of authority.
Rob crouched, keeping close to the ground. He moved silently towards the house, which was completely dark save for one light which was on in the kitchen. The kitchen blinds were drawn, but there was enough light coming through the high pantry window for Rob to tell the location of that single kitchen light.
Inching his way forward cautiously, Rob became rigid when a silhouetted figure moved between him and the illuminated oblong of the pantry window. There was something square-shouldered and official about that figure and as it moved, Lobo, his every hair turned into stiff wire, crowded against Rob and growled ominously.
Instantly Rob Trenton revised his entire plan of procedure.
“All right, Lobo,” he whispered, and turning, retraced his steps to the kennel, then around the back of the kennel to the dirt road which paralleled the highway some three hundred yards back from it and on which Rob quite frequently exercised his dogs.
He turned at right angles, came at length to the main highway and then walked cautiously down to the place where he had left the car.
He kept his hand on Lobo’s neck in order to see if there was any danger ahead, if any tightening of the muscles or any low, warning growl should indicate that the darkness held some potential enemy.
But Lobo, stalking along quietly at Rob’s side, his nose questing the mysteries of the deep shadows, gave no indication that anyone was ahead. He did not stop abruptly as he saw the parked sedan, raised his head and sniffed the air cautiously, then, convinced that there were no hostile odors in connection with the car, he permitted Rob to move forward. As he detected Rob’s scent in the vicinity of the sedan, the dog’s tail started wagging slowly, indicating that he now knew the danger had been passed.
Rob unlocked the front door and said, “All right, Lobo.”
The dog instantly jumped into the front of the car, hesitated only long enough on the front seat to leap gracefully over to the back seat, where he settled down with a deep sigh of contentment.
Rob closed the door, fitted the key to the ignition but didn’t turn on the lights until he had swung the car in a complete circle and was headed back towards Falthaven. Then he switched on the lights and once more settled into steady speed.
A glance at the clock on the dashboard told him that his maneuvers in connection with the surreptitious approach to his house had cost him approximately forty-five minutes of precious time. He knew that his hours of liberty were numbered. Soon he was going to be called upon to make some convincing explanation, and at the moment he realized all too painfully that any explanation he could make would be far from convincing.