Timberlands began to line the road now. Night was dropping its curtain over the countryside; lights twinkled in far-off farmhouses in the valley. He was soon aware that the road was rising steadily; he was on the mountainside, surrounded by dark thickets and ghostly trees; an uncanny, haunted feeling came over him. He could hardly see the road before him; he felt for his flashlight, and smothered an exclamation. He must have left his light in the pocket of his mackinaw, now in the possession of the boy back at Apple Hill.
The road was now too steep for riding; all the strength of his muscles could not drive the machine forward. He jumped off, and began a slow trudge upward, trundling the bicycle beside him.
It took him fully half an hour to reach the summit of the mountain. The hunting lodge could not be far away now. If his venture was a wild goose chase, at any rate that chase would soon be at an end.
The weariness of his journey had blotted out all sense of reality; he did not even think of the hopelessness of burglarizing a strange house and searching there for evidence of an incident which had happened more than twelve months ago.
His feet sounded hollowly on some sort of wooden steps. They must lead up to the door of the lodge! He leaned his bicycle against a rustic railing, and stumbled wearily across the resounding boards of a porch. If only he had his flashlight! But no matter—— This must be the door. His hand sought out the latch, and he started back in surprise. It was open!
Could anyone be within? But no, there were no lights showing anywhere about the place. Some carelessness, no doubt. He pushed lightly on the door; it gave before his hand, and he stepped over the threshold, into a room.
Jake Utway tried to scream, but a lump had risen in his throat, and he could not get the words out. In a far corner of the strange room a red coal, like a cigar-end, glowed and died. A freezing paralysis of fear ran down his spine; in his ears pulsed loudly the pounding beat of his heart.
“Come right in, son,” said a voice that was horribly jovial. “You’re a bit late. But you’ve come at last.”
The door slammed behind him like the crack of judgment. Some heavy body had thrown itself against the panels, and now stood ready to bar his way. All the hazardous escapes of his flight from Lenape had been of no avail. From this last, dark trap there was no escape.