Scott finally decided to accept Johnson’s better judgment, relied on that gentleman’s knowledge of his surroundings, and donned his sweater. Johnson was already equipped. He cast a longing glance at a sofa cushion on the couch. “Sorry I haven’t room for you, old fellow, if I had I’d sure take you along. Five minutes of seven, Scotty, just time to make it.”
They hurried to the clubhouse in silence. The front door stood open and a carefully shielded light cast a dim glow on a notice pinned to the door jamb. They read the notice eagerly.
Follow this string.
Speak only when you are spoken to.
Be good and you’ll be happy.
Beware of the Goat.
Farewell.
A thin cord was tied to the door knob and led away up the dark stair. They laid their hands gingerly on the string and started carefully up stairs with nerves on edge. At the first turn on the landing a bright electric light flashed in their eyes for an instant and left them totally blinded in the utter darkness. They groped their way along apprehensively holding to that winding string. There was not a sound to be heard except the noise they themselves made as they stumbled through the rooms littered with all the obstructions that ingenious minds could devise. After what seemed like almost interminable scrambling they mounted another flight of stairs. More winding through obstructed passageways, and down another flight of stairs, then another and another. Scott was beginning to have visions of old medieval dungeons when his wrist bumped into something cold that snapped with a metallic click, and he found himself brought to a stop by a handcuff. It was too dark to distinguish anything, but he could hear the hard breathing of many nervous people. It seemed to him that he had stood there for an eternity with nothing to break the silence save occasionally a cautious step on the stairs which always stopped with the same metallic click.
Suddenly there was a shuffling of many feet and the handcuff led him slowly forward. Much to his surprise he passed through a door directly onto the ground outside—he had thought that he must be at least one story below the level of the street—and found himself in the middle of a long string of men all walking in single file. They were all handcuffed to one long rope. This chain gang was guarded by a line of scouts on either side, and led on by six husky fellows who dragged the front end of the rope.
Slowly the procession marched up the middle of the street, across the campus, through the auditorium where a popular lecture was in progress, and out into the open fields. After a half-mile of winding march in the darkness they entered a black forest. A little farther and the line stopped.