"Sure thing," Jefferson continued. "Some of the road gang were talking about it, back in a lunch wagon where I stopped. Stick to the right fork, and you'll cut off five miles to Herkimer.
That's the way I was going to hoof it. Figured it would be a shorter walk, even though there wouldn't be a chance for a lift."
"All right," said Stuart.
The road was winding now, and Stuart reduced speed slightly. The lightning flashes were blinding; the roar of the thunder was continuous. They were in the thick of the storm. A dazzling glare revealed the road ahead, and Stuart saw the spreading of the fork. Jefferson observed it, too.
"The right," he said.
Both roads looked good. Stuart swerved the big car to the right. Whirling through the storm, they began to descend a constant decline.
"Getting down to a river," observed Jefferson. "That's where the bridges are. Two of them. One on each side of an island. I heard the gang telling about them.
"They haven't even been down there, yet. Just stuck up barriers at each end. Waiting to get the order to go. That's the way they work. Better watch out, because we may hit a block across the road." The man's suggestion was a timely one. They were passing a dirt road that led off to the right. The headlights shone upon something white. A flash of lightning came, an instant later, and Stuart applied the brakes to keep from running into a broad, whitewashed board that blocked his path. The car began to skid, but responded to the driver's touch, and came to a jolting, sidewise stop, only a few feet from the barricade.
"No light," muttered Stuart.
"Wouldn't do much good," said Jefferson. "That white board shows about as well as a red light. Wait. I'll lift it so you can go through."