“There goes our fishing trip,” said Bob. “I had hopes of finding a nice place somewhere along here where we could fish for a couple of hours and then make camp for the night.”
“We thought that we were getting away from the constraining requirements of Army life, but we have apparently run into another service which has just as rigid demands,” announced Bill. “I guess that our fishing trip will be postponed for a while. Let’s go and see what it’s all about.”
Once more they started up the river road. The next three miles were covered very slowly as the road was not very wide and the curves were almost continuous. For a while they were afraid that they would not know Sam Crouch’s place when they came to it, but they were soon disabused of the idea, for they did not come to any clearing. They were passing through almost virgin woods.
Bob watched the speedometer with a view of checking up on the distance. It showed that they had traveled three miles, but there was not a sign of a clearing. Bob stopped the car.
“Here’s the three miles, but where’s the clearing?” he said.
“Shove along a little farther,” suggested Bill. “Perhaps your ideas of three miles from your speedometer and Cecil’s idea are not synchronized.”
“I don’t want to run right into that fire,” replied Bob. “The road may lead right through it. We are so close now that I think that I hear the flames crackling. Can you hear them?”
“I not only hear them, but also imagine that I can see them,” replied Bill. “The fire is not far off, but drive around that next bend.”
They turned the next bend and came out at the clearing. Bob drove into the cut-over area and stopped his car near the house.
“It’s the right place, all right,” said Bill. “I saw the name ‘S. Crouch’ on the mail box by the road.”