“Fifteen miles to Elmwood,” read Chot in the light of a pocket flashlamp he carried.
“I thought we were nearer than that,” remarked Mr. Campbell. “Well it won’t take long if we can beat the rain.”
But the louder thunder, and the increased brightness and frequency of the lightning, seemed to indicate that the storm would soon break.
Mr. Campbell guided his car around a curve, at a point where the trees meeting overhead rendered the highway very dark. He saw a straight stretch ahead of him, and was about to resume speed when Ruddy suddenly uttered a howl, so weird and so full of import that, as Chot said afterward, it made his hair stand up.
“Ruddy! Ruddy! What’s the matter!” cried Rick, patting his dog’s head.
Again Ruddy howled, in that mournful way dogs have—a nerve-racking sound at best, and doubly so on a lonely road after dark and with a brooding storm overhead.
Mr. Campbell suddenly jammed on the brakes, locking the rear wheels and sliding the car along with a crunch of gravel beneath the tires.
“What’s the matter?” cried Rick.
“I’m afraid of danger,” was the answer. “I believe Ruddy is trying to warn us of something!”
And again the dog howled mournfully, as the car slackened speed.