Finally, with hearts that thanked a power greater than storm force, by dint of careful manipulation of signals and of controls, they made a landing in a field, amid quiet, storm-washed hills!
CHAPTER VIII
THE HAUNTED SWAMP
Drenched by rain, almost blinded by the incessant lightning, Chick drew up on the narrow footway among the grasses that the wind swept against his face.
“I’m lost!” he muttered.
All around him, as far as his sight could reach in the flashes, tall, waving, unbroken marsh grass showed.
“Somewhere I took a wrong path,” Chick told himself.
Shivering, he stood, fumbling at the buttons of his coat.
“That man who tried to make me think he was a spook, calling himself ‘the Thing that never was, and the Man who Never Lived,’” he said bitterly, “tore my coat pocket.”
He put a hand inside his garment to estimate the damage.
A great feeling of elation crowded out his momentary shudder of fear on realizing his dreadful situation.