“Somewhere between South Milwaukee and Racine—that’s all I know,” answered the driver, with a laugh.
The wind blew harder; the rain, too, gradually increased in force until sweeping torrents beat hard against the motor car, splashing its occupants and forming tiny trickling pools in the bottom of the tonneau.
Not a vehicle had passed them; the country seemed absolutely deserted, and only dim points of light shining in the windows of distant farmhouses indicated that any life existed in the seeming wilderness.
The intense loneliness, the continual noises of the storm and the haunting fear that hidden dangers might be lurking in their path prevented Blake from entering into the spirit of the occasion.
“By Jove, this is certainly about the limit,” he groaned, inwardly.
From his position the forms of Bob Somers and Tom Clifton, bending low to escape the cutting blasts, assumed a curiously unreal appearance against the glare of acetylene light streaming ahead. Leaning forward, he sought vainly to pierce the blackness; then, his face becoming the target for splattering rain-drops, he hastily drew back, to straighten up again a moment later as a shrill whistle sent a series of wild reverberations across the landscape.
Over the air came faintly the rattle and roar of a fast express. The road was taking them near the tracks of the Chicago and Northwestern Railway. Charlie’s glance suddenly rested upon something in the distance—a long row of tiny lights sweeping rapidly toward them.
Now they disappeared; now flashed into view once more; the sound of grinding car wheels rose higher. Then, with almost incredible rapidity, the tiny lights became gleaming windows seeming to radiate cheer as they sped onward through the night. In an instant more the train was lost to view, and only a faint screech of the locomotive’s whistle, fading quickly into the roar of wind and splash of rain, told of its passing.
“Wish I was on board,” sighed Charlie. “Tom Clifton’s grins’ll never drag me into any more silly adventures. This is ’most as bad as that awful motor yacht trip. I’ve been going some to-day, all right.”
On the front seat, Tom was saying: