Stuart Bruxton brought his automobile to a sudden stop in front of a dilapidated building beside the road. The place had been a filling station once — the rusted gasoline standard told that.
Now, the house was nothing but a deserted shack — yet it was the only human habitation that Stuart had seen for the past few miles.
Peering through the gloom of the gathering dusk, Stuart Bruxton tried to distinguish objects on the small porch of the battered building. He fancied that he had seen the figure of a man standing beneath that small and rickety roof.
It was impossible to observe anything now; but as Stuart stared toward the house, the whole building was suddenly revealed, in the temporary glare of a distant lightning flash. During that short, photographic scene, Stuart's first impression was justified. There actually was a man on the porch. He seemed to be hiding behind a battered pillar.
Stuart lowered the window of the coupe. He called out, but his voice was drowned by the long rumble of the thunder. When silence came, he called again; then waited while big drops of rain spattered through the window.
Stuart watched to see if the man would respond, waiting patiently for another flash of lightning. Before it came, someone spoke in reply.
The man had come from the porch through the darkness. He was standing beside the car.
Stuart could distinguish his face through the gloom.
"I'm heading for a town called Herkimer," explained Stuart. "How do I get there?"
"I'm going that way," came the reply. "Want to give me a lift? Guess I can show you the road."
"Sure thing," responded Stuart.
The man clambered into the car. Now, at close range, Stuart saw that he was evidently a man from the city. He was well dressed, even though his overcoat bore signs of long wear. He was about thirty-five years of age, and his face, while pale and drooping, indicated intelligence.
"Herkimer's straight ahead — for a while," the man remarked. "Glad you came along. I was kinda stranded there, on that porch. Waiting for the storm to pass over."
They were entering the storm zone as the man spoke. Stuart could feel the effects of the driving wind as he managed the powerful coupe. Rain was battering against the windshield, and the glare of the bright lights shone into an oncoming torrent.
Stuart pictured the porch where the man had been. It was hardly an enviable spot during a deluge, but it was better than the open.
"Hiking my way," explained the man. "Cut across this road because it was shorter, and figured I could pick up a hitch. But the people seem to be kinda leery of hikers. That's why I was watching, when you came along."
"You know this road?" questioned Stuart.
"Yeah," the man answered. "It's a good road, but it isn't on the map. Lot of them like that, down here in Maryland. They told me all about it, back in the last town. When we get a few miles farther on, I'll show you a short cut."
They drove along in silence for a few minutes; then the man at Stuart's side began a brief and disjointed explanation of his circumstances.
His name, it appeared, was Jefferson — he did not mention his surname. He had gone broke in a town outside of Baltimore and had decided to foot it for New York.
The man said nothing of his business; merely mentioned that he had friends in Manhattan, and was anxious to get there. Stuart asked no questions, so the man's talk ended. The fury of the storm had increased. The road, although narrow, was well paved, and Stuart handled the car in expert fashion. They were traveling nearly forty miles an hour — a high speed under the conditions. Stuart's eyes were glued to the road. He wanted to make Herkimer, where he could cut over to a main road, and reach Philadelphia within a few hours. The companionship of the hitch-hiker was not disagreeable, so he intended to take the man all the way.
"Must be pretty near there, now," the stranger remarked. "The road splits, and you can save five miles if you stick to the right. We'll see a detour sign, but it won't mean anything."
"How's that?" questioned Stuart.
"They're starting some repair work," explained Jefferson, "so they've closed the road.
Going to take down two bridges and put up new ones. But they aren't beginning until next Monday — even though they've had the signs up for a couple of days."
"You're positive about that?" Stuart parried.
"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."
The man clambered from the car and walked in front of the headlights. He swung the board to one side, and Stuart guided the car through. A few moments later, his companion rejoined him. The man's coat and hat were dripping.
"What a storm!" he exclaimed. "Wouldn't like to be out in it long." THE road lay straight ahead, past the barrier. Stuart speeded up. He remembered what Jefferson had said about the two bridges. There would be no other obstacle until they passed the second bridge. Stuart was in a hurry, not only because he wanted to reach his destination, but also because he wanted to be off this road, and clear of the storm.
There was a twist; then came a straight downward hill, and at the end of it, the first bridge. Jefferson saw it as soon as the driver, and added another bit of information.
"The bridges are O.K.," he said. "They're taking them down because they're only wide enough for one car."
The headlights were revealing the fact that the bridge was narrow. A flash of lightning showed the complete structure, and the straight road on the island beyond.
Thus assured, Stuart pressed the accelerator, and the roar of the motor vied with the surging sound of the swollen stream that swept beneath the bridge.
The big car reached the bridge, traveling forty miles an hour. Hardly had the crossing begun before a strange vibration seemed to seize the bridge. The firm, level roadway was swaying!
For a brief second, Stuart felt that he was at the helm of a ship at sea. The automobile was in the midst of a skidding course. The bridge was giving way beneath its weight!
Instinctively, Stuart pressed the accelerator to the floor, knowing that his only salvation was to get clear of the collapsing bridge. The response of the car was instantaneous. It shot forward as Stuart passed the center of the bridge. The front wheels struck some obstacle, but kept on. As the rear wheels hit the same spot, there was a terrific crash.
The front of the car was almost to the end of the bridge, as a mighty sound — louder than a thunder roll told that the bridge had gone down beneath the rear of the car!
Only the momentum of the automobile prevented the car from falling into the engulfing stream. The bridge, collapsing at an angle, threw the rear of the coupe to one side. The hurtling machine shot on to the solid ground ahead. No longer under control, it swerved to the left of the road. The right side of the car rose like a mountain as Stuart applied the brakes. They were headed for a clump of saplings, and they crashed through the obstacle like an avenging Juggernaut. All was wild confusion before Stuart's eyes as he felt the car lunge forward and downward. It seemed to spin spirally to the left; then came a crash as the car smashed into a tree.
The motion ceased. Stuart recovered from a momentary daze to realize that the car was lying at a precipitous angle to the left. The whole front of the car was a mass of wreckage.
Something weighed heavily upon Stuart's body. He discovered that it was the form of Jefferson. His companion was lying almost over the steering wheel.
"Are you all right?" questioned Stuart.
A groan was the response, but it was satisfying. The man was hurt, but still alive. A flash of lightning showed his face, the right side gashed and bruised.
Amidst the rumble of thunder and the roaring of the stream beside the car, Stuart realized that he must extricate himself; then look to the other's welfare. Cautiously, he opened the door of the car and started to slide free.
There was a depression in the ground below; but the car could not topple farther, for it was wedged against a good-sized tree.
As Stuart slipped downward, he realized that Jefferson's inert form was following him.
He managed to stop the helpless man's progress by pushing him forward so that he rested against the steering wheel. Once out and looking up into the car above, Stuart saw that Jefferson's body was slowly gliding downward. The car would be a better place than the ground, Stuart decided, pushing the door shut. Jefferson's sagging form stopped as it settled into the driver's seat.
Stuart had lost all sense of direction. The winding course of the stream confused him. He stumbled through dampened underbrush and drew himself upward out of boggy ground. Then, as his senses straightened, he began to take his bearings.
The very elements which had contrived against him now worked in his behalf. The chilling rain aroused his benumbed faculties. The roaring stream told him that the road must be in the opposite direction. The lightning glare revealed the scene and showed the edge of the road, upward and ahead. Climbing an embankment, Stuart clung to a tree and rested, conscious of a sudden weakness in his left leg.
Before he went farther, it would be wise to note the situation about him. He looked back toward the car. It was invisible. Stuart had turned off the lights after the smash.
Then came a lightning flash — distant, now, for the center of the storm had passed. In the midst of that prolonged glare, Stuart saw a sight that froze his heart with terror.
The car was some sixty feet away, its right side looming upward. The door was opened, and Stuart saw why.
Poised over the opening was the stocky form of a man clad in cap and sweater. The face of this man was turned upward, and it wore an expression of evil exultation. In a huge, thick fist, this creature of the storm held a thick rod.
One sight of the poised figure told Stuart that whatever the man's errand might be, it would not be one of mercy. Who was this ghoulish being who had so quickly arrived at the scene of the disaster?
Stuart's startled cry was unheard in the roar of the thunder that followed the revealing flash. Helpless, Stuart stood there and waited; then another flash came, and he saw that the door of the car was closed. The evil-visaged man was gone!
Forgetting his injured leg, Stuart fought his way to the car, pushing through underbrush and saplings. He clambered upon the running board and opened the door.
He waited there, tense, his eyes staring downward, unable to view the form of the injured man whom he had left there.
Then came a broad sheet of lightning. Instantly Stuart saw the face of Jefferson, no longer turned downward, as it had been when Stuart left, but staring straight upward with ghastly, unseeing eyes. The gashes and bruises suffered in the crash still adorned the side of the man's face. But above them was a horrible wound. Jefferson's head had been crushed by a blow from some heavy object!
Helpless and alone, there in the car, Stuart's companion had been slain by the hideous man who had come from the storm!