THE NIGHT RIDE
The car sped on and on into the night. Past low narrow cottages
interspersed with apartment buildings, past long rows of modern
apartments, across countless railway tracks, in and out among great
looming factory buildings, they glided.
Into the open country where the air was heavy with the scent of weed dust
and fresh cut grain they went, and the end was not yet.
A stretch of broad paved road ended in gravel and dirt. The car bumped
and swung from side to side.
Farmhouses, drowsy with night, flashed by them.
At last, with a lurch, they swung off the road and entered a narrow lane
and arrived in the back yard of a house that appeared abandoned.
The grass, damp with dew, was up to their knees as they alighted.
"No more likely place could be found for dark deeds!" was Johnny's mental
comment. Once more he shuddered.
Still he did not wholly despair.
Pushing him before them, the gangsters approached the house.
At the same time a dark shadow, that might have been a dog, a wolf, or a
skulking human being, glided from the back of the car toward a great barn
that loomed away to the right.
Arrived at the door of the house, the man with the hole in his hand
gripped the doorknob and shook it. The door did not open. Producing a
small flashlight, he turned it on the door.
"Padlocked," he grumbled. "Tony's been here. Got no key."
"Let's go to the barn," suggested a gruff voice.
Without another word they turned and started for the barn.
Had they flashed their light against the one small window on that side of
the barn, they might have seen there a frightened, staring, but
determined face.
When they entered the large room that had doubtless at one time been a
granary, the place was deserted.
Had they looked carefully they might have noted that the dust on the
stairway leading to the loft had recently been disturbed by fleeing feet.
They did not look. Their minds were concentrated upon the telltale
bullets.
"Now, young man." It was Volpi, he of the hole in his hand, who spoke.
"Where are them slugs?"
"Slugs?" said Johnny.
"Bullets then. Them bullets?"
"I have no bullets. I use no gun. I shoot only with bow and arrow."
"Ah, yes! With those you are skillful!" Volpi's words carried infinite
hate. He knew what had happened to Jimmie McGowan. Jimmie had been useful
to him in many ways. And now, who knows? Ah yes, he must have those
bullets at any cost.
"Look here, you!" He advanced upon Johnny in a threatening manner. "You
know what slugs I mean. Them slugs that this New York bull's been makin'
evidence with. You're goin' to give 'em up!"
He did not wait for Johnny to give them up. He stepped up and thrust his
hand into the boy's inner coat pocket.
A look of blank astonishment overspread his face. When he had gone
hurriedly through all the boy's pockets, he stood back to stare into
Johnny's face. His fingers worked convulsively. His small eyes became
buttons of staring blue. It seemed that he would spring at the boy and
tear him to pieces.
At that instant a curious thing happened. The room, lighted as it was
only by a small flashlight, was more than half in darkness. Into that
darkness there stole a strange red light. On the floor, at the gangster's
feet, there appeared the flaming arrow of fire.
"O-oof!" The man sprang back as if from a ghost. "The arrow!" he mumbled.
"The arrow of fire!"
As on those other occasions, even as he spoke, the apparition vanished.
Whatever may have been the gangster's intentions in the beginning, they
had been changed by the arrow of fire. Leading his men into a corner, he
began to talk to them in whispers. Was he recounting to them in detail
the history of that mysterious arrow? No one but they will ever know.