THROUGH STORM AND DARKNESS
Steve fell twice and a thorny branch lashed him across the face with
painful force before he got the better of that panicky dash. One of two
things must have happened. Either the flashlights had been extinguished,
or else the men had passed around a bend which hid the sight of them
from view. The latter was perhaps the more likely; but it was the
possibility that they had heard him and were lurking ahead in the
darkness, awaiting his approach, that turned him cold.
It was the first time his nerve had been really shaken, but it was
shaken now. The darkness or the plotters, taken separately, he could
face without tremors. It was the combination of the two, the combination
of the unknown, the unseen, the suspense of uncertainty, which made him
shiver and brought out a clammy perspiration on his forehead.
It set him to thinking, also, of the camp and wishing with a desperate
sort of longing for the presence of some of the fellows to back him up.
If only Cavvy were here, with his cool head and ready wit; his sturdy
fearlessness would be a tower of strength. Why, even little Shrimp
Willett would be a comfort.
But they were all back there in camp with lights and warmth and
cheerfulness about them, while he was here—alone. And he must go forward
alone, too, no matter what that beastly blackness held in store for him.
He dug his teeth into his under lip. Then his chin went up abruptly.
What had got into him? What was he thinking of? Why, at this very
instant men were facing with a smile things a thousand times worse than
this. Black wastes of shell-torn barrenness, tangled with barbed wire,
littered with unknown pitfalls, loomed into his imagination. There were
shadows brightened ominously by the flare of signal rockets or the flash
of hand grenades; silences shattered by the thunder of big guns or the
whining ping of sharpshooters’ bullets. And in imagination that worst
horror of all—the deadly poison gas—caught him for an instant by the
throat and choked him. Yet over there men looked hourly into the face of
such a death and laughed, while he was afraid to take a little risk—for
them!
A burning flush flamed into the boy’s face and he clenched his hands
spasmodically. From his lips came a sound of mingled shame and fury and
determination.
“What a cur I am!” he grated scornfully. “What a beastly coward to be
downed by a little dark and wet! And I won’t be!”
Doubt and hesitation thrown aside, he sped on along the beach. Once or
twice the thought of what might be waiting for him slipped past that
mental barrier of resolution, but he flung it fiercely back. And when he
had gone two hundred yards or so he began to breathe more easily. They
could scarcely have been much further off than this when the lights
vanished. Another hundred yards and he was quite certain. It was
impossible in the darkness to tell where the shoreline curved, but he
had a feeling that it must be about this point. A few minutes later the
faint, distant gleam of light ahead confirmed his guess.
“All that stupid fuss about nothing,” he growled. “Now it’s up to me to
catch up with them.”
But though he did his best, he was still a hundred yards behind when, as
nearly as he could guess, they reached the wide estuary of the shipyard.
There was a dock here where supplies and materials were landed, and from
it a well-used road led through the regular lines of store houses,
machine shops and countless other buildings.
Almost at the edge of this road the lights winked out again, but this
time Haddon felt no uneasiness. Though it was still blowing hard, the
rain had lessened noticeably. Some of the guards, more zealous than the
rest, might venture forth, and the twinkle of strange lights would
inevitably raise an alarm.
Steve paused for an instant and stared ahead, trying to penetrate the
darkness. To his right, among the buildings, a few scattered electric
lights shone obscurely, but they did little toward relieving the general
gloom. Slipping along from shadow to shadow, the plotters would have no
difficulty in gaining any part of the yard they chose for their
incendiary purpose. But this same condition was a corresponding aid to
him.
Having visited the yard, he knew the general direction of the guard
house. Now, when the men ahead vanished into the gloom, Steve turned
abruptly to his right across an open space of recently cleared land. He
found it far from easy going. There were stumps and roots to trip him
up; hollows and other pitfalls to avoid. With the spies so near, a fall
or even a noisy stumble might ruin everything. But the boy crept on,
feeling his way forward, chafing at the sense of precious minutes
flying, until the dark bulk of the first building loomed before him.
Speeding a little, he passed along the rear of it, crossed a slightly
brighter space, and gained the shadow of the next one. But as he reached
the further corner a sound, slight yet unmistakeable, brought him to a
sudden halt, breathless and tingling. The sound was the faint
splintering of wood, and close upon its heels came the noise of a window
being slowly lifted. With nerves like taut-strung wires, Steve crept
forward and peered around the corner.
In front of the third building in the row hung one of the temporary
electric globes that were dotted sparsely over the shipyard. At this
distance it served merely to lighten the gloom a trifle. But Haddon,
staring intently into the shadows, presently made out one which seemed
darker than the rest—a shadow that moved slightly, to merge a moment
later into the blacker darkness of an open window.
Just a second the boy stood petrified. From the first it had been his
plan not alone to prevent the catastrophe, but to try and bring about a
capture of the plotters. But the sight of one of them actually entering
the building shocked him to a realizing sense of how much more vital it
was to prevent the fire from getting headway. In a flash he had left his
hiding and headed for the guard house on the run.
Racing across the open space between the two buildings he sped through
the shadows back of the third one, circled it, and gained the open road.
Instinctively he kept to the darker side of this. The padding of his
sodden shoes made scarcely any sound on the hard dirt, and there was a
chance that he might escape detection.
Presently the lighted windows of the guards’ bunk house loomed ahead
like a beacon. There was a swift, final spurt along the silent, deserted
road, a nervous, backward glance which revealed only the placid darkness
unlighted by the sinister glare he feared. Then he gained the steps,
stumbled up them, and flung open the door which yielded to his touch.