It seemed an interminable ride even at the speed which we were
making. Twelve miles in the blackness of a country night can seem
like a hundred.
At last as we turned a curve, and Lockwood's headlights shone on
the white fence that skirted the outer edge of the road as it
swung around a hill that rose sharply to our left and dropped off
in a sort of ravine at the right beyond the fence, I felt the car
tremble as he put on the brakes.
A man was waving his arms for us to stop, and as we did, he ran
forward. He peered in at us and I recognized Burke.
"Whe-where's Kennedy?" he asked, disappointed, for the moment
fearing he had made a mistake and signalled the wrong car.
"Coming," I replied, as we heard the driver of the other car
sounding his horn furiously as he approached the curve.
Burke jumped to the safe side of the road and ran on back to
signal to stop. It was then for the first time that I paid
particular attention to the fence ahead of us on which now both
our own and the lights of the other car shone. At one point it was
torn and splintered, as though something had gone through it.
"Great heavens, you don't mean to say that they went over that?"
muttered Lockwood, jumping down and running forward.
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