Lanterman then told the others, "Rest of us better get going too, all except those that are staying to guard the women and kids. You stick along with me, Wilson." Motors roared, all along the street. Lanterman climbed grandly into a long black limousine, and Wales followed him. The car was full of men and gun-barrels when its driver, a leathery young chap who was chewing tobacco, pulled out along the street. The other cars, nearly a score of them, followed them. But they headed southeastward. "We're going pretty far east," Wales protested. "Pittsburgh's south." Lanterman chuckled. "Don't you worry, Wilson. You'll get to Pittsburgh, before the night's over." For an hour the caravan of cars, without lights, rolled along silent roads and through dark villages. They came to a halt in a little town that Wales couldn't recognize. But when he saw wooden piers, and the broad, glinting blackness of a river, he realized it must be one of the smaller towns a bit upriver from Pittsburgh on the Allegheny. There were a dozen big skiffs tied to the piers, and a quartet of armed men guarding them. There were no lights, and the darkness was a confusion of shadowy men and of unfamiliar voices. "Get your damned gun-butt out of my ribs, will you?" * * * * * Wales realized that the whole party was embarking in the boats. He followed Lanterman into one of them. Lanterman said, "Now I don't want one bit of noise from any of you. Get going." The boats were cast off and forged out into the dark, wide river. In the moonless night, the shore was only a deeper bulk of blackness. Lanterman's boat, leading, swung across to the southern shore, and then kept close to it as they went silently downstream. Occasional creak of oars, the voices of frogs along the bank--these were the only sounds. The deep summery, rotten smell of the river brought a powerful nostalgia to Wales. Impossible to think that all this must soon end! The darkness remained absolute as they went on downriver. They had entered what was once the busiest industrial region of the world, but it was desolate and black and silent now. Wales ventured to whisper, "Why this way, instead of using the bridges?" Lanterman snorted. "They _expect_ us to use the bridges. Wait, and you'll see." A moment later he called. "No more rowing. Drift. And no noise!" They drifted silently along the bank. A huge span loomed up vaguely over them. Wales thought it would be the old Chestnut Street Bridge. He was startled when, beside him, Lanterman hooted. It was a reasonably good imitation of a screech-owl, twice repeated. A moment later, from the northern, farthest end of the big bridge, rifle-shots shattered the silence. There was a sudden confusion of firing and shouting there. Lanterman chuckled. "Harry's right on time. He'll make enough row to bring the whole bunch there."