"How's the quickest way to get to the Grimes place?" the Chief asked. "Is there any short cut--any back way we can get in?" The farmer shook his head. "Not as I knows on," he said. "But yo'-all kin git over ter th' river road less'n no time ef yo' jist foller this road es fur es Murphy's place, then cut acrost thet stretch o' timber-land o' his'n--Mike'll let yo' take down th' bars an' go through. Hit's a good road--an' thet'll fotch yo' ter th' top o' th' knob whar hit runs inter th' hill road thet goes down ter Simpkins' dock. Thet's whar hit jines th' river road. Frum thar on ter th' ole pike yo'll hev th' river on one side an' th' swamps on t'other, so yo' wanter drive keerful like--an' th' same arter yo' turn off onto th' Grimes road, thet runs inter th' pike 'bout a whoop an' a holler further." The farmers in this section had once been wont to measure distance by sound and the expression still lingered, even though meaningless to a modern generation. The route was more direct than it sounded. It was not a waste of time to listen to the directions for they ensured a through journey once the car started, which it did with a suddenness and swiftness that left the farmer gazing with amazement. One statement he had made impressed every man in the car. From the top of that knob to which the timber-land route would lead them, they would descend almost direct to the Simpkins' dock--the place designated by the kidnappers for Wayne to bring the money demanded for the ransom of his child. Wayne and the Chief simultaneously looked at their watches. "We'll just about make it," said the latter. "God grant we may be in time," groaned Wayne. And in that other automobile, tearing away from the Grimes place and along the pike and river roads, coming directly toward them, Bailey looked at his watch and made the same remark. His object was to reach the cross-roads in time to head off the children, get possession of the Wayne baby and park his car, with engine throttled down, in the position he had already described to Swazey to cover their escape after the ransom was paid. The sun was mounting higher in the heavens and Mollie was growing tired. Her back ached with the heavy load she was carrying and her body was one mass of scratches, bruises and mud. The children were in even worse condition. She looked back along the struggling line, and her brave heart ached for the little creatures. Not one had made a complaint; not one had been fretful or impatient. The boys were even making jokes and doing their utmost to celebrate their freedom. Then from behind them sounded the baying of a dog. Tige was unloosed! Maria was urging him to brave the swamp and come after them. The children called to Mollie. "Poor Tige!" she exclaimed. "He'd hev ben a good dawg ef Pete hed gi'n him a chanst. Ef he goes inter th' bog he'll die."