The crooked crossDutton, Charles J. (Charles Judson)
General
The crooked cross
Dutton, Charles J. (Charles Judson)
Bartley, John (Fictitious character) -- Fiction; Detective and mystery stories; Murder -- Investigation -- Fiction
I agreed it might be best to see the girl ourselves, and in a short
time we went out to the car. I stopped at a filling station to make
sure the tank was full and that I had enough oil. Then we headed for
the hills, which were but a few miles away. For a while we drove on a
fine state highway, with summer estates and small farms for company.
But after we had gone a few miles we turned off the main road to
follow a narrow, dirt highway—a road which grew narrower as we went
along—with a brook by the side, which was running swiftly down to the
lake.
Not only was the road narrow, but it was in horrible condition. Deep
ruts ran along its sides and across its surface. The scenery became
more desolate, and the farms fewer. In a short while the pasture land
vanished, and on each side of us were deep woods. The road began to
climb, growing steeper with every foot, and soon I was forced to put
the car into second gear. Though it was a very well-built machine, yet
we bounded from side to side upon the seat. Once as we struck an extra
deep rut, I heard the chief mutter an oath as he came down against the
side of the car.
We reached the top of the mountain at last, and found that there was a
clear space ahead of us. We could look far down into the valley below
and across to another range of hills. A wild country useless for
farming, and without a house in sight. But as I swept around a bend in
the road, I saw far below me the shining waters of several small
lakes. One of these the chief pointed out as being our destination.
If anything, the descent of the hill was even worse than coming up. I
could well see why those who camped in the valley did not make many
trips to town. The road became so narrow that there was not room for
two cars to pass, and I wondered at times if I could keep on it. Not
only that, but it suddenly started to sweep around abrupt heights, in
sharp, sudden curves—curves which took all one's skill to make. It was
with a little sigh of relief that I came off the mountain and began to
follow the road which ran through two rows of trees.
Suddenly we came out of the wood, to find ourselves by the shore of a
small lake—a lake which formed almost a complete glimmering circle,
with trees coming down to the water's edge. The road followed the
shore of the lake for a few hundred yards, then took an abrupt bend,
to again come back to the water. And then, as we came around the bend,
I saw three small buildings ahead of us—buildings placed in a cleared
spot of ground, and with a little wharf in front which ran into the
lake. And it was here we stopped.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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