Shadow 037 - The Grove of Doom 09-01-33, The by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant [Grant, Maxwell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Street and Smith
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XI

IN THE GROVE

GALBRAITH CHITTENDEN had entered the gloom beneath the beeches with surprising energy for a man of his age. With rapid strides, he took a straight course toward the heart of the woods - directly along the way that he knew Wilbur must have come from the opposite direction.

The police dog, no longer protesting, began to strain forward, whining at times, growling at intervals. It had seemingly caught the spirit of the search. Galbraith, intent of purpose, did not sense the hideous atmosphere of these brown-matted, irregular corridors. Beowulf, eager for his master, looked up as though asking to be loosed. The old man responded by leaning down and unclasping the hook that held the dog’s collar. Beowulf bounded forward; then stood waiting.

Galbraith Chittenden looked around for Zachary. The old man saw his son lagging far behind. Zachary’s evil face looked grotesque in this strange light. It wore a sickening, pallid expression.

“Come on!” ordered Galbraith.

“Go ahead,” said Zachary. “I’ll follow. I’m looking around a bit. You’re moving too fast, father.”

Galbraith Chittenden snorted contemptuously. He marched straight forward. The police dog, scenting the ground curiously, circled about the old man, covering a much wider area. Zachary Chittenden, a worried look upon his face, crept onward, slowly veering toward the right.

One could see a considerable distance beneath the trees, due to the uniform height of the trunks to the lower branches. Off to the left and farther ahead, Zachary could spy his father; and every now and then, the grayish form of Beowulf bounded in the air into distant view.

They were deep in the grove now, Zachary still keeping the right, increasing his pace so that he would not lose ground. Fully did the malicious-faced young man realize the impending danger that hovered above this low-roofed acreage. By swift, circuitous travel, Zachary gained more ground until he was more than fifty yards ahead of Galbraith and the dog; and still a considerable space to the right.

Suddenly, Zachary stopped his progress and gripped the trunk of a tree. He was experiencing the same sensations that Calvin Merrick had gained herein, save that Zachary’s mind was ravening as well as intuitive. Zachary recognized the presence of a hidden threat; he knew, however, that the danger lay over his father, who was now pacing slowly at the very center of the grove.

Wilbur’s dog was traveling in a wide, continuous circle, its muzzle against the ground. Whines became snarls; then came excited barks. Steadying himself, Zachary was tense. He knew that something was about to happen, not here, but over there, fifty yards away.

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