Page:Weird Tales volume 36 number 02.djvu/52

 suddenly there was a piercing squeal from one of the hogs, as if it were being injured. My uncle trundled out of the room, calling back, "Come along, Julian! I'll tell you what you must know while I see what's the matter—" I held Annette a moment longer before I followed.

The sky was boiling black, with intermittent flashes of lightning on the horizon, but so far there was little wind, and no rain. The pens were over a hundred yards from the house, and not visible from it owing to the curve of the hill. As I started along the path, I heard steps behind me, and turned to see George Harris coming around the corner of the porch.

"Looks like bad weather," I said. "Where have you been? My uncle's been looking for you."

"Has he? Why? Anything missing?"

"Missing?" I repeated.

"I'll ask him, myself." We walked a few paces side by side. "I only came back for a saw I forgot."

We had topped the hill, and were looking down at Uncle Alfred who was bending over one of the hogs in the third pen before Harris' statement struck me as curious. I halted, and said, "What do you mean? Has something happened between you and Mr. Fry?"

"Why, sure. Didn't you know? I'm fired. He called me up yesterday, and told me to be off the place by this morning."

Distant lightning glinted in Harris' sardonic eyes as I gazed at him, wonderingly. Why had Uncle Alfred pretended to think that Harris would return? The answer was in a closed cell of my brain—I knew it was there, but I could not find it.

"That's strange," I said at last, and we went down the hill to the pen, inside of which my uncle was comforting one of his swine.

Without looking up, my uncle said, "Galahad has scratched himself on a nail, or something of the sort. Awful thing to happen at a moment like this—just when I've got to give you your instructions and send you off—"

Harris cut in; "Did you want to see me?"

My uncle was obviously startled. He jerked his head around, and exclaimed, "What! Oh—Harris. No, I don't want to see you—why would I? I spoke to you yesterday and I haven't changed my mind."

Harris nodded and leaned against the wall of the pen. My uncle stood up. Sweat was glistening on his forehead and jowls, his upper lips was raised over his yellow teeth, and he looked less human than usual. "Well?" he cried. "Get on about your business! I've got to talk to my nephew!"

"Sure," said Harris. "I just wondered if you knew the telephone line's been cut? I noticed it when I came around the house just now—"

"Damn you!" my uncle shouted. "Go on! Go on! I won't listen to your nonsense!" He turned to me. "Julian, you must hurry! Go before the storm breaks! You'll find the man at the address on the letter. I'll wire you there—I'll—

At that moment the hog named Galahad broke away and trotted painfully to the far end of the pen—my uncle trotted after him. And then, a wide, blinding river of fire spilled out of the sky. I heard it sizzle and crackle before the thunder came, and before the thunder had echoed away I smelled the sulphur strong in the still air. I turned to Harris and said, shakily, "That was close!"

Harris was staring into the pen, a look of amazement on his face. As my gaze followed his, I, too, was amazed—my uncle had disappeared. I said, "Did you see him go? How did he get away so quickly?"

Suddenly the rain began to fall as if it were dashed out of buckets, but Harris remained a few seconds, leaning over the