Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1914-12-03
CHAPTER XIV.
In Feller's Place,


What am l? What have l done?
What am I about to do? shot as forked
shadows over the hot 1ava-f1ow OF Mar
ta's impulse. The vitality that Wester-
ling had felt by suggestion from still
profile rejoiced in a Quickening of pace
directly she was out of sight of the
Veranda. All the thinking she had
done that afternoon had been in pic
lures; some saying, some cry, some,
groan, or some smile went with every
picture.
The sitting-room of the tower was
empty to other eyes but not to hers.
The lantern was in the corner at hand.
After her fastening steps had carried
her along the tunnel to the telephone,
she set down the lantern and pressed
the spring that opened the panel door.
Another moment and she would be en-
barked on her great adventure in the
finality of action. That little ear-piece
became a specter of conscience. She
drew back convulsiveIy and her hands
flew to her face; she was a rocking
shadow in the thin, reddish light of
the lantern.
Conscious mind had torn off the
mask from subconscious mind, reveal
ing the true nature of the change that
war had wrought in her. She who had
resented FeRer's part-what a part
she had been playing! Every word,
every shade of expression, every tell
ing pause Of abstraction after Wester-
ling confessed that he had made war
for his own ends had been subtly
prompted by purpose whose actuality
terrified her.
Her hypocrisy, she realized, was as
black as the wall of darkness beyond
the lanterns CLEAN. Then this demon
aization passed, as a nightmare
passes, with Westerling's boast again
in her ears.
When wars principles, enacted by
men, were based on sinister trjckery
called strategy and tactics, should not
women, using such weapons as they
had, also fight for their homes? Mar
ta's hands swept down from her eyes;
she was on fire with resolution.
Forty miles away a bell in Ian
stron's bedroom and at his desk rang
simultaneously. At the time he and
Partow were seated facing each other
across map on the table of the room
where they worked together. No per-
suasion of the young vice-chief, no
edict of the doctors, could make the
old chief take exercise or shorten his
hours
Il know. know myself" he said.
Il know my duty. And you are learn
ing, my boy, learning!"
Every day the fabby cheeks grew
pastier and the pouches under the eye
brows heavier. But there was no
dtmming Of the eagle flashes of the
eyes, no weakening of the will Last
night Lanstron had turned as white
as chalk when Partow staggered on
rising from the table, the veins on his
temples knotted blue whip-cords. Yet
after few hours sleep he reappeared
with firm step, fresh for the fray.
The paraphernalia around these two
was the same as that around Wester-
ling. Only the atmosphere of the staff
was different. Each man was perform
ing the part set for him. No man knew
much of any other mans part. Partow
alone knew all, and Lanstron was try
ing to grasp all and praying that Par
tow's old body should still feed mis-
mind with energy. Lanstron was thin
ner and paler, new and glittering in
teDsity in his eyes.
When word of Feller's detection
came, Lanstron realized for the first
time by Partow's manner that the old
chief of staff, with all his depreciation
of the telephone scheme as chimerical,
had grounded hope on it.
There was the chance that we
might know-so vital to the defense
what they were going to do before and
not after the attack" he said.
Yet the story of how Feller yielded
to the temptation of the automatic had
made the nostrils of the old war-horse
culver with a dramatic breath, and in
stead of the command of battery of
guns, which Lanstron had promised,
the chief made it a battalion. He had
drawn down his brows when he heard
that Marta had asked that the wire
be left intact; he had shot a shrewd,
questioning glance at Lanstron and
then beat a tattoo on the table and
half grinned as he grumbled under his
breath:
'She is afraid of being lonesomei No
harm done!"
A week had passed since the Grays
had taken the Ga1land house, and still
no word from Marta. The ring of the