East Oregonian : E.O. (Pendleton, OR) 1888-current, 1917-02-05
CHAPTER XII.
Ths Restless Spirit"

were deep In an absOrbingiy
interesting talk with each
other.
The fact that they we're three miles
apart and that at least q million
people were between them, did not in
any way interfere with the secrecy
and audibility Of their conference.
This Is 90 common a phenomenon
this telephonic mode Of converse
that no one, who employs it, stops to
realize that it would have seemed the
miracle Of the ages half a century
ago.
So perhaps a century hence some
new marvel Of science may make our
descendants look back upon the tele-
phone with the same kindly derision
that we now bestow on the stage
coach and the sailing ship.
Clayton was doing little Of the
talking. Instead, he was content TO
listen lntently to bis chum-break-
ing in only occasionally with ques-
tion or with an exclamation Of amaze.
Stanley, at the other end Of the
wire, was talking earnestly and con-
cigely. He was in his own private
Office, in the Examiner Building.
Before calling Bob up he had sent
his stenogfapher from the room, had
locked both Of its doors and had sta
toned an Office boy outside Of each
10 prevent eavesdropping.
In spite Of all these odd precau-
lions, his voice was pitched so low
rs to be almost a whisper.
And he glanced nervonsly about
rim from time to time to make cer-
sain no one was listening at windows
1r doors
At last Harold paused in the steady
aow OF instructions he had been glv-
ng.
Il think that covers everything"
40 finished. You're sure you under
stand?"
YES" came Bob's reply. tinged
With not a little awe. Il understand,
Harold, you're a wonder! But can we
carry it through? Remember, We
Garry it through" repeated Stan
ley. "Of course we can. It's a mat
.er OF will and pluck and iron nerve
And there's more danger in it for us
than most men incur in a lifetime
But If We stand together, we can carry
It through. III stake my life on
that"
1T seems to me-" commented Bob,
that we're already stalking our
ives for about all they're worth. Do
Fou realize that this new plan Of
yours IL a gamble with death-and
with all the odds against us both?"
Yes, realize it," said Harold. "Of
sourse do. I'm not q fool. The brave
man Isn't the man who doesn't real
Ire danger. He's the man who real
Tres It and goes ahead just the same"
That's what we're going to do"
Clayton replied. IT'S big risk. but
It's for o stui bigger stake"
That's the right spirit, old mani"
approved Stanley. And now, you
have your Instruction. Get TO work
at once on them. We can't waste
time. Because times the one thing
We haven't got. This clew OF mine
Is tho strongest yet. And 1t will drive
the Crimson Stain gang to earth.
Take my word for that. Good-by."
He hung mp the receiver, got to his
feet and Walocked the two office
doors. This time for planning was
past. The time for action had at last
arrived. The long wait in the
trenches was ended. The bugle was
sounding the shrilly inspiring
''Charge!"
DR.. Montrose at about the same mo-
ment, turned Ia from the street and
moved wsarily up the walk toward his
big Riverdale house.
His ewes were bloodshot; his face
was drawn and his shoulders sagged.
Every line OF his big body and clean
cut tale, every step that he took, be-
tokensd utter fatigue. both of spirit
and Of flesh.
And in his expression there was
more than mere weariness. There
was in his look a haunting dread and
misery that had of late grown more
and more pronounced until now 1t
dominated his whole countenance.
No stranger seeing him today for
the first time could have doubted for
an instant that the doctor was a prey
to some ceaselessly gnawing terror
and grief.
Entering the house, Dr. Montrose
stood for moment at the foot Of the
broad stairway hesitating as to
whether or not he should go mp to
the laboratory and there resume his
interrupted work.
But in his present state of fatigue
work offered no allurement whatever.
And laying his hat and his medicine
case on the hall table he went into
the library.
There was a cool restfulness about
the big, book-lined room, with its
deep leather chairs and its atmos-
phere of scholarly calm. It was an
ideal resting place for a tired and
harassed man.
DR.. Montrose crossed to the table
and sat into big chair beside it.
His gaze strayed over the book-lit-
tered surface of the table, but he saw
nothing there that looked worth the
trouble Of reading.
With a sigh he crossed his arms on
the table edge and pillowed his aching
head upon them.
He had been up nearly an night
and all morning with dying patient.
No hand-to-hand battle Of two me-
Jiiaevai warriors had ever been more
flercely waged than DIR. Montrose's
ail-night duel with death for the life
OF the patient.
Now, having waeed that life and
death battle, and having left his
patient out of danger, he felt
strangely weak and exhausted. He
had conquered death, but the victory
had taken every tiber OF his strength
ana energy.