Eagle River review. [volume] (Eagle River, Wis.) 1890-1927, 1918-06-28

goggles, with the low-viSored cap and
fur coat, he looked not unlike his late
companion. But he had jaunty step
as he walked toward the car, bit of
swagger that covered, perhaps, just o
| trifle Of uneasiness.
For Milky now knew his destination,
knew that he was bound on perilous
work, and that the chances Of his re-
turning were about fifty-ffty, or rather
less.
He did not know his way. Over the
mountains 1t was plain enough, for
there was but one road. After he
descended into the plain of Karnia,
however, 1t became difficult. Sign
posts were few and not explicit. But
at last he found the railroad, which
he knew well-that railroad without
| objective, save as it would serve to
move troops toward the border. After
that Milky found it easier.
But, with his course assured, other
difficulties presented themselves. To
! take the letter to those who would re-
ceive it was one thing. But to deliver
it, with all that it might contain, was
another. He was not brilliant, was
Milky. Only brave and simple Of
| heart, and IMMERSED in the ways of
darkness.
If, now, he could open the letter and
remove 1t, substituting what
/ could he substitute? There were
cigarette papers in his pocket. Trust
Milky for that. But how to make the
exchange?
The engine was boiling hard, dull
roaring under the hood that threat
ened trouble. He drew up beside the
road and took off the water cap. Then
he whistled. Why, of course! Had it
not been done from time immemorial,
this steaming Of letters? He examined
| it. 1t bore no discriminating seal.
| He held the envelope over the water
cap, and was boyishly pleased to feel
| the flap loosen. After all, things were
easy enough if one used ones brains.
He rather regretted using almost all
Of his cigarette papers, of course. He
had, perhaps, never heard of the drop
Of nicotine on the tongue of dog.
/ AS for the letter itself, he put it,
/ without even glancing at it, into his
cap, under the lining. Then he sealed
the envelope again and dried it against
one of the lamps. 1t looked, he re
| f1ected, as good as new.
He was extremely pleased with him.
self.
Before he returned to the machine
he consulted his watch. 1t was three
! O'clock. True, the long early spring
! night gave him four more hours of
darkness. But the messenger was due
at three, at the hunting lodge in the
mountains which was his destination.
/ He would be, at the best, late by an
| hour.
On what the messenger had told him
Milky hung his hope Of success. Ihls
was, briefly, that he should go to the
royal shooting box at Wedding, and
should go, not to the house itself, but
| to the gate keepers lodge. Here he
was to leave his machine, and tap at
! the door, On it's being opened, he was
to say nothing, but to give the letter
| to him who opened the door. After
| that he was to take the machine away
/ to the capital some sixty miles farther
/ on.
The message, then, was to the king
himself. For Milky, as all the world,
knew that Karl, with some kindred
spirits, was at Wedding, shooting.
That is, If the messenger told the
truth. Milky intended to find out. He
was nothing if not thorough.
When at last the lights Of the lodge
at the gate of Wedding cleaned out
through the trees, it was half-past
three, and wet spring snow was fall
ing softly. In an open place Milky
] looked up. The stars were gone.
The lodge now, and the gate keep
er's house. NihKy's heart hammered
| as he left the car-hammered with
| nervousness, not terror. But he went
| boldly to the door, and knocked.
So far all was well. There were
footsteps within, and man stepped
out into the darkness, closing the door
! behind him.
"You have the letter." he asked.
| "It is here"
'T will take it."
Milky held it out. The man fun
bled for it, took 1t.
Orders have come" said the voice,
"saAt you remain here for the night