The Wolf Point herald. (Wolf Point, Mont.) 1913-1940, 1925-05-21

footprints, Sdiu ne, Srlnn1ng Ike
a fiend. Footprints"
Brena, opening the door of his
library, walked rapidly toward the
telephone on his desk. At last she
had been driven to summon the aid
counsel and authority of the world
beyond the doors of this damned
home. Parmalee was mad. Rut as
she put out her hand toward the tele-
phone instrument it knocked over an
empty glass. She raised this glass TO
her nose. The supports of her heart
suddenly crumbled, for she knew Their
that her husband was not mad. not
changed permanently from the crafty.
secretive, self-isolated and haunted
man that he had been, but was only
at the end of a long night of trying
to drink himself into the freedom of
insensibility.
AT this moment she wondered why
she did not feel a marked increase of
the old loathing and disgust that she
had been unable to weed out as II had
sprung up like some rank growth. At
this moment she remembered his first
appeal to her, how he had begged her
to help him win back the clean spirit
of his boyhood, how she had once
seen the CLINT Of that treasured some
thing, which men forget to keep, shin
Ing dimly in the midst of decay, how,
having tasted the bitterness of sue
cess, he had built new hope. Now he
was a grotesque failure, pounding to
pieces upon some unseen rock below
the surface of the waters. He was
paying the account of a lifetime, per-
haps; perhaps the reckoning of
mistake. There surged up to the brim
in her heart q great pity.
To Brena the cause Of his panic, his
terror, his suspicious, his isolation,
the horrid exiled days he led, the
sleepless nights he spent now ap-
peared of less Importance than the
fact that no man was suffering more
than he. But she was unable to help
him his defenses were now impreg-
nable.
II do not know what you mean," he
said. "We live a clean, wholesome
kind Of existence, don't we? You
never hear complaints from me. do
not go out much, that is true. But
l am working. l do not sleep well.
Neither do many men. l drank too
much once, that is true. But that was
thirty or forty days ago. You have
not seen me make the mistake again."
You are forever sending John down
for a new bottle" said Brena.
He thrust a glance at her.
1T Gains me. My nerves are not
good-there's 40 denying. But why
should you complain, Brena? You
have your freedom. You go your own
ways. You conduct our own studies.
You can have anything you want for
the asking. Why complaint"
Tn not complaining" she had said,
shutting her lips into a firm line. 81
am inquiring."
"Inquiring?' he said with sudden
heat. well, by Cd, If you ask once
too often-you shall know! I'll tell
you something about yourself you'll
not want to hear"
"You cannot she answered quietly.
"Are you laughing at me?" he ex-
claimed angrily.
81 was smiling"
"Smile on y he snapped. Maybe
you can tell where Jim Hennepin is.
Maybe in the end you won't smile.
has chung to you unseen and I'M
known
Il demand to know"
"No-by G-d-you shan't. Not I'M
til / know all-myself. Not until l
know how I shall pay"
He paused.
And let that come quickly" he
added, throwing his open hands
toward the ceiling, as If ~beseeching
heather gods. Sudden, swift and
sure!"
He rushed out of the room.
Night after night she heard him
pacing his study floor beneath her
room. He walked twenty PAGES one
way, twenty at right angles, twenty
more, twenty more. She had learned
the count. He was pacing off a square
around his big, paper-laden desk in
the center of the room. She went TO
sleep with that sound of a Gagged ami
NAL in her ears she awoke in the
middle of the night when the moon
of summer threw the shadows of the
plumed branches of the great trees
upon her floor, hearing that faithful
beat of footsteps she could recall,
awaking when the bright sunlight was
prying at the shutters ON the western
windows to hear the measure OF his
pacing.
Once she had awakened In the night
and heard no sound. She had crept
downstairs and peered into his study
He was crouching down below the
window sill. only his eyes above, like
a man in ambush, at like one who ex-
poets an attack upon his home, watch
ing the running shadows made by
trees, shrubs, wind and moon upon the