Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1940-09-15


in the unlighted cavern of the theater, at the
end of a contentious rehearsal, and had heard
Modrynskis final cry of evaporation: I'D
like to get that woman on desert island for
ten days.
Fillmore, at that cry. had thought of his
lake in northern British Columbia, the lake
that rnged rough and wooded island where
neither lone Indian nor hunters lodge showed
along the shore line
1t was the failure of the play and the fight
with Modrynski that had left her willing to
swing in with that northern satari of his. She
had confessed to her willingness to get away
from it all. She had studied the map and
asked few foolish questions about camp life
and had spent an equally foolish afternoon in a
Sixth Avenue shooting gallery popping away
at clay pipes and, as she protested, learning
how to handle firearms.
But all the way north she had seemed so
tired and self-immured, so passive and quiet
that Fillmore felt she was already III world
of her own. And no husband should feel that
way about his wife. 1t might take strong
medicine but they must be brought together
before some final tide of dissensiOn parted
them forever.
Fillmore breathed little easier when he
went down to the lake for water and caught
sight of his wife. She was sitting on the re-
hottest shore rock of the point. looking
strangely desolate against the opal light of
the afterglow. He wondered as he method
ically cooked his evening meal, if the smell of
bacon and boiling coffee wouldn't humble her
pride and bring her in to the friendly glow of
his campfire.
But she declined to come in and eat with
the sharer of her Joys and sorrows. lndigna-
ton was still stronger than appetite.
1t wasn't until the last of the wine glow
had gone from the peaks that he went out to
her You'd better come back to the tent
now. he quietly suggested
She neither spoke nor looked at him. This
isn't getting you anywhere, he said The
longer you hold out the harder it'll be-
She still sat silent. 1T isn't exactly safe,
he went on. This isn't Central Park. re-
member
Silence.
= AS I've told you before, it's bear country.
And you never can tell.
Even that brought no response. 1t left
Fillmore with nothing to do but go morosely
back to camp, where he unstrapped his
blanket rolls and made ready for bed
But the thought of that young and vuner-
able body out in the deepening chill of the
mountain night left him restless and little
contrite She was, of course. merely Furnishing
herself He smiled dourly when the midnight
silence was torn by the scream of wildcat up
in the hills. The silent watcher out on the
rock point, he knew wouldn't like that cry.
1t would undoubtedly curdle her blood a
little.
he KNEW his conjecture was right When a
few minutes later, he caught the sound Of
stealthy movements not far from the tent
door. He knew it was Wanda and he sus-
pected during longer period of silence, that
she was quietly eating the cold food he had
left out for her 1t impressed him as so animal
like that furtive crawling to a closed tent for
food. that his own well-fed body nettled with
a consciousness of brutality. But it was he
remembered, a contest of wills There must be
no concessions,
He pretended to be asleep when his ear
detected the tremor of taut canvas and he
knew she was cautiously untying the lower
flaps OF the tent door. He lay without moving
as che padded and CROPPED her way about in the
darkness He knew when she touched him and