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About Herald and news. (Klamath Falls, Or.) 1942-current | View Entire Issue (Nov. 10, 1942)
31 HOLD EVERYTHING! ' , (?Y EGAD, MENl .' IT BEUOOSISS Y THAT'S DUCKV SOU CAM (liii ifl If US AuItO FALL INTO VEP Ji FOR NOO.WJi foreT, MR, M wAtUP5 Tlil ffll SERIAL STORY ". ' . . ' v THE EDGE OF DARKNESS COPVRIOHT. 1B. BY WILLIAM WOODS NBA MRVICI. INC. J CHAPTER I PHE man left Stoksund, more than halfway up the west const of Norway, at nightfall, and long past midnight, after the lone ly roads, came staggering up to his cousin's farm near the little fishing village of Trollness. With the last of his strength he crept across the court and tossed a tinnHtil rt nithhlra lin nt thfl bed room window. Knut Osterholm, the ' farmer,' woke out of uneasy sleep, threw up the blind with a clatter, and saw the man in the bright moon light, standing down in the cob bled yard, his hands burned black and his shoulder bloody under a torn shirt. The barn and the big storehouse, with gables like ghosts, threw their silver shadows all around him. Quickly the farmer slipped on his clothes and went out to hide him In thehayloft of the barn. Then he limped off in a great hurry toward Trollness to rouse the only doctor In town. It was over a mile to the little cluster of buildings at the edge of the fjord. Twice he just slipped past a body of troops evidently search ing the small, thatched houses down the crooked side streets. It was after 3 when he and the plump doctor (who wore a fur lined jacket and a bearskin cap, and kept rubbing his hands to gether against the cold) climbed back up into the dry loft where the visitor was lying in the straw. After a long while the east be gan to glow behind the ragged mountains. The farmer limped to ine norm window, smvenng a little, he pulled his red woolen jacket closer about him, and gazed caBij fe .110 jy.15, unua Liint stretched all moist and quiet toward the village narrow and black, with the bedrock of the mountains at arm's length under the sod. "You'had better go," he said at last, turning. "If the commandant Attf irlfci far. ritri H rnnail "I know." The doctor stood up wearily. "We have to be more careful than ever. IH talk to Gunnar Brogge in town." "Brogge. Yes, he's the man." "We fight, Knut," he said. "It last we fight," The bugle call died away. The sun hit the window and spilled in over the granary floor. ' fPHE doctor was a dapper, mid-die-aged man who always gave the impression of having just been shaved and powdered. He stepped out so heartily on his short legs, and peppered the little stones in the road so briskly with his stick that anyone who met him would have thought him a young David roaring out to kill a dozen Philis tines before breakfast. Despite the early hour, he was, as usual, immaculate in Oxford tweeds, and very important, for he, Martin Stensgard, was a doctor of medi cine from . Oslo, and mayor of Trollness as well. He had a son whom he never mentioned, and a daughter he thought the most wonderful in Norway, for she was his daughter. His quiet wisp of a wife knew him better than any one else in the world, and she was afraid of him. . As he got farther into town he aaw the women out sweeping their walks. Rough, hip-booted fisher men in corduroys and dark shirts were finishing their early morn ing work at the flowerbeds,, or striding hurriedly - down toward the dock. They -were big men, tanned, and sea-salted, with blunt gnarled hands, knife-scarred a dozen times over. Fish and salt sea hung in the air between the house fronts and the signboards of the little shops in the center of the village, crept over the old wharf where the boats were rid ing alongside the dark, wet, wood en piling, and lay reeking on the blood- and scale-stained dock in front of the warehouse, where every night the day's catch was salted and barrel-packed for ship ment Dr. Stensgard stopped In front of his own white fence, and im patiently watched the men going past him on the road. COME ten minutes passed while he waited. Then a burly, sullen-looking fellow in a' black lumberjacket came striding out of tno nearest side street and turned down toward the square. The doctor went over quickly and tapped him on the shoulder with his stick. "Good morning, Gun nar." The fisherman turned slowly ana gazea down at the plump, pink face under the bearskin cap. "Good morning." Looking from side to side, the doctor muttered in a lower voice. "I want to talk to you." Without waiting for an answer, he turned, poked his gate open with his Kick, and strode into the house. Once in the surgery, he tossed the lur cap into a chair, smoothed down his damp, blond hair, and pulled the shades. "We fight," he burst out. "We are to get guns from England, The whole coast is to be armed." Gunnar lifted his head. His whole body grew tense, but his expression did not change. Per haps it was this calm, this utter steadfastness, that had made him the leader of all the fishermen in town.- "Yesterday there was a battle down the coast." Stensgard put down his stick, took off his jacket, hung it up neatly, and began walking up and down very fast Gunnar Brogge followed htm si lently with fervid eyes. "Last night," the fierce little man said, "Knut Osterholm came down here at 3 in the morning. No, a little before, 10 minutes to the hour it was. His cousin Ham mer had got through from Stok sund wilh a bullet in his shoulder and half the skin off his arms from a fire." "Past the guard on the road? They were searching houses last night." "They were?" asked the doctor. "Must have had news of the fight ing. Anyway, Hammer made it, God knows how. And not only here in town, but IS miles on foot, past a dozen patrols. As I said. there was a battle in Stoksund. They fought for five hours before they were beaten. Casualties on both sides," "Were they Insane?" asked Gun nar slowly. "They didn't stand a chance." But his heart pounded and pounded. How many nights he had dreamed that a thing like this would happen. The doctor saw his face. "Hal Too much for you, eh? You can't believe it" Suddenly he drew very close, eyes tense like a con spirator's. "But now, with half the occupying forces sent out of Norway to the Russian front now is the time to strike. We know it The English know it, and down in Stoksund they had been getting guns, picking them up at night in small boats from English ships off shore. But they were be trayed." He backed away and glared at the fisherman fiercely. "Some fool of a woman. She told the Germans the guns were buried in the gardens. They came with searching parties, and then it started. House to house, the men defending themselves. What else could they do? Imagine! Or have I told you? Fifty or sixty were killed on both sides." For several moments Gunnar Brogge stood motionless, looking at the doctor. A great confident joy welled up in him that made him hardly able to talk. He said, "We have to be careful . . . how we go about it . . . when the guns come." (To Be Conttaned) XSJ :tmZnST. V 30icb , fSf V I our war ooBb II I II Ilm-J lM'ir JKOC sgaia m m ran lawsr est m Em uukm oj m&wwa imjmmmmmm . - ij2tM&Bsa?ss kssv" v, r?M twvij$5ii i i &rfc-Hi KfiUBWseem riwi'it mcvi.c-H r 1 s painouc xo save some- Hfc2$KCTll ' irV WB Y m'V 'W&Wt II-t?I.Y mfvtli.M'OJVLWA O'Wl Contrary to KJJESm Km WA$SL L WJS Mi llin0:Blir enm e m iuicT iklMiTm' 1 f .. .. 1 Uin s.iitu Nt-M c? 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