The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1922-06-02
THE INDIAN DRUM
By tyilliam MacIarg and EdsOin Balner
Copyrights

that you've denied It, not only to me
ana 10 your people, but to yourself. /.
Oh course, knew, as / know that l am
mere with your hand In mine, and as
we VIII stand before the altar togeth-
er, that he had no cause to speak
against me. I've waited, Connie, to
give MIN a chance to say to you what
ne mad to say; l wanted you to hear
II before making you wholly mine. But
now there's no need to wait any long
er, you and |. Ben's gone, never to
come back. | was sure of that by
What you wrote me, so this time when
| started to you l brought with me
| this"
tie felt In his pocket and brought
out a ring of plain gold; he held it be-
lore her so that she could see within
1t her own initials and his and blank
left for the date. Her gaze went from
IL Tor an instant to the box where he
mad put back the other ring-Alan's
mothers. Feeling for her long ago
gazing thus, as she must have, at that
ring, held her for moment. Was it
because OF that that Constance found
herself cold now?
You mean you want me to marry
you-at once, Henry?"
He drew her to him powerfully; she
felt him warm, almost rough with
passions. Since that day when. in
Alan Conrad's presence. he had
grasped and kissed her, she had not
let him ''realize" their engagement, as
he had put it.
'Why not?" he turned her face up
to his now "Your mothers here; your
father will follow soon or, If you will,
We'll run away-Constance! You've
kept me off so long! You don't be-
lieve there's anything against me,
dear? Do you? Do you?"
No; mol OF course not 7"
"Then we're going to be married.
-. Right away, We'll have it then !;
up here ;'now!"
mo; not now, Henry. Not up
here"
Not here? Why not?"
She could give no answer. He held
her and commanded her again; only
when he frightened her, he ceased.
"Why must it be at once, Henry? !
don't understand
ITS not must, DEAR" he denied.
ITS just that l want you sol"
When would it be, he demanded
CTNriro chn anI ct
last. But that was all he could make
her say. And so he let her go.
The next evening, in the moonlight,
She drove him to Petoskey. He had
messages to send and preferred to
trust the telegraph Office in the larger
town.
Alan was driving northward along
the long, sandy peninsula which sep
arates the blue waters of Grand Tray
erse from Lake Michigan; and, think
ing of Constance, he knew that she
was near. He not only had remem-
bered that she would be north at Har-
Dor Point this month; he had seen in
one of the Petoskey papers that she
and her mother were at the Sheriff.
summer home. His business now was
taking him nearer them than he had
been at any time before; and. If he
wished to weaken, he might convince
himself that he might learn from her
circumstances which would aid him in
his task. But he was not going to her
for help; that was following In his ia
theirs footsteps. When he knew every
thing, then-not till then-he could go
to her; for then he would know exact
ly what was upon him and what he
should do.
His visits to the people named on
those sheets written by his father had
been confusing at first; he had had
great difficulty in tracing some of
them at all; and, afterward, he could
uncover no certain connection either
between them and Benjamin Corvet or
between themselves. But recently, he
had been succeeding better in this lat
ter.
He had seen-he reckoned them over
again-fourteen of the twenty-one
named originally on Benjamin Cor
vets lists; that is, he had seen either
the individual originally named, or the
surviving relative written in below the
name crossed off. He had found that
the crossing out of the name meant
that the person was dead. except in
the case of two who had left the coun-
try and whose whereabouts were as
unknown to their present relatives as
they had been to Benjamin Corvet,
and the case of one other, who was
| in an insane asylum.
He had found that no one OF the
NEUTRALITY-SUSPICIOUS..