The L'Anse sentinel., 1922-06-16
THE INDIAN DRUM
By tUiliam MacHarS and Eds0in Bolner
copyrs hv Twin Blsr
Har6 and Edsei,, Bolner

| paper had not been In water or In
sand. The paper was written In pen
ell 1t had not even been moistened or
1t would have blurred. There was
nothing upon II to tell how long ago
1t had been written; but 1t had been
written certainly before June II.
after June r." It said.
That day was August the eighteenth.
1t was seven months since Uncle
Benny had gone away. After his
strange Interview with her that day
and his going home, had Uncle Benny
gone out directly to his death7 There
was nothing to show that he had not !;
the watch and coins must have lain
for many weeks, for months, In water
and In sand to become eroded In this
way. But, aside from this, there was
nothing that could be inferred regard
Ing the time or place Of Uncle Benny's
death. That the package had been
mailed from Manitowoc meant nothing
definite. Some one-Constance could
not know whom-had had the muffler
and the scrawled leaf Of directions; I;
later, after lying in water and In sand,
the things which were to be "sent"
had come to that some ones hand.
Most probably this some one had been
one who was going about on ships |;
when his ship had touched at Mani
| towoc, he had executed his charge.
Constance left the articles upon the
| bed and threw the window more wide
| ly open. She trembled and felt stirred
and faint. rs she leaned against the
window, breathing deeply the warm
air. full Of life and with the scent
Of the evergreen trees about the
| house.
The cottage" of some twenty rooms
| stood among the pines and hemlocks
| interspersed with hardwood on "the
Point" where were the great fine sum-
mer homes of the weather. ire
sorters."
This was Uncle Benny's country.
Here, twenty-five years before, he had
| first met Henry, whose Birthplace
| farm, deserted now-was only few
miles back among the hills. Here,
before that, Uncle Benny had been a
young man, active, vigorous. ambitious
He had loved this country for itself
and for its traditions, Its Indian
legends and fantastic stories. Half
her own love for it--and, since her
childhood, II had been to her region
of delight-was due to him and to the
things he had told her about 1t. Dis
Sck - khok
companionshlp came to her. This lit
tie bay, which had become now for
the most part only q summer play
ground for such as she, had been once
a place where he and other men had
struggled to grow rich swiftly; he
had outlined for her the ruined lumber
docks and pointed out to her the loca-
tions Of the dismantled sawmins. 1t
was he who had told her the names
of the freighters passing far out, and
the names Of the lighthouses, and
something about each. He had told
her, too, about the Indians. She re-
membered one starry night when he
had pointed out to her In the sky the
Indian sway Of Ghosts" the Milky
way, along which, by ancient Indian
belief. the souls Of Indians travelled
up to heaven; and how, later. lying
on the recessed seat beside the fire.
place where she could touch the dogs
upon the hearth, he had pointed out
to her through the window the Indian
"Way of Dogs" among the constella-
tions, by which the dogs too could
make that journey. 1t was he who
had told her about Michabou and the
animals; and he had been the first
to tell her Of the Drum.
The disgrace. unhappiness, the threat
Of something worse, which must have
made death a relief to Uncle Benny,
she had seen passed on now to Alan.
What more had come to Alan since
she had last heard of himf
Word had reached her father
through shipping circles In May and
again In July which told Of inquiries
regarding Uncle Benny which made
her and her father believe that Alan
was searching for his father upon the
lakes. Now these articles which had
uITlNtu iuuuc Piuih W hSh thut hS
would never find Uncle Benny; he
would learn, through others or through
themselves, that Uncle Benny was
dead. Would he believe then that
there was no longer any chance of
learning what his father had done?
Would he remain away because of
that, not letting her see or hear from
him again7
She went back and picked up the
wedding ring. The thought which had
come to her that this was Alan's moth
er's wedding ring, had fastened itself
upon her with sense Of certainty. 1t
defended that unknown mother; 1t
freed her, at least, from the stigma
which Constance's own mother had
been SO ready to cast. Constance could
not vet begin to place Uncle Benny
in relation to that ring; but she was
beginning to be able to think of Alan
and his mother. She held the little
band Of gold very tenderly In her
hand she was glad that, as the ac-
cusation against his mother had come
through her people, she could tell him