The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1924-01-25

laid his gun in the rack and told the
servant that he'd manage the lever
while the man went to his motor and
fetched an automatic pistol and a
box of cartridges which he'd find In
the left front-door pocket.
His impression wa that both the
other men regarded this proposal. to
pot at clay pigeons with revolver, as
lndecorous, but nevertheless amusing
and 1t was with boyish air of guilt
that they drew up when his turn came
to see what sort of luck he had He
moved up to five-yard range and told
the man at the lever to pull whenever
he liked and to mix up his angles.
| Fool me If you can," he added. Get
the idea?" This was, of course, an
idea that no weil-trained servant could
possibly execute, so, after trial or
| two, Williamson relieved him. Joe
following up his birds, managed to
smash eight out of the frame, which
both the others agreed was extraordi.
nary shooting. Williamson. taking his
turn, with Joe at the lever, got only
threes AS he turned away he offered
the pistol to Corbett. "This mans
supposed to be the best revolver-shot
in Lake county," he explained. Hell
give you a better run for your money
But Corbett thought he wouldn't try
1t that morning. Throw me off my
draw" he explained. Looks no end
of fun, though.
Joe, blazing away again in his turn
was startled by new voice-a WON
ans, speaking from close by.
us this Chateau-Thierry, or what?
| He spun round and looked, and his
first thought was that this was the girl
whose portrait, in chalk, he'd seen in
Williamson's Office. The next moment
she cut Clearly through the jumbled
situation by holding out a decisive
hand to Joe and saying:
Il know you're Mr.. Greer. I'm Mrs,
Williamson
She wasn't excessively small, but his
first impression of her, nevertheless,
was as something jewel-like, finished
out to an incredible perfection in de
tail, and, despite the rough texture and
non-fitting cut of the sport-suit she af-
fected, he felt sensueus sickness
about her which these contrasts per-
haps heightened. And she was VIII
liamson's wife. Man aliveI She
couldn't be the mother of that girl
In the picture, could she? The resem-
blance seemed to prove it. 1t needed
her laugh and. tho withdrawal, not
brusque, though, of her hand to remind
him that he had been staring.
Il suppose you'd like to shoot me
for interrupting," she said; "but you've
no idea how-weird 1t was to hear a
noise like this coming from the traps.
Golf and billiards and bridge are sol
emn enough, but they're nothing COM
pared to these Sunday morning clay
pigeons. This looks like fun. D'you
suppose could hit one?"
So she stayed, and took her turn /;
actually managed to smash a target
or two. 1t wasn't long before they'd
shot away all the cartridges. By that
IlIllO JUG udu UCCOluC dWdIc that TIE
other two men were getting remote /;
not hostile, he thought, but he couldn't
be sure. Did they resent a certain
lack of ceremony between him and the
woman? Wasn't she supposed to have
appeared at all? And shouldn't he, ac-
cording to their ideas, have met her
halfway? But she, sensing the new
atmosphere herself, spoke out about It.
"These two men," she said to Joe,
"are feeling ashamed of themselves,
now that I've caught them playing
hooky, AMI they're getting ready - be
very severe to make up for it. Do
you want to stay with them and shoot,
properly, or do you want to have a
walk with me? You haven't seen the
place, have you"
Violet Williamson, during the two
hours or so that were left of that Sun
day morning, not SO much stirred Joe,
though she did that, too, as stirred
him up; agitated lot of thoroughly
precipitated ideas which had been
lying undisturbed in the bottom of his
mind for a long time, and set them
afioat. She belonged, he decided, in a
category the existence of which he'd
never suspected; she thrilled him with
sense of discovery.
He got the idea that she had some
| objective, for there was nothing aim
less about the way she guided him.
and the pace was, considering that she
was woman and the morning warm,
brisk. She knew how to walk and was
properly shod and clad for It, Her
homespun skirt was short and light,
and outlined, with agreeable frankness,
her straight, slender legs.
She let him see at once that she had
been inquiring about him. Apparently
she'd started Henry Craven retailing
some of his jungle stories. He tried
to follow this lead, but 1t went against
the current of his thoughts and he
didn't make much of it; felt rather
| tongue-tied, somehow, and bit resent.
full, suspecting that she wanted him to
exhibit himself as curiosity, the
wilder and queerer the better A
rather audacious speculation of hers
about the number of cannibal prin-
cesses that he might have made love
to didn't help matters. either.
When they emerged from the grove
| they were upon the crest of the low
ridge, and what fell away before them
was a wide expanse Of lawn. The
house was in full view, presenting its
terrace and its long facade of Georgian
windows. There was swimming-pool,
its curb cleaning white like marble
and the water in 1t, for some reason