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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/20104-8.txt b/20104-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..de84f1f --- /dev/null +++ b/20104-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9658 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Cross-Cut, by Courtney Ryley Cooper, +Illustrated by George W. Gage + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Cross-Cut + + +Author: Courtney Ryley Cooper + + + +Release Date: December 13, 2006 [eBook #20104] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CROSS-CUT*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustration. + See 20104-h.htm or 20104-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/0/1/0/20104/20104-h/20104-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/0/1/0/20104/20104-h.zip) + + + + + +THE CROSS-CUT + +by + +COURTNEY RYLEY COOPER + +With Frontispiece by George W. Gage + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: Carbide pointing the way, he turned back, pushing the +tram before him.] + + + +Boston +Little, Brown, and Company +1921 +Copyright, 1921, +by Little, Brown, and Company. +All rights reserved +Published May, 1921 + + + + +TO + +G. F. C. + + +I'VE THREATENED YOU WITH A DEDICATION + +FOR A LONG TIME AND HERE IT IS! + + + + +THE CROSS-CUT + + +CHAPTER I + +It was over. The rambling house, with its rickety, old-fashioned +furniture--and its memories--was now deserted, except for Robert +Fairchild, and he was deserted within it, wandering from room to room, +staring at familiar objects with the unfamiliar gaze of one whose +vision suddenly has been warned by the visitation of death and the +sense of loneliness that it brings. + +Loneliness, rather than grief, for it had been Robert Fairchild's +promise that he would not suffer in heart for one who had longed to go +into a peace for which he had waited, seemingly in vain. Year after +year, Thornton Fairchild had sat in the big armchair by the windows, +watching the days grow old and fade into night, studying sunset after +sunset, voicing the vain hope that the gloaming might bring the +twilight of his own existence,--a silent man except for this, rarely +speaking of the past, never giving to the son who worked for him, cared +for him, worshiped him, the slightest inkling of what might have +happened in the dim days of the long ago to transform him into a beaten +thing, longing for the final surcease. And when the end came, it found +him in readiness, waiting in the big armchair by the windows. Even +now, a book lay on the frayed carpeting of the old room, where it had +fallen from relaxing fingers. Robert Fairchild picked it up, and with +a sigh restored it to the grim, fumed oak case. His days of petty +sacrifices that his father might while away the weary hours with +reading were over. + +Memories! They were all about him, in the grate with its blackened +coals, the old-fashioned pictures on the walls, the almost gloomy +rooms, the big chair by the window, and yet they told him nothing +except that a white-haired, patient, lovable old man was gone,--a man +whom he was wont to call "father." And in that going, the slow +procedure of an unnatural existence had snapped for Robert Fairchild. +As he roamed about in his loneliness, he wondered what he would do now, +where he could go; to whom he could talk. He had worked since sixteen, +and since sixteen there had been few times when he had not come home +regularly each night, to wait upon the white-haired man in the big +chair, to discern his wants instinctively, and to sit with him, often +in silence, until the old onyx clock on the mantel had clanged eleven; +it had been the same program, day, week, month and year. And now +Robert Fairchild was as a person lost. The ordinary pleasures of youth +had never been his; he could not turn to them with any sort of grace. +The years of servitude to a beloved master had inculcated within him +the feeling of self-impelled sacrifice; he had forgotten all thought of +personal pleasures for their sake alone. The big chair by the window +was vacant, and it created a void which Robert Fairchild could neither +combat nor overcome. + +What had been the past? Why the silence? Why the patient, yet +impatient wait for death? The son did not know. In all his memories +was only one faint picture, painted years before in babyhood: the +return of his father from some place, he knew not where, a long +conference with his mother behind closed doors, while he, in childlike +curiosity, waited without, seeking in vain to catch some explanation. +Then a sad-faced woman who cried at night when the house was still, who +faded and who died. That was all. The picture carried no explanation. + +And now Robert Fairchild stood on the threshold of something he almost +feared to learn. Once, on a black, stormy night, they had sat +together, father and son before the fire, silent for hours. Then the +hand of the white-haired man had reached outward and rested for a +moment on the young man's knee. + +"I wrote something to you, Boy, a day or so ago," he had said. "That +little illness I had prompted me to do it. I--I thought it was only +fair to you. After I 'm gone, look in the safe. You 'll find the +combination on a piece of paper hidden in a hole cut in that old +European history in the bookcase. I have your promise, I know--that +you 'll not do it until after I 'm gone." + +Now Thornton Fairchild was gone. But a message had remained behind; +one which the patient lips evidently had feared to utter during life. +The heart of the son began to pound, slow and hard, as, with the memory +of that conversation, he turned toward the bookcase and unlatched the +paneled door. A moment more and the hollowed history had given up its +trust, a bit of paper scratched with numbers. Robert Fairchild turned +toward the stairs and the small room on the second floor which had +served as his father's bedroom. + +There he hesitated before the little iron safe in the corner, summoning +the courage to unlock the doors of a dead man's past. At last he +forced himself to his knees and to the numerals of the combination. + +The safe had not been opened in years; that was evident from the +creaking of the plungers as they fell, the gummy resistance of the knob +as Fairchild turned it in accordance with the directions on the paper. +Finally, a great wrench, and the bolt was drawn grudgingly back; a +strong pull, and the safe opened. + +A few old books; ledgers in sheepskin binding. Fairchild disregarded +these for the more important things that might lie behind the little +inner door of the cabinet. His hand went forward, and he noticed, in a +hazy sort of way, that it was trembling. The door was unlocked; he +drew it open and crouched a moment, staring, before he reached for the +thinner of two envelopes which lay before him. A moment later he +straightened and turned toward the light. A crinkling of paper, a +quick-drawn sigh between clenched teeth; it was a letter; his strange, +quiet, hunted-appearing father was talking to him through the medium of +ink and paper, after death. + +Closely written, hurriedly, as though to finish an irksome task in as +short a space as possible, the missive was one of several pages,--pages +which Robert Fairchild hesitated to read. The secret--and he knew full +well that there was a secret--had been in the atmosphere about him ever +since he could remember. Whether or not this was the solution of it, +Robert Fairchild did not know, and the natural reticence with which he +had always approached anything regarding his father's life gave him an +instinctive fear, a sense of cringing retreat from anything that might +now open the doors of mystery. But it was before him, waiting in his +father's writing, and at last his gaze centered; he read: + + +My son: + +Before I begin this letter to you I must ask that you take no action +whatever until you have seen my attorney--he will be yours from now on. +I have never mentioned him to you before; it was not necessary and +would only have brought you curiosity which I could not have satisfied. +But now, I am afraid, the doors must be unlocked. I am gone. You are +young, you have been a faithful son and you are deserving of every good +fortune that may possibly come to you. I am praying that the years +have made a difference, and that Fortune may smile upon you as she +frowned on me. Certainly, she can injure me no longer. My race is +run; I am beyond earthly fortunes. + +Therefore, when you have finished with this, take the deeds inclosed in +the larger envelope and go to St. Louis. There, look up Henry F. +Beamish, attorney-at-law, in the Princess Building. He will explain +them to you. + +Beyond this, I fear, there is little that can aid you. I cannot find +the strength, now that I face it, to tell you what you may find if you +follow the lure that the other envelope holds forth to you. + +There is always the hope that Fortune may be kind to me at last, and +smile upon my memory by never letting you know why I have been the sort +of man you have known, and not the jovial, genial companion that a +father should be. But there are certain things, my son, which defeat a +man. It killed your mother--every day since her death I have been +haunted by that fact; my prayer is that it may not kill you, +spiritually, if not physically. Therefore is it not better that it +remain behind a cloud until such time as Fortune may reveal it--and +hope that such a time will never come? I think so--not for myself, for +when you read this, I shall be gone; but for you, that you may not be +handicapped by the knowledge of the thing which whitened my hair and +aged me, long before my time. + +If he lives, and I am sure he does, there is one who will hurry to your +aid as soon as he knows you need him. Accept his counsels, laugh at +his little eccentricities if you will, but follow his judgment +implicitly. Above all, ask him no questions that he does not care to +answer--there are things that he may not deem wise to tell. It is only +fair that he be given the right to choose his disclosures. + +There is little more to say. Beamish will attend to everything for +you--if you care to go. Sell everything that is here; the house, the +furniture, the belongings. It is my wish, and you will need the +capital--if you go. The ledgers in the safe are only old accounts +which would be so much Chinese to you now. Burn them. There is +nothing else to be afraid of--I hope you will never find anything to +fear. And if circumstances should arise to bring before you the story +of that which has caused me so much darkness, I have nothing to say in +self-extenuation. I made one mistake--that of fear--and in committing +one error, I shouldered every blame. It makes little difference now. +I am dead--and free. + +My love to you, my son. I hope that wealth and happiness await you. +Blood of my blood flows in your veins--and strange though it may sound +to you--it is the blood of an adventurer. I can almost see you smile +at that! An old man who sat by the window, staring out; afraid of +every knock at the door--and yet an adventurer! But they say, once in +the blood, it never dies. My wish is that you succeed where I +failed--and God be with you! + +Your father. + + +For a long moment Robert Fairchild stood staring at the letter, his +heart pounding with excitement, his hands grasping the foolscap paper +as though with a desire to tear through the shield which the written +words had formed about a mysterious past and disclose that which was so +effectively hidden. So much had the letter told--and yet so little! +Dark had been the hints of some mysterious, intangible thing, great +enough in its horror and its far-reaching consequences to cause death +for one who had known of it and a living panic for him who had +perpetrated it. As for the man who stood now with the letter clenched +before him, there was promise of wealth, and the threat of sorrow, the +hope of happiness, yet the foreboding omen of discoveries which might +ruin the life of the reader as the existence of the writer had been +blasted,--until death had brought relief. Of all this had the letter +told, but when Robert Fairchild read it again in the hope of something +tangible, something that might give even a clue to the reason for it +all, there was nothing. In that super-calmness which accompanies great +agitation, Fairchild folded the paper, placed it in its envelope, then +slipped it into an inside pocket. A few steps and he was before the +safe once more and reaching for the second envelope. + +Heavy and bulky was this, filled with tax receipts, with plats and +blueprints and the reports of surveyors. Here was an assay slip, +bearing figures and notations which Robert Fairchild could not +understand. Here a receipt for money received, here a vari-colored map +with lines and figures and conglomerate designs which Fairchild +believed must relate in some manner to the location of a mining camp; +all were aged and worn at the edges, giving evidence of having been +carried, at some far time of the past, in a wallet. More receipts, +more blueprints, then a legal document, sealed and stamped, and bearing +the words: + + + County of Clear Creek, ) ss. + State of Colorado. ) + +DEED PATENT. + +KNOW ALL MEN BY THESE PRESENTS: That on this day of our Lord, February +22, 1892, Thornton W. Fairchild, having presented the necessary +affidavits and statements of assessments accomplished in accordance +with-- + + +On it trailed in endless legal phraseology, telling in muddled, +attorney-like language, the fact that the law had been fulfilled in its +requirements, and that the claim for which Thornton Fairchild had +worked was rightfully his, forever. A longer statement full of +figures, of diagrams and surveyor's calculations which Fairchild could +neither decipher nor understand, gave the location, the town site and +the property included within the granted rights. It was something for +an attorney, such as Beamish, to interpret, and Fairchild reached for +the age-yellowed envelope to return the papers to their resting place. +But he checked his motion involuntarily and for a moment held the +envelope before him, staring at it with wide eyes. Then, as though to +free by the stronger light of the window the haunting thing which faced +him, he rose and hurried across the room, to better light, only to find +it had not been imagination; the words still were before him, a +sentence written in faint, faded ink proclaiming the contents to be +"Papers relating to the Blue Poppy Mine", and written across this a +word in the bolder, harsher strokes of a man under stress of emotion, a +word which held the eyes of Robert Fairchild fixed and staring, a word +which spelled books of the past and evil threats of the future, the +single, ominous word: + +"Accursed!" + + + + +CHAPTER II + +One works quickly when prodded by the pique of curiosity. And in spite +of all that omens could foretell, in spite of the dull, gloomy life +which had done its best to fashion a matter-of-fact brain for Robert +Fairchild, one sentence in that letter had found an echo, had started a +pulsating something within him that he never before had known: + +"--It is the blood of an adventurer." + +And it seemed that Robert Fairchild needed no more than the knowledge +to feel the tingle of it; the old house suddenly became stuffy and +prison-like as he wandered through it. Within his pocket were two +envelopes filled with threats of the future, defying him to advance and +fight it out,--whatever _it_ might be. Again and again pounded through +his head the fact that only a night of travel intervened between +Indianapolis and St. Louis; within twelve hours he could be in the +office of Henry Beamish. And then-- + +A hurried resolution. A hasty packing of a traveling bag and the +cashing of a check at the cigar store down on the corner. A wakeful +night while the train clattered along upon its journey. Then morning +and walking of streets until office hours. At last: + +"I 'm Robert Fairchild," he said, as he faced a white-haired, +Cupid-faced man in the rather dingy offices of the Princess Building. +A slow smile spread over the pudgy features of the genial appearing +attorney, and he waved a fat hand toward the office's extra chair. + +"Sit down, Son," came casually. "Need n't have announced yourself. I +'d have known you--just like your father, Boy. How is he?" Then his +face suddenly sobered. "I 'm afraid your presence is the answer. Am I +right?" + +Fairchild nodded gravely. The old attorney slowly placed his fat hands +together, peaking the fingers, and stared out of the window to the +grimy roof and signboards of the next building. + +"Perhaps it's better so," he said at last. "We had n't seen each other +in ten years--not since I went up to Indianapolis to have my last talk +with him. Did he get any cheerier before--he went?" + +"No." + +"Just the same, huh? Always waiting?" + +"Afraid of every step on the veranda, of every knock at the door." + +Again the attorney stared out of the window. + +"And you?" + +"I?" Fairchild leaned forward in his chair. "I don't understand." + +"Are you afraid?" + +"Of what?" + +The lawyer smiled. + +"I don't know. Only--" and he leaned forward--"it's just as though I +were living my younger days over this morning. It doesn't seem any +time at all since your father was sitting just about where you are now, +and gad, Boy, how much you look like he looked that morning! The same +gray-blue, earnest eyes, the same dark hair, the same strong shoulders, +and good, manly chin, the same build--and look of determination about +him. The call of adventure was in his blood, and he sat there all +enthusiastic, telling me what he intended doing and asking my +advice--although he would n't have followed it if I had given it. Back +home was a baby and the woman he loved, and out West was sudden wealth, +waiting for the right man to come along and find it. Gad!" +White-haired old Beamish chuckled with the memory of it. "He almost +made me throw over the law business that morning and go out adventuring +with him! Then four years later," the tone changed suddenly, "he came +back." + +"What then?" Fairchild was on the edge of his chair. But Beamish only +spread his hands. + +"Truthfully, Boy, I don't know. I have guessed--but I won't tell you +what. All I know is that your father found what he was looking for and +was on the point of achieving his every dream, when something happened. +Then three men simply disappeared from the mining camp, announcing that +they had failed and were going to hunt new diggings. That was all. +One of them was your father--" + +"But you said that he 'd found--" + +"Silver, running twenty ounces to the ton on an eight-inch vein which +gave evidences of being only the beginning of a bonanza! I know, +because he had written me that, a month before." + +"And he abandoned it?" + +"He 'd forgotten what he had written when I saw him again. I did n't +question him. I did n't want to--his face told me enough to guess that +I would n't learn. He went home then, after giving me enough money to +pay the taxes on the mine for the next twenty years, simply as his +attorney and without divulging his whereabouts. I did it. Eight years +or so later, I saw him in Indianapolis. He gave me more money--enough +for eleven or twelve years--" + +"And that was ten years ago?" Robert Fairchild's eyes were reminiscent. +"I remember--I was only a kid. He sold off everything he had, except +the house." + +Henry Beamish walked to his safe and fumbled there a moment, to return +at last with a few slips of paper. + +"Here 's the answer," he said quietly, "the taxes are paid until 1922." + +Robert Fairchild studied the receipts carefully--futilely. They told +him nothing. The lawyer stood looking down upon him; at last he laid a +hand on his shoulder. + +"Boy," came quietly, "I know just about what you 're thinking. I 've +spent a few hours at the same kind of a job myself, and I 've called +old Henry Beamish more kinds of a fool than you can think of for not +coming right out flat-footed and making Thornton tell me the whole +story. But some way, when I 'd look into those eyes with the fire all +dead and ashen within them, and see the lines of an old man in his +young face, I--well, I guess I 'm too soft-hearted to make folks +suffer. I just couldn't do it!" + +"So you can tell me nothing?" + +"I 'm afraid that's true--in one way. In another I 'm a fund of +information. To-night you and I will go to Indianapolis and probate +the will--it's simple enough; I 've had it in my safe for ten years. +After that, you become the owner of the Blue Poppy mine, to do with as +you choose." + +"But--" + +The old lawyer chuckled. + +"Don't ask my advice, Boy. I have n't any. Your father told me what +to do if you decided to try your luck--and silver 's at $1.29. It +means a lot of money for anybody who can produce pay ore--unless what +he said about the mine pinching out was true." + +Again the thrill of a new thing went through Robert Fairchild's veins, +something he never had felt until twelve hours before; again the urge +for strange places, new scenes, the fire of the hunt after the hidden +wealth of silver-seamed hills. Somewhere it lay awaiting him; nor did +he even know in what form. Robert Fairchild's life had been a plodding +thing of books and accounts, of high desks which as yet had failed to +stoop his shoulders, of stuffy offices which had been thwarted so far +in their grip at his lung power; the long walk in the morning and the +tired trudge homeward at night to save petty carfare for a silent man's +pettier luxuries had looked after that. But the recoil had not exerted +itself against an office-cramped brain, a dusty ledger-filled life that +suddenly felt itself crying out for the free, open country, without +hardly knowing what the term meant. Old Beamish caught the light in +the eyes, the quick contraction of the hands, and smiled. + +"You don't need to tell me, Son," he said slowly. "I can see the +symptoms. You 've got the fever--You 're going to work that mine. +Perhaps," and he shrugged his shoulders, "it's just as well. But there +are certain things to remember." + +"Name them." + +"Ohadi is thirty-eight miles from Denver. That's your goal. Out +there, they 'll tell you how the mine caved in, and how Thornton +Fairchild, who had worked it, together with his two men, Harry Harkins, +a Cornishman, and 'Sissie' Larsen, a Swede, left town late one night +for Cripple Creek--and that they never came back. That's the story +they 'll tell you. Agree with it. Tell them that Harkins, as far as +you know, went back to Cornwall, and that you have heard vaguely that +Larsen later followed the mining game farther out West." + +"Is it the truth?" + +"How do I know? It 's good enough--people should n't ask questions. +Tell nothing more than that--and be careful of your friends. There is +one man to watch--if he is still alive. They call him 'Squint' +Rodaine, and he may or may not still be there. I don't know--I 'm only +sure of the fact that your father hated him, fought him and feared him. +The mine tunnel is two miles up Kentucky Gulch and one hundred yards to +the right. A surveyor can lead you to the very spot. It's been +abandoned now for thirty years. What you 'll find there is more than I +can guess. But, Boy," and his hand clenched tight on Robert +Fairchild's shoulder, "whatever you do, whatever you run into, whatever +friends or enemies you find awaiting you, don't let that light die out +of your eyes and don't pull in that chin! If you find a fight on your +hands, whether it's man, beast or nature, sail into it! If you run +into things that cut your very heart out to learn--beat 'em down and +keep going! And win! There--that's all the advice I know. Meet me at +the 11:10 train for Indianapolis. Good-by." + +"Good-by--I 'll be there." Fairchild grasped the pudgy hand and left +the office. For a moment afterward, old Henry Beamish stood thinking +and looking out over the dingy roof adjacent. Then, somewhat absently, +he pressed the ancient electric button for his more ancient +stenographer. + +"Call a messenger, please," he ordered when she entered, "I want to +send a cablegram." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +Two weeks later, Robert Fairchild sat in the smoking compartment of the +Overland Limited, looking at the Rocky Mountains in the distance. In +his pocket were a few hundred dollars; in the bank in Indianapolis a +few thousand, representing the final proceeds of the sale of everything +that had connected him with a rather dreary past. Out before him-- + +The train had left Limon Junction on its last, clattering, rushing leg +of the journey across the plains, tearing on through a barren country +of tumbleweed, of sagebrush, of prairie-dog villages and jagged arroyos +toward the great, crumpled hills in the distance,--hills which meant +everything to Robert Fairchild. Two weeks had created a metamorphosis +in what had been a plodding, matter-of-fact man with dreams which did +not extend beyond his ledgers and his gloomy home--but now a man +leaning his head against the window of a rushing train, staring ahead +toward the Rockies and the rainbow they held for him. Back to the +place where his father had gone with dreams aglow was the son traveling +now,--back into the rumpled mountains where the blue haze hung low and +protecting as though over mysteries and treasures which awaited one man +and one alone. Robert Fairchild momentarily had forgotten the +foreboding omens which, like murky shadows, had been cast in his path +by a beaten, will-broken father. He only knew that he was young, that +he was strong, that he was free from the drudgery which had sought to +claim him forever; he felt only the surge of excitement that can come +with new surroundings, new country, new life. Out there before him, as +the train rattled over culverts spanning the dry arroyos, or puffed +gingerly up the grades toward the higher levels of the plains, were the +hills, gray and brown in the foreground, blue as the blue sea farther +on, then fringing into the sun-pinked radiance of the snowy range, +forming the last barrier against a turquoise sky. It thrilled +Fairchild, it caused his heart to tug and pull,--nor could he tell +exactly why. + +Still eighty miles away, the range was sharply outlined to Fairchild, +from the ragged hump of Pikes Peak far to the south, on up to where the +gradual lowering of the mighty upheaval slid away into Wyoming. Eighty +miles, yet they were clear with the clearness that only altitudinous +country can bring; alluring, fascinating, beckoning to him until his +being rebelled against the comparative slowness of the train, and the +minutes passed in a dragging, long-drawn-out sequence that was almost +an agony to Robert Fairchild. + +Hours! The hills came closer. Still closer; then, when it seemed that +the train must plunge straight into them, they drew away again, as +though through some optical illusion, and brooded in the background, as +the long, transcontinental train began to bang over the frogs and +switches as it made its entrance into Denver. Fairchild went through +the long chute and to a ticket window of the Union Station. + +"When can I get a train for Ohadi?" + +The ticket seller smiled. "You can't get one." + +"But the map shows that a railroad runs there--" + +"Ran there, you mean," chaffed the clerk. + +"The best you can do is get to Forks Creek and walk the rest of the +way. That's a narrow-gauge line, and Clear Creek 's been on a rampage. +It took out about two hundred feet of trestle, and there won't be a +train into Ohadi for a week." + +The disappointment on Fairchild's face was more than apparent, almost +boyish in its depression. The ticket seller leaned closer to the +wicket. + +"Stranger out here?" + +"Very much of one." + +"In a hurry to get to Ohadi?" + +"Yes." + +"Then you can go uptown and hire a taxi--they 've got big cars for +mountain work and there are good roads all the way. It 'll cost +fifteen or twenty dollars. Or--" + +Fairchild smiled. "Give me the other system if you 've got one. I 'm +not terribly long on cash--for taxis." + +"Certainly. I was just going to tell you about it. No use spending +that money if you 've got a little pep, and it is n't a matter of life +or death. Go up to the Central Loop--anybody can direct you--and catch +a street car for Golden. That eats up fifteen miles and leaves just +twenty-three miles more. Then ask somebody to point out the road over +Mount Lookout. Machines go along there every few minutes--no trouble +at all to catch a ride. You 'll be in Ohadi in no time." + +Fairchild obeyed the instructions, and in the baggage room rechecked +his trunk to follow him, lightening his traveling bag at the same time +until it carried only necessities. A luncheon, then the street car. +Three quarters of an hour later, he began the five-mile trudge up the +broad, smooth, carefully groomed automobile highway which masters Mount +Lookout. A rumbling sound behind him, then as he stepped to one side, +a grimy truck driver leaned out to shout as he passed: + +"Want a lift? Hop on! Can't stop--too much grade." + +A running leap, and Fairchild seated himself on the tailboard of the +truck, swinging his legs and looking out over the fading plains as the +truck roared and clattered upward along the twisting mountain road. + +Higher, higher, while the truck labored along the grade, and while the +buildings in Golden below shrank smaller and smaller. The reservoir +lake in the center of the town, a broad expanse of water only a short +time before, began to take on the appearance of some great, blue-white +diamond glistening in the sun. Gradually a stream outlined itself in +living topography upon a map which seemed as large as the world itself. +Denver, fifteen miles away, came into view, its streets showing like +seams in a well-sewn garment, the sun, even at this distance, striking +a sheen from the golden dome of the capitol building. Higher! The +chortling truck gasped at the curves and tugged on the straightaway, +but Robert Fairchild had ceased to hear. His every attention was +centered on the tremendous stage unfolded before him, the vast +stretches of the plains rolling away beneath, even into Kansas and +Wyoming and Nebraska, hundreds of miles away, plains where once the +buffalo had roamed in great, shaggy herds, where once the emigrant +trains had made their slow, rocking progress into a Land of Heart's +Desire; and he began to understand something of the vastness of life, +the great scope of ambition; new things to a man whose world, until two +weeks before, had been the four chalky walls of an office. + +Cool breezes from pine-fringed gulches brushed his cheek and smoothed +away the burning touch of a glaring sun; the truck turned into the +hairpin curves of the steep ascent, giving him a glimpse of deep +valleys, green from the touch of flowing streams, of great clefts with +their vari-hued splotches of granite, and on beyond, mound after mound +of pine-clothed hills, fringing the peaks of eternal snow, far away. +The blood suddenly grew hot in Fairchild's veins; he whistled, he +repressed a wild, spasmodic desire to shout. The spirit that had been +the spirit of the determined men of the emigrant trains was his now; he +remembered that he was traveling slowly toward a fight--against whom, +or what, he knew not--but he welcomed it just the same. The exaltation +of rarefied atmosphere was in his brain; dingy offices were gone +forever. He was free; and for the first time in his life, he +appreciated the meaning of the word. + +Upward, still upward! The town below became merely a checkerboard +thing, the lake a dot of gleaming silver, the stream a scintillating +ribbon stretching off into the foothills. A turn, and they skirted a +tremendous valley, its slopes falling away in sheer descents from the +roadway. A darkened, moist stretch of road, fringed by pines, then a +jogging journey over rolling table-land. At last came a voice from the +driver's seat, and Fairchild turned like a man suddenly awakened. + +"Turn off up here at Genesee Mountain. Which way do you go?" + +"Trying to get to Ohadi." Fairchild shouted it above the roar of the +engine. The driver waved a hand forward. + +"Keep to the main road. Drop off when I make the turn. You 'll pick +up another ride soon. Plenty of chances." + +"Thanks for the lift." + +"Aw, forget it." + +The truck wheeled from the main road and chugged away, leaving +Fairchild afoot, making as much progress as possible toward his goal +until good fortune should bring a swifter means of locomotion. A +half-mile he walked, studying the constant changes of the scenery +before him, the slopes and rises, the smooth valleys and jagged crags +above, the clouds as they drifted low upon the higher peaks, shielding +them from view for a moment, then disappearing. Then suddenly he +wheeled. Behind him sounded the swift droning of a motor, cut-out +open, as it rushed forward along the road,--and the noise told a story +of speed. + +Far at the brow of a steep hill it appeared, seeming to hang in space +for an instant before leaping downward. Rushing, plunging, once +skidding dangerously at a small curve, it made the descent, bumped over +a bridge, was lost for a second in the pines, then sped toward him, a +big touring car, with a small, resolute figure clinging to the wheel. +The quarter of a mile changed to a furlong, the furlong to a hundred +yards,--then, with a report like a revolver shot, the machine suddenly +slewed in drunken fashion far to one side of the road, hung dangerously +over the steep cliff an instant, righted itself, swayed forward and +stopped, barely twenty-five yards away. Staring, Robert Fairchild saw +that a small, trim figure had leaped forth and was waving excitedly to +him, and he ran forward. + +His first glance had proclaimed it a boy; the second had told a +different story. A girl--dressed in far different fashion from Robert +Fairchild's limited specifications of feminine garb--she caused him to +gasp in surprise, then to stop and stare. Again she waved a hand and +stamped a foot excitedly; a vehement little thing in a snug, whipcord +riding habit and a checkered cap pulled tight over closely braided +hair, she awaited him with all the impatience of impetuous womanhood. + +"For goodness' sake, come here!" she called, as he still stood gaping. +"I 'll give you five dollars. Hurry!" + +Fairchild managed to voice the fact that he would be willing to help +without remuneration, as he hurried forward, still staring at her, a +vibrant little thing with dark-brown wisps of hair which had been blown +from beneath her cap straying about equally dark-brown, snapping eyes +and caressing the corners of tightly pressed, momentarily impatient +lips. Only a second she hesitated, then dived for the tonneau, jerking +with all her strength at the heavy seat cushion, as he stepped to the +running board beside her. + +"Can't get this dinged thing up!" she panted. "Always sticks when you +'re in a hurry. That's it! Jerk it. Thanks! Here!" She reached +forward and a small, sun-tanned hand grasped a greasy jack, "Slide +under the back axle and put this jack in place, will you? And rush it! +I 've got to change a tire in nothing flat! Hurry!" + +Fairchild, almost before he knew it, found himself under the rear of +the car, fussing with a refractory lifting jack and trying to keep his +eyes from the view of trimly clad, brown-shod little feet, as they +pattered about at the side of the car, hurried to the running board, +then stopped as wrenches and a hammer clattered to the ground. Then +one shoe was raised, to press tight against a wheel; metal touched +metal, a feminine gasp sounded as strength was exerted in vain, then +eddying dust as the foot stamped, accompanied by an exasperated +ejaculation. + +"Ding these old lugs! They 're rusted! Got that jack in place yet?" + +"Yes! I'm raising the car now." + +"Oh, please hurry." There was pleading in the tone now. "Please!" + +The car creaked upward. Out came Fairchild, brushing the dust from his +clothes. But already the girl was pressing the lug wrench into his +hands. + +"Don't mind that dirt," came her exclamation. "I 'll--I 'll give you +some extra money to get your suit cleaned. Loosen those lugs, while I +get the spare tire off the back. And for goodness' sake, please hurry!" + +Astonishment had taken away speech for Fairchild. He could only +wonder--and obey. Swiftly he twirled the wrench while lug after lug +fell to the ground, and while the girl, struggling with a tire +seemingly almost as big as herself, trundled the spare into position to +await the transfer. As for Fairchild, he was in the midst of a task +which he had seen performed far more times than he had done it himself. +He strove to remove the blown-out shoe with the cap still screwed on +the valve stem; he fussed and swore under his breath, and panted, while +behind him a girl in whipcord riding habit and close-pulled cap +fidgeted first on one tan-clad foot, then on the other, anxiously +watching the road behind her and calling constantly for speed. + +At last the job was finished, the girl fastening the useless shoe +behind the machine while Fairchild tightened the last of the lugs. +Then as he straightened, a small figure shot to his side, took the +wrench from his hand and sent it, with the other tools, clattering into +the tonneau. A tiny hand went into a pocket, something that crinkled +was shoved into the man's grasp, and while he stood there gasping, she +leaped to the driver's seat, slammed the door, spun the starter until +it whined, and with open cutout roaring again, was off and away, +rocking down the mountain side, around a curve and out of sight--while +Fairchild merely stood there, staring wonderingly at a ten-dollar bill! + +A noise from the rear, growing louder, and the amazed man turned to see +a second machine, filled with men, careening toward him. Fifty feet +away the brakes creaked, and the big automobile came to a skidding, +dust-throwing stop. A sun-browned man in a Stetson hat, metal badge +gleaming from beneath his coat, leaned forth. + +"Which way did he go?" + +"He?" Robert Fairchild stared. + +"Yeh. Did n't a man just pass here in an automobile? Where'd he +go--straight on the main road or off on the circuit trail?" + +"It--it was n't a man." + +"Not a man?" The four occupants of the machine stared at him. "Don't +try to bull us that it was a woman." + +"Oh, no--no--of course not." Fairchild had found his senses. "But it +was n't a man. It--it was a boy, just about fifteen years old." + +"Sure?" + +"Oh, yes--" Fairchild was swimming in deep water now. "I got a good +look at him. He--he took that road off to the left." + +It was the opposite one to which the hurrying fugitive in whipcord had +taken. There was doubt in the interrogator's eyes. + +"Sure of that?" he queried. "I 'm the sheriff of Arapahoe County. +That's an auto bandit ahead of us. We--" + +"Well, I would n't swear to it. There was another machine ahead, and I +lost 'em both for a second down there by the turn. I did n't see the +other again, but I did get a glimpse of one off on that side road. It +looked like the car that passed me. That's all I know." + +"Probably him, all right." The voice came from the tonneau. "Maybe he +figured to give us the slip and get back to Denver. You did n't notice +the license number?" This to Fairchild. That bewildered person shook +his head. + +"No. Did n't you?" + +"Could n't--covered with dust when we first took the trail and never +got close enough afterward. But it was the same car--that's almost a +cinch." + +"Let's go!" The sheriff was pressing a foot on the accelerator. Down +the hill went the car, to skid, then to make a short turn on to the +road which led away from the scent, leaving behind a man standing in +the middle of the road, staring at a ten-dollar bill,--and wondering +why he had lied! + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +Wonderment which got nowhere. The sheriff's car returned before +Fairchild reached the bottom of the grade, and again stopped to survey +the scene of defeat, while Fairchild once more told his story, deleting +items which, to him, appeared unnecessary for consumption by officers +of the law. Carefully the sheriff surveyed the winding road before him +and scratched his head. + +"Don't guess it would have made much difference which way he went," +came ruefully at last, "I never saw a fellow turn loose with so much +speed on a mountain road. We never could have caught him!" + +"Dangerous character?" Fairchild hardly knew why he asked the +question. The sheriff smiled grimly. + +"If it was the fellow we were after, he was plenty dangerous. We were +trailing him on word from Denver--described the car and said he 'd +pulled a daylight hold-up on a pay-wagon for the Smelter Company--so +when the car went through Golden, we took up the trail a couple of +blocks behind. He kept the same speed for a little while until one of +my deputies got a little anxious and took a shot at a tire. Man, how +he turned on the juice! I thought that thing was a jack rabbit the way +it went up the hill! We never had a chance after that!" + +"And you 're sure it was the same person?" + +The sheriff toyed with the gear shift. + +"You never can be sure about nothing in this business," came finally. +"But there 's this to think about: if that fellow was n't guilty of +something, why did he run?" + +"It might have been a kid in a stolen machine," came from the back seat. + +"If it was, we 've got to wait until we get a report on it. I guess +it's us back to the office." + +The automobile went its way then, and Fairchild his, still wondering; +the sheriff's question, with a different gender, recurring again and +again: + +"If she was n't guilty of something, why did she run?" + +And why had she? More, why had she been willing to give ten dollars in +payment for the mere changing of a tire? And why had she not offered +some explanation of it all? It was a problem which almost wiped out +for Robert Fairchild the zest of the new life into which he was going, +the great gamble he was about to take. And so thoroughly did it +engross him that it was not until a truck had come to a full stop +behind him, and a driver mingled a shout with the tooting of his horn, +that he turned to allow its passage. + +"Did n't hear you, old man," he apologized. "Could you give a fellow a +lift?" + +"Guess so." It was friendly, even though a bit disgruntled; "hop on." + +And Fairchild hopped, once more to sit on the tailboard, swinging his +legs, but this time his eyes saw the ever-changing scenery without +noticing it. In spite of himself, Fairchild found himself constantly +staring at a vision of a pretty girl in a riding habit, with dark-brown +hair straying about equally dark-brown eyes, almost frenzied in her +efforts to change a tire in time to elude a pursuing sheriff. Some +way, it all did n't blend. Pretty girls, no doubt, could commit +infractions of the law just as easily as ones less gifted with good +looks. Yet if this particular pretty girl had held up a pay wagon, why +did n't the telephoned notice from Denver state the fact, instead of +referring to her as a man? And if she had n't committed some sort of +depredation against the law, why on earth was she willing to part with +ten dollars, merely to save a few moments in changing a tire and thus +elude a sheriff? If there had been nothing wrong, could not a moment +of explanation have satisfied any one of the fact? Anyway, were n't +the officers looking for a man instead of for a woman? And yet: + +"If she was n't guilty of something, why did she run?" + +It was too much for any one, and Fairchild knew it. Yet he clung +grimly to the mystery as the truck clattered on, mile after mile, while +the broad road led along the sides of the hills, finally to dip +downward and run beside the bubbling Clear Creek,--clear no longer in +the memory of the oldest inhabitant; but soiled by the silica from ore +deposits that, churned and rechurned, gave to the stream a whitish, +almost milk-like character, as it twisted in and out of the tortuous +cañon on its turbulent journey to the sea. But Fairchild failed to +notice either that or the fact that ancient, age-whitened water wheels +had begun to appear here and there, where gulch miners, seekers after +gold in the silt of the creek's bed, had abandoned them years before; +that now and then upon the hills showed the gaunt scars of mine +openings,--reminders of dreams of a day long past; or even the more +important fact that in the distance, softened by the mellowing rays of +a dying sun, a small town gradually was coming into view. A mile more, +then the truck stopped with a jerk. + +"Where you bound for, pardner?" + +Fairchild turned absently, then grinned in embarrassment. + +"Ohadi." + +"That's it, straight ahead. I turn off here. Stranger?" + +"Yep." + +"Miner?" + +Fairchild shrugged his shoulders and nodded noncommittally. The truck +driver toyed with his wheel. + +"Just thought I 'd ask. Plenty of work around here for single and +double jackers. Things are beginning to look up a bit--at least in +silver. Gold mines ain't doing much yet--but there 's a good deal +happening with the white stuff." + +"Thanks. Do you know a good place to stop?" + +"Yeh. Mother Howard's Boarding House. Everybody goes there, sooner or +later. You 'll see it on the left-hand side of the street before you +get to the main block. Good old girl; knows how to treat anybody in +the mining game from operators on down. She was here when mining was +mining!" + +Which was enough recommendation for Mother Howard. Fairchild lifted +his bag from the rear of the vehicle, waved a farewell to the driver +and started into the village. And then--for once--the vision of the +girl departed, momentarily, to give place to other thoughts, other +pictures, of a day long gone. + +The sun was slanting low, throwing deep shadows from the hills into the +little valley with its chattering, milk-white stream, softening the +scars of the mountains with their great refuse dumps; reminders of +hopes of twenty years before and as bare of vegetation as in the days +when the pick and gad and drill of the prospector tore the rock loose +from its hiding place under the surface of the ground. Nature, in the +mountainous country, resents any outrage against her dignity; the scars +never heal; the mine dumps of a score of years ago remain the same, +without a single shrub or weed or blade of grass growing in the big +heaps of rocky refuse to shield them. + +But now it was all softened and aglow with sunset. The deep red +buildings of the Argonaut tunnel--a great, criss-crossing hole through +the hills that once connected with more than thirty mines and their +feverish activities--were denuded of their rust and lack of repair. +The steam from the air-compressing engine, furnishing the necessary +motive power for the drills that still worked in the hills, curled +upward in billowy, rainbow-like coloring. The scrub pines of the +almost barren mountains took on a fluffier, softer tone; the jutting +rocks melted away into their own shadows, it was a picture of peace and +of memories. + +And it had been here that Thornton Fairchild, back in the nineties, had +dreamed his dreams and fought his fight. It had been here--somewhere +in one of the innumerable cañons that led away from the little town on +every side--that Thornton Fairchild had followed the direction of +"float ore" to its resting place, to pursue the vagrant vein through +the hills, to find it at last, to gloat over it in his letters to +Beamish and then to--what? + +A sudden cramping caught the son's heart, and it pounded with something +akin to fear. The old foreboding of his father's letter had come upon +him, the mysterious thread of that elusive, intangible Thing, great +enough to break the will and resistance of a strong man and turn him +into a weakling--silent, white-haired--sitting by a window, waiting for +death. What had it been? Why had it come upon his father? How could +it be fought? All so suddenly, Robert Fairchild had realized that he +was in the country of the invisible enemy, there to struggle against it +without the slightest knowledge of what it was or how it could be +combated. His forehead felt suddenly damp and cold. He brushed away +the beady perspiration with a gesture almost of anger, then with a look +of relief, turned in at a small white gate toward a big, rambling +building which proclaimed itself, by the sign on the door, to be Mother +Howard's Boarding House. + +A moment of waiting, then he faced a gray-haired, kindly faced woman, +who stared at him with wide-open eyes as she stood, hands on hips, +before him. + +"Don't you tell me I don't know you!" she burst forth at last. + +"I 'm afraid you don't." + +"Don't I?" Mother Howard cocked her head. "If you ain't a Fairchild, I +'ll never feed another miner corned beef and cabbage as long as I live. +Ain't you now?" she persisted, "ain't you a Fairchild?" + +The man laughed in spite of himself. "You guessed it." + +"You 're Thornton Fairchild's boy!" She had reached out for his +handbag, and then, bustling about him, drew him into the big "parlor" +with its old-fashioned, plush-covered chairs, its picture album, its +glass-covered statuary on the old, onyx mantel. "Did n't I know you +the minute I saw you? Land, you're the picture of your dad! Sakes +alive, how is he?" + +There was a moment of silence. Fairchild found himself suddenly +halting and boyish as he stood before her. + +"He 's--he 's gone, Mrs. Howard." + +"Dead?" She put up both hands. "It don't seem possible. And me +remembering him looking just like you, full of life and strong and--" + +"Our pictures of him are a good deal different. I--I guess you knew +him when everything was all right for him. Things were different after +he got home again." + +Mother Howard looked quickly about her, then with a swift motion closed +the door. + +"Son," she asked in a low voice, "did n't he ever get over it?" + +"It?" Fairchild felt that he stood on the threshold of discoveries. +"What do you mean?" + +"Didn't he ever tell you anything, Son?" + +"No. I--" + +"Well, there was n't any need to." But Mother Howard's sudden +embarrassment, her change of color, told Fairchild it was n't the +truth. "He just had a little bad luck out here, that was all. +His--his mine pinched out just when he thought he 'd struck it rich--or +something like that." + +"Are you sure that is the truth?" + +For a second they faced each other, Robert Fairchild serious and +intent, Mother Howard looking at him with eyes defiant, yet +compassionate. Suddenly they twinkled, the lips broke from their +straight line into a smile, and a kindly old hand reached out to take +him by the arm. + +"Don't you stand there and try to tell Mother Howard she don't know +what she 's talking about!" came in tones of mock severity. "Hear me? +Now, you get up them steps and wash up for dinner. Take the first room +on the right. It's a nice, cheery place. And get that dust and grime +off of you. The dinner bell will ring in about fifteen minutes, and +they 's always a rush for the food. So hurry!" + +In his room, Fairchild tried not to think. His brain was becoming too +crammed with queries, with strange happenings and with the aggravating +mysticisms of the life into which his father's death had thrown him to +permit clearness of vision. Even in Mother Howard, he had not been +able to escape it; she told all too plainly, both by her actions and +her words, that she knew something of the mystery of the past,--and had +falsified to keep the knowledge from him. + +It was too galling for thought. Robert Fairchild hastily made his +toilet, then answered the ringing of the dinner bell, to be introduced +to strong-shouldered men who gathered about the long tables; +Cornishmen, who talked an "h-less" language, ruddy-faced Americans, and +a sprinkling of English, all of whom conversed about things which were +to Fairchild as so much Greek,--of "levels" and "stopes" and "winzes", +of "skips" and "manways" and "raises", which meant nothing to the man +who yet must master them all, if he were to follow his ambition. Some +ate with their knives, meeting the food halfway from their plates; some +acted and spoke in a manner revealing a college education and the poise +that it gives. But all were as one, all talking together; the operator +no more enthusiastic than the man whose sole recompense was the five +dollars a day he received for drilling powder holes; all happy, all +optimistic, all engrossed in the hopes and dreams that only mining can +give. And among them Mother Howard moved, getting the latest gossip +from each, giving her views on every problem and incidentally seeing +that the plates were filled to the satisfaction of even the hungriest. + +As for Robert Fairchild, he spoke but seldom, except to acknowledge the +introductions as Mother Howard made him known to each of his table +mates. But it was not aloofness; it was the fact that these men were +talking of things which Fairchild longed to know, but failed, for the +moment, to master. From the first, the newcomer had liked the men +about him, liked the ruggedness, the mingling of culture with the lack +of it, liked the enthusiasm, the muscle and brawn, liked them all,--all +but two. + +Instinctively, from the first mention of his name, he felt they were +watching him, two men who sat far in the rear of the big dining room, +older than the other occupants, far less inviting in appearance. One +was small, though chunky in build, with sandy hair and eyebrows; with +weak, filmy blue eyes over which the lids blinked constantly. The +other, black-haired with streaks of gray, powerful in his build, and +with a walrus-like mustache drooping over hard lips, was the sort of +antithesis naturally to be found in the company of the smaller, sandy +complexioned man. Who they were, what they were, Fairchild did not +know, except from the general attributes which told that they too +followed the great gamble of mining. But one thing was certain; they +watched him throughout the meal; they talked about him in low tones and +ceased when Mother Howard came near; they seemed to recognize in him +some one who brought both curiosity and innate enmity to the surface. +And more; long before the rest had finished their meal, they rose and +left the room, intent, apparently, upon some important mission. + +After that, Fairchild ate with less of a relish. In his mind was the +certainty that these two men knew him--or at least knew about him--and +that they did not relish his presence. Nor were his suspicions long in +being fulfilled. Hardly had he reached the hall, when the beckoning +eyes of Mother Howard signaled to him. Instinctively he waited for the +other diners to pass him, then looked eagerly toward Mother Howard as +she once more approached. + +"I don't know what you 're doing here," came shortly, "but I want to." + +Fairchild straightened. "There is n't much to tell you," he answered +quietly. "My father left me the Blue Poppy mine in his will. I 'm +here to work it." + +"Know anything about mining?" + +"Not a thing." + +"Or the people you 're liable to have to buck up against?" + +"Very little." + +"Then, Son," and Mother Howard laid a kindly hand on his arm, "whatever +you do, keep your plans to yourself and don't talk too much. And +what's more, if you happen to get into communication with Blindeye +Bozeman and Taylor Bill, lie your head off. Maybe you saw 'em, a +sandy-haired fellow and a big man with a black mustache, sitting at the +back of the room?" Fairchild nodded. "Well, stay away from them. +They belong to 'Squint' Rodaine. Know him?" + +She shot the question sharply. Again Fairchild nodded. + +"I 've heard the name. Who is he?" + +A voice called to Mother Howard from the dining room. She turned away, +then leaned close to Robert Fairchild. "He 's a miner, and he 's +always been a miner. Right now, he 's mixed up with some of the +biggest people in town. He 's always been a man to be afraid of--and +he was your father's worst enemy!" + +Then, leaving Fairchild staring after her, she moved on to her duties +in the kitchen. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +Impatiently Fairchild awaited Mother Howard's return, and when at last +she came forth from the kitchen, he drew her into the old parlor, +shadowy now in the gathering dusk, and closed the doors. + +"Mrs. Howard," he began, "I--" + +"Mother Howard," she corrected. "I ain't used to being called much +else." + +"Mother, then--although I 'm not very accustomed to using the title. +My own mother died--shortly after my father came back from out here." + +She walked to his side then and put a hand on his shoulders. For a +moment it seemed that her lips were struggling to repress something +which strove to pass them, something locked behind them for years. +Then the old face, dim in the half light, calmed. + +"What do you want to know, Son?" + +"Everything!" + +"But there is n't much I can tell." + +He caught her hand. + +"There is! I know there is. I--" + +"Son--all I can do is to make matters worse. If I knew anything that +would help you--if I could give you any light on anything, Old Mother +Howard would do it! Lord, did n't I help out your father when he +needed it the worst way? Did n't I--" + +"But tell me what you know!" There was pleading in Fairchild's voice. +"Can't you understand what it all means to me? Anything--I 'm at sea, +Mother Howard! I 'm lost--you 've hinted to me about enemies, my +father hinted to me about them--but that's all. Is n't it fair that I +should know as much as possible if they still exist, and I 'm to make +any kind of a fight against them?" + +"You 're right, Son. But I 'm as much in the dark as you. In those +days, if you were a friend to a person, you didn't ask questions. All +that I ever knew was that your father came to this boarding house when +he was a young man, the very first day that he ever struck Ohadi. He +did n't have much money, but he was enthusiastic--and it was n't long +before he 'd told me about his wife and baby back in Indianapolis and +how he 'd like to win out for their sake. As for me--well, they always +called me Mother Howard, even when I was a young thing, sort of setting +my cap for every good-looking young man that came along. I guess +that's why I never caught one of 'em--I always insisted on darning +their socks and looking after all their troubles for 'em instead of +going out buggy-riding with some other fellow and making 'em jealous." +She sighed ever so slightly, then chuckled. "But that ain't getting to +the point, though, is it?" + +"If you could tell me about my father--" + +"I 'm going to--all I know. Things were a lot different out here then +from what they were later. Silver was wealth to anybody that could +find it; every month, the Secretary of the Treasury was required by law +to buy three or four million ounces for coining purposes, and it meant +a lot of money for us all. Everywhere around the hills and gulches you +could see prospectors, with their gads and little picks, fooling around +like life did n't mean anything in the world to 'em, except to grub +around in those rocks. That was the idea, you see, to fool around +until they 'd found a bit of ore or float, as they called it, and then +follow it up the gorge until they came to rock or indications that 'd +give 'em reason to think that the vein was around there somewhere. +Then they 'd start to make their tunnel--to drift in on the vein. I 'm +telling you all this, so you 'll understand." + +Fairchild was listening eagerly. A moment's pause and the old +lodging-house keeper went on. + +"Your father was one of these men. 'Squint' Rodaine was another--they +called him that because at some time in his life he 'd tried to shoot +faster than the other fellow--and did n't do it. The bullet hit right +between his eyes, but it must have had poor powder behind it--all it +did was to cut through the skin and go straight up his forehead. When +the wound healed, the scar drew his eyes close together, like a +Chinaman's. You never see Squint's eyes more than half open. + +"And he's crooked, just like his eyes--" Mother Howard's voice bore a +touch of resentment. "I never liked him from the minute I first saw +him, and I liked him less afterward. Then I got next to his game. + +"Your father had been prospecting just like everybody else. He 'd come +on float up Kentucky Gulch and was trying to follow it to the vein. +Squint saw him--and what's more, he saw that float. It looked good to +Squint--and late that night, I heard him and his two drinking partners, +Blindeye Bozeman and Taylor Bill--they just reverse his name for the +sound of it--talking in Blindeye's room. I 'm a woman--" Mother +Howard chuckled--"so I just leaned my head against the door and +listened. Then I flew downstairs to wait for your father when he came +in from sitting up half the night to get an assay on that float. And +you bet I told him--folks can't do sneaking things around me and get +away with it, and it was n't more 'n five minutes after he 'd got home +that your father knew what was going on--how Squint and them two others +was figuring on jumping his claim before he could file on it and all +that. + +"Well, there was a big Cornishman here that I was kind of sweet on--and +I guess I always will be. He 's been gone now though, ever since your +father left. I got him and asked him to help. And Harry was just the +kind of a fellow that would do it. Out in the dead of night they went +and staked out your father's claim--Harry was to get twenty-five per +cent--and early the next morning your dad was waiting to file on it, +while Harry was waiting for them three. And what a fight it must have +been--that Harry was a wildcat in those younger days." She laughed, +then her voice grew serious. "But all had its effect. Rodaine did n't +jump that claim, and a few of us around here filed dummy claims enough +in the vicinity to keep him off of getting too close--but there was one +way we couldn't stop him. He had power, and he 's always had it--and +he 's got it now. A lot of awful strange things happened to your +father after that--charges were filed against him for things he never +did. Men jumped on him in the dark, then went to the district +attorney's office and accused him of making the attack. And the funny +part was that the district attorney's office always believed them--and +not him. Once they had him just at the edge of the penitentiary, but +I--I happened to know a few things that--well, he did n't go." Again +Mother Howard chuckled, only to grow serious once more. "Those days +were a bit wild in Ohadi--everybody was crazy with the gold or silver +fever; out of their head most of the time. Men who went to work for +your father and Harry disappeared, or got hurt accidentally in the mine +or just quit through the bad name it was getting. Once Harry, coming +down from the tunnel at night, stepped on a little bridge that always +before had been as secure and safe as the hills themselves. It fell +with him--they went down together thirty feet, and there was nothing +but Nature to blame for it, in spite of what we three thought. Then, +at last, they got a fellow who was willing to work for them in spite of +what Rodaine's crowd--and it consisted of everybody in power--hinted +about your father's bad reputation back East and--" + +"My father never harmed a soul in his life!" Fairchild's voice was +hot, resentful. Mother Howard went on: + +"I know he did n't, Son. I 'm only telling the story. Miners are +superstitious as a general rule, and they 're childish at believing +things. It all worked in your father's case--with the exception of +Harry and 'Sissie' Larsen, a Swede with a high voice, just about like +mine. That's why they gave him the name. Your father offered him +wages and a ten per cent. bonus. He went to work. A few months later +they got into good ore. That paid fairly well, even if it was +irregular. It looked like the bad luck was over at last. Then--" + +Mother Howard hesitated at the brink of the very nubbin of it all, to +Robert Fairchild. A long moment followed, in which he repressed a +desire to seize her and wrest it from her, and at last-- + +"It was about dusk one night," she went on. "Harry came in and took me +with him into this very room. He kissed me and told me that he must go +away. He asked me if I would go with him--without knowing why. And, +Son, I trusted him, I would have done anything for him--but I was n't +as old then as I am now. I refused--and to this day, I don't know why. +It--it was just woman, I guess. Then he asked me if I would help him. +I said I would. + +"He did n't tell me much; except that he had been uptown spreading the +word that the ore had pinched out and that the hanging rock had caved +in and that he and 'Sissie' and your father were through, that they +were beaten and were going away that night. But--and Harry waited a +long time before he told me this--'Sissie' was not going with them. + +"'I'm putting a lot in your hands,' he told me, 'but you 've got to +help us. "Sissie" won't be there--and I can't tell you why. The town +must think that he is. Your voice is just like "Sissie's." You 've +got to help us out of town.' + +"And I promised. Late that night, the three of us drove up the main +street, your father on one side of the seat. Harry on the other, and +me, dressed in some of Sissie's clothes, half hidden between them. I +was singing; that was Sissie's habit,--to get roaring drunk and blow +off steam by yodelling song after song as he rolled along. Our voices +were about the same; nobody dreamed that I was any one else but the +Swede--my head was tipped forward, so they couldn't see my features. +And we went our way with the miners standing on the curb waving to us, +and not one of them knowing that the person who sat between your father +and Harry was any one except Larsen. We drove outside town and +stopped. Then we said good-by, and I put on an old dress that I had +brought with me and sneaked back home. Nobody knew the difference." + +"But Larsen--?" + +"You know as much as I do, Son." + +"But did n't they tell you?" + +"They told me nothing and I asked 'em nothing. They were my friends +and they needed help. I gave it to them--that's all I know and that's +all I 've wanted to know." + +"You never saw Larsen again?" + +"I never saw any of them. That was the end." + +"But Rodaine--?" + +"He 's still here. You 'll hear from him--plenty soon. I could see +that, the minute Blindeye Bozeman and Taylor Bill began taking your +measure. You noticed they left the table before the meal was over? It +was to tell Rodaine." + +"Then he'll fight me too?" + +Mother Howard laughed,--and her voice was harsh. + +"Rodaine's a rattlesnake. His son 's a rattlesnake. His wife 's +crazy--Old Crazy Laura. He drove her that way. She lives by herself, +in an old house on the Georgeville road. And she 'd kill for him, even +if he does beat her when she goes to his house and begs him to take her +back. That's the kind of a crowd it is. You can figure it out for +yourself. She goes around at night, gathering herbs in graveyards; she +thinks she 's a witch. The old man mutters to himself and hates any +one who doesn't do everything he asks,--and just about everybody does +it, simply through fear. And just to put a good finish on it all, the +young 'un moves in the best society in town and spends most of his time +trying to argue the former district judge's daughter into marrying him. +So there you are. That's all Mother Howard knows, Son." + +She reached for the door and then, turning, patted Fairchild on the +shoulder. + +"Boy," came quietly, "you 've got a broad back and a good head. +Rodaine beat your father--don't let him beat you. And always remember +one thing: Old Mother Howard 's played the game before, and she 'll +play it with you--against anybody. Good night. Go to bed--dark +streets are n't exactly the place for you." + +Robert Fairchild obeyed the instructions, a victim of many a +conjecture, many an attempt at reasoning as he sought sleep that was +far away. Again and again there rose before him the vision of two men +in an open buggy, with a singing, apparently maudlin person between +them whom Ohadi believed to be an effeminate-voiced Swede; in reality, +only a woman. And why had they adopted the expedient? Why had not +Larsen been with them in reality? Fairchild avoided the obvious +conclusion and turned to other thoughts, to Rodaine with his squint +eyes, to Crazy Laura, gathering herbs at midnight in the shadowy, +stone-sentineled stretches of graveyards, while the son, perhaps, +danced at some function of Ohadi's society and made love in the rest +periods. It was all grotesque; it was fantastic, almost +laughable,--had it not concerned him! For Rodaine had been his +father's enemy, and Mother Howard had told him enough to assure him +that Rodaine did not forget. The crazed woman of the graveyards was +Squint's lunatic wife, ready to kill, if necessary, for a husband who +beat her. And the young Rodaine was his son, blood of his blood; that +was enough. It was hours before Fairchild found sleep, and even then +it was a thing of troubled visions. + +Streaming sun awakened him, and he hurried to the dining room to find +himself the last lodger at the tables. He ate a rather hasty meal, +made more so by an impatient waitress, then with the necessary papers +in his pocket, Fairchild started toward the courthouse and the legal +procedure which must be undergone before he made his first trip to the +mine. + +A block or two, and then Fairchild suddenly halted. Crossing the +street at an angle just before him was a young woman whose features, +whose mannerisms he recognized. The whipcord riding habit had given +place now to a tailored suit which deprived her of the boyishness that +had been so apparent on their first meeting. The cap had disappeared +before a close-fitting, vari-colored turban. But the straying brown +hair still was there, the brown eyes, the piquant little nose and the +prettily formed lips. Fairchild's heart thumped,--nor did he stop to +consider why. A quickening of his pace, and he met her just as she +stepped to the curbing. + +"I 'm so glad of this opportunity," he exclaimed happily. "I want to +return that money to you. I--I was so fussed yesterday I did n't +realize--" + +"Aren't you mistaken?" She had looked at him with a slight smile. +Fairchild did not catch the inflection. + +"Oh, no. I 'm the man, you know, who helped you change that tire on +the Denver road yesterday." + +"Pardon me." This time one brown eye had wavered ever so slightly, +indicating some one behind Fairchild. "But I was n't on the Denver +road yesterday, and if you 'll excuse me for saying it, I don't +remember ever having seen you before." + +There was a little light in her eyes which took away the sting of the +denial, a light which seemed to urge caution, and at the same time to +tell Fairchild that she trusted him to do his part as a gentleman in a +thing she wished forgotten. More fussed than ever, he drew back and +bent low in apology, while she passed on. Half a block away, a young +man rounded a corner and, seeing her, hastened to join her. She +extended her hand; they chatted a moment, then strolled up the street +together. Fairchild watched blankly, then turned at a chuckle just +behind him emanating from the bearded lips of an old miner, loafing on +the stone coping in front of a small store. + +"Pick the wrong filly, pardner?" came the query. Fairchild managed to +smile. + +"Guess so." Then he lied quickly. "I thought she was a girl from +Denver." + +"Her?" The old miner stretched. "Nope. That's Anita Richmond, old +Judge Richmond's daughter. Guess she must have been expecting that +young fellow--or she would n't have cut you off so short. She ain't +usually that way." + +"Her fiancé?" Fairchild asked the question with misgiving. The miner +finished his stretch and added a yawn to it. Then he looked +appraisingly up the street toward the retreating figures. "Well, some +say he is and some say he ain't. Guess it mostly depends on the girl, +and she ain't telling yet." + +"And the man--who is he?" + +"Him? Oh, he 's Maurice Rodaine. Son of a pretty famous character +around here, old Squint Rodaine. Owns the Silver Queen property up the +hill. Ever hear of him?" + +The eyes of Robert Fairchild narrowed, and a desire to fight--a longing +to grapple with Squint Rodaine and all that belonged to him--surged +into his heart. But his voice, when he spoke, was slow and suppressed. + +"Squint Rodaine? Yes, I think I have. The name sounds rather +familiar." + +Then, deliberately, he started up the street, following at a distance +the man and the girl who walked before him. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +There was no specific reason why Robert Fairchild should follow Maurice +Rodaine and the young woman who had been described to him as the +daughter of Judge Richmond, whoever he might be. And Fairchild sought +for none--within two weeks he had been transformed from a plodding, +methodical person into a creature of impulses, and more and more, as +time went on, he was allowing himself to be governed by the snap +judgment of his brain rather than by the carefully exacting mind of a +systematic machine, such as he had been for the greater part of his +adult life. All that he cared to know was that resentment was in his +heart,--resentment that the family of Rodaine should be connected in +some way with the piquant, mysterious little person he had helped out +of a predicament on the Denver road the day before. And, to his +chagrin, the very fact that there _was_ a connection added a more +sinister note to the escapade of the exploded tire and the pursuing +sheriff; as he walked along, his gaze far ahead, Fairchild found +himself wondering whether there could be more than mere coincidence in +it all, whether she was a part of the Rodaine schemes and the Rodaine +trickery, whether-- + +But he ceased his wondering to turn sharply into a near-by drug store, +there absently to give an order at the soda fountain and stand watching +the pair who had stopped just in front of him on the corner. She was +the same girl; there could be no doubt of that, and he raged inwardly +as she chatted and chaffed with the man who looked down upon her with a +smiling air of proprietorship which instilled instant rebellion in +Fairchild's heart. Nor did he know the reason for that, either. + +After a moment they parted, and Fairchild gulped at his fountain drink. +She had hesitated, then with a quick decision turned straight into the +drug store. + +"Buy a ticket, Mr. McCauley?" she asked of the man behind the counter. +"I 've sold twenty already, this morning. Only five more, and my work +'s over." + +"Going to be pretty much of a crowd, is n't there?" The druggist was +fishing in his pocket for money. Fairchild, dallying with his drink +now, glanced sharply toward the door and went back to his refreshment. +She was standing directly in the entrance, fingering the five remaining +tickets. + +"Oh, everybody in town. Please take the five, won't you? Then I 'll +be through." + +"I 'll be darned if I will, 'Nita!" McCauley backed against a shelf +case in mock self-defense. "Every time you 've got anything you want +to get rid of, you come in here and shove it off on me. I 'll be gosh +gim-swiggled if I will. There 's only four in my family and four 's +all I 'm going to take. Fork 'em over--I 've got a prescription to +fill." He tossed four silver dollars on the showcase and took the +tickets. The girl demurred. + +"But how about the fifth one? I 've got to sell that too--" + +"Well, sell it to him!" And Fairchild, looking into the soda-fountain +mirror, saw himself indicated as the druggist started toward the +prescription case. "I ain't going to let myself get stuck for another +solitary, single one!" + +There was a moment of awkward silence as Fairchild gazed intently into +his soda glass, then with a feeling of queer excitement, set it on the +marble counter and turned. Anita Richmond had accepted the druggist's +challenge. She was approaching--in a stranger-like manner--a ticket of +some sort held before her. + +"Pardon me," she began, "but would you care to buy a ticket?" + +"To--to what?" It was all Fairchild could think of to say. + +"To the Old Timers' Dance. It's a sort of municipal thing, gotten up +by the bureau of mines--to celebrate the return of silver mining." + +"But--but I 'm afraid I 'm not much on dancing." + +"You don't have to be. Nobody 'll dance much--except the old-fashioned +affairs. You see, everybody 's supposed to represent people of the +days when things were booming around here. There 'll be a fiddle +orchestra, and a dance caller and everything like that, and a bar--but +of course there 'll only be imitation liquor. But," she added with +quick emphasis, "there 'll be a lot of things really real--real keno +and roulette and everything like that, and everybody in the costume of +thirty or forty years ago. Don't you want to buy a ticket? It's the +last one I 've got!" she added prettily. But Robert Fairchild had been +listening with his eyes, rather than his ears. Jerkily he came to the +realization that the girl had ceased speaking. + +"When's it to be?" + +"A week from to-morrow night. Are you going to be here that long?" + +She realized the slip of her tongue and colored slightly. Fairchild, +recovered now, reached into a pocket and carefully fingered the bills +there. Then, with a quick motion, as he drew them forth, he covered a +ten-dollar bill with a one-dollar note and thrust them forward. + +"Yes, I 'll take the ticket." + +She handed it to him, thanked him, and reached for the money. As it +passed into her hand, a corner of the ten-dollar bill revealed itself, +and she hastily thrust it toward him as though to return money paid by +mistake. Just as quickly, she realized his purpose and withdrew her +hand. + +"Oh!" she exclaimed, almost in a whisper, "I understand." She flushed +and stood a second hesitant, flustered, her big eyes almost childish as +they looked up into his. "You--you must think I 'm a cad!" Then she +whirled and left the store, and a slight smile came to the lips of +Robert Fairchild as he watched her hurrying across the street. He had +won a tiny victory, at least. + +Not until she had rounded a corner and disappeared did Fairchild leave +his point of vantage. Then, with a new enthusiasm, a greater desire +than ever to win out in the fight which had brought him to Ohadi, he +hurried to the courthouse and the various technicalities which must be +coped with before he could really call the Blue Poppy mine his own. + +It was easier than he thought. A few signatures, and he was free to +wander through town to where idlers had pointed out Kentucky gulch and +to begin the steep ascent up the narrow road on a tour of prospecting +that would precede the more legal and more safe system of a surveyor. + +The ascent was almost sheer in places, for in Kentucky gulch the hills +huddled close to the little town and rose in precipitous inclines +almost before the city limits had been reached. Beside the road a +small stream chattered, milk-white from the silica deposits of the +mines, like the waters of Clear Creek, which it was hastening to join. +Along the gullies were the scars of prospect holes, staring like dark, +blind eyes out upon the gorge;--reminders of the lost hopes of a day +gone by. Here and there lay some discarded piece of mining machinery, +rust-eaten and battered now, washed down inch by inch from the higher +hill where it had been abandoned when the demonetization of silver +struck, like a rapier, into the hearts of grubbing men, years before. +It was a cañon of decay, yet of life, for as he trudged along, the roar +of great motors came to Fairchild's ears; and a moment later he stepped +aside to allow the passage of ore-laden automobile trucks, loaded until +the springs had flattened and until the engines howled with their +compression as they sought to hold back their burdens on the steep +grade. And it was as he stood there, watching the big vehicles travel +down the mountain side, that Fairchild caught a glimpse of a human +figure which suddenly darted behind a clump of scrub pine and skirted +far to one side, taking advantage of every covering. A new beat came +into Fairchild's heart. He took to the road again, plodding upward +apparently without a thought of his pursuer, stopping to stare at the +bleak prospect holes, or to admire the pink-white beauties of the snowy +range in the far distance, seemingly a man entirely bereft of +suspicion. A quarter of a mile he went, a half. Once, as the road +turned beside a great rock, he sought its shelter and looked back. The +figure still was following, running carefully now along the bank of the +stream in an effort to gain as much ground as possible before the +return of the road to open territory should bring the necessity of +caution again. + +A mile more, then, again in the shelter of rocks, he swerved and sought +a hiding place, watching anxiously from his concealment for evidences +of discovery. There were none. The shadower came on, displaying more +and more caution as he approached the rocks, glancing hurriedly about +him as he moved swiftly from cover to cover. Closer--closer--then +Fairchild repressed a gasp. The man was old, almost white-haired, with +hard, knotted hands which seemed to stand out from his wrists; thin and +wiry with the resiliency that outdoor, hardened muscles often give to +age, and with a face that held Fairchild almost hypnotized. It was +like a hawk's; hook-beaked, colorless, toneless in all expressions save +that of a malicious tenacity; the eyes were slanted until they +resembled those of some fantastic Chinese image, while just above the +curving nose a blue-white scar ran straight up the forehead,--Squint +Rodaine! + +So he was on the trail already! Fairchild watched him pass, sneak +around the corner of the rocks, and stand a moment in apparent +bewilderment as he surveyed the ground before him. A mumbling curse +and he went on, his cautious gait discarded, walking briskly along the +rutty, boulder-strewn road toward a gaping hole in the hill, hardly a +furlong away. There he surveyed the ground carefully, bent and stared +hard at the earth, apparently for a trace of footprints, and finding +none, turned slowly and looked intently all about him. Carefully he +approached the mouth of the tunnel and stared within. Then he +straightened, and with another glance about him, hurried off up a gulch +leading away from the road, into the hills. Fairchild lay and watched +him until he was out of sight, and he knew instinctively that a +surveyor would only cover beaten territory now. Squint Rodaine, he +felt sure, had pointed out to him the Blue Poppy mine. + +But he did not follow the direction given by his pursuer. Squint +Rodaine was in the hills. Squint Rodaine might return, and the +consciousness of caution bade that Fairchild not be there when he came +back. Hurriedly he descended the rocks once more to turn toward town +and toward Mother Howard's boarding house. He wanted to tell her what +he had seen and to obtain her help and counsel. + +Quickly he made the return trip, crossing the little bridge over the +turbulent Clear Creek and heading toward the boarding house. Half a +block away he halted, as a woman on the veranda of the big, squarely +built "hotel" pointed him out, and the great figure of a man shot +through the gate, shouting, and hurried toward him. + +A tremendous creature he was, with red face and black hair which seemed +to scramble in all directions at once, and with a mustache which +appeared to scamper in even more directions than his hair. Fairchild +was a large man; suddenly he felt himself puny and inconsequential as +the mastodonic thing before him swooped forward, spread wide the big +arms and then caught him tight in them, causing the breath to puff over +his lips like the exhaust of a bellows. + +A release, then Fairchild felt himself lifted and set down again. He +pulled hard at his breath. + +"What's the matter with you?" he exclaimed testily. "You 've made a +mistake!" + +"I 'm blimed if I 'ave!" bellowed a tornado-like voice. "Blime! You +look just like 'im!" + +"But you 're mistaken, old man!" + +Fairchild was vaguely aware that the spray-like mustache was working +like a dust-broom, that snappy blue eyes were beaming upon him, that +the big red nose was growing redder, while a tremendous paw had seized +his own hand and was doing its best to crush it. + +"Blimed if I 'ave!" came again. "You're your Dad's own boy! You look +just like 'im! Don't you know me?" + +He stepped back then and stood grinning, his long, heavily muscled arms +hanging low at his sides, his mustache trying vainly to stick out in +more directions than ever. Fairchild rubbed a hand across his eyes. + +"You 've got me!" came at last. "I--" + +"You don't know me? 'Onest now, don't you? I 'm Arry! Don't you know +now? 'Arry from Cornwall!" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +It came to Fairchild then,--the sentence in his father's letter +regarding some one who would hurry to his aid when he needed him, the +references of Beamish, and the allusion of Mother Howard to a faithful +friend. He forgot the pain as the tremendous Cornishman banged him on +the back, he forgot the surprise of it all; he only knew that he was +laughing and welcoming a big man old enough in age to be his father, +yet young enough in spirit to want to come back and finish a fight he +had seen begun, and strong enough in physique to stand it. Again the +heavy voice boomed: + +"You know me now, eh?" + +"You bet! You 're Harry Harkins!" + +"'Arkins it is! I came just as soon as I got the cablegram!" + +"The cablegram?" + +"Yeh." Harry pawed at his wonderful mustache. "From Mr. Beamish, you +know. 'E sent it. Said you 'd started out 'ere all alone. And I +could n't stand by and let you do that. So 'ere I am!" + +"But the expense, the long trip across the ocean, the--" + +"'Ere I am!" said Harry again. "Ain't that enough?" + +They had reached the veranda now, to stand talking for a moment, then +to go within, where Mother Howard awaited, eyes glowing, in the parlor. +Harry flung out both arms. + +"And I still love you!" he boomed, as he caught the gray-haired, +laughing woman in his arms. "Even if you did run me off and would n't +go back to Cornwall!" + +Red-faced, she pushed him away and slapped his cheek playfully; it was +like the tap of a light breeze against granite. Then Harry turned. + +"'Ave you looked at the mine?" + +The question brought back to Fairchild the happenings of the morning +and the memory of the man who had trailed him. He told his story, +while Mother Howard listened, her arms crossed, her head bobbing, and +while Harry, his big grin still on his lips, took in the details with +avidity. Then for a moment a monstrous hand scrambled vaguely about in +the region of the Cornishman's face, grasping a hair of that radiating +mustache now and then and pulling hard at it, at last to drop,--and the +grin faded. + +"Le 's go up there," he said quietly. + +This time the trip to Kentucky gulch was made by skirting town; soon +they were on the rough, narrow roadway leading into the mountains. +Both were silent for the most part, and the expression on Harry's face +told that he was living again the days of the past, days when men were +making those pock-marks in the hills, when the prospector and his pack +jack could be seen on every trail, and when float ore in a gulley meant +riches waiting somewhere above. A long time they walked, at last to +stop in the shelter of the rocks where Fairchild had shadowed his +pursuer, and to glance carefully ahead. No one was in sight. Harry +jabbed out a big finger. + +"That's it," he announced, "straight a'ead!" + +They went on, Fairchild with a gripping at his throat that would not +down. This had been the hope of his father--and here his father had +met--what? He swerved quickly and stopped, facing the bigger man. + +"Harry," came sharply, "I know that I may be violating an unspoken +promise to my father. But I simply can't stand it any longer. What +happened here?" + +"We were mining--for silver." + +"I don't mean that--there was some sort of tragedy." + +Harry chuckled,--in concealment, Fairchild thought, of something he did +not want to tell him. + +"I should think so! The timbers gave way and the mine caved in!" + +"Not that! My father ran away from this town. You and Mother Howard +helped him. You didn't come back. Neither did my father. Eventually +it killed him." + +"So?" Harry looked seriously and studiously at the young man. "'E did +n't write me of'en." + +"He did n't need to write you. You were here with him--when it +happened." + +"No--" Harry shook his head. "I was in town." + +"But you knew--" + +"What's Mother Howard told you?" + +"A lot--and nothing." + +"I don't know any more than she does." + +"But--" + +"Friends did n't ask questions in those days," came quietly. "I might +'ave guessed if I 'd wanted to--but I did n't want to." + +"But if you had?" + +Harry looked at him with quiet, blue eyes. + +"What would you guess?" + +Slowly Robert Fairchild's gaze went to the ground. There was only one +possible conjecture: Sissie Larsen had been impersonated by a woman. +Sissie Larsen had never been seen again in Ohadi. + +"I--I would hate to put it into words," came finally. Harry slapped +him on the shoulder. + +"Then don't. It was nearly thirty years ago. Let sleeping dogs lie. +Take a look around before we go into the tunnel." + +They reconnoitered, first on one side, then on the other. No one was +in sight. Harry bent to the ground, and finding a pitchy pine knot, +lighted it. They started cautiously within, blinking against the +darkness. + +A detour and they avoided an ore car, rusty and half filled, standing +on the little track, now sagging on moldy ties. A moment more of +walking and Harry took the lead. + +"It's only a step to the shaft now," he cautioned. "Easy--easy--look +out for that 'anging wall--" he held the pitch torch against the roof +of the tunnel and displayed a loose, jagged section of rock, dripping +with seepage from the hills above. "Just a step now--'ere it is." + +The outlines of a rusty "hoist", with its cable leading down into a +slanting hole in the rock, showed dimly before them,--a massive, +chunky, deserted thing in the shadows. About it were clustered drills +that were eaten by age and the dampness of the seepage; farther on a +"skip", or shaft-car, lay on its side, half buried in mud and muck from +the walls of the tunnel. Here, too, the timbers were rotting; one +after another, they had cracked and caved beneath the weight of the +earth above, giving the tunnel an eerie aspect, uninviting, dangerous. +Harry peered ahead. + +"It ain't as bad as it looks," came after a moment's survey. "It's +only right 'ere at the beginning that it's caved. But that does n't do +us much good." + +"Why not?" Fairchild was staring with him, on toward the darkness of +the farther recesses. "If it is n't caved in farther back, we ought to +be able to repair this spot." + +But Harry shook his head. + +"We did n't go into the vein 'ere," he explained. "We figured we 'ad +to 'ave a shaft anyway, sooner or later. You can't do under'and +stoping in a mine--go down on a vein, you know. You 've always got to +go up--you can't get the metal out if you don't. That's why we dug +this shaft--and now look at it!" + +He drew the flickering torch to the edge of the shaft and held it +there, staring downward. Fairchild beside him. Twenty feet below +there came the glistening reflection of the flaring flame. Water! +Fairchild glanced toward his partner. + +"I don't know anything about it," he said at last. "But I should think +that would mean trouble." + +"Plenty!" agreed Harry lugubriously. "That shaft's two 'unnerd feet +deep and there 's a drift running off it for a couple o' 'unnerd feet +more before it 'its the vein. Four 'unnerd feet of water. 'Ow much +money 'ave you got?" + +"About twenty-five hundred dollars." + +Harry reached for his waving mustache, his haven in time of storm. +Thoughtfully he pulled at it, staring meanwhile downward. Then he +grunted. + +"And I ain't got more 'n five 'unnerd. It ain't enough. We 'll need +to repair this 'oist and put the skip in order. We 'll need to build +new track and do a lot of things. Three thousand dollars ain't enough." + +"But we 'll have to get that water out of there before we can do +anything." Fairchild interposed. "If we can't get at the vein up here, +we 'll have to get at it from below. And how 're we going to do that +without unwatering that shaft?" + +Again Harry pulled at his mustache. + +"That's just what 'Arry 's thinking about," came his answer finally. +"Le 's go back to town. I don't like to stand around this place and +just look at water in a 'ole." + +They turned for the mouth of the tunnel, sliding along in the greasy +muck, the torch extinguished now. A moment of watchfulness from the +cover of the darkness, then Harry pointed. On the opposite hill, the +figure of a man had been outlined for just a second. Then he had +faded. And with the disappearance of the watcher, Harry nudged his +partner in the ribs and went forth into the brighter light. An hour +more and they were back in town. Harry reached for his mustache again. + +"Go on down to Mother 'Oward's," he commanded. "I 've got to wander +around and say 'owdy to what's left of the fellows that was 'ere when I +was. It's been twenty years since I 've been away, you know," he +added, "and the shaft can wait." + +Fairchild obeyed the instructions, looking back over his shoulder as he +walked along toward the boarding house, to see the big figure of his +companion loitering up the street, on the beginning of his home-coming +tour. It was evident that Harry was popular. Forms rose from the +loitering places on the curbings in front of the stores, voices called +to him; even as the distance grew greater, Fairchild could hear the +shouts of greeting which were sounding to Harry as he announced his +return. + +The blocks passed. Fairchild turned through the gate of Mother +Howard's boarding house and went to his room to await the call for +dinner. The world did not look exceptionally good to him; his +brilliant dreams had not counted upon the decay of more than a quarter +of a century, the slow, but sure dripping of water which had seeped +through the hills and made the mine one vast well, instead of the free +open gateway to riches which he had planned upon. True, there had been +before him the certainty of a cave-in, but Fairchild was not a miner, +and the word to him had been a vague affair. Now, however, it was +taking on a new aspect; he was beginning to realize the full extent of +the fight which was before him if the Blue Poppy mine ever were to turn +forth the silver ore he hoped to gain from it, if the letter of his +father, full of threats though it might be, were to be realized in that +part of it which contained the promise of riches in abundance. + +Pitifully small his capital looked to Fairchild now. Inadequate--that +was certain--for the needs which now stood before it. And there was no +person to whom he could turn, no one to whom he could go, for more. To +borrow, one must have security; and with the exception of the faith of +the red-faced Harry, and the promise of a silent man, now dead, there +was nothing. It was useless; an hour of thought and Fairchild ceased +trying to look into the future, obeying, instead, the insistent +clanging of the dinner bell from downstairs. Slowly he opened the door +of his room, trudged down the staircase,--then stopped in bewilderment. +Harry stood before him, in all the splendor that a miner can know. + +He had bought a new suit, brilliant blue, almost electric in its +flashiness, nor had he been careful as to style. The cut of the +trousers was somewhat along the lines of fifteen years before, with +their peg tops and heavy cuffs. Beneath the vest, a glowing, +watermelon-pink shirt glared forth from the protection of a purple tie. +A wonderful creation was on his head, dented in four places, each +separated with almost mathematical precision. Below the cuffs of the +trousers were bright, tan, bump-toed shoes. Harry was a complete +picture of sartorial elegance, according to his own dreams. What was +more, to complete it all, upon the third finger of his right hand was a +diamond, bulbous and yellow and throwing off a dull radiance like the +glow of a burnt-out arclight; full of flaws, it is true, off color to a +great degree, but a diamond nevertheless. And Harry evidently realized +it. + +"Ain't I the cuckoo?" he boomed, as Fairchild stared at him. "Ain't I? +I 'ad to 'ave a outfit, and-- + +"It might as well be now!" he paraphrased, to the tune of the +age-whitened sextette from "Floradora." "And look at the sparkler! +Look at it!" + +Fairchild could do very little else but look. He knew the value, even +in spite of flaws and bad coloring. And he knew something else, that +Harry had confessed to having little more than five hundred dollars. + +"But--but how did you do it?" came gaspingly. "I thought--" + +"Installments!" the Cornishman burst out. "Ten per cent. down and the +rest when they catch me. Installments!" He jabbed forth a heavy +finger and punched Fairchild in the ribs. "Where's Mother 'Oward? +Won't I knock 'er eyes out?" + +Fairchild laughed--he couldn't help it--in spite of the fact that five +hundred dollars might have gone a long way toward unwatering that +shaft. Harry was Harry--he had done enough in crossing the seas to +help him. And already, in the eyes of Fairchild, Harry was swiftly +approaching that place where he could do no wrong. + +"You 're wonderful, Harry," came at last. The Cornishman puffed with +pride. + +"I'm a cuckoo!" he admitted. "Where's Mother 'Oward? Where's Mother +'Oward? Won't I knock 'er eyes out, now?" + +And he boomed forward toward the dining room, to find there men he had +known in other days, to shake hands with them and to bang them on the +back, to sight Blindeye Bozeman and Taylor Bill sitting hunched over +their meal in the corner and to go effusively toward them. "'Arry" was +playing no favorites in his "'ome-coming." "'Arry" was "'appy", and a +little thing like the fact that friends of his enemies were present +seemed to make little difference. + +Jovially he leaned over the table of Bozeman and Bill, after he had +displayed himself before Mother Howard and received her sanction of his +selections in dress. Happily he boomed forth the information that +Fairchild and he were back to work the Blue Poppy mine and that they +already had made a trip of inspection. + +"I 'm going back this afternoon," he told them. "There 's water in the +shaft. I 've got to figure a wye to get it out." + +Then he returned to his table and Fairchild leaned close to him. + +"Is n't that dangerous?" + +"What?" Harry allowed his eyes to become bulbous as he whispered the +question. "Telling them two about what we 're going to do? Won't they +find it out anyway?" + +"I guess that's true. What time are you going to the mine?" + +"I don't know that I 'm going. And then I may. I 've got to kind of +sye 'ello around town first." + +"Then I 'm not to go with you?" + +Harry beamed at him. + +"It's your day off, Robert," he announced, and they went on with their +meal. + +That is, Fairchild proceeded. Harry did little eating. Harry was too +busy. Around him were men he had known in other days, men who had +stayed on at the little silver camp, fighting against the inevitable +downward course of the price of the white metal, hoping for the time +when resuscitation would come, and now realizing that feeling of joy +for which they had waited a quarter of a century. There were a +thousand questions to be answered, all asked by Harry. There was +gossip to relate and the lives of various men who had come and gone to +be dilated upon. Fairchild finished his meal and waited. But Harry +talked on. Bozeman and Bill left the dining room again to make a +report to the narrow-faced Squint Rodaine. Harry did not even notice +them. And as long as a man stayed to answer his queries, just so long +did Harry remain, at last to rise, brush a few crumbs from his +lightning-like suit, press his new hat gently upon his head with both +hands and start forth once more on his rounds of saying hello. And +there was nothing for Fairchild to do but to wait as patiently as +possible for his return. + +The afternoon grew old. Harry did not come back. The sun set and +dinner was served. But Harry was not there to eat it. Dusk came, and +then, nervous over the continued absence of his eccentric partner, +Fairchild started uptown. + +The usual groups were in front of the stores, and before the largest of +them Fairchild stopped. + +"Do any of you happen to know a fellow named Harry Harkins?" he asked +somewhat anxiously. The answer was in the affirmative. A miner +stretched out a foot and surveyed it studiously. + +"Ain't seen him since about five o'clock," he said at last. "He was +just starting up to the mine then." + +"To the mine? That late? Are you sure?" + +"Well--I dunno. May have been going to Center City. Can't say. All I +know is he said somethin' about goin' to th' mine earlier in th' +afternoon, an' long about five I seen him starting up Kentucky Gulch." + +"Who 's that?" The interruption had come in a sharp, yet gruff voice. +Fairchild turned to see before him a man he recognized, a tall, thin, +wiry figure, with narrowed, slanting eyes, and a scar that went +straight up his forehead. He evidently had just rounded the corner in +time to hear the conversation. Fairchild straightened, and in spite of +himself his voice was strained and hard. + +"I was merely asking about my partner in the Blue Poppy mine." + +"The Blue Poppy?" the squint eyes narrowed more than ever. "You 're +Fairchild, ain't you? Well, I guess you 're going to have to get along +without a partner from now on." + +"Get along without--?" + +A crooked smile came to the other man's lips. + +"That is, unless you want to work with a dead man. Harry Harkins got +drowned, about an hour ago, in the Blue Poppy shaft!" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +The news caused Fairchild to recoil and stand gasping. And before he +could speak, a new voice had cut in, one full of excitement, tremulous, +anxious. + +"Drowned? Where 's his body?" + +"How do I know?" Squint Rodaine turned upon his questioner. "Guess +it's at the foot of the shaft. All I saw was his hat. What 're you so +interested for?" + +The questioner, small, goggle-eyed and given to rubbing his hands, +stared a moment speechlessly. Then he reached forward and grasped at +the lapels of Rodaine's coat. + +"He--he bought a diamond from me this morning--on the installment plan!" + +Rodaine smiled again in his crooked fashion. Then he pushed the +clawlike hands of the excited jeweler away from his lapels. + +"That's your own fault, Sam," he announced curtly. "If he 's at the +bottom of the shaft, your diamond 's there too. All I know about it is +that I was coming down from the Silver Queen when I saw this fellow go +into the tunnel of the Blue Poppy. He was all dressed up, else I don't +guess I would have paid much attention to him. But as it was, I kind +of stopped to look, and seen it was Harry Harkins, who used to work the +mine with this"--he pointed to Fairchild--"this fellow's father. About +a minute later, I heard a yell, like somebody was in trouble, then a +big splash. Naturally I ran in the tunnel and struck a match. About +twenty feet down, I could see the water was all riled up, and a new hat +was floating around on top of it. I yelled a couple of times and +struck a lot of matches--but he did n't come to the surface. That's +all I know. You can do as you please about your diamond. I 'm just +giving you the information." + +He turned sharply and went on then, while Sam the jeweler, the rest of +the loiterers clustered around him, looked appealingly toward Fairchild. + +"What 'll we do?" he wailed. + +Fairchild turned. "I don't know about you--but I 'm going to the mine." + +"It won't do any good--bodies don't float. It may never float--if it +gets caught down in the timbers somewheres." + +"Have to organize a bucket brigade." It was a suggestion from one of +the crowd. + +"Why not borry the Argonaut pump? They ain't using it." + +"Go get it! Go get it!" This time it was the wail of the little +jeweler. "Tell 'em Sam Herbenfelder sent you. They 'll let you have +it." + +"Can't carry the thing on my shoulder." + +"I 'll get the Sampler's truck"--a new volunteer had spoken--"there +won't be any kick about it." + +Another suggestion, still another. Soon men began to radiate, each on +a mission. The word passed down the street. More loiterers--a silver +miner spends a great part of his leisure time in simply watching the +crowd go by--hurried to join the excited throng. Groups, en route to +the picture show, decided otherwise and stopped to learn of the +excitement. The crowd thickened. Suddenly Fairchild looked up sharply +at the sound of a feminine voice. + +"What is the matter?" + +"Harry Harkins got drowned." All too willingly the news was dispersed. +Fairchild's eyes were searching now in the half-light from the faint +street bulbs. Then they centered. It was Anita Richmond, standing at +the edge of the crowd, questioning a miner, while beside her was a +thin, youthful counterpart of a hard-faced father, Maurice Rodaine. +Just a moment of queries, then the miner's hand pointed to Fairchild as +he turned toward her. + +"It's his partner." + +She moved forward then and Fairchild went to meet her. + +"I 'm sorry," she said, and extended her hand. Fairchild gripped it +eagerly. + +"Thank you. But it may not be as bad as the rumors." + +"I hope not." Then quickly she withdrew her hand, and somewhat +flustered, turned as her companion edged closer. "Maurice, this is Mr. +Fairchild," she announced, and Fairchild could do nothing but stare. +She knew his name! A second more and it was explained; "My father knew +his father very well." + +"I think my own father was acquainted too," was the rejoinder, and the +eyes of the two men met for an instant in conflict. The girl did not +seem to notice. + +"I sold him a ticket this morning to the dance, not knowing who he was. +Then father happened to see him pass the house and pointed him out to +me as the son of a former friend of his. Funny how those things +happen, is n't it?" + +"Decidedly funny!" was the caustic rejoinder of the younger Rodaine. +Fairchild laughed, to cover the air of intensity. He knew +instinctively that Anita Richmond was not talking to him simply because +she had sold him a ticket to a dance and because her father might have +pointed him out. He felt sure that there was something else behind +it,--the feeling of a debt which she owed him, a feeling of +companionship engendered upon a sunlit road, during the moments of +stress, and the continuance of that meeting in those few moments in the +drug store, when he had handed her back her ten-dollar bill. She had +called herself a cad then, and the feeling that she perhaps had been +abrupt toward a man who had helped her out of a disagreeable +predicament was prompting her action now; Fairchild felt sure of that. +And he was glad of the fact, very glad. Again he laughed, while +Rodaine eyed him narrowly. Fairchild shrugged his shoulders. + +"I 'm not going to believe this story until it's proven to me," came +calmly. "Rumors can be started too easily. I don't see how it was +possible for a man to fall into a mine shaft and not struggle there +long enough for a man who had heard his shout to see him." + +"Who brought the news?" Rodaine asked the question. + +Fairchild deliberately chose his words: + +"A tall, thin, ugly old man, with mean squint eyes and a scar straight +up his forehead." + +A flush appeared on the other man's face. Fairchild saw his hands +contract, then loosen. + +"You 're trying to insult my father!" + +"Your father?" Fairchild looked at him blankly. "Would n't that be a +rather difficult job--especially when I don't know him?" + +"You described him." + +"And you recognized the description." + +"Maurice! Stop it!" The girl was tugging at Rodaine's sleeve. "Don't +say anything more. I 'm sorry--" and she looked at Fairchild with a +glance he could not interpret--"that anything like this could have come +up." + +"I am equally so--if it has caused you embarrassment." + +"You 'll get a little embarrassment out of it yourself--before you get +through!" Rodaine was scowling at him. Again Anita Richmond caught +his arm. + +"Maurice! Stop it! How could the thing have been premeditated when he +did n't even know your father? Come--let's go on. The crowd's getting +thicker." + +The narrow-faced man obeyed her command, and together they turned out +into the street to avoid the constantly growing throng, and to veer +toward the picture show, Fairchild watching after them, wondering +whether to curse or luck himself. His temper, his natural enmity +toward the two men whom he knew to be his enemies, had leaped into +control, for a moment, of his tongue and his senses, and in that moment +what had it done to his place in the estimation of the woman whom he +had helped on the Denver road? Yet, who was she? What connection had +she with the Rodaines? And had she not herself done something which +had caused a fear of discovery should the pursuing sheriff overtake +her? Bewildered, Robert Fairchild turned back to the more apparent +thing which faced him: the probable death of Harry--the man upon whom +he had counted for the knowledge and the perspicacity to aid him in the +struggle against Nature and against mystery--who now, according to the +story of Squint Rodaine, lay dead in the black waters of the Blue Poppy +shaft. + +Carbide lights had begun to appear along the street, as miners, +summoned by hurrying gossip mongers, came forward to assist in the +search for the missing man. High above the general conglomeration of +voices could be heard the cries of the instigator of activities, Sam +Herbenfelder, bemoaning the loss of his diamond, ninety per cent. of +the cost of which remained to be paid. To Sam, the loss of Harry was a +small matter, but that loss entailed also the disappearance of a +yellow, carbon-filled diamond, as yet unpaid for. His lamentations +became more vociferous than ever. Fairchild went forward, and with an +outstretched hand grasped him by the collar. + +"Why don't you wait until we 've found out something before you get the +whole town excited?" he asked. "All we 've got is one man's word for +this." + +"Yes," Sam spread his hands, "but look who it was! Squint Rodaine! +Ach--will I ever get back that diamond?" + +"I 'm starting to the mine," Fairchild released him. "If you want to +go along and look for yourself, all right. But wait until you 're sure +about the thing before you go crazy over it." + +However, Sam had other thoughts. Hastily he shot through the crowd, +organizing the bucket brigade and searching for news of the Argonaut +pump, which had not yet arrived. Half-disgusted, Fairchild turned and +started up the hill, a few miners, their carbide lamps swinging beside +them, following him. Far in the rear sounded the wails of Sam +Herbenfelder, organizing his units of search. + +Fairchild turned at the entrance of the mine and waited for the first +of the miners and the accompanying gleam of his carbide. Then, they +went within and to the shaft, the light shining downward upon the oily, +black water below. Two objects floated there, a broken piece of +timber, torn from the side of the shaft, where some one evidently had +grasped hastily at it in an effort to stop a fall, and a new, +four-dented hat, gradually becoming water-soaked and sinking slowly +beneath the surface. And then, for the first time, fear clutched at +Fairchild's heart,--fear which hope could not ignore. + +"There 's his hat." It was a miner staring downward. + +Fairchild had seen it, but he strove to put aside the thought. + +"True," he answered, "but any one could lose a hat, simply by looking +over the edge of the shaft." Then, as if in proof of the forlorn hope +which he himself did not believe; "Harry 's a strong man. Certainly he +would know how to swim. And in any event he should have been able to +have kept afloat for at least a few minutes. Rodaine says that he +heard a shout and ran right in here; but all that he could see was +ruffled water and a floating hat. I--" Then he paused suddenly. It +had come to him that Rodaine might have helped in the demise of Harry! + +Shouts sounded from outside, and the roaring of a motor truck as it +made its slow, tortuous way up the boulder-strewn road with its gullies +and innumerable ruts. Voices came, rumbling and varied. Lights. +Gaining the mouth of the tunnel. Fairchild could see a mass of shadows +outlined by the carbides, all following the leadership of a small, +excited man, Sam Herbenfelder, still seeking his diamond. + +The big pump from the Argonaut tunnel was aboard the truck, which was +followed by two other auto vehicles, each loaded with gasoline engines +and smaller pumps. A hundred men were in the crowd, all equipped with +ropes and buckets. Sam Herbenfelder's pleas had been heard. The +search was about to begin for the body of Harry and the diamond that +circled one finger. And Fairchild hastened to do his part. + +Until far into the night they worked and strained to put the big pump +into position; while crews of men, four and five in a group, bailed +water as fast as possible, that the aggregate might be lessened to the +greatest possible extent before the pumps, with their hoses, were +attached. Then the gasoline engines began to snort, great lengths of +tubing were let down into the shaft, and spurting water started down +the mountain side as the task of unwatering the shaft began. + +But it was a slow job. Morning found the distance to the water +lengthened by twenty or thirty feet, and the bucket brigades nearly at +the end of their ropes. Men trudged down the hills to breakfast, +sending others in their places. Fairchild stayed on to meet Mother +Howard and assuage her nervousness as best he could, dividing his time +between her and the task before him. Noon found more water than ever +tumbling down the hills--the smaller pumps were working now in unison +with the larger one--for Sam Herbenfelder had not missed a single +possible outlet of aid in his campaign; every man in Ohadi with an +obligation to pay, with back interest due, or with a bill yet +unaccounted for was on his staff, to say nothing of those who had +volunteered simply to still the tearful remonstrances of the +hand-wringing, diamond-less, little jeweler. Afternoon--and most of +Ohadi was there. Fairchild could distinguish the form of Anita +Richmond in the hundreds of women and men clustered about the opening +of the tunnel, and for once she was not in the company of Maurice +Rodaine. He hurried to her and she smiled at his approach. + +"Have they found anything yet?" + +"Nothing--so far. Except that there is plenty of water in the shaft. +I 'm trying not to believe it." + +"I hope it is n't true." Her voice was low and serious. "Father was +talking to me--about you. And we hoped you two would succeed--this +time." + +Evidently her father had told her more than she cared to relate. +Fairchild caught the inflection in her voice but disregarded it. + +"I owe you an apology," he said bluntly. + +"For what?" + +"Last night. I could n't resist it--I forgot for a moment that you +were there. But I--I hope that you 'll believe me to be a gentleman, +in spite of it." + +She smiled up at him quickly. + +"I already have had proof of that. I--I am only hoping that you will +believe me--well, that you 'll forget something." + +"You mean--" + +"Yes," she countered quickly, as though to cut off his explanation. +"It seemed like a great deal. Yet it was nothing at all. I would feel +much happier if I were sure you had disregarded it." + +Fairchild looked at her for a long time, studying her with his serious, +blue eyes, wondering about many things, wishing that he knew more of +women and their ways. At last he said the thing that he felt, the +straightforward outburst of a straightforward man: + +"You 're not going to be offended if I tell you something?" + +"Certainly not." + +"The sheriff came along just after you had made the turn. He was +looking for an auto bandit." + +"A what?" She stared at him with wide-open, almost laughing eyes. +"But you don't believe--" + +"He was looking for a man," said Fairchild quietly. "I--I told him +that I had n't seen anything but--a boy. I was willing to do that +then--because I could n't believe that a girl like you would--" Then +he stumbled and halted. A moment he sought speech while she smiled up +at him. Then out it came: "I--I don't care what it was. I--I like +you. Honest, I do. I liked you so much when I was changing that tire +that I did n't even notice it when you put the money in my hand. +I--well, you 're not the kind of a girl who would do anything really +wrong. It might be a prank--or something like that--but it would n't +be wrong. So--so there 's an end to it." + +Again she laughed softly, in a way tantalizing to Robert Fairchild, as +though she were making game of him. + +"What do you know about women?" she asked finally, and Fairchild told +the truth: + +"Nothing." + +"Then--" the laugh grew heartier, finally, however, to die away. The +girl put forth her hand. "But I won't say what I was going to. It +would n't sound right. I hope that I--I live up to your estimation of +me. At least--I 'm thankful to you for being the man you are. And I +won't forget!" + +And once more her hand had rested in his,--a small, warm, caressing +thing in spite of the purely casual grasp of an impersonal action. +Again Robert Fairchild felt a thrill that was new to him, and he stood +watching her until she had reached the motor car which had brought her +to the big curve, and had faded down the hill. Then he went back to +assist the sweating workmen and the anxious-faced Sam Herbenfelder. +The water was down seventy feet. + +That night Robert Fairchild sought a few hours' sleep. Two days after, +the town still divided its attention between preparations for the Old +Times Dance and the progress in the dewatering of the Blue Poppy shaft. +Now and then the long hose was withdrawn, and dynamite lowered on +floats to the surface of the water, far below, a copper wire trailing +it. A push of the plunger, a detonation, and a wait of long moments; +it accomplished nothing, and the pumping went on. If the earthly +remains of Harry Harkins were below, they steadfastly refused to come +to the surface. + +The volunteers had thinned now to only a few men at the pumps and the +gasoline engine, and Sam Herbenfelder was taking turns with Fairchild +in overseeing the job. Spectators were not as frequent either; they +came and went,--all except Mother Howard, who was silently constant. +The water had fallen to the level of the drift, two hundred feet down; +the pumps now were working on the main flood which still lay below, +while outside the townspeople came and went, and twice daily the owner +and proprietor and general assignment reporter of the _Daily Bugle_ +called at the mouth of the tunnel for news of progress. But there was +no news, save that the water was lower. The excitement of it began to +dim. Besides, the night of the dance was approaching, and there were +other calls for volunteers, for men to set up the old-time bar in the +lodge rooms of the Elks Club; for others to dig out ancient roulette +wheels and oil them in preparation for a busy play at a ten-cent limit +instead of the sky-high boundaries of a day gone by; for some one to go +to Denver and raid the costume shops, to say nothing of buying the +innumerable paddles which must accompany any old-time game of keno. +But Sam stayed on--and Fairchild with him--and the loiterers, who would +refuse to work at anything else for less than six dollars a day, freely +giving their services at the pumps and the engines in return for a +share of Sam's good will and their names in the papers. + +A day more and a day after that. Through town a new interest spread. +The water was now only a few feet high in the shaft; it meant that the +whole great opening, together with the drift tunnel, soon would be +dewatered to an extent sufficient to permit of exploration. Again the +motor cars ground up the narrow roadway. Outside the tunnel the crowds +gathered. Fairchild saw Anita Richmond and gritted his teeth at the +fact that young Rodaine accompanied her. Farther in the background, +narrow eyes watching him closely, was Squint Rodaine. And still +farther-- + +Fairchild gasped as he noticed the figure plodding down the mountain +side. He put out a hand, then, seizing the nervous Herbenfelder by the +shoulder, whirled him around. + +"Look!" he exclaimed. "Look there! Did n't I tell you! Did n't I +have a hunch?" + +For, coming toward them jauntily, slowly, was a figure in beaming blue, +a Fedora on his head now, but with the rest of his wardrobe intact, +yellow, bump-toed shoes and all. Some one shouted. Everybody turned. +And as they did so, the figure hastened its pace. A moment later, a +booming voice sounded, the unmistakable voice of Harry Harkins: + +"I sye! What's the matter over there? Did somebody fall in?" + +The puffing of gasoline engines ceased. A moment more and the gurgling +cough of the pumps was stilled, while the shouting and laughter of a +great crowd sounded through the hills. A leaping form went forward, +Sam Herbenfelder, to seize Harry, to pat him and paw him, as though in +assurance that he really was alive, then to grasp wildly at the ring on +his finger. But Harry waved him aside. + +"Ain't I paid the installment on it?" he remonstrated. "What's the +rumpus?" + +Fairchild, with Mother Howard, both laughing happily, was just behind +Herbenfelder. And behind them was thronging half of Ohadi. + +"We thought you were drowned!" + +"Me?" Harry's laughter boomed again, in a way that was infectious. +"Me drowned, just because I let out a 'oller and dropped my 'at?" + +"You did it on purpose?" Sam Herbenfelder shook a scrawny fist under +Harry's nose. The big Cornishman waved it aside as one would brush +away an obnoxious fly. Then he grinned at the townspeople about him. + +"Well," he confessed, "there was an un'oly lot of water in there, and I +didn't 'ave any money. What else was I to do?" + +"You--!" A pumpman had picked up a piece of heavy timbering and thrown +it at him in mock ferocity. "Work us to death and then come back and +give us the laugh! Where you been at?" + +"Center City," confessed Harry cheerily. + +"And you knew all the time?" Mother Howard wagged a finger under his +nose. + +"Well," and the Cornishman chuckled, "I did n't 'ave any money. I 'ad +to get that shaft unwatered, did n't I?" + +"Get a rail!" Another irate--but laughing--pumpman had come forward. +"Think you can pull that on us? Get a rail!" + +Some one seized a small, dead pine which lay on the ground near by. +Others helped to strip it of the scraggly limbs which still clung to +it. Harry watched them and chuckled--for he knew that in none was +there malice. He had played his joke and won. It was their turn now. +Shouting in mock anger, calling for all dire things, from lynchings on +down to burnings at the stake, they dragged Harry to the pine tree, +threw him astraddle of it, then, with willing hands volunteering on +every side, hoisted the tree high above them and started down the +mountain side, Sam Herbenfelder trotting in the rear and forgetting his +anger in the joyful knowledge that his ring at last was safe. + +Behind the throng of men with their mock threats trailed the women and +children, some throwing pine cones at the booming Harry, juggling +himself on the narrow pole; and in the crowd, Fairchild found some one +he could watch with more than ordinary interest,--Anita Richmond, +trudging along with the rest, apparently remonstrating with the sullen, +mean-visaged young man at her side. Instinctively Fairchild knew that +young Rodaine was not pleased with the return of Harkins. As for the +father-- + +Fairchild whirled at a voice by his side and looked straight into the +crooked eyes of Thornton Fairchild's enemy. The blue-white scar had +turned almost black now, the eyes were red from swollen, blood-stained +veins, the evil, thin, crooked lips were working in sullen fury. They +were practically alone at the mouth of the mine, Fairchild with a laugh +dying on his lips, Rodaine with all the hate and anger and futile +malice that a human being can know typified in his scarred, hawklike +features. A thin, taloned hand came upward, to double, leaving one +bony, curved finger extending in emphasis of the words which streamed +from the slit of a mouth: + +"Funny, weren't you? Played your cheap jokes and got away with 'em. +But everybody ain't like them fools!" he pointed to the crowd just +rounding the rocks, Harry bobbing in the foreground. "There 's some +that remember--and I 'm one of 'em. You 've put over your fake; you +'ve had your laugh; you 've framed it so I 'll be the butt of every +numbskull in Ohadi. But just listen to this--just listen to this!" he +repeated, the harsh voice taking on a tone that was almost a screech. +"There's another time coming--and that time 's going to be mine!" + +And before Fairchild could retort, he had turned and was scrambling +down the mountain side. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +It was just as well. Fairchild could have said nothing that would have +helped matters. He could have done nothing that would have damaged +them. The cards were still the same; the deck still bore its markings, +and the deal was going on without ever a change, except that now the +matter of concealment of enmities had turned to an open, aboveboard +proposition. Whether Harry had so intended it or not, he had forced +Squint Rodaine to show his hand, and whether Squint realized it, that +amounted to something. Fairchild was almost grateful for the fact as +he went back into the tunnel, spun the flywheels of the gasoline +engines and started them revolving again, that the last of the water +might be drained from the shaft before the pumps must be returned to +their owners. + +Several hours passed, then Harry returned, minus his gorgeous clothing +and his diamond ring, dressed in mining costume now, with high leather +boots into which his trousers were tucked, and carrying a carbide +lantern. Dolefully he looked at the vacant finger where once a diamond +had sparkled. Then he chuckled. + +"Sam took it back," he announced. "And I took part of the money and +paid it out for rent on these pumps. We can keep 'em as long as we +want 'em. It's only costing about a fourth of what it might of. +Drowning 's worth something," he laughed again. Fairchild joined him, +then sobered. + +"It brought Rodaine out of the bushes," he said. "Squint threatened us +after they 'd hauled you down town on the rail." + +Harry winked jovially. + +"Ain't it just what I expected? It's better that wye than to 'ave 'im +snoopin' around. When I came up to the mine, 'e was right behind me. +I knew it. And I 'd figured on it. So I just gave 'im something to +get excited about. It was n't a minute after I 'd thrown a rock and my +'at in there and let out a yell that he came thumping in, looking +around. I was 'iding back of the timbers there. Out 'e went, +muttering to 'imself, and I--well, I went to Center City and read the +papers." + +They chuckled together then; it was something to know that they had not +only forced Squint Rodaine to show his enmity openly, but it was +something more to make him the instrument of helping them with their +work. The pumps were going steadily now, and a dirty stream of water +was flowing down the ditch that had been made at one side of the small +tram track. Harry looked down the hole, stared intently at nothing, +then turned to the rusty hoist. + +"'Ere 's the thing we 've got to fix up now. This 'ere chiv wheel's +all out of gear." + +"What makes your face so red?" Fairchild asked the question as the +be-mustached visage of Harry came nearer to the carbide. Harry looked +up. + +"Mother 'Oward almost slapped it off!" came his rueful answer. "For +not telling 'er what I was going to do, and letting 'er think I got +drownded. But 'ow was I to know?" + +He went to tinkering with the big chiv wheel then, supported on its +heavy timbers, and over which the cable must pass to allow the skip to +travel on its rails down the shaft. Fairchild absently examined the +engines and pumps, supplying water to the radiators and filling an oil +cup or two. Then he turned swiftly, voicing that which was uppermost +in his mind. + +"When you were here before, Harry, did you know a Judge Richmond?" + +"Yeh." Harry pawed his mustache and made a greasy, black mark on his +face. "But I don't think I want to know 'im now." + +"Why not?" + +"'E's mixed up with the Rodaines." + +"How much?" + +"They own 'im--that's all." + +There was silence for a moment. It had been something which Fairchild +had not expected. If the Rodaines owned Judge Richmond, how far did +that ownership extend? After a long time, he forced himself to a +statement. + +"I know his daughter." + +"You?" Harry straightened. "'Ow so?" + +"She sold me a ticket to a dance," Fairchild carefully forgot the +earlier meeting. "Then we 've happened to meet several times after +that. She said that her father had told her about me--it seems he used +to be a friend of my own father." + +Harry nodded. + +"So 'e was. And a good friend. But that was before things +'appened--like they 've 'appened in the last ten years. Not that I +know about it of my own knowledge. But Mother 'Oward--she knows a lot." + +"But what's caused the change? What--?" + +Harry's intent gaze stopped him. + +"'Ow many times 'ave you seen the girl when she was n't with young +Rodaine?" + +"Very few, that's true." + +"And 'ow many times 'ave you seen Judge Richmond?" + +"I have n't ever seen him." + +"You won't--if Mother 'Oward knows anything. 'E ain't able to get out. +'E's sick--apoplexy--a stroke. Rodaine's taken advantage of it." + +"How?" + +"'Ow does anybody take advantage of somebody that's sick? 'Ow does +anybody get a 'old on a person? Through money! Judge Richmond 'ad a +lot of it. Then 'e got sick. Rodaine, 'e got 'old of that money. Now +Judge Richmond 'as to ask 'im for every penny he gets--and 'e does what +Rodaine says." + +"But a judge--" + +"Judges is just like anybody else when they're bedridden and only 'arf +their faculties working. The girl, so Mother 'Oward tells me, is about +twenty now. That made 'er just a little kid, and motherless, when +Rodaine got in 'is work. She ain't got a thing to sye. And she loves +'er father. Suppose," Harry waved a hand, "that you loved somebody +awful strong, and suppose that person was under a influence? Suppose +it meant 'is 'appiness and 'is 'ealth for you to do like 'e wanted you? +Wouldn't you go with a man? What's more, if 'e don't die pretty soon, +you 'll see a wedding!" + +"You mean--?" + +"She 'll be Mrs. Maurice Rodaine. She loves 'er father enough to do +it--after 'er will's broken. And I don't care 'oo it is; there ain't a +woman in the world that's got the strength to keep on saying no to a +sick father!" + +Again Robert Fairchild filled an oil cup, again he tinkered about the +pumps. Then he straightened. + +"How are we going to work this mine?" he asked shortly. Harry stared +at him. + +"'Ow should I know? You own it!" + +"I don't mean that way. We were fifty-fifty from the minute you showed +up. There never has been any other thought in my mind--" + +"Fifty-fifty? You're making me a bloated capitalist!" + +"I hope I will. Or rather, I hope that you 'll make such a thing +possible for both of us. But I was talking about something else; are +we going to work hard and fight it out day and night for awhile until +we can get things going, or are we just going at it by easy stages?" + +"Suppose," answered Harry after a communication with his magic +mustache, "that we go dye and night 'til we get the water out? It +won't be long. Then we 'll 'ave to work together. You 'll need my +vast store of learning and enlightenment!" he grinned. + +"Good. But the pumping will last through tomorrow night. Can you take +the night trick?" + +"Sure. But why?" + +"I want to go to that dance!" + +Harry whistled. Harry's big lips spread into a grin. + +"And she 's got brown eyes!" he chortled to himself. "And she 's got +brown 'air, and she 's a wye about 'er. Oh! She's got a wye about +'er! And I 'll bet she 's going with Maurice Rodaine! Oh! She's got +a wye about'er!" + +"Oh, shut up!" growled Fairchild, but he grinned in schoolboy fashion +as he said it. Harry poured half a can of oil upon the bearings of the +chiv wheel with almost loving tenderness. + +"She 's got a wye about 'er!" he echoed. Fairchild suddenly frowned. + +"Just what do you mean? That she 's in love with Rodaine and just--" + +"'Ow should I know? But she 's got a wye about 'er!" + +"Well," the firm chin of the other man grew firmer, "it won't be hard +to find out!" + +And the next night he started upon his investigations. Nor did he stop +to consider that social events had been few and far between for him, +that his dancing had progressed little farther than the simple ability +to move his feet in unison to music. Years of office and home, home +and office, had not allowed Robert Fairchild the natural advantages of +the usual young man. But he put that aside now; he was going to that +dance, and he was going to stay there as long as the music sounded, or +rather as long as the brown eyes, brown hair and laughing lips of Anita +Richmond were apparent to him. What's more, he carried out his +resolution. + +The clock turned back with the entrance to that dance hall. Men were +there in the rough mining costumes of other days, with unlighted +candles stuck through patent holders into their hats, and women were +there also, dressed as women could dress only in other days of sudden +riches, in costumes brought from Denver, bespangled affairs with the +gorgeousness piled on until the things became fantastic instead of the +intensely beautiful creations that the original wearers had believed +them to be. There was only one idea in the olden mining days, to buy +as much as possible and to put it all on at once. High, Spanish combs +surmounted ancient styles of hairdressing. Rhinestones glittered in +lieu of the real diamonds that once were worn by the queens of the +mining camps. Dancing girls, newly rich cooks, poverty-stricken +prospectors' wives suddenly beaming with wealth, nineteenth-century +vamps, gambling hall habitués,--all were represented among the +femininity of Ohadi as they laughed and giggled at the outlandish +costumes they wore and thoroughly enjoyed themselves. + +Far at one side, making a brave effort with the "near" beer and "almost +there" concoctions of a prohibition buried country, was the +"old-fashioned bar" with its old-fashioned bartender behind it, roaring +out his orders and serving drinks with one hand while he waved and +pulled the trigger of a blank-cartridged revolver with the other. +Farther on was the roulette wheel, and Fairchild strolled to it, +watching the others to catch the drift of the game before he essayed +it, playing with pennies where, in the old days, men had gambled away +fortunes; surrounded by a crowd that laughed and chattered and forgot +its bets, around a place where once a "sleeper" might have meant a +fortune. The spirit of the old times was abroad. The noise and +clatter of a dance caller bellowed forth as he shouted for everybody to +grab their "podners one an' all, do-se-do, promenade th' hall!" and +Fairchild, as he watched, saw that his lack of dancing ability would +not be a serious handicap. There were many others who did not know the +old numbers. And those who did had worn their hobnailed boots, +sufficient to take the spring out of any one's feet. The women were +doing most of the leading, the men clattered along somewhere in the +rear, laughing and shouting and inadvertently kicking one another on +the shins. The old times had come back, boisterously, happily,--and +every one was living in those days when the hills gushed wealth, and +when poverty to-day might mean riches tomorrow. + +Again and again Fairchild's eyes searched the crowds, the multicolored, +overdressed costumes of the women, the old-fashioned affairs with which +many of the men had arrayed themselves, ranging all the way from high +leather boots to frock suits and stovepipe beaver hats. From one face +to another his gaze went; then he turned abstractedly to the long line +of tables, with their devotees of keno, and bought a paddle. + +From far away the drone of the caller sounded in a voice familiar, and +Fairchild looked up to see the narrow-eyed, scarred face of Squint +Rodaine, who was officiating at the wheel. He lost interest in the +game; lackadaisically he placed the buttons on their squares as the +numbers were shouted, finally to brush them all aside and desert the +game. His hatred of the Rodaines had grown to a point where he could +enjoy nothing with which they were connected, where he despised +everything with which they had the remotest affiliation,--excepting, of +course, one person. And as he rose, Fairchild saw that she was just +entering the dance hall. + +Quaint in an old-fashioned costume which represented more the Civil War +days than it did those of the boom times of silver mining, she seemed +prettier than ever to Robert Fairchild, more girlish, more entrancing. +The big eyes appeared bigger now, peeping from the confines of a poke +bonnet; the little hands seemed smaller with their half-length gloves +and shielded by the enormous peacock feather fan they carried. Only a +moment Fairchild hesitated. Maurice Rodaine, attired in a mauve frock +suit and the inevitable accompanying beaver, had stopped to talk to +some one at the door. She stood alone, looking about the hall, +laughing and nodding,--and then she looked at him! Fairchild did not +wait. + +From the platform at the end of the big room the fiddles had begun to +squeak, and the caller was shouting his announcements. Couples began +to line up on the floor. The caller's voice grew louder: + +"Two more couples--two more couples! Grab yo' podners!" + +Fairchild was elbowing his way swiftly forward, apologizing as he went. +A couple took its place beside the others. Once more the plea of the +caller sounded: + +"One more couple--then the dance starts. One more couple, lady an' a +gent! One more--" + +"Please!" Robert Fairchild had reached her and was holding forth his +hand. She looked up in half surprise, then demurred. + +"But I don't know these old dances." + +"Neither do I--or any other, for that matter," he confessed with sudden +boldness. "But does that make any difference? Please!" + +She glanced quickly toward the door. Maurice Rodaine was still +talking, and Fairchild saw a little gleam come into her eyes,--the +gleam that shows when a woman decides to make some one pay for +rudeness. Again he begged: + +"Won't you--and then we 'll forget. I--I could n't take my payment in +money!" + +She eyed him quickly and saw the smile on his lips. From the platform +the caller voiced another entreaty: + +"One more cou-ple! Ain't there no lady an' gent that's goin' to fill +out this here dance? One more couple--one more couple!" + +Fairchild's hand was still extended. Again Anita Richmond glanced +toward the door, chuckled to herself while Fairchild watched the +dimples that the merriment caused, and then--Fairchild forgot the fact +that he was wearing hobnailed shoes and that his clothes were worn and +old. He was going forward to take his place on the dance floor, and +she was beside him! + +Some way, as through a haze, he saw her. Some way he realized that now +and then his hand touched hers, and that once, as they whirled about +the room, in obedience to the monarch on the fiddler's rostrum, his arm +was about her waist, and her head touching his shoulder. It made +little difference whether the dance calls were obeyed after that. +Fairchild was making up for all the years he had plodded, all the years +in which he had known nothing but a slow, grubbing life, living them +all again and rightly, in the few swift moments of a dance. + +The music ended, and laughing they returned to the side of the hall. +Out of the haze he heard words, and knew indistinctly that they were +his own: + +"Will--will you dance with me again tonight?" + +"Selfish!" she chided. + +"But will you?" + +For just a moment her eyes grew serious. + +"Did you ever realize that we 've never been introduced?" + +Fairchild was finding more conversation than he ever had believed +possible. + +"No--but I realize that I don't care--if you 'll forgive it. +I--believe that I 'm a gentleman." + +"So do I--or I would n't have danced with you." + +"Then please--" + +"Pardon me." She had laid a hand on his arm for just a moment, then +hurried away. Fairchild saw that she was approaching young Rodaine, +scowling in the background. That person shot an angry remark at her as +she approached and followed it with streaming sentences. Fairchild +knew the reason. Jealousy! Couples returning from the dance floor +jostled against him, but he did not move. He was waiting--waiting for +the outcome of the quarrel--and in a moment it came. Anita Richmond +turned swiftly, her dark eyes ablaze, her pretty lips set and firm. +She looked anxiously about her, sighted Fairchild, and then started +toward him, while he advanced to meet her. + +"I 've reconsidered," was her brief announcement. "I 'll dance the +next one with you." + +"And the next after that?" + +Again: "Selfish!" + +But Fairchild did not appear to hear. + +"And the next and the next and the next!" he urged as the caller issued +his inevitable invitations for couples. Anita smiled. + +"Maybe--I 'll think about it." + +"I 'll never know how to dance, unless you teach me." Fairchild +pleaded, as they made their way to the center of the floor. "I 'll--" + +"Don't work on my sympathies!" + +"But it's the truth. I never will." + +"S'lute yo' podners!" The dance was on. And while the music squealed +from the rostrum, while the swaying forms some way made the rounds +according to the caller's viewpoint of an old-time dance, Anita +Richmond evidently "thought about it." When the next dance came, they +went again on the floor together, Robert Fairchild and the brown-eyed +girl whom he suddenly realized he loved, without reasoning the past or +the future, without caring whom she might be or what her plans might +contain; a man out of prison lives by impulse, and Fairchild was but +lately released. + +A third dance and a fourth, while in the intervals Fairchild's eyes +sought out the sulky, sullen form of Maurice Rodaine, flattened against +the wall, eyes evil, mouth a straight line, and the blackness of hate +discoloring his face. It was as so much wine to Fairchild; he felt +himself really young for the first time in his life. And as the music +started again, he once more turned to his companion. + +Only, however, to halt and whirl and stare in surprise. There had come +a shout from the doorway, booming, commanding: + +"'Ands up, everybody! And quick about it!" + +Some one laughed and jabbed his hands into the air. Another, quickly +sensing a staged surprise, followed the example. It was just the +finishing touch necessary,--the old-time hold-up of the old-time dance. +The "bandit" strode forward. + +"Out from be'ind that bar! Drop that gun!" he commanded of the +white-aproned attendant. "Out from that roulette wheel. Everybody +line up! Quick--and there ain't no time for foolin'." + +Chattering and laughing, they obeyed, the sheriff, his star gleaming, +standing out in front of them all, shivering in mock fright, his hands +higher than any one's. The bandit, both revolvers leveled, stepped +forward a foot or so, and again ordered speed. Fairchild, standing +with his hands in the air, looked down toward Anita, standing beside +him. + +"Is n't it exciting," she exclaimed. "Just like a regular hold-up! I +wonder who the bandit is. He certainly looks the part, does n't he?" + +And Fairchild agreed that he did. A bandanna handkerchief was wrapped +about his head, concealing his hair and ears. A mask was over his +eyes, supplemented by another bandanna, which, beginning at the bridge +of his nose, flowed over his chin, cutting off all possible chance of +recognition. Only a second more he waited, then with a wave of the +guns, shouted his command: + +"All right, everybody! I'm a decent fellow. Don't want much, but I +want it quick! This 'ere 's for the relief of widders and orphans. +Make it sudden. Each one of you gents step out to the center of the +room and leave five dollars. And step back when you 've put it there. +Ladies stay where you 're at!" + +Again a laugh. Fairchild turned to his companion, as she nudged him. +"There, it's your turn." + +Out to the center of the floor went Fairchild, the rest of the victims +laughing and chiding him. Back he came in mock fear, his hands in the +air. On down the line went the contributing men. Then the bandit +rushed forward, gathered up the bills and gold pieces, shoved them in +his pockets, and whirled toward the door. + +"The purpose of this 'ere will be in the paper to-morrow," he +announced. "And don't you follow me to find out! Back there!" + +Two or three laughing men had started forward, among them a fiddler, +who had joined the line, and who now rushed out in flaunting bravery, +brandishing his violin as though to brain the intruder. Again the +command: + +"Back there--get back!" + +Then the crowd recoiled. Flashes had come from the masked man's guns, +the popping of electric light globes above and the showering of glass +testifying to the fact that they had contained something more than mere +wadding. Somewhat dazed, the fiddler continued his rush, suddenly to +crumple and fall, while men milled and women screamed. A door slammed, +the lock clicked, and the crowd rushed for the windows. The hold-up +had been real after all,--instead of a planned, joking affair. On the +floor the fiddler lay gasping--and bleeding. And the bandit was gone. + +All in a moment the dance hall seemed to have gone mad. Men were +rushing about and shouting; panic-stricken women clawed at one another +and fought their way toward a freedom they could not gain. Windows +crashed as forms hurtled against them; screams sounded. Hurriedly, as +the crowd massed thicker, Fairchild raised the small form of Anita in +his arms and carried her to a chair, far at one side. + +"It's all right now," he said, calming her. "Everything 's over--look, +they 're helping the fiddler to his feet. Maybe he 's not badly hurt. +Everything 's all right--" + +And then he straightened. A man had unlocked the door from the outside +and had rushed into the dance hall, excited, shouting. It was Maurice +Rodaine. + +"I know who it was," he almost screamed. "I got a good look at +him--jumped out of the window and almost headed him off. He took off +his mask outside--and I saw him." + +"You saw him--?" A hundred voices shouted the question at once. + +"Yes." Then Maurice Rodaine nodded straight toward Robert Fairchild. +"The light was good, and I got a straight look at him. He was that +fellow's partner--a Cornishman they call Harry!" + + + + +CHAPTER X + +"I don't believe it!" Anita Richmond exclaimed with conviction and +clutched at Fairchild's arm. "I don't believe it!" + +"I can't!" Robert answered. Then he turned to the accuser. "How could +it be possible for Harry to be down here robbing a dance hall when he +'s out working the mine?" + +"Working the mine?" This time it was the sheriff. "What's the +necessity for a day and night shift?" + +The question was pertinent--and Fairchild knew it. But he did not +hesitate. + +"I know it sounds peculiar--but it's the truth. We agreed upon it +yesterday afternoon." + +"At whose suggestion?" + +"I 'm not sure--but I think it was mine." + +"Young fellow," the sheriff had approached him now, "you 'd better be +certain about that. It looks to me like that might be a pretty good +excuse to give when a man can't produce an alibi. Anyway, the +identification seems pretty complete. Everybody in this room heard +that man talk with a Cousin Jack accent. And Mr. Rodaine says that he +saw his face. That seems conclusive." + +"If Mr. Rodaine's word counts for anything." + +The sheriff looked at him sharply. + +"Evidently you have n't been around here long." Then he turned to the +crowd. "I want a couple of good men to go along with me as deputies." + +"I have a right to go." Fairchild had stepped forward. + +"Certainly. But not as a deputy. Who wants to volunteer?" + +Half a dozen men came forward, and from them the sheriff chose two. +Fairchild turned to say good-by to Anita. In vain. Already Maurice +Rodaine had escorted her, apparently against her will, to a far end of +the dance hall, and there was quarreling with her. Fairchild hurried +to join the sheriff and his two deputies, just starting out of the +dance hall. Five minutes later they were in a motor car, chugging up +Kentucky Gulch. + +The trip was made silently. There was nothing for Fairchild to say; he +had told all he knew. Slowly, the motor car fighting against the +grade, the trip was accomplished. Then the four men leaped from the +machine at the last rise before the tunnel was reached and three of +them went forward afoot toward where a slight gleam of light came from +the mouth of the Blue Poppy. + +A consultation and then the creeping forms made the last fifty feet. +The sheriff took the lead, at last to stop behind a boulder and to +shout a command: + +"Hey you, in there." + +"'Ey yourself!" It was Harry's voice. + +"Come out--and be quick about it. Hold your light in front of your +face with both hands." + +"The 'ell I will! And 'oo 's talking?" + +"Sheriff Adams of Clear Creek County. You 've got one minute to come +out--or I 'll shoot." + +"I 'm coming on the run!" + +And almost instantly the form of Harry, his acetylene lamp lighting up +his bulbous, surprised countenance with its spraylike mustache, +appeared at the mouth of the tunnel. + +"What the bloody 'ell?" he gasped, as he looked into the muzzle of the +revolver. From down the mountain side came the shout of one of the +deputies: + +"Sheriff! Looks like it's him, all right. I 've found a horse down +here--all sweated up from running." + +"That's about the answer." Sheriff Adams went forward and with a +motion of his revolver sent Harry's hands into the air. "Let's see +what you 've got on you." + +A light gleamed below as an electric flash in the hands of one of the +deputies began an investigation of the surroundings. The sheriff, +finishing his search of 'Arry's pockets, stepped back. + +"Well," he demanded, "what did you do with the proceeds?" + +"The proceeds?" Harry stared blankly. "Of what?" + +"Quit your kidding now. They 've found your horse down there." + +"Would n't it be a good idea--" Fairchild had cut in acridly--"to save +your accusations on this thing until you're a little surer of it? +Harry has n't any horse. If he 's rented one, you ought to be able to +find that out pretty shortly." + +As if in answer, the sheriff turned and shouted a question down the +mountain side. And back came the answer: + +"It's Doc Mason's. Must have been stolen. Doc was at the dance." + +"I guess that settles it." The officer reached for his hip pocket. +"Stick out your hands, Harry, while I put the cuffs on them." + +"But 'ow in bloody 'ell 'ave I been doing anything when I 've been up +'ere working on this chiv wheel? 'Ow--?" + +"They say you held up the dance to-night and robbed us," Fairchild cut +in. Harry's face lost its surprised look, to give way to a glance of +keen questioning. + +"And do you say it?" + +"I most certainly do not. The identification was given by that +honorable person known as Mr. Maurice Rodaine." + +"Oh! One thief identifying another--" + +"Just cut your remarks along those lines." + +"Sheriff!" Again the voice from below. + +"Yeh!" + +"We 've found a cache down here. Must have been made in a hurry--two +new revolvers, bullets, a mask, a couple of new handkerchiefs and the +money." + +Harry's eyes grew wide. Then he stuck out his hands. + +"The evidence certainly is piling up!" he grunted. "I might as well +save my talking for later." + +"That's a good idea." The sheriff snapped the handcuffs into place. +Then Fairchild shut off the pumps and they started toward the machine. +Back in Ohadi more news awaited them. Harry, if Harry had been the +highwayman, had gone to no expense for his outfit. The combined +general store and hardware emporium of Gregg Brothers had been robbed +of the articles necessary for a disguise,--also the revolvers and their +bullets. Robert Fairchild watched Harry placed in the solitary cell of +the county jail with a spirit that could not respond to the +Cornishman's grin and his assurances that morning would bring a +righting of affairs. Four charges hung heavy above him: that of +horse-stealing, of burglary, of highway robbery, and worse, the final +one of assault with attempt to kill. Fairchild turned wearily away; he +could not find the optimism to join Harry's cheerful announcement that +it would be "all right." The appearances were otherwise. Besides, up +in the little hospital on the hill, Fairchild had seen lights gleaming +as he entered the jail, and he knew that doctors were working there +over the wounded body of the fiddler. Tired, heavy at heart, his +earlier conquest of the night sodden and overshadowed now, he turned +away from the cell and its optimistic occupant,--out into the night. + +It was only a short walk to the hospital and Fairchild went there, to +leave with at least a ray of hope. The probing operation had been +completed; the fiddler would live, and at least the charge against +Harry would not be one of murder. That was a thing for which to be +thankful; but there was plenty to cause consternation, as Fairchild +walked slowly down the dark, winding street toward the main +thoroughfare. Without Harry, Fairchild now felt himself lost. Before +the big, genial, eccentric Cornishman had come into his life, he had +believed, with some sort of divine ignorance, that he could carry out +his ambitions by himself, with no knowledge of the technical details +necessary to mining, with no previous history of the Blue Poppy to +guide him, and with no help against the enemies who seemed everywhere. +Now he saw that it was impossible. More, the incidents of the night +showed how swiftly those enemies were working, how sharp and +stiletto-like their weapons. + +That Harry was innocent was certain,--to Robert Fairchild. There was +quite a difference between a joke which a whole town recognized as such +and a deliberate robbery which threatened the life of at least one man. +Fairchild knew in his heart that Harry was not built along those lines. + +Looking back over it now, Fairchild could see how easily Fate had +played into the hands of the Rodaines, if the Rodaines had not +possessed a deeper concern than merely to seize upon a happening and +turn it to their own account. The highwayman was big. The highwayman +talked with a "Cousin-Jack" accent,--for all Cornishmen are "Cousin +Jacks" in the mining country. Those two features in themselves, +Fairchild thought, as he stumbled along in the darkness, were +sufficient to start the scheming plot in the brain of Maurice Rodaine, +already ugly and evil through the trick played by Harry on his father +and the rebuke that had come from Anita Richmond. It was an easy +matter for him to get the inspiration, leap out of the window, and then +wait until the robber had gone, that he might flare forth with his +accusation. And after that--. + +Either Chance, or something stronger, had done the rest. The finding +of the stolen horse and the carelessly made cache near the mouth of the +Blue Poppy mine would be sufficient in the eyes of any jury. The +evidence was both direct and circumstantial. To Fairchild's mind, +there was small chance for escape by Harry, once his case went to +trial. Nor did the pounding insistence of intuitive knowledge that the +whole thing had been a deliberately staged plot on the part of the +Rodaines, father and son, make the slightest difference in Fairchild's +estimation. How could he prove it? By personal animosity? There was +the whole town of Ohadi to testify that the highwayman was a big man, +of the build of Harry, and that he spoke with a Cornish accent. There +were the sworn members of the posse to show that they, without +guidance, had discovered the horse and the cache,--and the Rodaines +were nowhere about to help them. And experience already had told +Fairchild that the Rodaines, by a deliberately constructed system, held +a ruling power; that against their word, his would be as nothing. +Besides, where would be Harry's alibi? He had none; he had been at the +mine, alone. There was no one to testify for him, not even Fairchild. + +The world was far from bright. Down the dark street the man wandered, +his hands sunk deep in his pockets, his head low between his +shoulders,--only to suddenly galvanize into intensity, and to stop +short that he might hear again the voice which had come to him. At one +side was a big house,--a house whose occupants he knew instinctively, +for he had seen the shadow of a woman, hands outstretched, as she +passed the light-strewn shade of a window on the second floor. More, +he had heard her voice, supplemented by gruffer tones. And then it +came again. + +It was pleading, and at the same time angered with the passion of a +person approaching hysteria. A barking sentence answered her, +something that Fairchild could not understand. He left the old board +sidewalk and crept to the porch that he might hear the better. Then +every nerve within him jangled, and the black of the darkness changed +to red. The Rodaines were within; he had heard first the cold voice of +the father, then the rasping tones of the son, in upbraiding. More, +there had come the sobbing of a woman; instinctively Fairchild knew +that it was Anita Richmond. And then: + +It was her voice, high, screaming. Hysteria had come,--the wild, +racking hysteria of a person driven to the breaking point: + +"Leave this house--hear me! Leave this house! Can't you see that +you're killing him? Don't you dare touch me--leave this house! No--I +won't be quiet--I won't--you 're killing him, I tell you--!" + +And Fairchild waited for nothing more. A lunge, and he was on the +veranda. One more spring and he had reached the door, to find it +unlocked, to throw it wide and to leap into the hall. Great steps, and +he had cleared the stairs to the second floor. + +A scream came from a doorway before him; dimly, as through a red +screen, Fairchild saw the frightened face of Anita Richmond, and on the +landing, fronting him angrily, stood the two Rodaines. For a moment, +Fairchild disregarded them and turned to the sobbing, disheveled little +being in the doorway. + +"What's happened?" + +"They were threatening me--and father!" she moaned. "But you shouldn't +have come in--you should n't have--" + +"I heard you scream. I could n't help it. I heard you say they were +killing your father--" + +The girl looked anxiously toward an inner room, where Fairchild could +see faintly the still figure of a man outlined under the covers of an +old-fashioned four-poster. + +"They--they--got him excited. He had another stroke. I--I could n't +stand it any longer." + +"You 'd better get out," said Fairchild curtly to the Rodaines, with a +suggestive motion toward the stairs. They hesitated a moment and +Maurice seemed about to launch himself at Robert, but his father laid a +restraining hand on his arm. A step and the elder Rodaine hesitated. + +"I 'm only going because of your father," he said gruffly, with a +glance toward Anita. + +Fairchild knew differently, but he said nothing. The gray of Rodaine's +countenance told where his courage lay; it was yellow gray, the dirty +gray of a man who fights from cover, and from cover only. + +"Oh, I know," Anita said. "It's--it's all right. I--I 'm sorry. +I--did n't realize that I was screaming--please forgive me--and go, +won't you? It means my father's life now." + +"That's the only reason I am going; I 'm not going because--" + +"Oh, I know. Mr. Fairchild should n't have come in here. He should +n't have done it. I 'm sorry--please go." + +Down the steps they went, the older man with his hand still on his +son's arm; while, white-faced, Fairchild awaited Anita, who had +suddenly sped past him into the sick room, then was wearily returning. + +"Can I help you?" he asked at last. + +"Yes," came her rather cold answer, only to be followed by a quickly +whispered "Forgive me." And then the tones became louder--so that they +could be heard at the bottom of the stairs: "You can help me +greatly--simply by going and not creating any more of a disturbance." + +"But--" + +"Please go," came the direct answer. "And please do not vent your +spite on Mr. Rodaine and his son. I 'm sure that they will act like +gentlemen if you will. You should n't have rushed in here." + +"I heard you screaming, Miss Richmond." + +"I know," came her answer, as icily as ever. Then the door downstairs +closed and the sound of steps came on the veranda. She leaned close to +him. "I had to say that," came her whispered words. "Please don't try +to understand anything I do in the future. Just go--please!" + +And Fairchild obeyed. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +The Rodaines were on the sidewalk when Fairchild came forth from the +Richmond home, and true to his instructions from the frightened girl, +he brushed past them swiftly and went on down the street, not turning +at the muttered invectives which came from the crooked lips of the +older man, not seeming even to notice their presence as he hurried on +toward Mother Howard's boarding house. Whether Fate had played with +him or against him, he did not know,--nor could he summon the brain +power to think. Happenings had come too thickly in the last few hours +for him to differentiate calmly; everything depended upon what course +the Rodaines might care to pursue. If theirs was to be a campaign of +destruction, without a care whom it might involve, Fairchild could see +easily that he too might soon be juggled into occupying the cell with +Harry in the county jail. Wearily he turned the corner to the main +street and made his plodding way, along it, his shoulders drooping, his +brain fagged from the flaring heat of anger and the strain that the +events of the night had put upon it. In his creaky bed in the old +boarding house, he again sought to think, but in vain. He could only +lie awake and stare into the darkness about him, while through his mind +ran a muddled conglomeration of foreboding, waking dreams, revamps of +the happenings of the last three weeks, memories which brought him +nothing save sleeplessness and the knowledge that, so far, he fought a +losing fight. + +After hours, daylight began to streak the sky. Fairchild, dull, worn +by excitement and fatigue, strove to rise, then laid his head on the +pillow for just a moment of rest. And with that perversity which +extreme weariness so often exerts, his eyes closed, and he slept,--to +wake at last with the realization that it was late morning, and that +some one was pounding on the door. Fairchild raised his head. + +"Is that you, Mother Howard? I'm getting up, right away." + +A slight chuckle answered him. + +"But this is n't Mother Howard. May I see you a moment?" + +"Who is it?" + +"No one you know--yet. I 've come to talk to you about your partner. +May I come in?" + +"Yes." Fairchild was fully alive now to the activities that the day +held before him. The door opened, and a young man, alert, almost cocky +in manner, with black, snappy eyes showing behind horn-rimmed glasses, +entered and reached for the sole chair that the room contained. + +"My name 's Farrell," he announced. "Randolph P. Farrell. And to make +a long story short, I 'm your lawyer." + +"My lawyer?" Fairchild stared. "I haven't any lawyer in Ohadi. The +only--" + +"That does n't alter the fact. I 'm your lawyer, and I 'm at your +service. And I don't mind telling you that it's just about my first +case. Otherwise, I don't guess I 'd have gotten it." + +"Why not?" The frankness had driven other queries from Fairchild's +mind. Farrell, the attorney, grinned cheerily. + +"Because I understand it concerns the Rodaines. Nobody but a fool out +of college cares to buck up against them. Besides, nearly everybody +has a little money stuck into their enterprises. And seeing I have no +money at all, I 'm not financially interested. And not being +interested, I 'm wholly just, fair and willing to fight 'em to a +standstill. Now what's the trouble? Your partner 's in jail, as I +understand it. Guilty or not guilty?" + +"Wa--wait a minute!" The breeziness of the man had brought Fairchild +to more wakefulness and to a certain amount of cheer. "Who hired you?" +Then with a sudden inspiration: "Mother Howard did n't go and do this?" + +"Mother Howard? You mean the woman who runs the boarding house? Not +at all." + +"But--" + +"I 'm not exactly at liberty to state." + +Suspicion began to assert itself. The smile of comradeship that the +other man's manner instilled faded suddenly. + +"Under those conditions, I don't believe--" + +"Don't say it! Don't get started along those lines. I know what you +'re thinking. Knew that was what would happen from the start. And +against the wishes of the person who hired me for this work, I--well, I +brought the evidence. I might as well show it now as try to put over +this secret stuff and lose a lot of time doing it. Here, take a +glimpse and then throw it away, tear it up, swallow it, or do anything +you want to with it, just so nobody else sees it. Ready? Look." + +He drew forth a small visiting card. Fairchild glanced. Then he +looked--and then he sat up straight in bed. For before him were the +engraved words: + + Miss Anita Natalie Richmond. + + +While across the card was hastily written, in a hand distinctively +feminine: + + +Mr. Fairchild: This is my good friend. He will help you. There is no +fee attached. Please destroy. + +Anita Richmond. + + +"Bu--but I don't understand." + +"You know Miss--er--the writer of this card, don't you?" + +"But why should she--?" + +Mr. Farrell, barrister-at-law, grinned broadly. + +"I see you don't know Miss--the writer of this card at all. That's her +nature. Besides--well, I have a habit of making long stories short. +All she 's got to do with me is crook her finger and I 'll jump +through. I 'm--none of your business. But, anyway, here I am--" + +Fairchild could not restrain a laugh. There was something about the +man, about his nervous, yet boyish way of speaking, about his +enthusiasm, that wiped out suspicion and invited confidence. The owner +of the Blue Poppy mine leaned forward. + +"But you did n't finish your sentence about--the writer of that card." + +"You mean--oh--well, there 's nothing to that. I 'm in love with her. +Been in love with her since I 've been knee-high to a duck. So 're +you. So 's every other human being that thinks he's a regular man. +So's Maurice Rodaine. Don't know about the rest of you--but I have n't +got a chance. Don't even think of it any more--look on it as a +necessary affliction, like wearing winter woolens and that sort of +thing. Don't let it bother you. The problem right now is to get your +partner out of jail. How much money have you got?" + +"Only a little more than two thousand." + +"Not enough. There 'll be bonds on four charges. At the least, they +'ll be around a thousand dollars apiece. Probabilities are that they +'ll run around ten thousand for the bunch. How about the Blue Poppy?" + +Fairchild shrugged his shoulders. + +"I don't know what it's worth." + +"Neither do I. Neither does the judge. Neither does any one else. +Therefore, it's worth at least ten thousand dollars. That 'll do the +trick. Get out your deeds and that sort of thing--we 'll have to file +them with the bond as security." + +"But that will ruin us!" + +"How so? A bond 's nothing more than a mortgage. It doesn't stop you +from working on the mine. All it does is give evidence that your +friend and partner will be on the job when the bailiff yells oyez, +oyez, oyez. Otherwise, they 'll take the mine away from you and sell +it at public sale for the price of the bond. But that's a happen-so of +the future. And there 's no danger if our client--you will notice that +I call him our client--is clothed with the dignity and the protecting +mantle of innocence and stays here to see his trial out." + +"He 'll do that, all right." + +"Then we 're merely using the large and ample safe of the court of this +judicial district as a deposit vault for some very valuable papers. I +'d suggest now that you get up, seize your deeds and accompany me to +the palace of justice. Otherwise, that partner of yours will have to +eat dinner in a place called in undignified language the hoosegow!" + +It was like warm sunshine on a cold day, the chatter of this young man +in horn-rimmed glasses. Soon Fairchild was dressed and walking +hurriedly up the street with the voluble attorney. A half-hour more +and they were before the court. Fairchild, the lawyer and the +jail-worn Harry, his mustache fluttering in more directions than ever. + +"Not guilty, Your Honor," said Randolph P. Farrell. "May I ask the +extent of the bond?" + +The judge adjusted his glasses and studied the information which the +district attorney had laid before him. + +"In view of the number of charges and the seriousness of each, I must +fix an aggregate bond of five thousand dollars, or twelve hundred fifty +dollars for each case." + +"Thank you; we had come prepared for more. Mr. Fairchild, who is Mr. +Harkins' partner, is here to appear as bondsman. The deeds are in his +name alone, the partnership existing, as I understand it, upon their +word of honor between them. I refer, Your Honor, to the deeds of the +Blue Poppy mine. Would Your Honor care to examine them?" + +His Honor would. His Honor did. For a long moment he studied them, +and Fairchild, in looking about the courtroom, saw the bailiff in +conversation with a tall, thin man, with squint eyes and a scar-marked +forehead. A moment later, the judge looked over his glasses. + +"Bailiff!" + +"Yes, Your Honor." + +"Have you any information regarding the value of the Blue Poppy mining +claims?" + +"Sir, I have just been talking to Mr. Rodaine. He says they 're well +worth the value of the bond." + +"How about that, Rodaine?" The judge peered down the court room. +Squint Rodaine scratched his hawklike nose with his thumb and nodded. + +"They 'll do," was his answer, and the judge passed the papers to the +clerk of the court. + +"Bond accepted. I 'll set this trial for--" + +"If Your Honor please, I should like it at the very, very earliest +possible moment," Randolph P. Farrell had cut in. "This is working a +very great hardship upon an innocent man and--" + +"Can't be done." The judge was scrawling on his docket. "Everything +'s too crowded. Can't be reached before the November term. Set it for +November 11th." + +"Very well, Your Honor." Then he turned with a wide grin to his +clients. "That's all until November." + +Out they filed through the narrow aisle of the court room, Fairchild's +knee brushing the trouser leg of Squint Rodaine as they passed. At the +door, the attorney turned toward them, then put forth a hand. + +"Drop in any day this week and we 'll go over things," he announced +cheerfully. "We put one over on his royal joblots that time, anyway. +Hates me from the ground up. Worst we can hope for is a conviction and +then a Supreme Court reversal. I 'll get him so mad he 'll fill the +case with errors. He used to be an instructor down at Boulder, and I +stuck the pages of a lecture together on him one day. That's why I +asked for an early trial. Knew he 'd give me a late one. That 'll let +us have time to stir up a little favorable evidence, which right now we +don't possess. Understand--all money that comes from the mine is held +in escrow until this case is decided. But I 'll explain that. Going +to stick around here and bask in the effulgence of really possessing a +case. S'long!" + +And he turned back into the court room, while Fairchild, the dazed +Harry stalking beside him, started down the street. + +"'Ow do you figure it?" asked the Cornishman at last. + +"What?" + +"Rodaine. 'E 'elped us out!" + +Fairchild stopped. It had not occurred to him before. But now he saw +it: that if Rodaine, as an expert on mining, had condemned the Blue +Poppy, it could have meant only one thing, the denial of bond by the +judge and the lack of freedom for Harry. Fairchild rubbed a hand +across his brow. + +"I can't figure it," came at last. "And especially since his son is +the accuser and since I got the best of them both last night!" + +"Got the best of 'em? You?" + +The story was brief in its telling. And it brought no explanation of +the sudden amiability displayed by the crooked-faced Rodaine. They +went on, striving vainly for a reason, at last to stop in front of the +post-office, as the postmaster leaned out of the door. + +"Your name's Fairchild, isn't it?" asked the person of letters, as he +fastened a pair of gimlet eyes on the owner of the Blue Poppy. + +"Yes." + +"Thought so. Some of the fellows said you was. Better drop in here +for your mail once in a while. There 's been a letter for you here for +two days!" + +"For me?" Vaguely Fairchild went within and received the missive, a +plain, bond envelope without a return address. He turned it over and +over in his hand before he opened it--then looked at the +postmark,--Denver. At last: + +"Open it, why don't you?" + +Harry's mustache was tickling his ear, as the big miner stared over his +shoulder. Fairchild obeyed. They gasped together. Before them were +figures and sentences which blurred for a moment, finally to resolve +into: + + +Mr. Robert Fairchild, + Ohadi, Colorado. + +Dear Sir; + +I am empowered by a client whose name I am not at liberty to state, to +make you an offer of $50,000. for your property in Clear Creek County, +known as the Blue Poppy mine. In replying, kindly address your letter +to + +Box 180, Denver, Colo. + + +Harry whistled long and thoughtfully. + +"That's a 'ole lot of money!" + +"An awful lot, Harry. But why was the offer made? There 's nothing to +base it on. There 's--" + +Then for a moment, as they stepped out of the post-office, he gave up +the thought, even of comparative riches. Twenty feet away, a man and a +girl were approaching, talking as though there never had been the +slightest trouble between them. They crossed the slight alleyway, and +she laid her hand on his arm, almost caressingly, Fairchild thought, +and he stared hard as though in unbelief of their identity. But it was +certain. It was Maurice Rodaine and Anita Richmond; they came closer, +her eyes turned toward Fairchild, and then-- + +She went on, without speaking, without taking the trouble to notice, +apparently, that he had been standing there. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +After this, there was little conversation until Harry and Fairchild had +reached the boarding house. Then, with Mother Howard for an adviser, +the three gathered in the old parlor, and Fairchild related the events +of the night before, adding what had happened at the post-office, when +Anita had passed him without speaking. Mother Howard, her arms folded +as usual, bobbed her gray head. + +"It's like her, Son," she announced at last. "She 's a good girl. I +'ve known her ever since she was a little tad not big enough to walk. +And she loves her father." + +"But--" + +"She loves her father. Is n't that enough? The Rodaines have the +money--and they have almost everything that Judge Richmond owns. It's +easy enough to guess what they 've done with it--tied it up so that he +can't touch it until they 're ready for him to do it. And they 're not +going to do that until they 've gotten what they want." + +"Which is--?" + +"Anita! Any fool ought to be able to know that. Of course," she added +with an acrid smile, "persons that are so head over heels in love +themselves that they can't see ten feet in front of them would n't be +able to understand it--but other people can. The Rodaines know they +can't do anything directly with Anita. She would n't stand for it. +She 's not that kind of a girl. They know that money does n't mean +anything to her--and what's more, they 've been forced to see that +Anita ain't going to turn handsprings just for the back-action honor of +marrying a Rodaine. Anita could marry a lot richer fellows than +Maurice Rodaine ever dreamed of being, if she wanted to--and there +wouldn't be any scoundrel of a father, or any graveyard wandering, +crazy mother to go into the bargain. And they realize it. But they +realize too, that there ain't a chance of them losing out as long as +her father's happiness depends on doing what they want her to do. So, +after all, ain't it easy to see the whole thing?" + +"To you, possibly. But not to me." + +Mother Howard pressed her lips in exasperation. + +"Just go back over it," she recapitulated. "She got mad at him at the +dance last night, did n't she? He 'd done something rude--from the way +you tell it. Then you sashayed up and asked her to dance every dance +with you. You don't suppose that was because you were so tall and +handsome, do you?" + +"Well--" Fairchild smiled ruefully--"I was hoping that it was because +she rather liked me." + +"Suppose it was? But she rather likes a lot of people. You understand +women just like a pig understands Sunday--you don't know anything about +'em. She was mad at Maurice Rodaine and she wanted to give him a +lesson. She never thought about the consequences. After the dance was +over, just like the sniveling little coward he is, he got his father +and went to the Richmond house. There they began laying out the old +man because he had permitted his daughter to do such a disgraceful +thing as to dance with a man she wanted to dance with instead of +kowtowing and butting her head against the floor every time Maurice +Rodaine crooked his finger. And they were n't gentle about it. What +was the result? Poor old Judge Richmond got excited and had another +stroke. And what did Anita do naturally--just like a woman? She got +the high-strikes and then you came rushing in. After that, she calmed +down and had a minute to think of what might be before her. That +stroke last night was the second one for the Judge. There usually +ain't any more after the third one. Now, can't you see why Anita is +willing to do anything on earth just to keep peace and just to give her +father a little rest and comfort and happiness in the last days of his +life? You 've got to remember that he ain't like an ordinary father +that you can go to and tell all your troubles. He 's laying next door +to death, and Anita, just like any woman that's got a great, big, good +heart in her, is willing to face worse than death to help him. It's as +plain to me as the nose on Harry's face." + +"Which is quite plain," agreed Fairchild ruefully. Harry rubbed the +libeled proboscis, pawed at his mustache and fidgeted in his chair. + +"I understand that, all right," he announced at last. "But why should +anybody want to buy the mine?" + +It brought Fairchild to the realization of a new development, and he +brought forth the letter, once more to stare at it. + +"Fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money," came at last. "It would +pretty near pay us for coming out here, Harry." + +"That it would." + +"And what then?" Mother Howard, still looking through uncolored +glasses, took the letter and scanned it. "You two ain't quitters, are +you?" + +"'Oo, us?" Harry bristled. + +"Yes, you. If you are, get yourselves a piece of paper and write to +Denver and take the offer. If you ain't--keep on fighting." + +"I believe you 're right, Mother Howard." + +Fairchild had reached for the letter again and was staring at it as +though for inspiration. "That amount of money seems to be a great +deal. Still, if a person will offer that much for a mine when there 's +nothing in sight to show its value, it ought to mean that there's +something dark in the woodpile and that the thing 's worth fighting +out. And personally speaking, I 'm willing to fight!" + +"I never quit in my life!" Harry straightened in his chair and his +mustache stuck forth pugnaciously. Mother Howard looked down at him, +pressed her lips, then smiled. + +"No," she announced, "except to run away like a whipped pup after you +'d gotten a poor lonely boarding-house keeper in love with you!" + +"Mother 'Oward, I 'll--" + +But the laughing, gray-haired woman had scrambled through the doorway +and slammed the door behind her, only to open it a second later and +poke her head within. + +"Need n't think because you can hold up a dance hall and get away with +it, you can use cave-man stuff on me!" she admonished. And in that one +sentence was all the conversation necessary regarding the charges +against Harry, as far as Mother Howard was concerned. She did n't +believe them, and Harry's face showed that the world had become bright +and serene again. He swung his great arms as though to loosen the big +muscles of his shoulders. He pecked at his mustache. Then he turned +to Fairchild. + +"Well," he asked, "what do we do? Go up to the mine--just like nothing +'ad ever 'appened?" + +"Exactly. Wait until I change my clothes. Then we 'll be ready to +start. I 'm not even going to dignify this letter by replying to it. +And for one principal reason--" he added--"that I think the Rodaines +have something to do with it." + +'"Ow so?" + +"I don't know. It's only a conjecture; I guess the connection comes +from the fact that Squint put a good valuation on the mine this morning +in court. And if it is any of his doings--then the best thing in the +world is to forget it. I 'll be ready in a moment." + +An hour later they entered the mouth of the Blue Poppy tunnel, once +more to start the engines and to resume the pumping, meanwhile +struggling back and forth with timbers from the mountain side, as they +began the task of rehabilitating the tunnel where it had caved in just +beyond the shaft. It was the beginning of a long task; well enough +they knew that far below there would be much more of this to do, many +days of back-breaking labor in which they must be the main +participants, before they ever could hope to begin their real efforts +in search of ore. + +And so, while the iron-colored water gushed from the pump tubes. Harry +and Fairchild made their trips, scrambling ones as they went outward, +struggling ones as they came back, dragging the "stulls" or heavy +timbers which would form the main supports, the mill-stakes, or lighter +props, the laggs and spreaders, all found in the broken, well-seasoned +timber of the mountain side, all necessary for the work which was +before them. The timbering of a mine is not an easy task. One by one +the heavy props must be put into place, each to its station, every one +in a position which will furnish the greatest resistance against the +tremendous weight from above, the constant inclination of the earth to +sink and fill the man-made excavations. For the earth is a jealous +thing; its own caverns it makes and preserves judiciously. Those made +by the hand of humanity call forth the resistance of gravity and of +disintegration, and it takes measures of strength and power to combat +them. That day, Harry and Fairchild worked with all their strength at +the beginning of a stint that would last--they did not, could not know +how long. And they worked together. Their plan of a day and night +shift had been abandoned; the trouble engendered by their first attempt +had been enough to shelve that sort of program. + +Hour after hour they toiled, until the gray mists hung low over the +mountain tops, until the shadows lengthened and twilight fell. The +engines ceased their chugging, the coughing swirl of the dirty water as +it came from the drift, far below, stopped. Slowly two weary men +jogged down the rutty road to the narrow, winding highway which led +through Kentucky Gulch and into town. But they were happy with a new +realization: that they were actively at work, that something had been +accomplished by their labors, and progress made in spite of the +machinations of malignant men, in spite of the malicious influences of +the past and of the present, and in spite of the powers of Nature. + +It was a new, a grateful life to Fairchild. It gave him something else +to think about than the ponderings upon the mysterious events which +seemed to whirl, like a maelstrom, about him. And more, it gave him +little time to think at all, for that night he did not lie awake to +stare about him in the darkness. Muscles were aching in spite of their +inherent strength. His head pounded from the pressure of intensified +heart action. His eyes closed wearily, yet with a wholesome fatigue. +Nor did he wake until Harry was pounding on the door in the dawn of the +morning. + +Their meal came before the dining room was regularly open. Mother +Howard herself flipping the flapjacks and frying the eggs which formed +their breakfast, meanwhile finding the time to pack their lunch +buckets. Then out into the crisp air of morning they went, and back to +their labors. + +Once more the pumps; once more the struggle against the heavy timbers; +once more the "clunk" of the axe as it bit deep into wood, or the +pounding of hammers as great spikes were driven into place. Late that +afternoon they turned to a new duty,--that of mucking away the dirt and +rotted logs from a place that once had been impassable. The timbering +of the broken-down portion of the tunnel just behind the shaft had been +repaired, and Harry flipped the sweat away from his broad forehead with +an action of relief. + +"Not that it does us any particular good," he announced. "There ain't +nothing back there that we can get at. But it's room we 'll need when +we start working down below, and we might as well 'ave it fixed up--" + +He ceased suddenly and ran to the pumps. A peculiar gurgling sound had +come from the ends of the hose, and the flow depreciated greatly; +instead of the steady gush of water, a slimy silt was coming out now, +spraying and splattering about on the sides of the drainage ditch. +Wildly Harry waved a monstrous paw. + +"Shut 'em off!" he yelled to Fairchild in the dimness of the tunnel. +"It's sucking the muck out of the sump!" + +"Out of the what?" Fairchild had killed the engines and run forward to +where Harry, one big hand behind the carbide flare, was peering down +the shaft. + +"The sump--it's a little 'ole at the bottom of the shaft to 'old any +water that 'appens to seep in. That means the 'ole drift is unwatered." + +"Then the pumping job 's over?" + +"Yeh." Harry rose. "You stay 'ere and dismantle the pumps, so we can +send 'em back. I 'll go to town. We 've got to buy some stuff." + +Then he started off down the trail, while Fairchild went to his work. +And he sang as he dragged at the heavy hose, pulling it out of the +shaft and coiling it at the entrance to the tunnel, as he put skids +under the engines, and moved them, inch by inch, to the outer air. +Work was before him, work which was progressing toward a goal that he +had determined to seek, in spite of all obstacles. The mysterious +offer which he had received gave evidence that something awaited him, +that some one knew the real value of the Blue Poppy mine, and that if +he could simply stick to his task, if he could hold to the unwavering +purpose to win in spite of all the blocking pitfalls that were put in +his path, some day, some time, the reward would be worth its price. + +More, the conversation with Mother Howard on the previous morning had +been comforting; it had given a woman's viewpoint upon another woman's +actions. And Fairchild intuitively believed she was correct. True, +she had talked of others who might have hopes in regard to Anita +Richmond; in fact, Fairchild had met one of those persons in the +lawyer, Randolph Farrell. But just the same it all was cheering. It +is man's supreme privilege to hope. + +And so Fairchild was happy and somewhat at ease for the first time in +weeks. Out at the edge of the mine, as he made his trips, he stopped +now and then to look at something he had disregarded previously,--the +valley stretching out beneath him, the three hummocks of the far-away +range, named Father, Mother and Child by some romantic mountaineer; the +blue-gray of the hills as they stretched on, farther and farther into +the distance, gradually whitening until they resolved themselves into +the snowy range, with the gaunt, high-peaked summit of Mount Evans +scratching the sky in the distance. + +There was a shimmer in the air, through which the trees were turned +into a bluer green, and the crags of the mountains made softer, the +gaping scars of prospect holes less lonely and less mournful with their +ever-present story of lost hopes. On a great boulder far at one side a +chipmunk chattered. Far down the road an ore train clattered along on +the way to the Sampler,--that great middleman institution which is a +part of every mining camp, and which, like the creamery station at the +cross roads, receives the products of the mines, assays them by its +technically correct system of four samples and four assayers to every +shipment, and buys them, with its allowances for freight, smelting +charges and the innumerable expenditures which must be made before +money can become money in reality. Fairchild sang louder than ever, a +wordless tune, an old tune, engendered in his brain upon a +paradoxically happy and unhappy night,--that of the dance when he had +held Anita Richmond in his arms, and she had laughed up at him as, by +her companionship, she had paid the debt of the Denver road. Fairchild +had almost forgotten that. Now, with memory, his brow puckered, and +his song died slowly away. + +"What the dickens was she doing?" he asked himself at last. "And why +should she have wanted so terribly to get away from that sheriff?" + +There was no answer. Besides, he had promised to ask for none. And +further, a shout from the road, accompanied by the roaring of a motor +truck, announced the fact that Harry was making his return. + +Five men were with him, to help him carry in ropes, heavy pulleys, +weights and a large metal shaft bucket, then to move out the smaller of +the pumps and trundle away with them, leaving the larger one and the +larger engine for a single load. At last Harry turned to his +paraphernalia and rolled up his sleeves. + +"'Ere 's where we work!" he announced. "It's us for a pulley and +bucket arrangement until we can get the 'oist to working and the skip +to running. 'Elp me 'eave a few timbers." + +It was the beginning of a three-days' job, the building of a heavy +staging over the top of the shaft, the affixing of the great pulley and +then the attachment of the bucket at one end, and the skip, loaded with +pig iron, on the other. Altogether, it formed a sort of crude, +counterbalanced elevator, by which they might lower themselves into the +shaft, with various bumpings and delays,--but which worked +successfully, nevertheless. Together they piled into the big, iron +bucket. Harry lugging along spikes and timbers and sledges and ropes. +Then, pulling away at the cable which held the weights, they furnished +the necessary gravity to travel downward. + +An eerie journey, faced on one side by the crawling rope of the skip as +it traveled along the rusty old track on its watersoaked ties, on the +others by the still dripping timbers of the aged shaft and its broken, +rotting ladder, while the carbide lanterns cast shadows about, while +the pulley above creaked and the eroded wheels of the skip squeaked and +protested! Downward--a hundred feet--and they collided with the +upward-bound skip, to fend off from it and start on again. The air +grew colder, more moist. The carbides spluttered and flared. Then a +slight bump, and they were at the bottom. Fairchild started to crawl +out from the bucket, only to resume his old position as Harry yelled +with fright. + +"Don't do it!" gulped the Cornishman. "Do you want me to go up like a +skyrocket? Them weights is all at the top. We 've got to fix a plug +down 'ere to 'old this blooming bucket or it 'll go up and we 'll stay +down!" + +Working from the side of the bucket, still held down by the weight of +the two men, they fashioned a catch, or lock, out of a loop of rope +attached to heavy spikes, and fastened it taut. + +"That 'll 'old," announced the big Cornishman. "Out we go!" + +Fairchild obeyed with alacrity. He felt now that he was really coming +to something, that he was at the true beginning of his labors. Before +him the drift tunnel, damp and dripping and dark, awaited, seeming to +throw back the flare of the carbides as though to shield the treasures +which might lie beyond. Harry started forward a step, then pausing, +shifted his carbide and laid a hand on his companion's shoulder. + +"Boy," he said slowly, "we 're starting at something now--and I don't +know where it's going to lead us. There's a cave-in up 'ere, and if we +'re ever going to get anywhere in this mine, we 'll 'ave to go past it. +And I 'm afraid of what we 're going to find when we cut our wye +through!" + +Clouds of the past seemed to rise and float past Fairchild. Clouds +which carried visions of a white, broken old man sitting by a window, +waiting for death, visions of an old safe and a letter it contained. +For a long, long moment, there was silence. Then came Harry's voice +again. + +"I 'm afraid it ain't going to be good news, Boy. But there ain't no +wye to get around it. It's got to come out sometime--things like that +won't stay 'idden forever. And your father 's gone now--gone where it +can't 'urt 'im." + +"I know," answered Fairchild in a queer, husky voice. "He must have +known, Harry--he must have been willing that it come, now that he is +gone. He wrote me as much." + +"It's that or nothing. If we sell the mine, some one else will find +it. And we can't 'it the vein without following the drift to the +stope. But you're the one to make the decision." + +Again, a long moment; again, in memory, Fairchild was standing in a +gloomy, old-fashioned room, reading a letter he had taken from a dusty +safe. Finally his answer came: + +"He told me to go ahead, if necessary. And we 'll go, Harry." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +They started forward then, making their way through the slime and silt +of the drift flooring, slippery and wet from years of flooding. From +above them the water dripped from the seep-soaked hanging-wall, which +showed rough and splotchy in the gleam of the carbides and seemed to +absorb the light until they could see only a few feet before them as +they clambered over water-soaked timbers, disjointed rails of the +little tram track which once had existed there, and floundered in and +out of the greasy pockets of mud which the floating ties of the track +had left behind. On--on--they stopped. + +Progress had become impossible. Before them, twisted and torn and +piled about in muddy confusion, the timbers of the mine suddenly showed +in a perfect barricade, supplanted from behind by piles of muck and +rocky refuse which left no opening to the chamber of the stope beyond. +Harry's carbide went high in the air, and he slid forward, to stand a +moment in thought before the obstacle. At place after place he +surveyed it, finally to turn with a shrug of his shoulders. + +"It's going to mean more 'n a month of the 'ardest kind of work, Boy," +came his final announcement. "'Ow it could 'ave caved in like that is +more than I know. I 'm sure we timbered it good." + +"And look--" Fairchild was beside him now, with his carbide--"how +everything's torn, as though from an explosion." + +"It seems that wye. But you can't tell. Rock 'as an awful way of +churning up things when it decides to turn loose. All I know is we 've +got a job cut out for us." + +There was only one thing to do,--turn back. Fifteen minutes more and +they were on the surface, making their plans; projects which entailed +work from morning until night for many a day to come. There was a +track to lay, an extra skip to be lowered, that they might haul the +muck and broken timbers from the cave-in to the shaft and on out to the +dump. There were stulls and mill-stakes and laggs to cut and to be +taken into the shaft. And there was good, hard work of muscle and +brawn and pick and shovel, that muck might be torn away from the +cave-in, and good timbers put in place, to hold the hanging wall from +repeating its escapade of eighteen years before. Harry reached for a +new axe and indicated another. + +"We 'll cut ties first," he announced. + +And thus began the weeks of effort, weeks in which they worked with +crude appliances; weeks in which they dragged the heavy stulls and +other timbers into the tunnel and then lowered them down the shaft to +the drift, two hundred feet below, only to follow them in their +counter-balanced bucket and laboriously pile them along the sides of +the drift, there to await use later on. Weeks in which they worked in +mud and slime, as they shoveled out the muck and with their gad hooks +tore down loose portions of the hanging wall to form a roadbed for +their new tram. Weeks in which they cut ties, in which they crawled +from their beds even before dawn, nor returned to Mother Howard's +boarding house until long after dark; weeks in which they seemed to +lose all touch with the outside world. Their whole universe had turned +into a tunnel far beneath the surface of the earth, a drift leading to +a cave-in, which they had not yet begun to even indent with excavations. + +It was a slow, galling progress, but they kept at it. Gradually the +tram line began to take shape, pieced together from old portions of the +track which still lay in the drift and supplemented by others bought +cheaply at that graveyard of miner's hopes,--the junk yard in Ohadi. +At last it was finished; the work of moving the heavy timbers became +easier now as they were shunted on to the small tram truck from which +the body had been dismantled and trundled along the rails to the +cave-in, there to be piled in readiness for their use. And finally-- + +A pick swung in the air, to give forth a chunky, smacking sound, as it +struck water-softened, spongy wood. The attack against the cave-in had +begun, to progress with seeming rapidity for a few hours, then to +cease, until the two men could remove the debris which they had dug out +and haul it by slow, laborious effort to the surface. But it was a +beginning, and they kept at it. + +A foot at a time they tore away the old, broken, splintered timbers and +the rocky refuse which lay piled behind each shivered beam; only to +stop, carry away the muck, and then rebuild. And it was +effort,--effort which strained every muscle of two strong men, as with +pulleys and handmade, crude cranes, they raised the big logs and +propped them in place against further encroachment of the hanging wall. +Cold and damp, in the moist air of the tunnel they labored, but there +was a joy in it all. Down here they could forget Squint Rodaine and +his chalky-faced son; down here they could feel that they were working +toward a goal and lay aside the handicap which humans might put in +their path. + +Day after day of labor and the indentation upon the cave-in grew from a +matter of feet to one of yards. A week. Two. Then, as Harry swung +his pick, he lurched forward and went to his knees. "I 've gone +through!" he announced in happy surprise. "I 've gone through. We 're +at the end of it!" + +Up went Fairchild's carbide. Where the pick still hung in the rocky +mass, a tiny hole showed, darker than the surrounding refuse. He put +forth a hand and clawed at the earth about the tool; it gave way +beneath his touch, and there was only vacancy beyond. Again Harry +raised his pick and swung it with force. Fairchild joined him. A +moment more and they were staring at a hole which led to darkness, and +there was joy in Harry's voice as he made a momentary survey. + +"It's fairly dry be'ind there," he announced. "Otherwise we 'd have +been scrambling around in water up to our necks. We 're lucky there, +any'ow." + +Again the attack and again the hole widened. At last Harry +straightened. + +"We can go in now," came finally. "Are you willing to go with me?" + +"Of course. Why not?" + +The Cornishman's hand went to his mustache. + +"I ain't tickled about what we 're liable to find." + +"You mean--?" + +But Harry stopped him. + +"Let's don't talk about it till we 'ave to. Come on." + +Silently they crawled through the opening, the silt and fine rock +rattling about them as they did so, to come upon fairly dry earth on +the other side, and to start forward. Under the rays of the carbides, +they could see that the track here was in fairly good condition; the +only moisture being that of a natural seepage which counted for little. +The timbers still stood dry and firm, except where dripping water in a +few cases had caused the blocks to become spongy and great holes to be +pressed in them by the larger timbers which held back the tremendous +weight from above. Suddenly, as they walked along. Harry took the +lead, holding his lantern far ahead of him, with one big hand behind +it, as though for a reflector. Then, just as suddenly, he turned. + +"Let's go out," came shortly. + +"Why?" + +"It's there!" In the light of the lantern, + +Harry's face was white, his big lips livid. "Let's go--" + +But Fairchild stopped him. + +"Harry," he said, and there was determination in his voice, "if it's +there--we 've got to face it. I 'll be the one who will suffer. My +father is gone. There are no accusations where he rests now; I 'm sure +of that. If--if he ever did anything in his life that wasn't right, he +paid for it. We don't know what happened, Harry--all we are sure of is +that if it's what we 're--we 're afraid of, we 've gone too far now to +turn back. Don't you think that certain people would make an +investigation if we should happen to quit the mine now?" + +"The Rodaines!" + +"Exactly. They would scent something, and within an hour they 'd be +down in here, snooping around. And how much worse would it be for them +to tell the news--than for us!" + +"Nobody 'as to tell it--" Harry was staring at his carbide +flare--"there 's a wye." + +"But we can't take it, Harry. In my father's letter was the statement +that he made only one mistake--that of fear. I 'm going to believe +him--and in spite of what I find here, I 'm going to hold him innocent, +and I 'm going to be fair and square and aboveboard about it all. The +world can think what it pleases--about him and about me. There 's +nothing on my conscience--and I know that if my father had not made the +mistake of running away when he did, there would have been nothing on +his." + +Harry shook his head. + +"'E could n't do much else, Boy. Rodaine was stronger in some ways +then than he is now. That was in different days. That was in times +when Squint Rodaine could 'ave gotten a 'undred men together quicker 'n +a cat's wink and lynched a man without 'im 'aving a trial or anything. +And if I 'd been your father, I 'd 'ave done the same as 'e did. I 'd +'ave run too--'e 'd 'ave paid for it with 'is life if 'e didn't, guilty +or not guilty. And--" he looked sharply toward the younger man--"you +say to go on?" + +"Go on," said Fairchild, and he spoke the words between tightly +clenched teeth. Harry turned his light before him, and once more +shielded it with his big hand. A step--two, then: + +"Look--there--over by the footwall!" + +Fairchild forced his eyes in the direction designated and stared +intently. At first it appeared only like a succession of disjointed, +broken stones, lying in straggly fashion along the footwall of the +drift where it widened into the stope, or upward slant on the vein. +Then, it came forth clearer, the thin outlines of something which +clutched at the heart of Robert Fairchild, which sickened him, which +caused him to fight down a sudden, panicky desire to shield his eyes +and to run,--a heap of age-denuded bones, the scraps of a miner's +costume still clinging to them, the heavy shoes protruding in comically +tragic fashion over bony feet; a huddled, cramped skeleton of a human +being! + +They could only stand and stare at it,--this reminder of a tragedy of a +quarter of a century agone. Their lips refused to utter the words that +strove to travel past them; they were two men dumb, dumb through a +discovery which they had forced themselves to face, through a fact +which they had hoped against, each more or less silently, yet felt sure +must, sooner or later, come before them. And now it was here. + +And this was the reason that twenty years before Thornton Fairchild, +white, grim, had sought the aid of Harry and of Mother Howard. This +was the reason that a woman had played the part of a man, singing in +maudlin fashion as they traveled down the center of the street at +night, to all appearances only three disappointed miners seeking a new +field. And yet-- + +"I know what you 're thinking." It was Harry's voice, strangely hoarse +and weak. "I 'm thinking the same thing. But it must n't be. Dead +men don't alwyes mean they 've died--in a wye to cast reflections on +the man that was with 'em. Do you get what I mean? You've said--" and +he looked hard into the cramped, suffering face of Robert +Fairchild--"that you were going to 'old your father innocent. So 'm I. +We don't know, Boy, what went on 'ere. And we 've got to 'ope for the +best." + +Then, while Fairchild stood motionless and silent, the big Cornishman +forced himself forward, to stoop by the side of the heap of bones which +once had represented a man, to touch gingerly the clothing, and then to +bend nearer and hold his carbide close to some object which Fairchild +could not see. At last he rose and with old, white features, +approached his partner. + +"The appearances are against us," came quietly. "There 's a 'ole in +'is skull that a jury 'll say was made by a single jack. It 'll seem +like some one 'ad killed 'im, and then caved in the mine with a box of +powder. But 'e 's gone, Boy--your father--I mean. 'E can't defend +'imself. We 've got to take 'is part." + +"Maybe--" Fairchild was grasping at the final straw--"maybe it's not +the person we believe it to be at all. It might be somebody else--who +had come in here and set off a charge of powder by accident and--" + +But the shaking of Harry's head stifled the momentary ray of hope. + +"No. I looked. There was a watch--all covered with mold and mildewed. +I pried it open. It's got Larsen's name inside!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +Again there was a long moment of silence, while Harry stood pawing at +his mustache and while Robert Fairchild sought to summon the strength +to do the thing which was before him. It had been comparatively easy +to make resolutions while there still was hope. It was a far different +matter now. All the soddenness of the old days had come back to him, +ghosts which would not be driven away; memories of a time when he was +the grubbing, though willing slave of a victim of fear,--of a man whose +life had been wrecked through terror of the day when intruders would +break their way through the debris, and when the discovery would be +made. And it had remained for Robert Fairchild, the son, to find the +hidden secret, for him to come upon the thing which had caused the +agony of nearly thirty years of suffering, for him to face the +alternative of again placing that gruesome find into hiding, or to +square his shoulders before the world and take the consequences. +Murder is not an easy word to hear, whether it rests upon one's own +shoulders, or upon the memory of a person beloved. And right now +Robert Fairchild felt himself sagging beneath the weight of the +accusation. + +But there was no time to lose in making his decision. Beside him stood +Harry, silent, morose. Before him,--Fairchild closed his eyes in an +attempt to shut out the sight of it. But still it was there, the +crumpled heap of tattered clothing and human remains, the awry, heavy +shoes still shielding the fleshless bones of the feet. He turned +blindly, his hands groping before him. + +"Harry," he called, "Harry! Get me out of here--I--can't stand it!" + +Wordlessly the big man came to his side. Wordlessly they made the trip +back to the hole in the cave-in and then followed the trail of new-laid +track to the shaft. Up--up--the trip seemed endless as they jerked and +pulled on the weighted rope, that their shaft bucket might travel to +the surface. Then, at the mouth of the tunnel, Robert Fairchild stood +for a long time staring out over the soft hills and the radiance of the +snowy range, far away. It gave him a new strength, a new +determination. The light, the sunshine, the soft outlines of the scrub +pines in the distance, the freedom and openness of the mountains seemed +to instill into him a courage he could not feel down there in the +dampness and darkness of the tunnel. His shoulders surged, as though +to shake off a great weight. His eyes brightened with resolution. +Then he turned to the faithful Harry, waiting in the background. + +"There's no use trying to evade anything, Harry. We 've got to face +the music. Will you go with me to notify the coroner--or would you +rather stay here?" + +"I 'll go." + +Silently they trudged into town and to the little undertaking shop +which also served as the office of the coroner. They made their +report, then accompanied the officer, together with the sheriff, back +to the mine and into the drift. There once more they clambered through +the hole in the cave-in and on toward the beginning of the stope. And +there they pointed out their discovery. + +A wait for the remainder of that day,--a day that seemed ages long, a +day in which Robert Fairchild found himself facing the editor of the +_Bugle_, and telling his story, Harry beside him. But he told only +what he had found, nothing of the past, nothing of the white-haired man +who had waited by the window, cringing at the slightest sound on the +old, vine-clad veranda, nothing of the letter which he had found in the +dusty safe. Nothing was asked regarding that; nothing could be gained +by telling it. In the heart of Robert Fairchild was the conviction +that somehow, some way, his father was innocent, and in his brain was a +determination to fight for that innocence as long as it was humanly +possible. But gossip told what he did not. + +There were those who remembered the departure of Thornton Fairchild +from Ohadi. There were others who recollected perfectly that in the +center of the rig was a singing, maudlin man, apparently "Sissie" +Larsen. And they asked questions. They cornered Harry, they shot +their queries at him one after another. But Harry was adamant. + +"I ain't got anything to sye! And there's an end to it!" + +Then, forcing his way past them, he crossed the street and went up the +worn steps to the little office of Randolph P. Farrell, with his +grinning smile and his horn-rimmed glasses, there to tell what he +knew,--and to ask advice. And with the information the happy-go-lucky +look faded, while Fairchild, entering behind Harry, heard a verdict +which momentarily seemed to stop his heart. + +"It means, Harry, that you were accessory to a crime--if this was a +murder. You knew that something had happened. You helped without +asking questions. And if it can be proved a murder--well," and he +drummed on his desk with the end of his pencil--"there 's no statute of +limitations when the end of a human life is concerned!" + +Only a moment Harry hesitated. Then: + +"I 'll tell the truth--if they ask me." + +"When?" The lawyer was bending forward. + +"At the inquest. Ain't that what you call it?" + +"You'll tell nothing. Understand? You'll tell nothing, other than +that you, with Robert Fairchild, found that skeleton. An inquest is +n't a trial. And that can't come without knowledge and evidence that +this man was murdered. So, remember--you tell the coroner's jury that +you found this body and nothing more!" + +"But--" + +"It's a case for the grand jury after that, to study the findings of +the coroner's jury and to sift out what evidence comes to it." + +"You mean--" This time it was Fairchild cutting in--"that if the +coroner's jury cannot find evidence that this man was murdered, or +something more than mere supposition to base a charge on--there 'll be +no trouble for Harry?" + +"It's very improbable. So tell what happened on this day of this year +of our Lord and nothing more! You people almost had me scared myself +for a minute. Now, get out of here and let a legal light shine without +any more clouds for a few minutes." + +They departed then and traveled down the stairs with far more spring in +their step than when they had entered. Late that night, as they were +engaged at their usual occupation of relating the varied happenings of +the day to Mother Howard, there came a knock at the door. +Instinctively, Fairchild bent toward her: + +"Your name 's out of this--as long as possible." + +She smiled in her mothering, knowing way. Then she opened the door, +there to find a deputy from the sheriff's office. + +"They 've impaneled a jury up at the courthouse," he announced. "The +coroner wants Mr. Fairchild and Mr. Harkins to come up there and tell +what they know about this here skeleton they found." + +It was the expected. The two men went forth, to find the street about +the courthouse thronged, for already the news of the finding of the +skeleton had traveled far, even into the little mining camps which +skirted the town. It was a mystery of years long agone, and as such it +fascinated and lured, in far greater measure perhaps, than some murder +of a present day. Everywhere were black crowds under the faint street +lamps. The basement of the courthouse was illuminated; and there were +clusters of curious persons about the stairways. Through the throngs +started Harry and Fairchild, only to be drawn aside by Farrell, the +attorney. + +"I 'm not going to take a part in this unless I have to," he told them. +"It will look better for you if it is n't necessary for me to make an +appearance. Whatever you do," and he addressed Harry, "say nothing +about what you were telling me this afternoon. In the first place, you +yourself have no actual knowledge of what happened. How do you know +but what Thornton Fairchild was attacked by this man and forced to kill +in self-defense? It's a penitentiary offense for a man to strike +another, without sufficient justification, beneath ground. And had +Sissie Larsen even so much as slapped Thornton Fairchild, that man +would have been perfectly justified in killing him to protect himself. +I 'm simply telling you that so that you will have no qualms in keeping +concealed facts which, at this time, have no bearing. Guide yourselves +accordingly--and as I say, I will be there only as a spectator, unless +events should necessitate something else." + +They promised and went on, somewhat calmer in mind, to edge their way +to the steps and to enter the basement of the courthouse. The coroner +and his jury, composed of six miners picked up haphazard along the +street--according to the custom of coroners in general--were already +present. So was every person who possibly could cram through the doors +of the big room. To them all Fairchild paid little attention,--all but +three. + +They were on a back seat in the long courtroom,--Squint Rodaine and his +son, chalkier, yet blacker than ever, while between them sat an old +woman with white hair which straggled about her cheeks, a woman with +deep-set eyes, whose hands wandered now and then vaguely before her; a +wrinkled woman, fidgeting about on her seat, watching with craned neck +those who stuffed their way within the already crammed room, her eyes +never still, her lips moving constantly, as though mumbling some +never-ending rote. Fairchild stared at her, then turned to Harry. + +"Who 's that with the Rodaines?" + +Harry looked furtively. "Crazy Laura--his wife." + +"But--" + +"And she ain't 'ere for anything good!" + +Harry's voice bore a tone of nervousness. "Squint Rodaine don't even +recognize 'er on the street--much less appear in company with 'er. +Something's 'appening!" + +"But what could she testify to?" + +"'Ow should I know?" Harry said it almost petulantly. "I did n't even +know she--" + +"Oyez, oyez, oyez!" It was the bailiff, using a regular district-court +introduction of the fact that an inquest was about to be held. The +crowded room sighed and settled. The windows became frames for human +faces, staring from without. The coroner stepped forward. + +"We are gathered here to-night to inquire into the death of a man +supposed to be L. A. Larsen, commonly called 'Sissie', whose skeleton +was found to-day in the Blue Poppy mine. What this inquest will bring +forth, I do not know, but as sworn and true members of the coroner's +jury, I charge and command you in the great name of the sovereign State +of Colorado, to do your full duty in arriving at your verdict." + +The jury, half risen from its chair, some with their left hands held +high above them, some with their right, swore in mumbling tones to do +their duty, whatever that might be. The coroner surveyed the +assemblage. + +"First witness," he called out; "Harry Harkins!" + +Harry went forward, clumsily seeking the witness chair. A moment later +he had been sworn, and in five minutes more, he was back beside +Fairchild, staring in a relieved manner about him. He had been +questioned regarding nothing more than the mere finding of the body, +the identification by means of the watch, and the notification of the +coroner. Fairchild was called, to suffer no more from the queries of +the investigator than Harry. There was a pause. It seemed that the +inquest was over. A few people began to move toward the door--only to +halt. The coroner's voice had sounded again: + +"Mrs. Laura Rodaine!" + +Prodded to her feet by the squint-eyed man beside her, she rose, and +laughing in silly fashion, stumbled to the aisle, her straying hair, +her ragged clothing, her big shoes and shuffling gait all blending with +the wild, eerie look of her eyes, the constant munching of the almost +toothless mouth. Again she laughed, in a vacant, embarrassed manner, +as she reached the stand and held up her hand for the administration of +the oath. Fairchild leaned close to his partner. + +"At least she knows enough for that." + +Harry nodded. + +"She knows a lot, that ole girl. They say she writes down in a book +everything she does every day. But what can she be 'ere to testify to?" + +The answer seemed to come in the questioning voice of the coroner. + +"Your name, please?" + +"Laura Rodaine. Least, that's the name I go by. My real maiden name +is Laura Masterson, and--" + +"Rodaine will be sufficient. Your age?" + +"I think it's sixty-four. If I had my book I could tell. I--" + +"Your book?" + +"Yes, I keep everything in a book. But it is n't here. I could n't +bring it." + +"The guess will be sufficient in this case. You 've lived here a good +many years, Mrs. Rodaine?" + +"Yes. Around thirty-five. Let's see--yes, I 'm sure it's thirty-five. +My boy was born here--he 's about thirty and we came here five years +before that." + +"I believe you told me to-night that you have a habit of wandering +around the hills?" + +"Yes, I 've done that--I do it right along--I 've done it ever since my +husband and I split up--that was just a little while after the boy was +born--" + +"Sufficient. I merely wanted to establish that fact. In wandering +about, did you ever see anything, twenty-three or four years ago or so, +that would lead you to believe you know something about the death of +this man whose demise we are inquiring?" + +The big hand of Harry caught at Fairchild's arm. The old woman had +raised her head, craning her neck and allowing her mouth to fall open, +as she strove for words. At last: + +"I know something. I know a lot. But I 've never figured it was +anybody's business but my own. So I have n't told it. But I +remember--" + +"What, Mrs. Rodaine?" + +"The day Sissie Larsen was supposed to leave town--that was the day he +got killed." + +"Do you remember the date?" + +"No--I don't remember that." + +"Would it be in your book?" + +She seemed to become suddenly excited. She half rose in her chair and +looked down the line of benches to where her husband sat, the scar +showing plainly in the rather brilliant light, his eyes narrowed until +they were nearly closed. Again the question, and again a moment of +nervousness before she answered: + +"No--no--it would n't be in my book. I looked." + +"But you remember?" + +"Just like as if it was yesterday." + +"And what you saw--did it give you any idea--" + +"I know what I saw." + +"And did it lead to any conclusion?" + +"Yes." + +"What, may I ask?" + +"That somebody had been murdered!" + +"Who--and by whom?" + +Crazy Laura munched at her toothless gums for a moment and looked again +toward her husband. Then, her watery, almost colorless eyes searching, +she began a survey of the big room, looking intently from one figure to +another. On and on--finally to reach the spot where stood Robert +Fairchild and Harry, and there they stopped. A lean finger, knotted by +rheumatism, darkened by sun and wind, stretched out. + +"Yes, I know who did it, and I know who got killed. It was 'Sissie' +Larsen--he was murdered. The man who did it was a fellow named +Thornton Fairchild who owned the mine--if I ain't mistaken, he was the +father of this young man--" + +"I object!" Farrell, the attorney, was on his feet and struggling +forward, jamming his horn-rimmed glasses into a pocket as he did so. +"This has ceased to be an inquest; it has resolved itself into some +sort of an inquisition!" + +"I fail to see why." The coroner had stepped down and was facing him. + +"Why? Why--you 're inquiring into a death that happened more than +twenty years ago--and you 're basing that inquiry upon the word of a +woman who is not legally able to give testimony in any kind of a court +or on any kind of a case! It's not judicial, it's not within the +confines of a legitimate, honorable practice, and it certainly is not +just to stain the name of any man with the crime of murder upon the +word of an insane person, especially when that man is dead and unable +to defend himself!" + +"Are n't you presuming?" + +"I certainly am not. Have you any further evidence upon the lines that +she is going to give?" + +"Not directly." + +"Then I demand that all the testimony which this woman has given be +stricken out and the jury instructed to disregard it." + +The official smiled. + +"I think otherwise. Besides, this is merely a coroner's inquest and +not a court action. The jury is entitled to all the evidence that has +any bearing on the case." + +"But this woman is crazy!" + +"Has she ever been adjudged so, or committed to any asylum for the +insane?" + +"No--but nevertheless, there are a hundred persons in this court room +who will testify to the fact that she is mentally unbalanced and not a +fit person to fasten a crime upon any man's head by her testimony. And +referring even to yourself, Coroner, have you within the last +twenty-five years, in fact, since a short time after the birth of her +son, called her anything else but Crazy Laura? Has any one else in +this town called her any other name? Man, I appeal to your--" + +"What you say may be true. It may not. I don't know. I only am sure +of one thing--that a person is sane in the eyes of the law until +adjudged otherwise. Therefore, her evidence at this time is perfectly +legal and proper." + +"It won't be as soon as I can bring an action before a lunacy court and +cause her examination by a board of alienists." + +"That's something for the future. In that case, things might be +different. But I can only follow the law, with the members of the jury +instructed, of course, to accept the evidence for what they deem it is +worth. You will proceed, Mrs. Rodaine. What did you see that caused +you to come to this conclusion?" + +"Can't you even stick to the rules and ethics of testimony?" It was +the final plea of the defeated Farrell. The coroner eyed him slowly. + +"Mr. Farrell," came his answer, "I must confess to a deviation from +regular court procedure in this inquiry. It is customary in an inquest +of this character; certain departures from the usual rules must be made +that the truth and the whole truth be learned. Proceed, Mrs. Rodaine, +what was it you saw?" + +Transfixed, horrified, Fairchild watched the mumbling, munching mouth, +the staring eyes and straying white hair, the bony, crooked hands as +they weaved before her. From those toothless jaws a story was about to +come, true or untrue, a story that would stain the name of his father +with murder! And that story now was at its beginning. + +"I saw them together that afternoon early," the old woman was saying. +"I came up the road just behind them, and they were fussing. Both of +'em acted like they were mad at each other, but Fairchild seemed to be +the maddest. + +"I did n't pay much attention to them because I just thought they were +fighting about some little thing and that it wouldn't amount to much. +I went on up the gulch--I was gathering flowers. After awhile, the +earth shook and I heard a big explosion, from way down underneath +me--like thunder when it's far away. Then, pretty soon, I saw +Fairchild come rushing out of the mine, and his hands were all bloody. +He ran to the creek and washed them, looking around to see if anybody +was watching him--but he did n't notice me. Then when he 'd washed the +blood from his hands, he got up on the road and went down into town. +Later on, I thought I saw all three of 'em leave town, Fairchild, +Sissie and a fellow named Harkins. So I never paid any more attention +to it until to-day. That's all I know." + +She stepped down then and went back to her seat with Squint Rodaine and +the son, fidgeting there again, craning her neck as before, while +Fairchild, son of a man just accused of murder, watched her with eyes +fascinated from horror. The coroner looked at a slip of paper in his +hand. + +"William Barton," he called. A miner came forward, to go through the +usual formalities, and then to be asked the question: + +"Did you see Thornton Fairchild on the night he left Ohadi?" + +"Yes, a lot of us saw him. He drove out of town with Harry Harkins, +and a fellow who we all thought was Sissie Larsen. The person we +believed to be Sissie was singing like the Swede did when he was drunk." + +"That's all. Mr. Harkins, will you please take the stand again?" + +"I object!" again it was Farrell. "In the first place, if this crazy +woman's story is the result of a distorted imagination, then Mr. +Harkins can add nothing to it. If it is not, Mr. Harkins is cloaked by +the protection of the law which fully applies to such cases and which, +Mr. Coroner, you cannot deny." + +The coroner nodded. + +"I agree with you this time, Mr. Farrell. I wish to work no hardship +on any one. If Mrs. Rodaine's story is true, this is a matter for a +special session of the grand jury. If it is not true--well, then there +has been a miscarriage of justice and it is a matter to be rectified in +the future. But at the present, there is no way of determining that +matter. Gentlemen of the jury," he turned his back on the crowded room +and faced the small, worried appearing group on the row of kitchen +chairs, "you have heard the evidence. You will find a room at the +right in which to conduct your deliberations. Your first official act +will be to select a foreman and then to attempt to determine from the +evidence as submitted the cause of death of the corpse over whom this +inquest has been held. You will now retire." + +Shuffling forms faded through the door at the right. Then followed +long moments of waiting, in which Robert Fairchild's eyes went to the +floor, in which he strove to avoid the gaze of every one in the crowded +court room. He knew what they were thinking, that his father had been +a murderer, and that he--well, that he was blood of his father's blood. +He could hear the buzzing of tongues, the shifting of the court room on +the unstable chairs, and he knew fingers were pointing at him. For +once in his life he had not the strength to face his fellow men. A +quarter of an hour--a knock on the door--then the six men clattered +forth again, to hand a piece of paper to the coroner. And he, +adjusting his glasses, turned to the court room and read: + +"We, the jury, find that the deceased came to his death from injuries +sustained at the hands of Thornton Fairchild, in or about the month of +June, 1892." + +That was all, but it was enough. The stain had been placed; the thing +which the white-haired man who had sat by a window back in Indianapolis +had feared all his life had come after death. And it was as though he +were living again in the body of his son, his son who now stood beside +the big form of Harry, striving to force his eyes upward and finally +succeeding,--standing there facing the morbid, staring crowd as they +turned and jostled that they might look at him, the son of a murderer! + +How long it lasted he did not, could not know. The moments were dazed, +bleared things which consisted to him only of a succession of eyes, of +persons who pointed him out, who seemed to edge away from him as they +passed him. It seemed hours before the court room cleared. Then, the +attorney at one side, Harry at the other, he started out of the court +room. + +The crowd still was on the street, milling, circling, dividing into +little groups to discuss the verdict. Through them shot scrambling +forms of newsboys, seeking, in imitation of metropolitan methods, to +enhance the circulation of the _Bugle_ with an edition of a paper +already hours old. Dazedly, simply for the sake of something to take +his mind from the throngs and the gossip about him, Fairchild bought a +paper and stepped to the light to glance over the first page. There, +emblazoned under the "Extra" heading, was the story of the finding of +the skeleton in the Blue Poppy mine, while beside it was something +which caused Robert Fairchild to almost forget, for the moment, the +horrors of the ordeal which he was undergoing. It was a paragraph +leading the "personal" column of the small, amateurish sheet, +announcing the engagement of Miss Anita Natalie Richmond to Mr. Maurice +Rodaine, the wedding to come "probably in the late fall!" + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +Fairchild did not show the item to Harry. There was little that it +could accomplish, and besides, he felt that his comrade had enough to +think about. The unexpected turn of the coroner's inquest had added to +the heavy weight of Harry's troubles; it meant the probability in the +future of a grand jury investigation and the possible indictment as +accessory after the fact in the murder of "Sissie" Larsen. Not that +Fairchild had been influenced in the slightest by the testimony of +Crazy Laura; the presence of Squint Rodaine and his son had shown too +plainly that they were connected in some way with it, that, in fact, +they were responsible. An opportunity had arisen for them, and they +had seized upon it. More, there came the shrewd opinion of old Mother +Howard, once Fairchild and Harry had reached the boarding house and +gathered in the parlor for their consultation: + +"Ain't it what I said right in the beginning?" the gray-haired woman +asked. "She 'll kill for that man, if necessary. It was n't as hard +as you think--all Squint Rodaine had to do was to act nice to her and +promise her a few things that he 'll squirm out of later on, and she +went on the stand and lied her head off." + +"But for a crazy woman--" + +"Laura's crazy--and she ain't crazy. I 've seen that woman as sensible +and as shrewd as any sane woman who ever drew breath. Then again, I +'ve seen her when I would n't get within fifty miles of her. Sometimes +she 's pitiful to me; and then again I 've got to remember the fact +that she 's a dangerous woman. Goodness only knows what would happen +to a person who fell into her clutches when she 's got one of those +immortality streaks on." + +"One of those what?" Harry looked up in surprise. + +"Immortality. That's why you 'll find her sneaking around graveyards +at night, gathering herbs and taking them to that old house on the +Georgeville Road, where she lives, and brewing them into some sort of +concoction that she sprinkles on the graves. She believes that it's a +sure system of bringing immortality to a person. Poison--that's about +what it is." + +Harry shrugged his shoulders. + +"Poison 's what she is!" he exclaimed. "Ain't it enough that I 'm +accused of every crime in the calendar without 'er getting me mixed up +in a murder? And--" this time he looked at Fairchild with dolorous +eyes--"'ow 're we going to furnish bond this time, if the grand jury +indicts me?" + +"I 'm afraid there won't be any." + +Mother Howard set her lips for a minute, then straightened proudly. + +"Well, I guess there will! They can't charge you a million dollars on +a thing like that. It's bondable--and I guess I 've got a few things +that are worth something--and a few friends that I can go to. I don't +see why I should be left out of everything, just because I 'm a woman!" + +"Lor' love you!" Harry grinned, his eyes showing plainly that the +world was again good for him and that his troubles, as far as a few +slight charges of penitentiary offenses were concerned, amounted to +very little in his estimation. Harry had a habit of living just for +the day. And the support of Mother Howard had wiped out all future +difficulties for him. The fact that convictions might await him and +that the heavy doors at Cañon City might yawn for him made little +difference right now. Behind the great bulwark of his mustache, his +big lips spread in a happy announcement of joy, and the world was good. + +Silently, Robert Fairchild rose and left the parlor for his own room. +Some way he could not force himself to shed his difficulties in the +same light, airy way as Harry. He wanted to be alone, alone where he +could take stock of the obstacles which had arisen in his path, of the +unexplainable difficulties and tribulations which had come upon him, +one trailing the other, ever since he had read the letter left for him +by his father. And it was a stock-taking of disappointing proportions. + +Looking back, Fairchild could see now that his dreams had led only to +catastrophes. The bright vista which had been his that day he sat +swinging his legs over the tailboard of the truck as it ground up Mount +Lookout had changed to a thing of gloomy clouds and of ominous futures. +Nothing had gone right. From the very beginning, there had been only +trouble, only fighting, fighting, fighting against insurmountable odds, +which seemed to throw him ever deeper into the mire of defeat, with +every onslaught. He had met a girl whom he had instinctively liked, +only to find a mystery about her which could not be fathomed. He had +furthered his acquaintance with her, only to bring about a condition +where now she passed him on the street without speaking and which, he +felt, had instigated that tiny notice in the _Bugle_, telling of her +probable marriage in the late autumn to a man he detested as a cad and +as an enemy. He had tried his best to follow the lure of silver; if +silver existed in the Blue Poppy mine, he had labored against the +powers of Nature, only to be the unwilling cause of a charge of murder +against his father. And more, it was clear, cruelly clear, that if it +had not been for his own efforts and those of a man who had come to +help him, the skeleton of Sissie Larsen never would have been +discovered, and the name of Thornton Fairchild might have gone on in +the peace which the white-haired, frightened man had sought. + +But now there was no choosing. Robert was the son of a murderer. Six +men had stamped that upon him in the basement of the courthouse that +night. His funds were low, growing lower every day, and there was +little possibility of rehabilitating them until the trial of Harry +should come, and Fate should be kind enough to order an acquittal, +releasing the products from escrow. In case of a conviction, Fairchild +could see only disaster. True, the optimistic Farrell had spoken of a +Supreme Court reversal of any verdict against his partner, but that +would avail little as far as the mine was concerned. It must still +remain in escrow as the bond of Harry until the case was decided, and +that might mean years. And one cannot borrow money upon a thing that +is mortgaged in its entirety to a commonwealth. In the aggregate, the +outlook was far from pleasant. The Rodaines had played with stacked +cards, and so far every hand had been theirs. Fairchild's credit, and +his standing, was ruined. He had been stamped by the coroner's jury as +the son of a murderer, and that mark must remain upon him until it +could be cleared by forces now imperceptible to Fairchild. His partner +was under bond, accused of four crimes. The Rodaines had won a +victory, perhaps greater than they knew. They had succeeded in soiling +the reputations of the two men they called enemies, damaging them to +such an extent that they must henceforth fight at a disadvantage, +without the benefit of a solid ground of character upon which to stand. +Fairchild suddenly realized that he was all but whipped, that the +psychological advantage was all on the side of Squint Rodaine, his son, +and the crazy woman who did their bidding. More, another hope had gone +glimmering; even had the announcement not come forth that Anita +Richmond had given her promise to marry Maurice Rodaine, the action of +a coroner's jury that night had removed her from hope forever. A son +of a man who has been called a slayer has little right to love a woman, +even if that woman has a bit of mystery about her. All things can be +explained--but murder! + +It was growing late, but Fairchild did not seek bed. Instead he sat by +the window, staring out at the shadows of the mountains, out at the +free, pure night, and yet at nothing. After a long time, the door +opened, and a big form entered--Harry--to stand silent a moment, then +to come forward and lay a hand on the other man's shoulder. + +"Don't let it get you, Boy," he said softly--for him. "It's going to +come out all right. Everything comes out all right--if you ain't wrong +yourself." + +"I know, Harry. But it's an awful tangle right now." + +"Sure it is. But it ain't as if a sane person 'ad said it against you. +There 'll never be anything more to that; Farrell 'll 'ave 'er adjudged +insane if it ever comes to anything like that. She 'll never give no +more testimony. I 've been talking with 'im--'e stopped in just after +you came upstairs. It's only a crazy woman." + +"But they took her word for it, Harry. They believed her. And they +gave the verdict--against my father!" + +"I know. I was there, right beside you. I 'eard it. But it 'll come +out right, some way." + +There was a moment of silence, then a gripping fear at the heart of +Fairchild. + +"Just how crazy is she, Harry?" + +"'Er? Plumb daft! Of course, as Mother 'Oward says, there 's times +when she 's straight--but they don't last long. And, if she 'd given +'er testimony in writing, Mother 'Oward says it all might 'ave been +different, and we 'd not 'ave 'ad anything to worry about." + +"In writing?" + +"Yes, she 's 'arfway sane then. It seems 'er mind 's disconnected, +some wye. I don't know 'ow--Mother 'Oward 's got the 'ole lingo, and +everybody in town knows about it. Whenever anybody wants to get +anything real straight from Crazy Laura, they make 'er write it. That +part of 'er brain seems all right. She remembers everything she does +then and 'ow crazy it is, and tells you all about it." + +"But why did n't Farrell insist upon that tonight?" + +"'E could n't have gotten 'er to do it. And nobody can get 'er to do +it as long has Squint's around--so Mother 'Oward says. 'E 's got a +influence about 'im. And she does exactly what 'e 'll sye--all 'e 's +got to do is to look at 'er. Notice 'ow flustered up she got when the +coroner asked 'er about that book?" + +"I wonder what it would really tell?" + +Harry chuckled. + +"Nobody knows. Nobody 's ever seen it. Not even Squint Rodaine. +That's the one thing she 's got the strength to keep from 'im--I guess +it's a part of 'er right brain that tells 'er to keep it a secret! I +'m going to bed now. So 're you. And you 're going to sleep. Good +night." + +He went out of the room then, and Fairchild, obedient to the big +Cornishman's command, sought rest. But it was a hard struggle. +Morning came, and he joined Harry at breakfast, facing the curious +glances of the other boarders, staving off their inquiries and their +illy couched consolations. For, in spite of the fact that it was not +voiced in so many words, the conviction was present that Crazy Laura +had told at least a semblance of the truth, and that the dovetailing +incidents of the past fitted into a well-connected story for which +there must be some foundation. Moreover, in the corner were Blindeye +Bozeman and Taylor Bill, hurrying through their breakfast that they +might go to their work in the Silver Queen, Squint Rodaine's mine, less +than a furlong from the ill-boding Blue Poppy. Fairchild could see +that they were talking about him, their eyes turned often in his +direction; once Taylor Bill nodded and sneered as he answered some +remark of his companion. The blood went hot in Fairchild's brain. He +rose from the table, hands clenched, muscles tensed, only to find +himself drawn back by the strong grasp of Harry. The big Cornishman +whispered to him as he took his seat again: + +"It 'll only make more trouble. I know 'ow you feel--but 'old in. +'Old in!" + +It was an admonition which Fairchild was forced to repeat to himself +more than once that morning as he walked uptown with Harry, to face the +gaze of the street loafers, to be plied with questions, and to strive +his best to fence away from them. There were those who were plainly +curious; there were others who professed not to believe the testimony +and who talked loudly of action against the coroner for having +introduced the evidence of a woman known by every one to be lacking in +balanced mentality. There were others who, by their remarks, showed +that they were concealing the real truth of their thoughts and only +using a cloak of interest to guide them to other food for the carrion +proclivities of their minds. To all of them Fairchild and Harry made +the same reply: that they had nothing to say, that they had given all +the information possible on the witness stand during the inquest, and +that there was nothing further forthcoming. + +And it was while he made this statement for the hundredth time that +Fairchild saw Anita Richmond going to the post-office with the rest of +the usual crowd, following the arrival of the morning train. Again she +passed him without speaking, but her glance did not seem so cold as it +had been on the morning that he had seen her with Rodaine, nor did the +lack of recognition appear as easily simulated. That she knew what had +happened and the charge that had been made against his father, +Fairchild did not doubt. That she knew he had read the "personal" in +the _Bugle_ was as easily determined. Between them was a gulf--caused +by what Fairchild could only guess--a gulf which he could not essay to +cross, and which she, for some reason, would not. But there was +nothing that could stop him from watching her, with hungry eyes which +followed her until she had disappeared in the doorway of the +post-office, eyes which believed they detected a listlessness in her +walk and a slight droop to the usually erect little shoulders, eyes +which were sure of one thing: that the smile was gone from the lips, +that upon her features were the lines and hollows of sleeplessness, and +the unmistakable lack of luster and color which told him that she was +not happy. Even the masculine mentality of Fairchild could discern +that. But it could not answer the question which the decision brought. +She had become engaged to a man whom she had given evidence of hating. +She had refused to recognize Fairchild, whom she had appeared to like. +She had cast her lot with the Rodaines--and she was unhappy. Beyond +that, everything was blank to Fairchild. + +An hour later Harry, wandering by the younger man's side, strove for +words and at last uttered them. + +"I know it's disagreeable," came finally. "But it's necessary. You +'ave n't quit?" + +"Quit what?" + +"The mine. You 're going to keep on, ain't you?" + +Fairchild gritted his teeth and was silent. The answer needed +strength. Finally it came. + +"Harry, are you with me?" + +"I ain't stopped yet!" + +"Then that's the answer. As long as there 's a bit of fight left in +us, we 'll keep at that mine. I don't know where it's going to lead +us--but from appearances as they stand now, the only outlook seems to +be ruin. But if you 're willing, I 'm willing, and we 'll make the +scrap together." + +Harry hitched at his trousers. + +"They 've got that blooming skeleton out by this time. I 'm willing to +start--any time you say." + +The breath went over Fairchild's teeth in a long, slow intake. He +clenched his hands and held them trembling before him for a lengthy +moment. Then he turned to his partner. + +"Give me an hour," he begged. "I 'll go then--but it takes a little +grit to--" + +"Who's Fairchild here?" A messenger boy was making his way along the +curb with a telegram. Robert stretched forth a hand in surprise. + +"I am. Why?" + +The answer came as the boy shoved forth the yellow envelope and the +delivery sheet. Fairchild signed, then somewhat dazedly ran a finger +under the slit of the envelope. Then, wondering, he read: + + +Please come to Denver at once. Have most important information for you. + +R. V. Barnham, + H & R Building. + + +A moment of staring, then Fairchild passed the telegram over to Harry +for his opinion. There was none. Together they went across the street +and to the office of Farrell, their attorney. He studied the telegram +long. Then: + +"I can't see what on earth it means, unless there is some information +about this skeleton or the inquest. If I were you, I 'd go." + +"But supposing it's some sort of a trap?" + +"No matter what it is, go and let the other fellow do all the talking. +Listen to what he has to say and tell him nothing. That's the only +safe system. I 'd go down on the noon train--that 'll get you there +about two. You can be back by 10:30 to-morrow." + +"No 'e can't," it was Harry's interruption as he grasped a pencil and +paper. "I 've got a list of things a mile long for 'im to get. We're +going after this mine 'ammer and tongs now!" + +When noon came, Robert Fairchild, with his mysterious telegram, boarded +the train for Denver, while in his pocket was a list demanding the +outlay of nearly a thousand dollars: supplies of fuses, of dynamite, of +drills, of a forge, of single and double jack sledges, of fulminate +caps,--a little of everything that would be needed in the months to +come, if he and 'Arry were to work the mine. It was only a beginning, +a small quantity of each article needed, part of which could be picked +up in the junk yards at a reasonable figure, other things that would +eat quickly into the estimate placed upon the total. And with a +capital already dwindling, it meant an expenditure which hurt, but +which was necessary, nevertheless. + +Slow, puffing and wheezing, the train made its way along Clear Creek +cañon, crawled across the newly built trestle which had been erected to +take the place of that which had gone out with the spring flood of the +milky creek, then jangled into Denver. Fairchild hurried uptown, found +the old building to which he had been directed by the telegram, and +made the upward trip in the ancient elevator, at last to knock upon a +door. A half-whining voice answered him, and he went within. + +A greasy man was there, greasy in his fat, uninviting features, in his +seemingly well-oiled hands as they circled in constant kneading, in his +long, straggling hair, in his old, spotted Prince Albert--and in his +manners. Fairchild turned to peer at the glass panel of the door. It +bore the name he sought. Then he looked again at the oily being who +awaited him. + +"Mr. Barnham?" + +"That's what I 'm called." He wheezed with the self-implied humor of +his remark and motioned toward a chair. "May I ask what you 've come +to see me about?" + +"I have n't the slightest idea. You sent for me." Fairchild produced +the telegram, and the greasy person who had taken a position on the +other side of a worn, walnut table became immediately obsequious. + +"Of course! Of course! Mr. Fairchild! Why did n't you say so when +you came in? Of course--I 've been looking for you all day. May I +offer you a cigar?" + +He dragged a box of domestic perfectos from a drawer of the table and +struck a match to light one for Fairchild. He hastily summoned an ash +tray from the little room which adjoined the main, more barren office. +Then with a bustling air of urgent business he hurried to both doors +and locked them. + +"So that we may not be disturbed," he confided in that high, whining +voice. "I am hoping that this is very important." + +"I also." Fairchild puffed dubiously upon the more dubious cigar. The +greasy individual returned to his table, dragged the chair nearer it, +then, seating himself, leaned toward Fairchild. + +"If I 'm not mistaken, you 're the owner of the Blue Poppy mine." + +"I 'm supposed to be." + +"Of course--of course. One never knows in these days what he owns or +when he owns it. Very good, I 'd say, Mr. Fairchild, very good. Could +you possibly do me the favor of telling me how you 're getting along?" + +Fairchild's eyes narrowed. + +"I thought you had information--for me!" + +"Very good again." Mr. Barnham raised a fat hand and wheezed in an +effort at intense enjoyment of the reply. "So I have--so I have. I +merely asked that to be asking. Now, to be serious, have n't you some +enemies, Mr. Fairchild?" + +"Have I?" + +"I was merely asking." + +"And I judged from your question that you seemed to know." + +"So I do. And one friend." Barnham pursed his heavy lips and nodded +in an authoritative manner. "One, very, very good friend." + +"I was hoping that I had more than that." + +"Ah, perhaps so. But I speak only from what I know. There is one +person who is very anxious about your welfare." + +"So?" + +Mr. Barnham leaned forward in an exceedingly friendly manner. + +"Well, is n't there?" + +Fairchild squared away from the table. + +"Mr. Barnham," came coldly; the inherent distrust for the greasy, +uninviting individual having swerved to the surface. "You wired me +that you had some very important news for me. I came down here +expressly because of that wire. Now that I 'm here, your mission seems +to be wholly taken up in drawing from me any information that I happen +to possess about myself. Plainly and frankly, I don't like it, and I +don't like you--and unless you can produce a great deal more than you +have already, I 'll have to chalk up the expense to a piece of bad +judgment and go on about my business." + +He started to rise, and Barnham scrambled to his feet. + +"Please don't," he begged, thrusting forth a fat hand, "please, please +don't. This is a very important matter. One--one has to be careful in +going about a thing as important as this is. The person is in a very +peculiar position." + +"But I 'm tired of the way you beat around the bush. You tell me some +meager scrap of filmy news and then ask me a dozen questions. As I +told you before, I don't like it--and I 'm just about at the point +where I don't care what information you have!" + +"But just be patient a moment--I 'm coming to it. Suppose--" then he +cupped his hands and stared hard at the ceiling, "Suppose that I told +you that there was some one who was willing to see you through all your +troubles, who had arranged everything for you, and all you had to do +would be to say the word to find yourself in the midst of comfort and +riches?" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +Fairchild blinked in surprise at this and sank back into his chair. +Finally he laughed uneasily and puffed again on the dubious cigar. + +"I 'd say," came finally, "that there is n't any such animal." + +"But there is. She has--" Then he stopped, as though to cover the +slip. Fairchild leaned forward. + +"She?" + +Mr. Barnham gave the appearance of a very flustered man. + +"My tongue got away from me; I should n't have said it. I really +should n't have said it. If she ever finds it out, it will mean +trouble for me. But truly," and he beamed, "you are such a tough +customer to deal with and so suspicious--no offense meant, of +course--that I really was forced to it. I--feel sure she will forgive +me." + +"Whom do you mean by 'she'?" + +Mr. Barnham smiled in a knowing manner. + +"You and I both know," came his cryptic answer. "She is your one +great, good friend. She thinks a great deal of you, and you have done +several things to cause that admiration. Now, Mr. Fairchild, coming to +the point, suppose she should point a way out of your troubles?" + +"How?" + +"In the first place, you and your partner are in very great +difficulties." + +"Are we?" Fairchild said it sarcastically. + +"Indeed you are, and there is no need of attempting to conceal the +fact. Your friend, whose name must remain a secret, does not love +you--don't ever think that--but--" + +Then he hesitated as though to watch the effect on Fairchild's face. +There was none; Robert had masked it. In time the words went on: "But +she does think enough of you to want to make you happy. She has +recently done a thing which gives her a great deal of power in one +direction. In another, she has connections who possess vast money +powers and who are looking for an opening here in the west. Now,--" he +made a church steeple out of his fingers and leaned back in his chair, +staring vacuously at the ceiling, "if you will say the word and do a +thing which will relieve her of a great deal of embarrassment, I am +sure that she can so arrange things that life will be very easy for you +henceforth." + +"I 'm becoming interested." + +"In the first place, she is engaged to be married to a very fine young +man. You, of course, may say differently, and I do not know--I am only +taking her word for it. But--if I understand it, your presence in +Ohadi has caused a few disagreements between them and--well, you know +how willful and headstrong girls will be. I believe she has committed +a few--er--indiscretions with you." + +"That's a lie!" Fairchild's temper got away from him and his fist +banged on the table. "That's a lie and you know it!" + +"Pardon me--er--pardon me! I made use of a word that can have many +meanings, and I am sure that in using it, I did n't place the same +construction that you did in hearing it. But let that pass. I +apologize. What I should have said was that, if you will pardon me, +she used you, as young women will do, as a foil against her fiancé in a +time of petty quarreling between them. Is that plainer?" + +It was too plain to Fairchild. It hurt. But he nodded his head and +the other man went on. + +"Now the thing has progressed to a place where you may be--well--what +one might call the thorn in the side of their happiness. You are the +'other man', as it were, to cause quarrels and that sort of thing. And +she feels that she has not done rightly by you, and, through her +friendship and a desire to see peace all around, believes she can +arrange matters to suit all concerned. To be plain and blunt, Mr. +Fairchild, you are not in an enviable position. I said that I had +information for you, and I 'm going to give it. You are trying to work +a mine. That demands capital. You have n't got it and there is no way +for you to procure it. To get capital, one must have standing--and you +must admit that you are lacking to a great extent in that very +necessary ingredient. In the first place, your mine is in escrow, +being held in court in lieu of five thousand dollars bond on--" + +"You seem to have been making a few inquiries?" + +"Not at all. I never heard of the proposition before she brought it to +me. As I say, the deeds to your mine are held in escrow. Your partner +now is accused of four crimes and will go to trial on them in the fall. +It is almost certain that he will be convicted on at least one of the +charges. That would mean that the deeds to the mine must remain in +jurisdiction of the court in lieu of a cash bond while the case goes to +the Supreme Court. Otherwise, you must yield over your partner to go +to jail. In either event, the result would not be satisfactory. For +yourself, I dare say that a person whose father is supposed to have +committed a murder--not that I say he did it, understand--hardly could +establish sufficient standing to borrow the money to proceed on an +undertaking which requires capital. Therefore, I should say that you +were in somewhat of a predicament. Now--" a long wait and then, +"please take this as only coming from a spokesman: My client is in a +position to use her good offices to change the viewpoint of the man who +is the chief witness against your partner. She also is in a position +to use those same good offices in another direction, so that there +might never be a grand jury investigation of the finding of a certain +body or skeleton, or something of the kind, in your mine--which, if you +will remember, brought about a very disagreeable situation. And +through her very good connections in another way, she is able to +relieve you of all your financial embarrassment and procure for you +from a certain eastern syndicate, the members of which I am not at +liberty to name, an offer of $200,000 for your mine. All that is +necessary for you to do is to say the word." + +Fairchild leaned forward. + +"And of course," he said caustically, "the name of this mysterious +feminine friend must be a secret?" + +"Certainly. No mention of this transaction must be made to her +directly, or indirectly. Those are my specific instructions. Now, Mr. +Fairchild, that seems to me to be a wonderful offer. And it--" + +"Do you want my answer now?" + +"At any time when you have given the matter sufficient thought." + +"That's been accomplished already. And there 's no need of waiting. I +want to thank you exceedingly for your offer, and to tell you--that you +can go straight to hell!" + +And without looking back to see the result of his ultimatum, Fairchild +rose, strode to the door, unlocked it, and stamped down the hall. He +had taken snap judgment, but in his heart, he felt that he was right. +What was more, he was as sure as he was sure of life itself that Anita +Richmond had not arranged the interview and did not even know of it. +One streaking name was flitting through Fairchild's brain and causing +it to seethe with anger. Cleverly concealed though the plan might have +been, nicely arranged and carefully planted, to Robert Fairchild it all +stood out plainly and clearly--the Rodaines! + +And yet why? That one little word halted Fairchild as he left the +elevator. Why should the Rodaines be willing to free him from all the +troubles into which his mining ventures had taken him, start him out +into the world and give him a fortune with which to make his way +forward? Why? What did they know about the Blue Poppy mine, when +neither he nor Harry had any idea of what the future might hold for +them there? Certainly they could not have investigated in the years +that were gone; the cave-in precluded that. There was no other tunnel, +no other means of determining the riches which might be hidden within +the confines of the Blue Poppy claims, yet it was evident. That day in +court Rodaine had said that the Blue Poppy was a good property and that +it was worth every cent of the value which had been placed on it. How +did he know? And why--? + +At least one answer to Rodaine's action came to him. It was simple now +to see why the scar-faced man had put a good valuation on the mine +during the court procedure and apparently helped Fairchild out in a +difficulty. In fact, there were several reasons for it. In the first +place, the tying up of the mine by placing it in the care of a court +would mean just that many more difficulties for Fairchild, and it would +mean that the mine would be placed in a position where work could be +hampered for years if a first conviction could be obtained. Further, +Rodaine could see that if by any chance the bond should be forfeited, +it would be an easy matter for the claims to be purchased cheap at a +public sale by any one who desired them and who had the inside +information of what they were worth. And evidently Rodaine and Rodaine +alone possessed that knowledge. + +It was late now. Fairchild went to a junk yard or two, searching for +the materials which Harry had ordered, and failed to find them. Then +he sought a hotel, once more to struggle with the problems which the +interview with Barnham had created and to cringe at a thought which +arose like a ghost before him: + +Suppose that it had been Anita Richmond after all who had arranged +this? It was logical in a way. Maurice Rodaine was the one man who +could give direct evidence against Harry as the man who had held up the +Old Times Dance, and Anita now was engaged to marry him. Judge +Richmond had been a friend of Thornton Fairchild; could it have been +possible that this friendship might have entailed the telling of +secrets which had not been related to any one else? The matter of the +finding of the skeleton could be handled easily, Fairchild saw, through +Maurice Rodaine. One word from him to his father could change the +story of Crazy Laura and make it, on the second telling, only the +maundering tale of an insane, herb-gathering woman. Anita could have +arranged it, and Anita might have arranged it. Fairchild wished now +that he could recall his words, that he could have held his temper and +by some sort of strategy arranged matters so that the offer might have +come more directly--from Anita herself. + +Yet, why should she have gone through this procedure to reach him? Why +had she not gone to Farrell with the proposition--to a man whom she +knew Fairchild trusted, instead of to a greasy, hand rubbing shyster? +And besides-- + +But the question was past answering now. Fairchild had made his +decision, and he had told the lawyer where to go. If, at the same +time, he had relegated the woman who had awakened affection in his +heart, only to have circumstances do their best to stamp it out again, +to the same place,--well, that had been done, too, and there was no +recalling of it now. But one thing was certain: the Blue Poppy mine +was worth money. Somewhere in that beetling hill awaited wealth, and +if determination counted for anything, if force of will and force of +muscle were worth only a part of their accepted value, Fairchild meant +to find it. Once before an offer had come, and now that he thought of +it, Fairchild felt almost certain that it had been from the same +source. That was for fifty thousand dollars. Why should the value +have now jumped to four times its original figures? It was more than +the adventurer could encompass; he sought to dismiss it all, went to a +picture show, then trudged back to his hotel and to sleep. + +The next day found him still striving to put the problem away from him +as he went about the various errands outlined by Harry. A day after +that, then the puffing, snorting, narrow-gauged train took him again +through Clear Creek cañon and back to Ohadi. The station was strangely +deserted. + +None of the usual loungers were there. None of the loiterers who, +watch in hand, awaited the arrival and departure of the puffing train +as though it were a matter of personal concern. Only the bawling 'bus +man for the hotel, the station agent wrestling with a trunk or +two,--that was all. Fairchild looked about him in surprise, then +approached the agent. + +"What's happened? Where 's everybody?" + +"Up on the hill." + +"Something happened?" + +"A lot. From what I hear it's a strike that's going to put Ohadi on +the map again." + +"Who made it?" + +"Don't know. Some fellow came running down here an hour or so ago and +said there 'd been a tremendous strike made on the hill, and everybody +beat it up there." + +Fairchild went on, to turn into a deserted street,--a street where the +doors of the stores had been left open and the owners gone. Everywhere +it was the same; it was as if Ohadi suddenly had been struck by some +catastrophe which had wiped out the whole population. Only now and +then a human being appeared, a few persons left behind at the banks, +but that was about all. Then from far away, up the street leading from +Kentucky Gulch, came the sound of cheering and shouting. Soon a crowd +appeared, led by gesticulating, vociferous men, who veered suddenly +into the Ohadi Bank at the corner, leaving the multitude without for a +moment, only to return, their hands full of gold certificates, which +they stuck into their hats, punched through their buttonholes, stuffed +into their pockets, allowing them to hang half out, and even jammed +down the collars of their rough shirts, making outstanding decorations +of currency about their necks. On they came, closer--closer, and then +Fairchild gritted his teeth. There were four of them leading the +parade, displaying the wealth that stood for the bonanza of the silver +strike they had just made, four men whose names were gall and wormwood +to Robert Fairchild. + +Blindeye Bozeman and Taylor Bill were two of them. The others were +Squint and Maurice Rodaine! + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +Had it been any one else, Fairchild would have shouted for happiness +and joined the parade. As it was, he stood far at one side, a silent, +grim figure, watching the miners and townspeople passing before him, +leaping about in their happiness, calling to him the news that he did +not want to hear: + +The Silver Queen had "hit." The faith of Squint Rodaine, maintained +through the years, had shown his perspicacity. It was there; he always +had said it was there, and now the strike had been made at last, +lead-silver ore, running as high as two hundred dollars a ton. And +just like Squint--so some one informed Fairchild--he had kept it a +secret until the assays all had been made and the first shipments +started to Denver. It meant everything for Ohadi; it meant that mining +would boom now, that soon the hills would be clustered with +prospectors, and that the little town would blossom as a result of +possessing one of the rich silver mines of the State. Some one tossed +to Fairchild a small piece of ore which had been taken from a car at +the mouth of the mine; and even to his uninitiated eyes it was +apparent,--the heavy lead, bearing in spots the thin filagree of white +metal--and silver ore must be more than rich to make a showing in any +kind of sample. + +He felt cheap. He felt defeated. He felt small and mean not to be +able to join the celebration. Squint and Maurice Rodaine possessed the +Silver Queen; that they, of all persons, should be the fortunate ones +was bitter and hard to accept. Why should they, of every one in Ohadi, +be the lucky men to find a silver bonanza, that they might flaunt it +before him, that they might increase their standing in the community, +that they might raise themselves to a pedestal in the eyes of every one +and thereby rally about them the whole town in any difficulty which +might arise in the future? It hurt Fairchild, it sickened him. He saw +now that his enemies were more powerful than ever. And for a moment he +almost wished that he had yielded down there in Denver, that he had not +given the ultimatum to the greasy Barnham, that he had accepted the +offer made him,--and gone on, out of the fight forever. + +Anita! What would it mean to her? Already engaged, already having +given her answer to Maurice Rodaine, this now would be an added +incentive for her to follow her promise. It would mean a possibility +of further argument with her father, already too weak from illness to +find the means of evading the insidious pleas of the two men who had +taken his money and made him virtually their slave. Could they not +demonstrate to him now that they always had worked for his best +interests? And could not that plea go even farther--to Anita +herself--to persuade her that they were always laboring for her, that +they had striven for this thing that it might mean happiness for her +and for her father? And then, could they not content themselves with +promises, holding before her a rainbow of the far-away, to lead her +into their power, just as they had led the stricken, bedridden man she +called "father"? The future looked black for Robert Fairchild. Slowly +he walked past the happy, shouting crowd and turned up Kentucky Gulch +toward the ill-fated Blue Poppy. + +The tunnel opening looked more forlorn than ever when he sighted it, a +bleak, staring, single eye which seemed to brood over its own +misfortunes, a dead, hopeless thing which never had brought anything +but disappointment. A choking came into Fairchild's throat. He +entered the tunnel slowly, ploddingly; with lagging muscles he hauled +up the bucket which told of Harry's presence below, then slowly lowered +himself into the recesses of the shaft and to the drift leading to the +stope, where only a few days before they had found that gaunt, +whitened, haunting thing which had brought with it a new misfortune. + +A light gleamed ahead, and the sound of a single jack hammering on the +end of a drill could be heard. Fairchild called and went forward, to +find Harry, grimy and sweating, pounding away at a narrow streak of +black formation which centered in the top of the stope. + +"It's the vein," he announced, after he had greeted Fairchild, "and it +don't look like it's going to amount to much!" + +"No?" + +Harry withdrew the drill from the hole he was making and mopped his +forehead. + +"It ain't a world-beater," came disconsolately. "I doubt whether it +'ll run more 'n twenty dollars to the ton, the wye smelting prices 'ave +gone up! And there ain't much money in that. What 'appened in Denver?" + +"Another frame-up by the Rodaines to get the mine away from us. It was +a lawyer. He stalled that the offer had been made to us by Miss +Richmond." + +"How much?" + +"Two hundred thousand dollars and us to get out of all the troubles we +are in." + +"And you took it, of course?" + +"I did not!" + +"No?" Harry mopped his forehead again. "Well, maybe you 're right. +Maybe you 're wrong. But whatever you did--well, that's just the thing +I would 'ave done." + +"Thanks, Harry." + +"Only--" and Harry was staring lugubriously at the vein above him, +"it's going to take us a long time to get two hundred thousand dollars +out of things the wye they stand now." + +"But--" + +"I know what you're thinking--that there's silver 'ere and that we 're +going to find it. Maybe so. I know your father wrote some pretty +glowing accounts back to Beamish in St. Louis. It looked awful good +then. Then it started to pinch out, and now--well, it don't look so +good." + +"But this is the same vein, is n't it?" + +"I don't know. I guess it is. But it's pinching fast. It was about +this wye when we first started on it. It was n't worth much and it was +n't very wide. Then, all of a sudden, it broadened out, and there was +a lot more silver in it. We thought we 'd found a bonanza. But it +narrowed down again, and the old standard came back. I don't know what +it's going to do now--it may quit altogether." + +"But we 're going to keep at it, Harry, sink or swim." + +"You know it!" + +"The Rodaines have hit--maybe we can have some good luck too." + +"The Rodaines?" Harry stared. "'It what?" + +"Two hundred dollar a ton ore!" + +A long whistle. Then Harry, who had been balancing a single jack, +preparatory to going back to his work, threw it aside and began to roll +down his sleeves. + +"We 're going to 'ave a look at it." + +"A look? What good would it--?" + +"A cat can look at a king," said Harry. "They can't arrest us for +going up there like everybody else." + +"But to go there and ask them to look at their riches--" + +"There ain't no law against it!" + +He reached for his carbide lamp, hooked to a small chink of the hanging +wall, and then pulled his hat over his bulging forehead. Carefully he +attempted to smooth his straying mustache, and failing, as always, gave +up the job. + +"I 'd be 'appy, just to look at it," he announced. "Come on. Let's +forget 'oo they are and just be lookers-on." + +Fairchild agreed against his will. Out of the shaft they went and on +up the hill to where the townspeople again were gathering about the +opening of the Silver Queen. A few were going in. Fairchild and 'Arry +joined them. + +A long walk, stooping most of the way, as the progress was made through +the narrow, low-roofed tunnel; then a slight raise which traveled for a +fair distance at an easy grade--at last to stop; and there before them, +jammed between the rock, was the strike, a great, heavy streaking vein, +nearly six feet wide, in which the ore stuck forth in tremendous +chunks, embedded in a black background. Harry eyed it studiously. + +"You can see the silver sticking out!" he announced at last. "It's +wonderful--even if the Rodaines did do it." + +A form brushed past them, Blindeye Bozeman, returning from the +celebration. Picking up a drill, he studied it with care, finally to +lay it aside and reach for a gad, a sort of sharp, pointed prod, with +which to tear away the loose matter that he might prepare the way for +the biting drive of the drill beneath the five-pound hammer, or single +jack. His weak, watery eyes centered on Harry, and he grinned. + +"Didn't believe it, huh?" came his query. + +Harry pawed his mustache. + +"I believed it, all right, but anybody likes to look at the United +States Mint!" + +"You 've said it. She 's going to be more than that when we get a few +portable air compressors in here and start at this thing in earnest +with pneumatic drills. What's more, the old man has declared Taylor +Bill and me in on it--for a ten per cent. bonus. How's that sound to +you?" + +"Like 'eaven," answered Harry truthfully. "Come on, Boy, let's us get +out of 'ere. I 'll be getting the blind staggers if I stay much +longer." + +Fairchild accompanied him wordlessly. It was as though Fate had played +a deliberate trick, that it might laugh at him. And as he walked +along, he wondered more than ever about the mysterious telegram and the +mysterious conversation of the greasy Barnham in Denver. That--as he +saw it now--had been only an attempt at another trick. Suppose that he +had accepted; suppose that he had signified his willingness to sell his +mine and accept the good offices of the "secret friend" to end his +difficulties. What would have been the result? + +For once a ray of cheer came to him. The Rodaines had known of this +strike long before he ever went to that office in Denver. They had +waited long enough to have their assays made and had completed their +first shipment to the smelter. There was no necessity that they buy +the Blue Poppy mine. Therefore, was it simply another trick to break +him, to lead him up to a point of high expectations, then, with a laugh +at his disappointment, throw him down again? His shoulders +straightened as they reached the outside air, and he moved close to +Harry as he told him his conjectures. The Cornishman bobbed his head. + +"I never thought of it that way!" he agreed. "But it could explain a +lot of things. They 're working on our--what-you-call-it?" + +"Psychological resistance." + +"That's it. Psych--that's it. They want to beat us and they don't +care 'ow. It 'urts a person to be disappointed. That's it. I alwyes +said you 'ad a good 'ead on you! That's it. Let's go back to the Blue +Poppy." + +Back they went, once more to descend the shaft, once more to follow the +trail along the drift toward the opening of the stope. And there, +where loose earth covered the place where a skeleton once had rested, +Fairchild took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. + +"Harry," he said, with a new determination, "this vein does n't look +like much, and the mine looks worse. From the viewpoint we 've got now +of the Rodaine plans, there may not be a cent in it. But if you're +game, I'm game, and we'll work the thing until it breaks us." + +"You 've said it. If we 'it anything, fine and well--if we can turn +out five thousand dollars' worth of stuff before the trial comes up, +then we can sell hit under the direction of the court, turn over that +money for a cash bond, and get the deeds back. If we can't, and if the +mine peters out, then we ain't lost anything but a lot of 'opes and +time. But 'ere goes. We 'll double-jack. I 've got a big 'ammer +'ere. You 'old the drill for awhile and turn it, while I sling th' +sledge. Then you take th' 'ammer and Lor' 'ave mercy on my 'ands if +you miss." + +Fairchild obeyed. They began the drilling of the first indentation +into the six-inch vein which lay before them. Hour after hour they +worked, changing positions, sending hole after hole into the narrow +discoloration which showed their only prospect of returns for the +investments which they had put into the mine. Then, as the afternoon +grew late, Harry disappeared far down the drift to return with a +handful of greasy, candle-like things, wrapped in waxed paper. + +"I knew that dynamite of yours could n't be shipped in time, so I +bought a little up 'ere," he explained, as he cut one of the sticks in +two with a pocketknife and laid the pieces to one side. Then out came +a coil of fuse, to be cut to its regular lengths and inserted in the +copper-covered caps of fulminate of mercury, Harry showing his contempt +for the dangerous things by crimping them about the fuse with his +teeth, while Fairchild, sitting on a small pile of muck near by, begged +for caution. But Harry only grinned behind his big mustache and went +on. + +Out came his pocketknife again as he slit the waxed paper of the +gelatinous sticks, then inserted the cap in the dynamite. One after +another the charges were shoved into the holes, Harry tamping them into +place with a steel rod, instead of with the usual wooden affair, his +mustache brushing his shoulder as he turned to explain the virtues of +dynamite when handled by an expert. + +"It's all in the wye you do it," he announced. "If you don't strike +fire with a steel rod, it's fine." + +"But if you do?" + +"Oh, then!" Harry laughed. "Then it's flowers and a funeral--after +they 've finished picking you up." + +One after another he pressed the dynamite charges tight into the drill +holes and tamped them with muck wrapped in a newspaper that he dragged +from his hip pocket. Then he lit the fuses from his lamp and stood a +second in assurance that they all were spluttering. + +"Now we run!" he announced, and they hurried, side by side, down the +drift tunnel until they reached the shaft. "Far enough," said Harry. + +A long moment of waiting. Then the earth quivered and a muffled, +booming roar came from the distance. Harry stared at his carbide lamp. + +"One," he announced. Then, "Two." + +Three, four and five followed, all counted seriously, carefully by +Harry. Finally they turned back along the drift toward the stope, the +acrid odor of dynamite smoke-cutting at their nostrils as they +approached the spot where the explosions had occurred. There Harry +stood in silent contemplation for a long time, holding his carbide over +the pile of ore that had been torn from the vein above. + +"It ain't much," came at last. "Not more 'n 'arf a ton. We won't get +rich at that rate. And besides--" he looked upward--"we ain't even +going to be getting that pretty soon. It's pinching out." + +Fairchild followed his gaze, to see in the torn rock above him only a +narrow streak now, fully an inch and a half narrower than the vein had +been before the powder holes had been drilled. It could mean only one +thing: that the bet had been played and lost, that the vein had been +one of those freak affairs that start out with much promise, seem to +give hope of eternal riches, and then gradually dwindle to nothing. +Harry shook his head. + +"It won't last." + +"Not more than two or three more shots," Fairchild agreed. + +"You can't tell about that. It may run that way all through the +mountain--but what's a four-inch vein? You can go up 'ere in the +Argonaut tunnel and find 'arf a dozen of them things that they don't +even take the trouble to mine. That is, unless they run 'igh in +silver--" he picked up a chunk of the ore from the muck pile where it +had been deposited and studied it intently--"but I don't see any pure +silver sticking out in this stuff." + +"But it must be here somewhere. I don't know anything about +mining--but don't veins sometimes pinch off and then show up later on?" + +"Sure they do--sometimes. But it's a gamble." + +"That's all we 've had from the beginning, Harry." + +"And it's about all we 're going to 'ave any time unless something bobs +up sudden like." + +Then, by common consent, they laid away their working clothes and left +the mine, to wander dejectedly down the gulch and to the boarding +house. After dinner they chatted a moment with Mother Howard, +neglecting to tell her, however, of the downfall of their hopes, then +went upstairs, each to his room. An hour later Harry knocked at +Fairchild's door, and entered, the evening paper in his hand. + +"'Ere 's something more that's nice," he announced, pointing to an item +on the front page. It was the announcement that a general grand jury +was to be convened late in the summer and that one of its tasks +probably would be to seek to unravel the mystery of the murder of +Sissie Larsen! + +Fairchild read it with morbidity. Trouble seemed to have become more +than occasional, and further than that, it appeared to descend upon him +at just the times when he could least resist it. He made no comment; +there was little that he could say. Again he read the item and again, +finally to turn the page and breathe sharply. Before him was a +six-column advertisement, announcing the strike in the Silver Queen +mine and also spreading the word that a two-million-dollar company +would be formed, one million in stock to represent the mine itself, the +other to be subscribed to exploit this new find as it should be +exploited. Glowing words told of the possibilities of the Silver +Queen, the assayer's report was reproduced on a special cut which +evidently had been made in Denver and sent to Ohadi by rush delivery. +Offices had been opened; everything had been planned in advance and the +advertisement written before the town was aware of the big discovery up +Kentucky Gulch. All of it Fairchild read with a feeling he could not +down,--a feeling that Fate, somehow, was dealing the cards from the +bottom, and that trickery and treachery and a venomous nature were the +necessary ingredients, after all, to success. The advertisement seemed +to sneer at him, to jibe at him, calling as it did for every upstanding +citizen of Ohadi to join in on the stock-buying bonanza that would make +the Silver Queen one of the biggest mines in the district and Ohadi the +big silver center of Colorado. The words appeared to be just so many +daggers thrust into his very vitals. But Fairchild read them all, in +spite of the pain they caused. He finished the last line, looked at +the list of officers, and gasped. + +For there, following one another, were three names, two of which +Fairchild had expected. But the other-- + +They were, president and general manager, R. B. (Squint) Rodaine; +secretary-treasurer, Maurice Rodaine; and first vice-president--Miss +Anita Natalie Richmond! + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +After that, Fairchild heard little that Harry said as he rambled on +about the plans for the future. He answered the big Cornishman's +questions with monosyllables, volunteering no information. He did not +even show him the advertisement--he knew that it would be as galling to +Harry as it was to him. And so he sat and stared, until finally his +partner said good night and left the room. + +That name could mean only one thing: that she had consented to become a +partner with them, that they had won her over, after all. Now, even a +different light came upon the meeting with Barnham in Denver and a +different view to Fairchild. What if she had been playing their game +all along? What if she had been merely a tool for them; what if she +had sent Farrell at their direction, to learn everything he and Harry +knew? What--? + +Fairchild sought to put the thought from him and failed. Now that he +looked at it in retrospect, everything seemed to have a sinister +meaning. He had met the girl under circumstances which never had been +explained. The first time she ever had seen him after that she +pretended not to recognize him. Yet, following a conversation with +Maurice Rodaine, she took advantage of an opportunity to talk to him +and freely admitted to him that she had been the person he believed her +to be. True, Fairchild was looking now at his idol through blue +glasses, and they gave to her a dark, mysterious tone that he could not +fathom. There were too many things to explain; too many things which +seemed to connect her directly with the Rodaines; too many things which +appeared to show that her sympathies were there and that she might only +be a trickster in their hands, a trickster to trap him! Even the +episode of the lawyer could be turned to this account. Had not another +lawyer played the friendship racket, in an effort to buy the Blue Poppy +mine? + +And here Fairchild smiled grimly. From the present prospects, it would +seem that the gain would have been all on his side, for certainly there +was little to show now toward a possibility of the Blue Poppy ever +being worth anything near the figure which he had been offered for it. +And yet, if that offer had not been made as some sort of stiletto jest, +why had it been made at all? Was it because Rodaine knew that wealth +did lie concealed there? Was it because Squint Rodaine had better +information even than the faithful, hard-working, unfortunate Harry? +Fairchild suddenly took hope. He clenched his hands and he spoke, to +himself, to the darkness and to the spirits of discouragement that were +all about him: + +"If it's there, we 'll find it--if we have to work our fingers to the +bone, if we have to starve and die there--we'll find it!" + +With that determination, he went to bed, to awake in the morning filled +with a desire to reach the mine, to claw at its vitals with the +sharp-edged drills, to swing the heavy sledge until his shoulders and +back ached, to send the roaring charges of dynamite digging deeper and +deeper into that thinning vein. And Harry was beside him every step of +the way. + +A day's work, the booming charges, and they returned to the stope to +find that the vein had neither lessened nor grown greater. Another +day--and one after that. The vein remained the same, and the two men +turned to mucking that they might fill their ore car with the proceeds +of the various blasts, haul it to the surface by the laborious, slow +process of the man-power elevator, then return once more to their +drilling, begrudging every minute that they were forced to give to the +other work of tearing away the muck and refuse that they might gain the +necessary room to follow the vein. + +The days grew to a week, and a week to a fortnight. Once a truck made +its slow way up the tortuous road, chortled away with a load of ore, +returned again and took the remainder from the old, half-rotted ore +bins, to the Sampler, there to be laid aside while more valuable ore +was crushed and sifted for its assays, and readier money taken in. The +Blue Poppy had nothing in its favor. Ten or twenty dollar ore looked +small beside the occasional shipments from the Silver Queen, where +Blindeye Bozeman and Taylor Bill formed the entire working staff until +the much-sought million dollars should flow in and a shaft-house, +portable air pumps, machine drills and all the other attributes of +modern mining methods should be put into operation. + +And it appeared that the million dollars would not be slow in coming. +Squint Rodaine had established his office in a small, vacant store +building on the main street, and Fairchild could see, as he went to and +from his work, a constant stream of townspeople as they made that their +goal--there to give their money into the keeping of the be-scarred man +and to trust to the future for wealth. It galled Fairchild, it made +his hate stronger than ever; yet within him there could not live the +hope that the Silver Queen might share the fate of the Blue Poppy. +Other persons besides the Rodaines were interested now, persons who +were putting their entire savings into the investment; and Fairchild +could only grit his teeth and hope--for them--that it would be an +everlasting bonanza. As for the girl who was named as vice-president-- + +He saw her, day after day, riding through town in the same automobile +that he had helped re-tire on the Denver road. But now she did not +look at him; now she pretended that she did not see him. +Before,--well, before, her eyes had at least met his, and there had +been some light of recognition, even though her carefully masked face +had belied it. Now it was different. She had gone over to the +Rodaines, she was engaged to marry the chalky-faced, hook-nosed son and +she was vice-president of their two-million-dollar mining corporation. +Fairchild did not even strive to find a meaning for it all; women are +women, and men do well sometimes if they diagnose themselves. + +The summer began to grow old, and Fairchild felt that he was aging with +it. The long days beneath the ground had taught him many things about +mining now, all to no advantage. Soon they would be worth nothing, +save as five-dollar-a-day single-jackers, working for some one else. +The bank deposits were thinning, and the vein was thinning with it. +Slowly but surely, as they fought, the strip of pay ore in the rocks +was pinching out. Soon would come the time when they could work it no +longer. And then,--but Fairchild did not like to think about that. + +September came, and with it the grand jury. But here for once was a +slight ray of hope. The inquisitorial body dragged through its various +functionings, while Farrell stood ready with his appeal to the court +for a lunacy board at the first hint of an investigation into Crazy +Laura's story. Three weeks of prying into "vice conditions", gambling, +profiteering and the usual petty nonsense with which so many grand +juries have managed to fritter away time under the misapprehension of +applying some weighty sort of superhuman reasoning to ordinary things, +and then good news. The body of twelve good men and true had worn +themselves out with other matters and adjourned without even taking up +the mystery of the Blue Poppy mine. But the joy of Fairchild and Harry +was short-lived. In the long, legal phraseology of the jury's report +was the recommendation that this important subject be the first for +inquiry by the next grand inquisitorial body to be convened,--and the +threat still remained. + +But before the two men were now realities which were worse even than +threats, and Harry turned from his staging late one afternoon to voice +the most important. + +"We 'll start single-jacking to-morrow," he announced with a little +sigh. "In the 'anging wall." + +"You mean--?" + +"We can't do much more up 'ere. It ain't worth it. The vein 's +pinched down until we ain't even getting day laborer's wages out of +it--and it's October now." + +October! October--and winter on the way. October--and only a month +until the time when Harry must face a jury on four separate charges, +any one of which might send him to Cañon City for the rest of his days; +Harry was young no longer. October--and in the dreamy days of summer, +Fairchild had believed that October would see him rich. But now the +hills were brown with the killing touch of frost; the white of the +snowy range was creeping farther and farther over the mountains; the +air was crisp with the hint of zero soon to come; the summer was dead, +and Fairchild's hopes lay inert beside it. He was only working now +because he had determined to work. He was only laboring because a +great, strong, big-shouldered man had come from Cornwall to help him +and was willing to fight it out to the end. October--and the +announcement had said that a certain girl would be married in the late +fall, a girl who never looked in his direction any more, who had +allowed her name to become affiliated with that of the Rodaines, now +nearing the task of completing their two million. October--month of +falling leaves and dying dreams, month of fragrant beauties gone to +dust, the month of the last, failing fight against the clutch of grim, +all-destroying winter. And Fairchild was sagging in defeat just as the +leaves were falling from the shaking aspens, as the moss tendrils were +curling into brittle, brown things of death. October! + +For a long moment, Fairchild said nothing, then as Harry came from the +staging, he moved to the older man's side. + +"I--I did n't quite catch the idea," came at last. Harry pointed with +his sledge. + +"I 've been noticing the vein. It keeps turning to the left. It +struck me that it might 'ave branched off from the main body and that +there 's a bigger vein over there some'eres. We 'll just 'ave to make +a try for it. It's our only chance." + +"And if we fail to find it there?" + +"We 'll put a couple of 'oles in the foot wall and see what we strike. +And then--" + +"Yes--?" + +"If it ain't there--we 're whipped!" + +It was the first time that Harry had said the word seriously. +Fairchild pretended not to hear. Instead, he picked up a drill, looked +at its point, then started toward the small forge which they had +erected just at the foot of the little raise leading to the stope. +There Harry joined him; together they heated the long pieces of steel +and pounded their biting faces to the sharpness necessary to drilling +in the hard rock of the hanging wall, tempering them in the bucket of +water near by, working silently, slowly,--hampered by the weight of +defeat. They were being whipped; they felt it in every atom of their +beings. But they had not given up their fight. Two blows were left in +the struggle, and two blows they meant to strike before the end came. +The next morning they started at their new task, each drilling holes at +points five feet apart in the hanging wall, to send them in as far as +possible, then at the end of the day to blast them out, tearing away +the rock and stopping their work at drilling that they might muck away +the refuse. The stope began to take on the appearance of a vast +chamber, as day after day, banging away at their drill holes, stopping +only to sharpen the bits or to rest their aching muscles, they pursued +into the entrails of the hills the vagrant vein which had escaped them. +And day after day, each, without mentioning it to the other, was +tortured by the thought of that offer of riches, that mysterious +proffer of wealth for the Blue Poppy mine,--tortured like men who are +chained in the sight of gold and cannot reach it. For the offer +carried always the hint that wealth was there, somewhere, that Squint +Rodaine knew it, but that they could not find it. Either that--or flat +failure. Either wealth that would yield Squint a hundredfold for his +purchase, or a sneer that would answer their offer to sell. And each +man gritted his teeth and said nothing. But they worked on. + +October gave up its fight. The first day of November came, to find the +chamber a wide, vacuous thing now, sheltering stone and refuse and two +struggling men,--nothing more. Fairchild ceased his labors and mopped +his forehead, dripping from the heat engendered by frenzied labor; +without the tunnel opening, the snow lay deep upon the mountain sides, +for it had been more than a week since the first of the white blasts +had scurried over the hills to begin the placid, cold enwrapment of the +winter. A long moment, then: + +"Harry." + +"Aye." + +"I 'm going after the other side. We 've been playing a half-horsed +game here." + +"I 've been thinking that, Boy." + +"Then I 'm going to tackle the foot wall. You stay where you are, for +a few more shots; it can't do much good, the way things are going, and +it can't do much harm. I was at the bank to-day." + +"Yeh." + +"My balance is just two hundred." + +"Counting what we borrowed from Mother 'Oward?" + +"Yes." + +Harry clawed at his mustache. His nose, already red from the pressure +of blood, turned purplish. + +"We 're nearing the end, Boy. Tackle the foot wall." + +They said no more. Fairchild withdrew his drill from the "swimmer" or +straightforward powder hole and turned far to the other side of the +chamber, where the sloping foot wall showed for a few feet before it +dived under the muck and refuse. There, gad in hand, he pecked about +the surface, seeking a spot where the rock had splintered, thereby +affording a softer entrance for the biting surface of the drill. Spot +after spot he prospected, suddenly to stop and bend forward. At last +came an exclamation, surprised, wondering: + +"Harry!" + +"Yeh." + +"Come here." + +The Cornishman left his work and walked to Fairchild's side. The +younger man pointed. + +"Do you ever fill up drill holes with cement?" he asked. + +"Not as I know of. Why?" + +"There 's one." Fairchild raised his gad and chipped away the softer +surface of the rock, leaving a tubular protuberance of cement +extending. Harry stared. + +"What the bloody 'ell?" he conjectured. "D' you suppose--" Then, with +a sudden resolution: "Drill there! Gad a 'ole off to one side a bit +and drill there. It seems to me Sissie Larsen put a 'ole there or +something--I can't remember. But drill. It can't do any 'arm." + +The gad chipped away the rock. Soon the drill was biting into the +surface of the foot wall. Quitting time came; the drill was in two +feet, and in the morning, Fairchild went at his task again. Harry +watched him over a shoulder. + +"If it don't bring out anything in six feet--it ain't there," he +announced. Fairchild found the humor to smile. + +"You 're almost as cheerful as I am." Noon came and they stopped for +lunch. Fairchild finished the remark begun hours before. "I 'm in +four feet now--and all I get is rock." + +"Sure now?" + +"Look." + +They went to the foot wall and with a scraper brought out some of the +muggy mass caused by the pouring of water into the "down-hole" to make +the sittings capable of removal. Harry rubbed it with a thumb and +forefinger. + +"That's all," he announced, as he went back to his dinner pail. +Together, silently, they finished their luncheon. Once more Fairchild +took up his work, dully, almost lackadaisically, pounding away at the +long, six-foot drill with strokes that had behind them only muscles, +not the intense driving power of hope. A foot he progressed into the +foot wall and changed drills. Three inches more. Then-- + +"Harry!" + +"What's 'appened?" The tone of Fairchild's voice had caused the +Cornishman to lean from his staging and run to Fairchild's side. That +person had cupped his hand and was holding it beneath the drill hole, +while into it he was pulling the muck with the scraper and staring at +it. + +"This stuff's changed color!" he exclaimed. "It looks like--" + +"Let me see!" The older man took a portion of the blackish, gritty +mass and held it close to his carbide. "It looks like something--it +looks like something!" His voice was high, excited. "I 'll finish the +'ole and jam enough dynamite in there to tear the insides out of it. I +'ll give 'er 'ell. But in the meantime, you take that down to the +assayer!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +Fairchild did not hesitate. Scraping the watery conglomeration into a +tobacco can, he threw on his coat and ran for the shaft. Then he +pulled himself up, singing, and dived into the fresh-made drifts of a +new storm as he started toward town; nor did he stop to investigate the +fast fading footprints of some one who evidently had passed the mine a +short time before. Fairchild was too happy to notice such things just +now; in a tin can in his side pocket was a blackish, muggy mixture +which might mean worlds to him; he was hurrying to receive the verdict, +which could come only from the retorts and tests of one man, the +assayer. + +Into town and through it to the scrambling buildings of the Sampler, +where the main products of the mines of Ohadi found their way before +going to the smelter. There he swung wide the door and turned to the +little room on the left, the sanctum of a white-haired, almost +tottering old man who wandered about among his test tubes and "buttons" +as he figured out the various weights and values of the ores as the +samples were brought to him from the dirty, dusty, bin-filled rooms of +the Sampler proper. A queer light came into the old fellow's eyes as +he looked into those of Robert Fairchild. + +"Don't get 'em too high!" he admonished. + +Fairchild stared. + +"What?" + +"Hopes. I 've seen many a fellow come in just like you. I 've been +here thirty year. They call me Old Undertaker Chastine!" + +Fairchild laughed. + +"But I'm hoping--" + +"Yep, Son." Undertaker Chastine looked over his glasses. "You 're +just like all the rest. You 're hoping. That's what they all do; they +come in here with their eyes blazing like a grate fire and their faces +all lighted up as bright as an Italian cathedral. And they tell me +they 've got the world by the tail. Then I take their specimens and I +put 'em over the hurdles,--and half the time they go out wishing there +was n't any such person in the world as an assayer. Boy," and he +pursed his lips, "I 've buried more fortunes than you could shake a +stick at. I 've seen men come in here millionaires and go out +paupers--just because I 've had to tell 'em the truth. And I 'm +soft-hearted. I would n't kill a flea--not even if it was eatin' up +the best bird dog that ever set a pa'tridge. And just because o' that, +I 've adopted the system of taking all hope out of a fellow right in +the beginning. Then if you 've really got something, it's a joyful +surprise. If you ain't, the disappointment don't hurt so much. So +trot 'er out and let the old Undertaker have a look at 'er. But I 'm +telling you right at the start that it won't amount to much." + +Sobered now, Fairchild reached for his tobacco can, which had been +stuffed full of every scrap of slime that he and 'Arry had been able to +drag from the powder hole. Evidently, his drill had been in the ore, +whatever it was, for some time before he realized it; the can was +heavy, exceedingly heavy, giving evidence of purity of something at +least. But Undertaker Chastine shook his head. + +"Can't tell," he announced. "Feels heavy, looks black and all that. +But it might not be anything but straight lead with a sprinkling of +silver. I 've seen stuff that looked a lot better than this not run +more 'n fifteen dollars to the ton. And then again--" + +He began to tinker about with his pottery. He dragged out a scoop from +somewhere and prepared various white powders. Then he turned to the +furnace, with its high-chimneyed draft, and filled a container with the +contents of the tobacco can. + +"Let 'er roast, Son," he announced. "That's the only way. Let 'er +roast--and while it's getting hot, well, you just cool your heels." + +Long waiting--while the eccentric old assayer told doleful tales of +other days, tales of other men who had rushed in, just like Fairchild, +with their sample of ore, only to depart with the knowledge that they +were no richer than before, days when the news of the demonetization of +silver swooped down upon the little town like some black tornado, +closing down the mines, shutting up the gambling halls and great +saloons, nailing up the doors, even of the Sampler, for years to come. + +"Them was the times when there was a lot of undertakers around here +besides me," Chastine went on. "Everybody was an undertaker then. +Lor', Boy, how that thing hit. We 'd been getting along pretty well at +ninety-five cents and a dollar an ounce for silver, and there was men +around here wearing hats that was the biggest in the shop, but that did +n't come anywhere near fittin' 'em. And then, all of a sudden, it hit! +We used to get in all our quotations in those days over the telephone, +and every morning I 'd phone down to Old Man Saxby that owned the +Sampler then to find out how the New York market stood. The treasury, +you know, had been buying up three or four million ounces of silver a +month for minting. Then some high-falutin' Congressman got the idea +they didn't want to do that any more, and he began to talk. Well, one +morning, I telephoned down, and silver 'd dropped to eighty-five. The +next morning it went to seventy. The House or the Senate, I 've +forgotten which, had passed the demonetization bill. After that, +things dragged along and then--I telephoned down again. + +"'What's the quotation on silver?' I asked him." + +"'Hell,' says Old Man Saxby, 'there ain't any quotation! Close 'er +up--close up everything. They 've passed the demonetization bill, the +president 's going to sign it, and you ain't got a job.' + +"And young feller--" Old Undertaker Chastine looked over his glasses +again, "that was some real disappointment. And it's a lot worse than +you 're liable to get in a minute." + +He turned to the furnace and took out the pottery dish in which the +sample had been smelting, white-hot now. He cooled it and tinkered +with his chemicals. He fussed with his scales, he adjusted his +glasses, he coughed once or twice in an embarrassed manner; finally to +turn to Fairchild. + +"Young man," he queried, "it ain't any of my business, but where 'd you +get this ore?" + +"Out of my mine, the Blue Poppy!" + +"Sure you ain't been visiting?" + +"What do you mean?" Fairchild was staring at him in wonderment. + +Old Undertaker Chastine rubbed his hands on his big apron and continued +to look over his glasses. + +"What 'll you take for the Blue Poppy mine, Son?" + +"Why--it's not for sale." + +"Sure it ain't going to be--soon?" + +"Absolutely not." Then Fairchild caught the queer look in the man's +eyes. "What do you mean by all these questions? Is that good ore--or +is n't it?" + +"Son, just one more question--and I hope you won't get mad at me. I 'm +a funny old fellow, and I do a lot of things that don't seem right at +the beginning. But I 've saved a few young bloods like you from +trouble more than once. You ain't been high-grading?" + +"You mean--" + +"Just exactly what I said--wandering around somebody else's property +and picking up a few samples, as it were, to mix in with your own +product? Or planting them where they can be found easily by a +prospective buyer?" + +Fairchild's chin set, and his arms moved slowly. Then he +laughed--laughed at the small, white-haired, eccentric old man who +through his very weakness had the strength to ask insulting questions. + +"No--I 'll give you my word I have n't been high-grading," he said at +last. "My partner and I drilled a hole in the foot wall of the stope +where we were working, hoping to find the rest of a vein that was +pinching out on us. And we got this stuff. Is it any good?" + +"Is it good?" Again Old Undertaker Chastine looked over his glasses. +"That's just the trouble. It's too good--it's so good that it seems +there's something funny about it. Son, that stuff assays within a +gram, almost, of the ore they 're taking out of the Silver Queen!" + +"What's that?" Fairchild had leaped forward and grasped the other man +by the shoulders, his eyes agleam, his whole being trembling with +excitement. "You're not kidding me about it? You're sure--you 're +sure?" + +"Absolutely! That's why I was so careful for a minute. I thought +maybe you had been doing a little high-grading or had been up there and +sneaked away some of the ore for a salting proposition. Boy, you 've +got a bonanza, if this holds out." + +"And it really--" + +"It's almost identical. I never saw two samples of ore that were more +alike. Let's see, the Blue Poppy's right up Kentucky Gulch, not so +very far away from the Silver Queen, is n't it? Then there must be a +tremendous big vein concealed around there somewhere that splits, one +half of it running through the mountain in one direction and the other +cutting through on the opposite side. It looks like peaches and cream +for you, Son. How thick is it?" + +"I don't know. We just happened to put a drill in there and this is +some of the scrapings." + +"You have n't cut into it at all, then?" + +"Not unless Harry, my partner, has put in a shot since I 've been gone. +As soon as we saw that we were into ore, I hurried away to come down +here to get an assay." + +"Well, Son, now you can hurry back and begin cutting into a fortune. +If that vein's only four inches wide, you 've got plenty to keep you +for the rest of your life." + +"It must be more than that--the drill must have been into it several +inches before I ever noticed it. I 'd been scraping the muck out of +there without paying much attention. It looked so hopeless." + +Undertaker Chastine turned to his work. + +"Then hurry along, Son. I suppose," he asked, as he looked over his +glasses for the last time, "that you don't want me to say anything +about it?" + +"Not until--" + +"You 're sure. I know. Well, good news is awful hard to keep--but I +'ll do my best. Run along." + +And Fairchild "ran." Whistling and happy, he turned out of the office +of the Sampler and into the street, his coat open, his big cap high on +his head, regardless of the sweep of the cold wind and the fine snow +that it carried on its icy breath. Through town he went, bumping into +pedestrians now and then, and apologizing in a vacant, absent manner. +The waiting of months was over, and Fairchild at last was beginning to +see his dreams come true. Like a boy, he turned up Kentucky Gulch, +bucking the big drifts and kicking the snow before him in flying, +splattering spray, stopping his whistling now and then to +sing,--foolish songs without words or rhyme or rhythm, the songs of a +heart too much engrossed with the joy of living to take cognizance of +mere rules of melody! + +So this was the reason that Rodaine had acknowledged the value of the +mine that day in court! This was the reason for the mysterious offer +of fifty thousand dollars and for the later one of nearly a quarter of +a million! Rodaine had known; Rodaine had information, and Rodaine had +been willing to pay to gain possession of what now appeared to be a +bonanza. But Rodaine had failed. And Fairchild had won! + +Won! But suddenly he realized that there was a blankness about it all. +He had won money, it is true. But all the money in the world could not +free him from the taint that had been left upon him by a coroner's +investigation, from the hint that still remained in the recommendation +of the grand jury that the murder of Sissie Larsen be looked into +further. Nor could it remove the stigma of the four charges against +Harry, which soon were to come to trial, and without a bit of evidence +to combat them. Riches could do much--but they could not aid in that +particular, and somewhat sobered by the knowledge, Fairchild turned +from the main road and on up through the high-piled snow to the mouth +of the Blue Poppy mine. + +A faint acrid odor struck his nostrils as he started to descend the +shaft, the "perfume" of exploded dynamite, and it sent anew into +Fairchild's heart the excitement and intensity of the strike. +Evidently Harry had shot the deep hole, and now, there in the chamber, +was examining the result, which must, by this time, give some idea of +the extent of the ore and the width of the vein. Fairchild pulled on +the rope with enthusiastic strength, while the bucket bumped and +swirled about the shaft in descent. A moment more and he had reached +the bottom, to leap from the carrier, light his carbide lamp which hung +where he had left it on the timbers, and start forward. + +The odor grew heavier. Fairchild held his light before him and looked +far ahead, wondering why he could not see the gleam from Harry's lamp. +He shouted. There was no answer, and he went on. + +Fifty feet! Seventy-five! Then he stopped short with a gasp. Twisted +and torn before him were the timbers of the tunnel, while muck and +refuse lay everywhere. A cave-in--another cave-in--at almost the exact +spot where the one had occurred years before, shutting off the chamber +from communication with the shaft, tearing and rending the new timbers +which had been placed there and imprisoning Harry behind them! + +Fairchild shouted again and again, only gaining for his answer the +ghostlike echoes of his own voice as they traveled to the shaft and +were thrown back again. He tore off his coat and cap, and attacked the +timbers like the fear-maddened man he was, dragging them by superhuman +force out of the way and clearing a path to the refuse. Then, running +along the little track, he searched first on one side, then the other, +until, nearly at the shaft, he came upon a miner's pick and a shovel. +With these, he returned to the task before him. + +Hours passed, while the sweat poured from his forehead and while his +muscles seemed to tear themselves loose from their fastenings with the +exertion that was placed upon them. Foot after foot, the muck was torn +away, as Fairchild, with pick and shovel, forced a tunnel through the +great mass of rocky debris which choked the drift. Onward--onward--at +last to make a small opening in the barricade, and to lean close to it +that he might shout again. But still there was no answer. + +Feverish now, Fairchild worked with all the reserve strength that was +in him. He seized great chunks of rock that he could not even have +budged at an ordinary time and threw them far behind him. His pick +struck again and again with a vicious, clanging reverberation; the hole +widened. Once more Fairchild leaned toward it. + +"Harry!" he called. "Harry!" + +But there was no answer. Again he shouted, then he returned to his +work, his heart aching in unison with his muscles. Behind that broken +mass, Fairchild felt sure, was his partner, torn, bleeding through the +effects of some accident, he did not know what, past answering his +calls, perhaps dead. Greater became the hole in the cave-in; soon it +was large enough to admit his body. Seizing his carbide lamp, +Fairchild made for the opening and crawled through, hurrying onward +toward the chamber where the stope began, calling Harry's name at every +step, in vain. The shadows before him lengthened, as the chamber gave +greater play to the range of light. Fairchild rushed within, held high +his carbide and looked about him. But no crumpled form of a man lay +there, no bruised, torn human being. The place was empty, except for +the pile of stone and refuse which had been torn away by dynamite +explosions in the hanging wall, where Harry evidently had shot away the +remaining refuse in a last effort to see what lay in that +direction,--stones and muck which told nothing. On the other side-- + +Fairchild stared blankly. The hole that he had made into the foot wall +had been filled with dynamite and tamped, as though ready for shooting. +But the charge had not been exploded. Instead--on the ground lay the +remainder of the tamping paper and a short foot and a half of fuse, +with its fulminate of mercury cap attached, where it had been pulled +from its berth by some great force and hastily stamped out. And Harry-- + +Harry was gone! + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +It was as though the shades of the past had come to life again, to +repeat in the twentieth century a happening of the nineteenth. There +was only one difference--no form of a dead man now lay against the foot +wall, to rest there more than a score of years until it should come to +light, a pile of bones in time-shredded clothing. And as he thought of +it, Fairchild remembered that the earthly remains of "Sissie" Larsen +had lain within almost a few feet of the spot where he had drilled the +prospect hole into the foot wall, there to discover the ore that +promised bonanza. + +But this time there was nothing and no clue to the mystery of Harry's +disappearance. Fairchild suddenly strengthened with an idea. Perhaps, +after all, he had been on the other side of the cave-in and had hurried +on out of the mine. But in that event, would he not have waited for +his return, to tell him of the accident? Or would he not have +proceeded down to the Sampler to bring the news if he had not cared to +remain at the tunnel opening? However, it was a chance, and Fairchild +took it. Once more he crawled through the hole that he had made in the +cave-in and sought the outward world. Then he hurried down Kentucky +Gulch and to the Sampler. But Harry had not been there. He went +through town, asking questions, striving his best to shield his +anxiety, cloaking his queries under the cover of cursory remarks. +Harry had not been seen. At last, with the coming of night, he turned +toward the boarding house, and on his arrival. Mother Howard, sighting +his white face, hurried to him. + +"Have you seen Harry?" he asked. + +"No--he has n't been here." + +It was the last chance. Clutching fear at his heart, he told Mother +Howard of the happenings at the mine, quickly, as plainly as possible. +Then once more he went forth, to retrace his steps to the Blue Poppy, +to buck the wind and the fine snow and the high, piled drifts, and to +go below. But the surroundings were the same: still the cave-in, with +its small hole where he had torn through it, still the ragged hanging +wall where Harry had fired the last shots of dynamite in his +investigations, still the trampled bit of fuse with its cap attached. +Nothing more. Gingerly Fairchild picked up the cap and placed it where +a chance kick could not explode it. Then he returned to the shaft. + +Back into the black night, with the winds whistling through the pines. +Back to wandering about through the hills, hurrying forward at the +sight of every faint, dark object against the snow, in the hope that +Harry, crippled by the cave-in, might have some way gotten out of the +shaft. But they were only boulders or logs or stumps of trees. At +midnight, Fairchild turned once more toward town and to the boarding +house. But Harry had not appeared. There was only one thing left to +do. + +This time, when Fairchild left Mother Howard's, his steps did not lead +him toward Kentucky Gulch. Instead he kept straight on up the street, +past the little line of store buildings and to the courthouse, where he +sought out the sole remaining light in the bleak, black +building,--Sheriff Bardwell's office. That personage was nodding in +his chair, but removed his feet from the desk and turned drowsily as +Fairchild entered. + +"Well?" he questioned, "what's up?" + +"My partner has disappeared. I want to report to you--and see if I can +get some help." + +"Disappeared? Who?" + +"Harry Harkins. He 's a big Cornishman, with a large mustache, very +red face, about sixty years old, I should judge--" + +"Wait a minute," Bardwell's eyes narrowed. "Ain't he the fellow I +arrested in the Blue Poppy mine the night of the Old Times dance?" + +"Yes." + +"And you say he 's disappeared?" + +"I think you heard me!" Fairchild spoke with some asperity. "I said +that he had disappeared, and I want some help in hunting for him. He +may be injured, for all I know, and if he 's out here in the mountains +anywhere, it's almost sure death for him unless he can get some aid +soon. I--" + +But the sheriff's eyes still remained suspiciously narrow. + +"When does his trial come up?" + +"A week from to-morrow." + +"And he 's disappeared." A slow smile came over the other man's lips. +"I don't think it will help much to start any relief expedition for +him. The thing to do is to get a picture and a general description and +send it around to the police in the various parts of the country! That +'ll be the best way to find him!" + +Fairchild's teeth gritted, but he could not escape the force of the +argument, from the sheriff's standpoint. For a moment there was +silence, then the miner came closer to the desk. + +"Sheriff," he said as calmly as possible, "you have a perfect right to +give that sort of view. That's your business--to suspect people. +However, I happen to feel sure that my partner would stand trial, no +matter what the charge, and that he would not seek to evade it in any +way. Some sort of an accident happened at the mine this afternoon--a +cave-in or an explosion that tore out the roof of the tunnel--and I am +sure that my partner is injured, has made his way out of the mine, and +is wandering among the hills. Will you help me to find him?" + +The sheriff wheeled about in his chair and studied a moment. Then he +rose. + +"Guess I will," he announced. "It can't do any harm to look for him, +anyway." + +Half an hour later, aided by two deputies who had been summoned from +their homes, Fairchild and the sheriff left for the hills to begin the +search for the missing Harry. Late the next afternoon, they returned +to town, tired, their horses almost crawling in their dragging pace +after sixteen hours of travel through the drifts of the hills and +gullies. Harry had not been found, and so Fairchild reported when, +with drooping shoulders, he returned to the boarding house and to the +waiting Mother Howard. And both knew that this time Harry's +disappearance was no joke, as it had been before. They realized that +back of it all was some sinister reason, some mystery which they could +not solve,--for the present at least. That night, Fairchild faced the +future and made his resolve. + +There was only a week now until Harry's case should come to trial. +Only a week until the failure of the defendant to appear should throw +the deeds of the Blue Poppy mine into the hands of the court, to be +sold for the amount of the bail. And in spite of the fact that +Fairchild now felt his mine to be a bonanza, unless some sort of a +miracle could happen before that time, the mine was the same as lost. +True, it would go to the highest bidder at a public sale and any money +brought in above the amount of bail would be returned to him. But who +would be that bidder? Who would get the mine--perhaps for twenty or +twenty-five thousand dollars, when it now was worth millions? +Certainly not he. Already he and Harry had borrowed from Mother Howard +all that she could lend them. True she had friends; but none could +produce from twenty to two hundred thousand dollars for a mine, simply +on his word. And unless something should happen to intervene, unless +Harry should return, or in some way Fairchild could raise the necessary +five thousand dollars to furnish a cash bond and again recover the +deeds of the Blue Poppy, he was no better off than before the strike +was made. Long he thought, finally to come to his conclusion, and +then, with the air of a gambler who has placed his last bet to win or +lose, he went to bed. + +But morning found him awake long before the rest of the house was +stirring. Downtown he hurried, to eat a hasty breakfast in the +all-night restaurant, then to start on a search for men. The first +workers on the street that morning found Fairchild offering them six +dollars a day. And by eight o'clock, ten of them were at work in the +drift of the Blue Poppy mine, working against time that they might +repair the damage which had been caused by the cave-in. + +It was not an easy task. That day and the next and the next after +that, they labored. Then Fairchild glanced at the progress that was +being made and sought out the pseudo-foreman. + +"Will it be finished by night?" he asked. + +"Easily." + +"Very well. I may need these men to work on a day and night shift, I +'m not sure. I 'll be back in an hour." + +Away he went and up the shaft, to travel as swiftly as possible through +the drift-piled road down Kentucky Gulch and to the Sampler. There he +sought out old Undertaker Chastine, and with him went to the proprietor. + +"My name is Fairchild, and I 'm in trouble," he said candidly. "I 've +brought Mr. Chastine in with me because he assayed some of my ore a few +days ago and believes he knows what it's worth. I 'm working against +time to get five thousand dollars. If I can produce ore that runs two +hundred dollars to the ton, and if I 'll sell it to you for one hundred +seventy-five dollars a ton until I can get the money I need, provided I +can get the permission of the court,--will you put it through for me?" + +The Sampler owner smiled. + +"If you 'll let me see where you 're getting the ore." Then he figured +a moment. "That 'd be thirty or forty ton," came at last. "We could +handle that as fast as you could bring it in here." + +But a new thought had struck Fairchild,--a new necessity for money. + +"I 'll give it to you for one hundred fifty dollars a ton, providing +you do the hauling and lend me enough after the first day or so to pay +my men." + +"But why all the excitement--and the rush?" + +"My partner 's Harry Harkins. He 's due for trial Friday, and he 's +disappeared. The mine is up as security. You can see what will happen +unless I can substitute a cash bond for the amount due before that +time. Is n't that sufficient?" + +"It ought to be. But as I said, I want to see where the ore comes +from." + +"You 'll see in the morning--if I 've got it," answered Fairchild with +a new hope thrilling in his voice. "All that I have so far is an assay +of some drill scrapings. I don't know how thick the vein is or whether +it's going to pinch out in ten minutes after we strike it. But I 'll +know mighty soon." + +Every cent that Robert Fairchild possessed in the world was in his +pockets,--two hundred dollars. After he had paid his men for their +three days of labor, there would be exactly twenty dollars left. But +Fairchild did not hesitate. To Farrell's office he went and with him +to an interview, in chambers, with the judge. Then, the necessary +permission having been granted, he hurried back to the mine and into +the drift, there to find the last of the muck being scraped away from +beneath the site of the cave-in. Fairchild paid off. Then he turned +to the foreman. + +"How many of these men are game to take a chance?" + +"Pretty near all of 'em--if there 's any kind of a gamble to it." + +"There 's a lot of gamble. I 've got just twenty dollars in my +pocket--enough to pay each man one dollar apiece for a night's work if +my hunch doesn't pan out. If it does pan, the wages are twenty dollars +a day for three days, with everybody, including myself, working like +hell! Who's game?" + +The answer came in unison. Fairchild led the way to the chamber, +seized a hammer and took his place. + +"There 's two-hundred-dollar ore back of this foot wall if we can break +in and start a new stope," he announced. "It takes a six-foot hole to +reach it, and we can have the whole story by morning. Let's go!" + +Along the great length of the foot wall, extending all the distance of +the big chamber, the men began their work, five men to the drills and +as many to the sledges, as they started their double-jacking. Hour +after hour the clanging of steel against steel sounded in the big +underground room, as the drills bit deeper and deeper into the hard +formation of the foot wall, driving steadily forward until their +contact should have a different sound, and the muggy scrapings bear a +darker hue than that of mere wall-rock. Hour after hour passed, while +the drill-turners took their places with the sledges, and the sledgers +went to the drills--the turnabout system of "double-jacking"--with +Fairchild, the eleventh man, filling in along the line as an extra +sledger, that the miners might be the more relieved in their strenuous, +frenzied work. Midnight came. The first of the six-foot drills sank +to its ultimate depth. Then the second and third and fourth: finally +the fifth. They moved on. Hours more of work, and the operation had +been repeated. The workmen hurried for the powder house, far down the +drift, by the shaft, lugging back in their pockets the yellow, +candle-like sticks of dynamite, with their waxy wrappers and their +gelatinous contents together with fuses and caps. Crimping +nippers--the inevitable accompaniment of a miner--came forth from the +pockets of the men. Careful tamping, then the men took their places at +the fuses. + +"Give the word!" one of them announced crisply as he turned to +Fairchild. "Each of us 'll light one of these things, and then I say +we 'll run! Because this is going to be some explosion!" + +Fairchild smiled the smile of a man whose heart is thumping at its +maximum speed. Before him in the long line of the foot wall were ten +holes, "up-holes", "downs" and "swimmers", attacking the hidden ore in +every direction. Ten holes drilled six feet into the rock and tamped +with double charges of dynamite. He straightened. + +"All right, men! Ready?" + +"Ready!" + +"Touch 'em off!" + +The carbide lamps were held close to the fuses for a second. Soon they +were all going, spitting like so many venomous, angry serpents--but +neither Fairchild nor the miners had stopped to watch. They were +running as hard as possible for the shaft and for the protection that +distance might give. A wait that seemed ages. Then: + +"One!" + +"And two--and three!" + +"There goes four and five--they went together!" + +"Six--seven--eight--nine--" + +Again a wait, while they looked at one another with vacuous eyes. A +long interval until the tenth. + +"Two went together then! I thought we 'd counted nine?" The foreman +stared, and Fairchild studied. Then his face lighted. + +"Eleven 's right. One of them must have set off the charge that Harry +left in there. All the better--it gives us just that much more of a +chance." + +Back they went along the drift tunnel now, coughing slightly as the +sharp smoke of the dynamite cut their lungs. A long journey that +seemed as many miles instead of feet. Then with a shout, Fairchild +sprang forward, and went to his hands and knees. + +It was there before him--all about him--the black, heavy masses of +lead-silver ore, a great, heaping, five-ton pile of it where it had +been thrown out by the tremendous force of the explosion. It seemed +that the whole great floor of the cavern was covered with it, and the +workmen shouted with Fairchild as they seized bits of the precious +black stuff and held it to the light for closer examination. + +"Look!" The voice of one of them was high and excited. "You can see +the fine streaks of silver sticking out! It's high-grade and plenty of +it!" + +But Fairchild paid little attention. He was playing in the stuff, +throwing it in the air and letting it fall to the floor of the cavern +again, like a boy with a new sack of marbles, or a child with its +building blocks. Five tons and the night was not yet over! Five tons, +and the vein had not yet shown its other side! + +Back to work they went now, six of the men drilling, Fairchild and the +other four mucking out the refuse, hauling it up the shaft, and then +turning to the ore that they might get it to the old, rotting bins and +into position for loading as soon as the owner of the Sampler could be +notified in the morning and the trucks could fight their way through +the snowdrifts of Kentucky Gulch to the mine for loading. Again +through the hours the drills bit into the rock walls, while the ore car +clattered along the tram line and while the creaking of the block and +tackle at the shaft seemed endless. In three days, approximately forty +tons of ore must come out of that mine,--and work must not cease. + +Morning, and in spite of the sleep-laden eyes, the heavy aching in his +head, the tired drooping of the shoulders, Fairchild tramped to the +boarding house to notify Mother Howard and ask for news of Harry. +There had been none. Then he went on, to wait by the door of the +Sampler until Bittson, the owner, should appear, and drag him away up +the hill, even before he could open up for the morning. + +"There it is!" he exclaimed, as he led him to the entrance of the +chamber. "There it is; take all you want of it and assay it!" + +Bittson went forward into the cross-cut, where the men were drilling +even at new holes, and examined the vein. Already it was three feet +thick, and there was still ore ahead. One of the miners looked up. + +"Just finishing up on the cross-cut," he announced, as he nodded toward +his drill. "I 've just bitten into the foot wall on the other side. +Looks to me like the vein 's about five feet thick--as near as I can +measure it." + +"And--" Bittson picked up a few samples, examined them by the light of +the carbides and tossed them away--"you can see the silver sticking +out. I caught sight of a couple of pencil threads of it in one or two +of those samples. All right, Boy!" he turned to Fairchild. "What was +that bargain we made?" + +"It was based on two hundred dollars a ton ore. This may run above--or +below. But whatever it is, I 'll sell you all you can handle for the +next three days at fifty dollars a ton under the assay price." + +"You 've said the word. The trucks will be here in an hour if we have +to shovel a path all the way up Kentucky Gulch." + +He hurried away then, while Fairchild and the men followed him into +town and to their breakfast. Then, recruiting a new gang on the +promise of payment at the end of their three-day shift, Fairchild went +back to the mine. But the word had spread, and others were there +before him. + +Already a wide path showed up Kentucky Gulch. Already fifteen or +twenty miners were assembled about the opening of the Blue Poppy +tunnel, awaiting permission to enter, the usual rush upon a lucky mine +to view its riches. Behind him, Fairchild could see others coming from +Ohadi to take a look at the new strike, and his heart bounded with +happiness tinged with sorrow. Harry was not there to enjoy it all; +Harry was gone, and in spite of his every effort, Fairchild had failed +to find him. + +All that morning they thronged down the shaft of the Blue Poppy. The +old method of locomotion grew too slow; willing hands repaired the +hoist and sent volunteers for a gasoline engine to run it, while in the +meantime officials of curiosity labored on the broken old ladder that +once had encompassed the distance from the bottom of the shaft to the +top, rehabilitating it to such an extent that it might be used again. +The drift was crowded with persons bearing candles and carbides. The +big chamber was filled, leaving barely room for the men to work with +their drills at the final holes that would be needed to clear the vein +to the foot wall on the other side and enable the miners to start +upward on their new stope. Fairchild looked about him proudly, +happily; it was his, his and Harry's--if Harry ever should come back +again--the thing he had worked for, the thing he had dreamed of, +planned for. + +Some one brushed against him, and there came a slight tug at his coat. +Fairchild looked downward to see passing the form of Anita Richmond. A +moment later she looked toward him, but in her eyes there was no light +of recognition, nothing to indicate that she had just given him a +signal of greeting and congratulation. And yet Fairchild felt that she +had. Uneasily he walked away, following her with his eyes as she made +her way into the blackness of the tunnel and toward the shaft. Then, +absently, he put his hand into his pocket. + +Something there caused his heart to halt momentarily,--a piece of +paper. He crumpled it in his hand, he rubbed his fingers over it +wonderingly; it had not been in his pocket before she had passed him. +Hurriedly he walked to the far side of the chamber and there, +pretending to examine a bit of ore, brought the missive from its place +of secretion, to unfold it with trembling fingers, then to stare at the +words which showed before him: + + +"Squint Rodaine is terribly worried about something. Has been on an +awful rampage all morning. Something critical is brewing, but I don't +know what. Suggest you keep watch on him. Please destroy this." + + +That was all. There was no signature. But Robert Fairchild had seen +the writing of Anita Richmond once before! + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +So she was his friend! So all these days of waiting had not been in +vain; all the cutting hopelessness of seeing her, only to have her turn +away her head and fail to recognize him, had been for their purpose +after all. And yet Fairchild remembered that she was engaged to +Maurice Rodaine, and that the time of the wedding must be fast +approaching. Perhaps there had been a quarrel, perhaps-- Then he +smiled. There was no perhaps about it! Anita Richmond was his friend; +she had been forced into the promise of marriage to Maurice Rodaine, +but she had not been forced into a relinquishment of her desire to +reward him somehow, some way, for the attention that he had shown her +and the liking that she knew existed in his heart. + +Hastily Fairchild folded the paper and stuffed it into an inside +pocket. Then, seeking out one of the workmen, he appointed him foreman +of the gang, to take charge in his absence. Following which, he made +his way out of the mine and into town, there to hire men of Mother +Howard's suggestion and send them to the Blue Poppy, to take their +stations every few feet along the tunnel, to appear mere spectators, +but in reality to be guards who were constantly on the watch for +anything untoward that might occur. Fairchild was taking no chances +now. An hour more found him at the Sampler, watching the ore as it ran +through the great crusher hoppers, to come forth finely crumbled powder +and be sampled, ton by ton, for the assays by old Undertaker Chastine +and the three other men of his type, without which no sampler pays for +ore. Bittson approached, grinning. + +"You guessed just about right," he announced. "That stuff 's running +right around two hundred dollars a ton. Need any money now?" + +"All you can let me have!" + +"Four or five hundred? We 've gotten in eight tons of that stuff +already; don't guess I 'd be taking any risk on that!" he chuckled. +Fairchild reached for the currency eagerly. All but a hundred dollars +of it would go to Mother Howard,--for that debt must be paid off first. +And, that accomplished, denying himself the invitation of rest that his +bed held forth for him, he started out into town, apparently to loiter +about the streets and receive the congratulations of the towns-people, +but in reality to watch for one person and one alone,--Squint Rodaine! + +He saw him late in the afternoon, shambling along, his eyes glaring, +his lips moving wordlessly, and he took up the trail. But it led only +to the office of the Silver Queen Development Company, where the +scar-faced man doubled at his desk, and, stuffing a cigar into his +mouth, chewed on it angrily. Instinctively Fairchild knew that the +greatest part of his mean temper was due to the strike in the Blue +Poppy; instinctively also he felt that Squint Rodaine had known of the +value all along, that now he was cursing himself for the failure of his +schemes to obtain possession of what had appeared until only a day +before to be nothing more than a disappointing, unlucky, ill-omened +hole in the ground. Fairchild resumed his loitering, but evening found +him near the Silver Queen office. + +Squint Rodaine did not leave for dinner. The light burned long in the +little room, far past the usual closing time and until after the +picture-show crowds had come and gone, while the man of the blue-white +scar remained at his desk, staring at papers, making row after row of +figures, and while outside, facing the chill and the cold of winter, +Fairchild trod the opposite side of the street, careful that no one +caught the import of his steady, sentry-like pace, yet equally careful +that he did not get beyond a range of vision where he could watch the +gleam of light from the office of the Silver Queen. Anita's note had +told him little, yet had implied much. Something was fermenting in the +seething brain of Squint Rodaine, and if the past counted for anything, +it was something that concerned him. + +An hour more, then Fairchild suddenly slunk into the shadows of a +doorway. Squint had snapped out the light and was locking the door. A +moment later he had passed him, his form bent, his shoulders hunched +forward, his lips muttering some unintelligible jargon. Fifty feet +more, then Fairchild stepped from the doorway and took up the trail. + +It was not a hard one to follow. The night wind had brought more snow +with it, to make a silent pad upon the sidewalks and to outline to +Fairchild more easily the figure which slouched before him. Gradually +Robert dropped farther and farther in the rear; it gave him that much +more protection, that much more surety in trailing his quarry to +wherever he might be bound. + +And it was a certainty that the destination was not home. Squint +Rodaine passed the street leading to his house without even looking up. +Two blocks more, and they reached the city limits. But Squint kept on, +and far in the rear, watching carefully every move, Fairchild followed +his quarry's shadow. + +A mile, and they were in the open country, crossing and recrossing the +ice-dotted Clear Creek. A furlong more, then Fairchild went to his +knees that he might use the snow for a better background. Squint +Rodaine had turned up the lane which led to a great, shambling, old, +white building that, in the rosy days of the mining game, had been a +roadhouse with its roulette wheels, its bar, its dining tables and its +champagne, but which now, barely furnished in only a few of its rooms, +inhabited by mountain rats and fluttering bats and general decay for +the most part, formed the uncomfortable abode of Crazy Laura! + +And Fairchild followed. It could mean only one thing when Rodaine +sought the white-haired, mumbling old hag whom once he had called his +wife. It could mean but one outcome, and that of disaster for some +one. Mother Howard had said that Crazy Laura would kill for Squint. +Fairchild felt sure that once, at least, she had lied for him, so that +the name of Thornton Fairchild might be branded as that of a murderer +and that his son might be set down in the community as a person of +ill-intent and one not to be trusted. And now that Squint Rodaine was +seeking her once more, Fairchild meant to follow, and to hear--if such +a thing were within the range of human possibility--the evil drippings +of his crooked lips. + +He crossed to the side of the road where ran the inevitable gully and +taking advantage of the shelter, hurried forward, smiling grimly in the +darkness at the memory of the fact that things were now reversed; that +he was following Squint Rodaine as Rodaine once had followed him. +Swiftly he moved, closer--closer; the scar-faced man went through the +tumble-down gate and approached the house, not knowing that his pursuer +was less than fifty yards away! + +A moment of cautious waiting then, in which Fairchild did not move. +Finally a light showed in an upstairs room of the house, and Fairchild, +masking his own footprints in those made by Rodaine, crept to the +porch. Swiftly, silently, protected by the pad of snow on the soles of +his shoes, he made the doorway and softly tried the lock. It gave +beneath his pressure, and he glided within the dark hallway, musty and +dusty in its odor, forbidding, evil and dark. A mountain rat, already +disturbed by the entrance of Rodaine, scampered across his feet, and +Fairchild shrunk into a corner, hiding himself as best he could in case +the noise should cause an investigation from above. But it did not. +Now Fairchild could hear voices, and in a moment more they became +louder, as a door opened. + +"It don't make any difference! I ain't going to stand for it! I tell +you to do something and you go and make a mess of it! Why did n't you +wait until they were both there?" + +"I--I thought they were, Roady!" The woman's voice was whining, +pleading. "Ain't you going to kiss me?" + +"No, I ain't going to kiss you. You went and made a mess of things." + +"You kissed me the night our boy was born. Remember that, Roady? +Don't you remember how you kissed me then?" + +"That was a long time ago, and you were a different woman then. You 'd +do what I 'd tell you." + +"But I do now, Roady. Honest, I do. I 'll do anything you tell me +to--if you 'll just be good to me. Why don't you hold me in your arms +any more--?" + +A scuffling sound came from above. Fairchild knew that she had made an +effort to clasp him to her, and that he had thrust her away. The +voices came closer. + +"You know what you got us into, don't you? They made a strike there +to-day--same value as in the Silver Queen. If it had n't been for +you--" + +"But they get out someway--they always get out." The voice was high +and weird now. "They 're immortal. That's what they are--they 're +immortal. They have the gift--they can get out--" + +"Bosh! Course they get out when you wait until after they 're gone. +Why, one of 'em was downtown at the assayer's, so I understand, when +you went in there." + +"But the other--he 's immortal. He got out--" + +"You're crazy!" + +"Yes, crazy!" She suddenly shrieked at the word. "That's what they +all call me--Crazy Laura. And you call me Crazy Laura too, when my +back 's turned. But I ain't--hear me--I ain't! I know--they're +immortal, just like the others were immortal! I can't hold 'em when +they 've got the spirit that rises above--I 've tried, ain't I--and I +'ve only got one!" + +"One?" Squint's voice became suddenly excited. "One--what one?" + +"I 'm not going to tell. But I know--Crazy Laura--that's what they +call me--and they give me a sulphur pillow to sleep on. But I know--I +know!" + +There was silence then for a moment, and Fairchild, huddled in the +darkness below, felt the creeping, crawling chill of horror pass over +him as he listened. Above were a rogue and a lunatic, discussing +between them what, at times, seemed to concern him and his partner; +more, it seemed to go back to other days, when other men had worked the +Blue Poppy and met misfortunes. A bat fluttered about, just passing +his face, its vermin-covered wings sending the musty air close against +his cringing flesh. Far at the other side of the big hall a mountain +rat resumed its gnawing. Then it ceased. Squint Rodaine was talking +again. + +"So you 're not going to tell me about 'the one', eh? What have you +got this door shut for?" + +"No door 's shut." + +"It is--don't you think I can see? This door leading into the front +room." + +The sound of heavy shoes, followed by a lighter tread. Then a scream +above which could be heard the jangling of a rusty lock and the bumping +of a shoulder against wood. High and strident came Crazy Laura's voice: + +"Stay out of there--I tell you, Roady! Stay out of there! It's +something that mortals should n't see--it's something--stay out--stay +out!" + +"I won't--unlock this door!" + +"I can't do it--the time has n't come yet--I must n't--" + +"You won't--well, there 's another way." A crash, the sudden, +stumbling feet of a man, then the scratching of a match and an +exclamation: "So this is your immortal, eh?" + +Only a moaning answered, moaning intermingled with some vague form of a +weird chant, the words of which Fairchild in the musty, dark hall below +could not distinguish. At last came Squint's voice again, this time in +softened tones: + +"Laura--Laura, honey." + +"Yes, Squint." + +"Why did n't you tell your sweetheart about this?" + +"I must n't--you 've spoiled it now, Roady." + +"No--Honey. I can show you the way. He 's nearly gone. What were you +going to do when he went--?" + +"He 'd have dissolved in air, Roady--I know. The spirits have told me." + +"Perhaps so." The voice of the scar-faced, mean-visaged Squint Rodaine +was still honeyed, still cajoling. "Perhaps so--but not at once. Is +n't there a barrel of lime in the basement?" + +"Yes." + +"Come downstairs with me." + +They started downward then, and Fairchild, creeping as swiftly as he +could, hurried under the protection of the rotten casing, where the +wainscoting had dropped away with the decay of years. There he watched +them pass, Rodaine in the lead, carrying a smoking lamp with its +half-broken chimney careening on the base. Crazy Laura, mumbling her +toothless gums, her hag-like hands extended before her, shuffling along +in the rear. He heard them go far to the rear of the house, then +descend more stairs. And he went flat to his stomach on the floor, +with his ear against a tiny chink that he might hear the better. +Squint still was talking in his loving tones. + +"See, Honey," he was saying. "I 've--I 've broken the spell by going +in upstairs. You should have told me. I did n't know--I just +thought--well, I thought there was some one in there you liked, and I +got jealous." + +"Did you, Roady?" She cackled. "Did you?" + +"Yes--I did n't know you had _him_ there. And you were making him +immortal?" + +"I found him, Roady. His eyes were shut, and he was bleeding. It was +at dusk, and nobody saw him when I carried him in here. Then I started +giving him the herbs--" + +"That you 've gathered around at night?" + +"Yes--where the dead sleep. I get the red berries most. That's the +blood of the dead, come to life again." + +The quaking, crazy voice from below caused Fairchild to shiver with a +sudden cold that no warmth could eradicate. Still, however, he lay +there listening, fearful that every move from below might bring a +cessation of their conversation. But Rodaine talked on. + +"Of course, I know. But I 've spoiled that now. There's another way, +Laura. Get that spade. See, the dirt's soft here. Dig a hole about +four feet deep and six or seven feet long. Then put half that lime +from the barrel in there. Understand?" + +"What for?" + +"It's the only way now; we 'll have to do that. It's the other way to +immortality. You 've given him the herbs?" + +"Yes." + +"Then this is the end. See? Now do that, won't you, Honey?" + +"You'll kiss me, Roady?" + +"There!" The faint sound of a kiss came from below. "And there's +another one. And another!" + +"Just like the night our boy was born. Don't you remember how you bent +over and kissed me then and held me in your arms?" + +"I 'm holding you that way now, Honey--just the same way that I held +you the night our boy was born. And I 'll help you with this. You dig +the hole and put half the lime in there--don't put it all. We 'll need +the rest to put on top of him. You 'll have it done in about two +hours. There 's something else needed--some acid that I 've got to +get. It 'll make it all the quicker. I 'll be back, Honey. Kiss me." + +Fairchild, seeking to still the horror-laden quiver of his body, heard +the sound of a kiss and then the clatter of a man's heavy shoes on the +stairs, accompanied by a slight clink from below. He knew that +sound,--the scraping of the steel of a spade against the earth as it +was dragged into use. A moment more and Rodaine, mumbling to himself, +passed out the door. But the woman did not come upstairs. Fairchild +knew why: her crazed mind was following the instructions of the man who +knew how to lead the lunatic intellect into the channels he desired; +she was digging, digging a grave for some one, a grave to be lined with +quicklime! + +Now she was talking again and chanting, but Fairchild did not attempt +to determine the meaning of it all. Upstairs was some one who had been +found by this woman in an unconscious state and evidently kept in that +condition through the potations of the ugly poison-laden drugs she +brewed,--some one who now was doomed to die and to lie in a quicklime +grave! Carefully Fairchild gained his feet; then, as silently as +possible, he made for the rickety stairs, stopping now and again to +listen for discovery from below. But it did not come; the insane woman +was chanting louder than ever now. Fairchild went on. + +He felt his way up the remaining stairs, a rat scampering before him; +he sneaked along the wall, hands extended, groping for that broken +door, finally to find it. Cautiously he peered within, striving in +vain to pierce the darkness. At last, listening intently for the +singing from below, he drew a match from his pocket and scratched it +noiselessly on his trousers. Then, holding it high above his head, he +looked toward the bed--and stared in horror! + +A blood-encrusted face showed on the slipless pillow, while across the +forehead was a jagged, red, untended wound. The mouth was open, the +breathing was heavy and labored. The form was quite still, the eyes +closed. And the face was that of Harry! + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +So this explained, after a fashion, Harry's disappearance. This +revealed why the search through the mountains had failed. This-- + +But Fairchild suddenly realized that now was not a time for +conjecturing upon the past. The man on the bed was unconscious, +incapable of helping himself. Far below, a white-haired woman, her +toothless jaws uttering one weird chant after another, was digging for +him a quicklime grave, in the insane belief that she was aiding in +accomplishing some miracle of immortality. In time--and Fairchild did +not know how long--an evil-visaged, scar-faced man would return to help +her carry the inert frame of the unconscious man below and bury it. +Nor could Fairchild tell from the conversation whether he even intended +to perform the merciful act of killing the poor, broken being before he +covered it with acids and quick-eating lime in a grave that soon would +remove all vestige of human identity forever. Certainly now was not a +time for thought; it was one for action! + +And for caution. Instinct told Fairchild that for the present, at +least, Rodaine must believe that Harry had escaped unaided. There were +too many other things in which Robert felt sure Rodaine had played a +part, too many other mysterious happenings which must be met and coped +with, before the man of the blue-white scar could know that finally the +underling was beginning to show fight, that at last the crushed had +begun to rise. Fairchild bent and unlaced his shoes, taking off also +the heavy woolen socks which protected his feet from the biting cold. +Steeling himself to the ordeal which he must undergo, he tied the laces +together and slung the footgear over a shoulder. Then he went to the +bed. + +As carefully as possible, he wrapped Harry in the blankets, seeking to +protect him in every way against the cold. With a great effort, he +lifted him, the sick man's frame huddled in his arms like some gigantic +baby, and started out of the eerie, darkened house. + +The stairs--the landing--the hall! Then a query from below: + +"Is that you, Roady?" + +The breath pulled sharp into Fairchild's lungs. He answered in the +best imitation he could give of the voice of Squint Rodaine: + +"Yes. Go on with your digging, Honey. I 'll be there soon." + +"And you'll kiss me?" + +"Yes. Just like I kissed you the night our boy was born." + +It was sufficient. The chanting began again, accompanied by the swish +of the spade as it sank into the earth and the cludding roll of the +clods as they were thrown to one side. Fairchild gained the door. A +moment more and he staggered with his burden into the protecting +darkness of the night. + +The snow crept about his ankles, seeming to freeze them at every touch, +but Fairchild did not desist. His original purpose must be carried out +if Rodaine were not to know,--the appearance that Harry had aroused +himself sufficiently to wrap the blankets about him and wander off by +himself. And this could be accomplished only by the pain and cold and +torture of a barefoot trip. + +Some way, by shifting the big frame of his unconscious partner now and +then, Fairchild made the trip to the main road and veered toward the +pumphouse of the Diamond J. mine, running as it often did without +attendance while the engineer made a trip with the electric motor into +the hill. Cautiously he peered through the windows. No one was there. +Beyond lay warmth and comfort--and a telephone. Fairchild went within +and placed Harry on the floor. Then he reached for the 'phone and +called the hospital. + +"Hello!" he announced in a husky, disguised voice. "This is Jeb +Gresham of Georgeville. I 've just found a man lying by the side of +the Diamond J. pumphouse, unconscious, with a big cut in his head. I +'ve brought him inside. You 'll find him there; I 've got to go on. +Looks like he 's liable to die unless you can send the ambulance for +him." + +"We 'll make it a rush trip," came the answer, and Fairchild hung up +the 'phone, to rub his half-frozen, aching feet a moment, then to +reclothe them in the socks and shoes, watching the entrance of the +Diamond J. tunnel as he did so. A long minute--then he left the +pumphouse, made a few tracks in the snow around the entrance, and +walked swiftly down the road. Fifteen minutes later, from a hiding +place at the side of the Clear Creek bridge, he saw the lights of the +ambulance as it swerved to the pumphouse. Out came the stretcher. The +attendants went in search of the injured man. When they came forth +again, they bore the form of Harry Harkins, and the heart of Fairchild +began to beat once more with something resembling regularity. His +partner--at least such was his hope and his prayer--was on the way to +aid and to recovery, while Squint Rodaine would know nothing other than +that he had wandered away! Grateful, lighter in heart than he had been +for days. Fairchild plodded along the road in the tracks of the +ambulance, as it headed back for town. + +The news already had spread by the time he reached there; news travels +fast in a small mining camp. Fairchild went to the hospital, and to +the side of the cot where Harry had been taken, to find the doctor +there before him, already bandaging the wound on Harry's head and +looking with concern now and then at the pupils of the unconscious +man's eyes. + +"Are you going to stay here with him?" the physician asked, after he +had finished the dressing of the laceration. + +"Yes," Fairchild said, in spite of aching fatigue and heavy eyes. The +doctor nodded. + +"Good. I don't know whether he 's going to pull through or not. Of +course, I can't say--but it looks to me from his breathing and his +heart action that he 's not suffering as much from this wound as he is +from some sort of poisoning. + +"We 've given him apomorphine and it should begin to take effect soon. +We 're using the batteries too. You say that you 're going to be here? +That's a help. They 're shy a nurse on this floor to-night, and I 'm +having a pretty busy time of it. I 'm very much afraid that poor old +Judge Richmond 's going to lay down his cross before morning." + +"He 's dying?" Fairchild said it with a clutching sensation at his +throat. The physician nodded. + +"There 's hardly a chance for him." + +"You 're going there?" + +"Yes." + +"Will you please give--?" + +The physician waited. Finally Fairchild shook his head. + +"Never mind," he finished. "I thought I would ask you something--but +it would be too much of a favor. Thank you just the same. Is there +anything I can do here?" + +"Nothing except to keep watch on his general condition. If he seems to +be getting worse, call the interne. I 've left instructions with him." + +"Very good." + +The physician went on, and Fairchild took his place beside the bed of +the unconscious Harry, his mind divided between concern for his +faithful partner and the girl who, some time in the night, must say +good-by forever to the father she loved. It had been on Fairchild's +tongue to send her some sort of message by the physician, some word +that would show her he was thinking of her and hoping for her. But he +had reconsidered. Among those in the house of death might be Maurice +Rodaine, and Fairchild did not care again to be the cause of such a +scene as had happened on the night of the Old Times dance. + +Judge Richmond was dying. What would that mean? What effect would it +have upon the engagement of Anita and the man Fairchild hoped that she +detested? What--then he turned at the entrance of the interne with the +batteries. + +"If you 're going to be here all night," said the white-coated +individual, "it 'll help me out a lot if you 'll use these batteries +for me. Put them on at their full force and apply them to his cheeks, +his hands, his wrists and the soles of his feet alternately. From the +way he acts, there 's some sort of morphinic poisoning. We can't tell +what it is--except that it acts like a narcotic. And about the only +way we can pull him out is with these applications." + +The interne turned over the batteries and went on about his work, while +Fairchild, hoping within his heart that he had not placed an impediment +in the way of Harry's recovery by not telling what he knew of Crazy +Laura and her concoctions, began his task. Yet he was relieved by the +knowledge that such information could aid but little. Nothing but a +chemical analysis could show the contents of the strange brews which +the insane woman made from her graveyard herbiage, and long before that +could come, Harry might be dead. And so he pressed the batteries +against the unconscious man's cheeks, holding them there tightly, that +the full shock of the electricity might permeate the skin and arouse +the sluggish blood once more to action. Then to the hands, the wrists, +the feet and back again; it was the beginning of a routine that was to +last for hours. + +Midnight came and early morning. With dawn, the figure on the bed +stirred slightly and groaned. Fairchild looked up, to see the doctor +just entering. + +"I think he 's regaining consciousness." + +"Good." The physician brought forth his hypodermic. "That means a bit +of rest for me. A little shot in the arm, and he ought to be out of +danger in a few hours." + +Fairchild watched him as he boiled the needle over the little gas jet +at the head of the cot, then dissolved a white pellet preparatory to +sending a resuscitory fluid into Harry's arm. + +"You 've been to Judge Richmond's?" he asked at last. + +"Yes." Then the doctor stepped close to the bed. "I 've just closed +his eyes--forever." + +Ten minutes later, after another examination of Harry's pupils, he was +gone, a weary, tired figure, stumbling home to his rest--rest that +might be disturbed at any moment--the reward of the physician. As for +Fairchild, he sat a long time in thought, striving to find some way to +send consolation to the girl who was grieving now, struggling to figure +a means of telling her that he cared, that he was sorry, and that his +heart hurt too. But there was none. + +Again a moan from the man on the bed, and at last a slight resistance +to the sting of the batteries. An hour passed, two; gradually Harry +came to himself, to stare about him in a wondering, vacant manner and +then to fasten his eyes upon Fairchild. He seemed to be struggling for +speech, for coördination of ideas. Finally, after many minutes-- + +"That's you, Boy?" + +"Yes, Harry." + +"But where are we?" + +Fairchild laughed softly. + +"We 're in a hospital, and you 're knocked out. Don't you know where +you 've been?" + +"I don't know anything, since I slid down the wall." + +"Since you what?" + +But Harry had lapsed back into semi-consciousness again, to lie for +hours a mumbling, dazed thing, incapable of thought or action. And it +was not until late in the night after the rescue, following a few hours +of rest forced upon him by the interne, that Fairchild once more could +converse with his stricken partner. + +"It's something I 'll 'ave to show you to explain," said Harry. "I +can't tell you about it. You know where that little fissure is in the +'anging wall, away back in the stope?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, that's it. That's where I got out." + +"But what happened before that?" + +"What didn't 'appen?" asked Harry, with a painful grin. "Everything in +the world 'appened. I--but what did the assay show?" + +Fairchild reached forth and laid a hand on the brawny one of his +partner. + +"We 're rich, Harry," he said, "richer than I ever dreamed we could be. +The ore's as good as that of the Silver Queen!" + +"The bloody 'ell it is!" Then Harry dropped back on his pillow for a +long time and simply grinned at the ceiling. Somewhat anxious. +Fairchild leaned forward, but his partner's eyes were open and smiling. +"I 'm just letting it sink in!" he announced, and Fairchild was silent, +saving his questions until "it" had sunk. Then: + +"You were saying something about that fissure?" + +"But there is other things first. After you went to the assayers, I +fooled around there in the chamber, and I thought I 'd just take a +flyer and blow up them 'oles that I 'd drilled in the 'anging wall at +the same time that I shot the other. So I put in the powder and fuses, +tamped 'em down and then I thinks thinks I, that there's somebody +moving around in the drift. But I did n't pay any attention to it--you +know. I was busy and all that, and you often 'ear noises that sound +funny. So I set 'em off--that is, I lit the fuses and I started to +run. Well, I 'ad n't any more 'n started when bloeyy-y-y-y, right in +front of me, the whole world turned upside down, and I felt myself +knocked back into the chamber. And there was them fuses. All of 'em +burning. Well, I managed to pull out the one from the foot wall and +stamp it out, but I didn't 'ave time to get at the others. And the +only place where there was a chance for me was clear at the end of the +chamber. Already I was bleeding like a stuck hog where a whole 'arf +the mountain 'ad 'it me on the 'ead, and I did n't know much what I was +doing. I just wanted to get be'ind something--that's all I could think +of. So I shied for that fissure in the rocks and crawled back in +there, trying to squeeze as far along as I could. And 'ere 's the +funny part of it--I kept on going!" + +"You what?" + +"Kept on going. I 'd always thought it was just a place where the +'anging wall 'ad slipped, and that it stopped a few feet back. But it +don't--it goes on. I crawled along it as fast as I could--I was about +woozy, anyway--and by and by I 'eard the shots go off be'ind me. But +there was n't any use in going back--the tunnel was caved in. So I +kept on. + +"I don't know 'ow long I went or where I went at. It was all dark--and +I was about knocked out. After while, I ran into a stream of water +that came out of the inside of the 'ill somewhere, and I took a drink. +It gave me a bit of strength. And then I kept on some more--until all +of a sudden, I slipped and fell, just when I was beginning to see +dyelight. And that's all I know. 'Ow long 'ave I been gone?" + +"Long enough to make me gray-headed," Fairchild answered with a little +laugh. Then his brow furrowed. "You say you slipped and fell just as +you were beginning to see daylight?" + +"Yes. It looked like it was reflected from below, somewyes." + +Fairchild nodded. + +"Is n't there quite a spring right by Crazy Laura's house?" + +"Yes; it keeps going all year; there 's a current and it don't freeze +up. It comes out like it was a waterfall--and there 's a roaring noise +be'ind it." + +"Then that's the explanation. You followed the fissure until it joined +the natural tunnel that the spring has made through the hills. And +when you reached the waterfall--well, you fell with it." + +"But 'ow did I get 'ere?" + +Briefly Fairchild told him, while Harry pawed at his still magnificent +mustache. Robert continued: + +"But the time 's not ripe yet, Harry, to spring it. We 've got to find +out more about Rodaine first and what other tricks he 's been up to. +And we 've got to get other evidence than merely our own word. For +instance, in this case, you can't remember anything. All the testimony +I could give would be unsupported. They 'd run me out of town if I +even tried to start any such accusation. But one thing 's certain: We +'re on the open road at last, we know who we 're fighting and the +weapons he fights with. And if we 're only given enough time, we 'll +whip him. I 'm going home to bed now; I 've got to be up early in the +morning and get hold of Farrell. Your case comes up at court." + +"And I 'm up in a 'ospital!" + +Which fact the court the next morning recognized, on the testimony of +the interne, the physician and the day nurses of the hospital, to the +extent of a continuance until the January term in the trial of the +case. A thing which the court further recognized was the substitution +of five thousand dollars in cash for the deeds of the Blue Poppy mine +as security for the bailee. And with this done, the deeds to his mine +safe in his pocket, Fairchild went to the bank, placed the papers +behind the great steel gates of the safety deposit vault, and then +crossed the street to the telegraph office. A long message was the +result, and a money order to Denver that ran beyond a hundred dollars. +The instructions that went with it to the biggest florist in town were +for the most elaborate floral design possible to be sent by express for +Judge Richmond's funeral--minus a card denoting the sender. Following +this, Fairchild returned to the hospital, only to find Mother Howard +taking his place beside the bed of Harry. One more place called for +his attention,--the mine. + +The feverish work was over now. The day and night shifts no longer +were needed until Harry and Fairchild could actively assume control of +operations and themselves dig out the wealth to put in the improvements +necessary to procure the compressed air and machine drills, and +organize the working of the mine upon the scale which its value +demanded. But there was one thing essential, and Fairchild procured +it,--guards. Then he turned his attention to his giant partner. + +Health returned slowly to the big Cornishman. The effects of nearly a +week of slow poisoning left his system grudgingly; it would be a matter +of weeks before he could be the genial, strong giant that he once had +represented. And in those weeks Fairchild was constantly beside him. + +Not that there were no other things which were represented in Robert's +desires,--far from it. Stronger than ever was Anita Richmond in +Fairchild's thoughts now, and it was with avidity that he learned every +scrap of news regarding her, as brought to him by Mother Howard. +Hungrily he listened for the details of how she had weathered the shock +of her father's death; anxiously he inquired for her return in the days +following the information--via Mother Howard--that she had gone on a +short trip to Denver to look after matters pertaining to her father's +estate. Dully he heard that she had come back, and that Maurice +Rodaine had told friends that the passing of the Judge had caused only +a slight postponement in their marital plans. And perhaps it was this +which held Fairchild in check, which caused him to wonder at the +vagaries of the girl--a girl who had thwarted the murderous plans of a +future father-in-law--and to cause him to fight down a desire to see +her, an attempt to talk to her and to learn directly from her lips her +position toward him,--and toward the Rodaines. + +Finally, back to his normal strength once more, Harry rose from the +armchair by the window of the boarding house and turned to Fairchild. + +"We 're going to work to-night," he announced calmly. + +"When?" Fairchild did not believe he understood. Harry grinned. +"To-night. I 've taken a notion. Rodaine 'll expect us to work in the +daytime. We 'll fool 'im. We 'll leave the guards on in the daytime +and work at night. And what's more, we 'll keep a guard on at the +mouth of the shaft while we 're inside, not to let nobody down. See?" + +Fairchild agreed. He knew Squint Rodaine was not through. And he knew +also that the fight against the man with the blue-white scar had only +begun. The cross-cut had brought wealth and the promise of riches to +Fairchild and Harry for the rest of their lives. But it had not freed +them from the danger of one man,--a man who was willing to kill, +willing to maim, willing to do anything in the world, it seemed, to +achieve his purpose. Harry's suggestion was a good one. + +Together, when night came, they bundled their greatcoats about them and +pulled their caps low over their ears. Winter had come in earnest, +winter with a blizzard raging through the town on the breast of a +fifty-mile gale. Out into it the two men went, to fight their way +though the swirling, frigid fleece to Kentucky Gulch and upward. At +last they passed the guard, huddled just within the tunnel, and +clambered down the ladder which had been put in place by the +sight-seers on the day of the strike. Then-- + +Well, then Harry ran, to do much as Fairchild had done, to chuckle and +laugh and toss the heavy bits of ore about, to stare at them in the +light of his carbide torch, and finally to hurry into the new stope +which had been fashioned by the hired miners in Fairchild's employ and +stare upward at the heavy vein of riches above him. + +"Wouldn't it knock your eyes out?" he exclaimed, beaming. "That vein +'s certainly five feet wide." + +"And two hundred dollars to the ton," added Fairchild, laughing. "No +wonder Rodaine wanted it." + +"I 'll sye so!" exclaimed Harry, again to stand and stare, his mouth +open, his mustache spraying about on his upper lip in more directions +than ever. A long time of congratulatory celebration, then Harry led +the way to the far end of the great cavern. "'Ere it is!" he +announced, as he pointed to what had seemed to both of them never to be +anything more than a fissure in the rocks. "It's the thing that saved +my life." + +Fairchild stared into the darkness of the hole in the earth, a narrow +crack in the rocks barely large enough to allow a human form to squeeze +within. He laughed. + +"You must have made yourself pretty small, Harry." + +"What? When I went through there? Sye, I could 'ave gone through the +eye of a needle. There were six charges of dynamite just about to go +off be'ind me!" + +Again the men chuckled as they looked at the fissure, a natural, usual +thing in a mine, and often leading, as this one did, by subterranean +breaks and slips to the underground bed of some tumbling spring. +Suddenly, however, Fairchild whirled with a thought. + +"Harry! I wonder--couldn't it have been possible for my father to have +escaped from this mine in the same way?" + +"'E must 'ave." + +"And that there might not have been any killing connected with Larsen +at all? Why couldn't Larsen have been knocked out by a flying +stone--just like you were? And why--?" + +"'E might of, Boy." But Harry's voice was negative. "The only thing +about it was the fact that your father 'ad a bullet 'ole in 'is 'ead." +Harry leaned forward and pointed to his own scar. "It 'it right about +'ere, and glanced. It did n't 'urt 'im much, and I bandaged it and +then covered it with 'is 'at, so nobody could see." + +"But the gun? We did n't find any." + +"'E 'ad it with 'im. It was Sissie Larsen's. No, Boy, there must 'ave +been a fight--but don't think that I mean your father murdered anybody. +If Sissie Larsen attacked 'im with a gun, then 'e 'ad a right to kill. +But as I 've told you before--there would n't 'ave been a chance for +'im to prove 'is story with Squint working against 'im. And that's one +reason why I did n't ask any questions. And neither did Mother 'Oward. +We were willing to take your father's word that 'e 'ad n't done +anything wrong--and we were willing to 'elp 'im to the limit." + +"You did it, Harry." + +"We tried to--" He ceased and perked his head toward the bottom of the +shaft, listening intently. "Did n't you 'ear something?" + +"I thought so. Like a woman's voice." + +"Listen--there it is again!" + +They were both silent, waiting for a repetition of the sound. Faintly +it came, for the third time: + +"Mr. Fairchild!" + +They ran to the foot of the shaft, and Fairchild stared upward. But he +could see no one. He cupped his hands and called: + +"Who wants me?" + +"It's me." The voice was plainer now--a voice that Fairchild +recognized immediately. + +"I 'm--I 'm under arrest or something up here," was added with a laugh. +"The guard won't let me come down." + +"Wait, and I 'll raise the bucket for you. All right, guard!" Then, +blinking with surprise, he turned to the staring Harry. "It's Anita +Richmond," he whispered. Harry pawed for his mustache. + +"On a night like this? And what the bloody 'ell is she doing 'ere, +any'ow?" + +"Search me!" The bucket was at the top now. + +A signal from above, and Fairchild lowered it, to extend a hand and to +aid the girl to the ground, looking at her with wondering, eager eyes. +In the light of the carbide torch, she was the same boyish appearing +little person he had met on the Denver road, except that snow had taken +the place of dust now upon the whipcord riding habit, and the brown +hair which caressed the corners of her eyes was moist with the breath +of the blizzard. Some way Fairchild found his voice, lost for a moment. + +"Are--are you in trouble?" + +"No." She smiled at him. + +"But out on a night like this--in a blizzard. How did you get up here?" + +She shrugged her shoulders. + +"I walked. Oh," she added, with a smile, "it did n't hurt me any. The +wind was pretty stiff--but then I 'm fairly strong. I rather enjoyed +it." + +"But what's happened--what's gone wrong? Can I help you with +anything--or--" + +Then it was that Harry, with a roll of his blue eyes and a funny waggle +of his big shoulders, moved down the drift toward the stope, leaving +them alone together. Anita Richmond watched after him with a smile, +waiting until he was out of hearing distance. Then she turned +seriously. + +"Mother Howard told me where you were," came quietly. "It was the only +chance I had to see you. I--I--maybe I was a little lonely or--or +something. But, anyway, I wanted to see you and thank you and--" + +"Thank me? For what?" + +"For everything. For that day on the Denver road, and for the night +after the Old Times dance when you came to help me. I--I have n't had +an easy time. And I 've been in rather an unusual position. Most of +the people I know are afraid and--some of them are n't to be trusted. +I--I could n't go to them and confide in them. And--you--well, I knew +the Rodaines were your enemies--and I 've rather liked you for it." + +"Thank you. But--" and Fairchild's voice became a bit frigid--"I have +n't been able to understand everything. You are engaged to Maurice +Rodaine." + +"I was, you mean." + +"Then--" + +"My engagement ended with my father's death," came slowly--and there +was a catch in her voice. "He wanted it--it was the one thing that +held the Rodaines off him. And he was dying slowly--it was all I could +do to help him, and I promised. But--when he went--I felt that my--my +duty was over. I don't consider myself bound to him any longer." + +"You 've told Rodaine so?" + +"Not yet. I--I think that maybe that was one reason I wanted to see +some one whom I believed to be a friend. He 's coming after me at +midnight. We 're to go away somewhere." + +"Rodaine? Impossible!" + +"They 've made all their plans. I--I wondered if you--if you 'd be +somewhere around the house--if you 'd--" + +"I 'll be there. I understand." Fairchild had reached out and touched +her arm. "I--want to thank you for the opportunity. I--yes, I 'll be +there," came with a short laugh. "And Harry too. There'll be no +trouble--from the Rodaines!" + +She came a little closer to him then and looked up at him with trustful +eyes, all the brighter in the spluttering light of the carbide. + +"Thank you--it seems that I 'm always thanking you. I was afraid--I +did n't know where to go--to whom to turn. I thought of you. I knew +you 'd help me--women can guess those things." + +"Can they?" Fairchild asked it eagerly. "Then you 've guessed all +along that--" + +But she smiled and cut in. + +"I want to thank you for those flowers. They were beautiful." + +"You knew that too? I didn't send a card." + +"They told me at the telegraph office that you had wired for them. +They--meant a great deal to me." + +"It meant more to me to be able to send them." Then Fairchild stared +with a sudden idea. "Maurice 's coming for you at midnight. Why is it +necessary that you be there?" + +"Why--" the idea had struck her too--"it is n't. I--I just had n't +thought of it. I was too badly scared, I guess. Everything 's been +happening so swiftly since--since you made the strike up here." + +"With them?" + +"Yes, they 've been simply crazy about something. You got my note?" + +"Yes." + +"That was the beginning. The minute Squint Rodaine heard of the +strike, I thought he would go out of his head. I was in the office--I +'m vice-president of the firm, you know," she added with a sarcastic +laugh. "They had to do something to make up for the fact that every +cent of father's money was in it." + +"How much?" Fairchild asked the question with no thought of being +rude--and she answered in the same vein. + +"A quarter of a million. They 'd been getting their hands on it more +and more ever since father became ill. But they could n't entirely get +it into their own power until the Silver Queen strike--and then they +persuaded him to sign it all over in my name into the company. That's +why I 'm vice-president." + +"And is that why you arranged things to buy this mine?" Fairchild knew +the answer before it was given. + +"I? I arrange--I never thought of such a thing." + +"I felt that from the beginning. An effort was made through a lawyer +in Denver who hinted you were behind it. Some way, I felt differently. +I refused. But you said they were going away?" + +"Yes. They 've been holding conferences--father and son--one after +another. I 've had more peace since the strike here than at any time +in months. They 're both excited about something. Last night Maurice +came to me and told me that it was necessary for them all to go to +Chicago where the head offices would be established, and that I must go +with him. I did n't have the strength to fight him then--there was n't +anybody near by who could help me. So I--I told him I 'd go. Then I +lay awake all night, trying to think out a plan--and I thought of you." + +"I 'm glad." Fairchild touched her small gloved hand then, and she did +not draw it away. His fingers moved slowly under hers. There was no +resistance. At last his hand closed with a tender pressure,--only to +release her again. For there had come a laugh--shy, embarrassed, +almost fearful--and the plea: + +"Can we go back where Harry is? Can I see the strike again?" + +Obediently Fairchild led the way, beyond the big cavern, through the +cross-cut and into the new stope, where Harry was picking about with a +gad, striving to find a soft spot in which to sink a drill. He looked +over his shoulder as they entered and grinned broadly. + +"Oh," he exclaimed, "a new miner!" + +"I wish I were," she answered. "I wish I could help you." + +"You 've done that, all right, all right." Harry waved his gad. "'E +told me--about the note!" + +"Did it do any good?" she asked the question eagerly. Harry chuckled. + +"I 'd 'ave been a dead mackerel if it 'ad n't," came his hearty +explanation. "Where you going at all dressed up like that?" + +"I 'm supposed," she answered with a smile toward Fairchild, "to go to +Center City at midnight. Squint Rodaine 's there and Maurice and I are +supposed to join him. But--but Mr. Fairchild 's promised that you and +he will arrange it otherwise." + +"Center City? What's Squint doing there?" + +"He does n't want to take the train from Ohadi for some reason. We 're +all going East and--" + +But Harry had turned and was staring upward, apparently oblivious of +their presence. His eyes had become wide, his head had shot forward, +his whole being had become one of strained attention. Once he cocked +his head, then, with a sudden exclamation, he leaped backward. + +"Look out!" he exclaimed. "'Urry, look out!" + +"But what is it?" + +"It's coming down! I 'eard it!" Excitedly he pointed above, toward +the black vein of lead and silver. "'Urry for that 'ole in the +wall--'urry, I tell you!" He ran past them toward the fissure, yelling +at Fairchild. "Pick 'er up and come on! I tell you I 'eard the wall +moving--it's coming down, and if it does, it 'll bust in the 'ole +tunnel!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +Hardly realizing what he was doing or why he was doing it, Fairchild +seized Anita in his arms, and raising her to his breast as though she +were a child, rushed out through the cross-cut and along the cavern to +the fissure, there to find Harry awaiting them. + +"Put 'er in first!" said the Cornishman anxiously. "The farther the +safer. Did you 'ear anything more?" + +Fairchild obeyed, shaking his head in a negative to Harry's question, +then squeezed into the fissure, edging along beside Anita, while Harry +followed. + +"What is it?" she asked anxiously. + +"Harry heard some sort of noise from above, as if the earth was +crumbling. He 's afraid the whole mine 's going to cave in again." + +"But if it does?" + +"We can get out this way--somehow. This connects up with a +spring-hole; it leads out by Crazy Laura's house." + +"Ugh!" Anita shivered. "She gives me the creeps!" + +"And every one else; what's doing, Harry?" + +"Nothing. That's the funny part of it!" + +The big Cornishman had crept to the edge of the fissure and had stared +for a moment toward the cross-cut leading to the stope. "If it was +coming, it ought to 'ave showed up by now. I 'm going back. You stay +'ere." + +"But--" + +"Stay 'ere, I said. And," he grinned in the darkness, "don't let 'im +'old your 'and, Miss Richmond." + +"Oh, you go on!" But she laughed. And Harry laughed with her. + +"I know 'im. 'E 's got a wye about 'im." + +"That's what you said about Miss Richmond once!" + +"Have you two been talking about me?" + +"Often." Then there was silence--for Harry had left the fissure to go +into the stope and make an investigation. A long moment and he was +back, almost creeping, and whispering as he reached the end of the +fissure. + +"Come 'ere--both of you! Come 'ere!" + +"What is it?" + +"Sh-h-h-h-h-h. Don't talk too loud. We 've been blessed with luck +already. Come 'ere." + +He led the way, the man and woman following him. In the stope the +Cornishman crawled carefully to the staging, and standing on tiptoes, +pressed his ear against the vein above him. Then he withdrew and +nodded sagely. + +"That's what it is!" came his announcement at last. "You can 'ear it!" + +"But what?" + +"Get up there and lay your ear against that vein. See if you 'ear +anything. And be quiet about it. I 'm scared to make a move, for fear +somebody 'll 'ear me." + +Fairchild obeyed. From far away, carried by the telegraphy of the +earth--and there are few conductors that are better--was the steady +pound, pound, pound of shock after shock as it traveled along the +hanging wall. Now and then a rumble intervened, as of falling rock, +and scrambling sounds, like a heavy wagon passing over a bridge. + +Fairchild turned, wondering, then reached for Anita. + +"You listen," he ordered, as he lifted her to where she could hear. +"Do you get anything?" + +The girl's eyes shone. + +"I know what that is," she said quickly. "I 've heard that same sort +of thing before--when you 're on another level and somebody 's working +above. Is n't that it, Mr. Harkins?" + +Harry nodded. + +"That's it," came tersely. Then bending, he reached for a pick, and +muffling the sound as best he could between his knees, knocked the head +from the handle. Following this, he lifted the piece of hickory +thoughtfully and turned to Fairchild. "Get yourself one," he ordered. +"Miss Richmond, I guess you 'll 'ave to stay 'ere. I don't see 'ow we +can do much else with you." + +"But can't I go along--wherever you 're going?" + +"There's going to be a fight," said Harry quietly. "And I 'm going to +knock somebody's block off!" + +"But--I 'd rather be there than here. I--I don't have to get in it. +And--I 'd want to see how it comes out. Please--!" she turned to +Fairchild--"won't you let me go?" + +"If you 'll stay out of danger." + +"It's less danger for me there than--than home. And I 'd be scared to +death here. I wouldn't if I was along with you two, because I know--" +and she said it with almost childish conviction--"that you can whip +'em." + +Harry chuckled. + +"Come along, then. I 've got a 'unch, and I can't sye it now. But it +'ll come out in the wash. Come along." + +He led the way out through the shaft and into the blizzard, giving the +guard instructions to let no one pass in their absence. Then he +suddenly kneeled. + +"Up, Miss Richmond. Up on my back. I 'm 'efty--and we 've got +snowdrifts to buck." + +She laughed, looked at Fairchild as though for his consent, then +crawled to the broad back of Harry, sitting on his shoulders like a +child "playing horse." + +They started up the mountain side, skirting the big gullies and edging +about the highest drifts, taking advantage of the cover of the pines, +and bending against the force of the blizzard, which seemed to threaten +to blow them back, step for step. No one spoke; instinctively +Fairchild and Anita had guessed Harry's conclusions. The nearest mine +to the Blue Poppy was the Silver Queen, situated several hundred feet +above it in altitude and less than a furlong away. And the metal of +the Silver Queen and the Blue Poppy, now that the strike had been made, +had assayed almost identically the same. It was easy to make +conclusions. + +They reached the mouth of the Silver Queen. Harry relieved Anita from +her position on his shoulders, and then reconnoitered a moment before +he gave the signal to proceed. Within the tunnel they went, to follow +along its regular, rising course to the stope where, on that garish day +when Taylor Bill and Blindeye Bozeman had led the enthusiastic parade +through the streets, the vein had shown. It was dark there--no one was +at work. Harry unhooked his carbide from his belt, lit it and looked +around. The stope was deeper now than on the first day, but not enough +to make up for the vast amount of ore which had been taken out of the +mine in the meanwhile. On the floor were tons of the metal, ready for +tramming. Harry looked at them, then at the stope again. + +"It ain't coming from 'ere!" he announced. "It's--" then his voice +dropped to a whisper--"what's that?" + +Again a rumbling had come from the distance, as of an ore car traveling +over the tram tracks. Harry extinguished his light, and drawing Anita +and Fairchild far to the end of the stope, flattened them and himself +on the ground. A long wait, while the rumbling came closer, still +closer; then, in the distance, a light appeared, shining from a side of +the tunnel. A clanging noise, followed by clattering sounds, as though +of steel rails hitting against each other. Finally the tramming once +more,--and the light approached. + +Into view came an ore car, and behind it loomed the great form of +Taylor Bill as he pushed it along. Straight to the pile of ore he +came, unhooked the front of the tram, tripped it and piled the contents +of the car on top of the dump which already rested there. With that, +carbide pointing the way, he turned back, pushing the tram before him. +Harry crept to his feet. + +"We 've got to follow!" he whispered. "It's a blind entrance to the +tunnel som'eres." + +They rose and trailed the light along the tracks, flattening themselves +against the timbers of the tunnel as the form of Taylor Bill, faintly +outlined in the distance, turned from the regular track, opened a great +door in the side of the tunnel, which, to all appearances, was nothing +more than the ordinary heavy timbering of a weak spot in the rocks, +pulled it far back, then swerved the tram within. Then, he stopped and +raised a portable switch, throwing it into the opening. A second later +the door closed behind him, and the sound of the tram began to fade in +the distance. Harry went forward, creeping along the side of the +tunnel, feeling his way, stopping to listen now and then for the sound +of the fading ore car. Behind him were Fairchild and Anita, following +the same procedure. And all three stopped at once. + +The hollow sound was coming directly to them now. Harry once more +brought out his carbide to light it for a moment and to examine the +timbering. + +"It's a good job!" he commented. "You could n't tell it five feet off!" + +"They 've made a cross-cut!" This time it was Anita's voice, plainly +angry in spite of its whispering tones. "No wonder they had such a +wonderful strike," came scathingly. "That other stope down there--" + +"Ain't nothing but a salted proposition," said Harry. "They 've +cemented up the top of it with the real stuff and every once in a while +they blow a lot of it out and cement it up again to make it look like +that's the real vein." + +"And they 're working our mine!" Red spots of anger were flashing +before Fairchild's eyes. + +"You 've said it! That's why they were so anxious to buy us out. And +that's why they started this two-million-dollar stock proposition, when +they found they could n't do it. They knew if we ever 'it that vein +that it would n't be any time until they 'd be caught on the job. +That's why they 're ready to pull out--with somebody else 's million. +They 're getting at the end of their rope. Another thing; that +explains them working at night." + +Anita gritted her teeth. + +"I see it now--I can get the reason. They 've been telephoning Denver +and holding conferences and all that sort of thing. And they planned +to leave these two men behind here to take all the blame." + +"They'll get enough of it!" added Harry grimly. "They 're miners. +They could see that they were making a straight cross-cut tunnel on to +our vein. They ain't no children, Blindeye and Taylor Bill. And 'ere +'s where they start getting their trouble." + +He pulled at the door and it yielded grudgingly. The three slipped +past, following along the line of the tram track in the darkness, +Harry's pick handle swinging beside him as they sneaked along. Rods +that seemed miles; at last lights appeared in the distance. Harry +stopped to peer ahead. Then he tossed aside his weapon. + +"There 's only two of 'em--Blindeye and Taylor Bill. I could whip 'em +both myself but I 'll take the big 'un. You--" he turned to +Fairchild--"you get Blindeye." + +"I 'll get him." + +Anita stopped and groped about for a stone. + +"I 'll be ready with something in case of accident," came with +determination. "I 've got a quarter of a million in this myself!" + +They went on, fifty yards, a hundred. Creeping now, they already were +within the zone of light, but before them the two men, double-jacking +at a "swimmer", had their backs turned. Onward--until Harry and +Fairchild were within ten feet of the "high-jackers", while Anita +waited, stone in hand, in the background. Came a yell, high-pitched, +fiendish, racking, as Harry leaped forward. And before the two +"high-jackers" could concentrate enough to use their sledge and drill +as weapons, they were whirled about, battered against the hanging wall, +and swirling in a daze of blows which seemed to come from everywhere at +once. Wildly Harry yelled as he shot blow after blow into the face of +an ancient enemy. High went Fairchild's voice as he knocked Blindeye +Bozeman staggering for the third time against the hanging wall, only to +see him rise and to knock him down once more. And from the edge of the +zone of light came a feminine voice, almost hysterical with the +excitement of it all, the voice of a girl who, in her tensity, had +dropped the piece of stone she had carried, to stand there, hands +clenched, figure doubled forward, eyes blazing, and crying: + +"Hit him again! Hit him again! Hit him again--for me!" + +And Fairchild hit, with the force of a sledge hammer. Dizzily the +sandy-haired man swung about in his tracks, sagged, then fell, +unconscious. Fairchild leaped upon him, calling at the same time to +the girl: + +"Find me a rope! I 'll truss his hands while he 's knocked out!" + +Anita leaped into action, to kneel at Fairchild's side a moment later +with a hempen strand, as he tied the man's hands behind his back. +There was no need to worry about Harry. The yells which were coming +from farther along the stope, the crackling blows, all told that Harry +was getting along exceedingly well. Glancing out of a corner of his +eye, Fairchild saw now that the big Cornishman had Taylor Bill flat on +his back and was putting on the finishing touches. And then suddenly +the exultant yells changed to ones of command. + +"Talk English! Talk English, you bloody blighter! 'Ear me, talk +English!" + +"What's he mean?" Anita bent close to Fairchild. + +"I don't know--I don't think Taylor Bill can talk anything else. Put +your finger on this knot while I tighten it. Thanks." + +Again the command had come from farther on: + +"Talk English! 'Ear me--I'll knock the bloody 'ell out of you if you +don't. Talk English--like this: 'Throw up your 'ands!' 'Ear me?" + +Anita swerved swiftly and went to her feet. Harry looked up at her +wildly, his mustache bristling like the spines of a porcupine. + +"Did you 'ear 'im sye it?" he asked. "No? Sye it again!" + +"Throw up your 'ands!" came the answer of the beaten man on the ground. +Anita ran forward. + +"It's a good deal like it," she answered. "But the tone was higher." + +"Raise your tone!" commanded Harry, while Fairchild, finishing his job +of tying his defeated opponent, rose, staring in wonderment. Then the +answer came: + +"That's it--that's it. It sounded just like it!" + +And Fairchild remembered too,--the English accent of the highwayman on +the night of the Old Times Dance. Harry seemed to bounce on the +prostrate form of his ancient enemy. + +"Bill," he shouted, "I 've got you on your back. And I 've got a right +to kill you. 'Onest I 'ave. And I 'll do it too--unless you start +talking. I might as well kill you as not.--It's a penitentiary offense +to 'it a man underground unless there 's a good reason. So I 'm ready +to go the 'ole route. So tell it--tell it and be quick about it. Tell +it--was n't you him?" + +"Him--who?" the voice was weak, frightened. + +"You know 'oo--the night of the Old Times dance! Didn't you pull that +'old-up?" + +There was a long silence. Finally: + +"Where's Rodaine?" + +"In Center City." It was Anita who spoke. "He 's getting ready to run +away and leave you two to stand the brunt of all this trouble." + +Again a silence. And again Harry's voice: + +"Tell it. Was n't you the man?" + +Once more a long wait. Finally: + +"What do I get out of it?" + +Fairchild moved to the man's side. + +"My promise and my partner's promise that if you tell the whole truth, +we 'll do what we can to get you leniency. And you might as well do +it; there 's little chance of you getting away otherwise. As soon as +we can get to the sheriff's office, we 'll have Rodaine under arrest, +anyway. And I don't think that he 's going to hurt himself to help +you. So tell the truth; weren't you the man who held up the Old Times +dance?" + +Taylor Bill's breath traveled slowly past his bruised lips. + +"Rodaine gave me a hundred dollars to pull it," came finally. + +"And you stole the horse and everything--" + +"And cached the stuff by the Blue Poppy, so 's I 'd get the blame?" +Harry wiggled his mustache fiercely. "Tell it or I 'll pound your 'ead +into a jelly!" + +"That's about the size of it." + +But Fairchild was fishing in his pockets for pencil and paper, finally +to bring them forth. + +"Not that we doubt your sincerity, Bill," he said sarcastically, "but I +think things would be a bit easier if you'd just write it out. Let him +up, Harry." + +The big Cornishman obeyed grudgingly. But as he did so, he shook a +fist at his bruised, battered enemy. + +"It ain't against the law to 'it a man when 'e 's a criminal," came at +last. The thing was weighing on Harry's mind. "I don't care anyway if +it is--" + +"Oh, there 's nothing to that," Anita cut in. "I know all about the +law--father has explained it to me lots of times when there 've been +cases before him. In a thing of this kind, you 've got a right to take +any kind of steps necessary. Stop worrying about it." + +"Well," and Harry stood watching a moment as Taylor Bill began the +writing of his confession, "it's such a relief to get four charges off +my mind, that I did n't want to worry about any more. Make hit +fulsome, Bill--tell just 'ow you did it!" + +And Taylor Bill, bloody, eyes black, lips bruised, obeyed. Fairchild +took the bescrawled paper and wrote his name as a witness, then handed +it to Harry and Anita for their signatures. At last, he placed it in +his pocket and faced the dolorous high-jacker. + +"What else do you know, Bill?" + +"About what? Rodaine? Nothing---except that we were in cahoots on +this cross-cut. There is n't any use denying it"--there had come to +the surface the inherent honor that is in every metal miner, a +stalwartness that may lie dormant, but that, sooner or later, must +rise. There is something about taking wealth from the earth that is +clean. There is something about it which seems honest in its very +nature, something that builds big men in stature and in ruggedness, and +it builds an honor which fights against any attempt to thwart it. +Taylor Bill was finding that honor now. He seemed to straighten. His +teeth bit at his swollen, bruised lips. He turned and faced the three +persons before him. + +"Take me down to the sheriff's office," he commanded. "I 'll tell +everything. I don't know so awful much--because I ain't tried to learn +anything more than I could help. But I 'll give up everything I 've +got." + +"And how about him?" Fairchild pointed to Blindeye, just regaining +consciousness. Taylor Bill nodded. + +"He 'll tell--he 'll have to." + +They trussed the big miner then, and dragging Bozeman to his feet, +started out of the cross-cut with them. Harry's carbide pointing the +way through the blind door and into the main tunnel. Then they halted +to bundle themselves tighter against the cold blast that was coming +from without. On--to the mouth of the mine. Then they stopped--short. + +A figure showed in the darkness, on horseback. An electric flashlight +suddenly flared against the gleam of the carbide. An exclamation, an +excited command to the horse, and the rider wheeled, rushing down the +mountain side, urging his mount to dangerous leaps, sending him +plunging through drifts where a misstep might mean death, fleeing for +the main road again. Anita Richmond screamed: + +"That's Maurice! I got a glimpse of his face! He 's gotten away--go +after him somebody--go after him!" + +But it was useless. The horseman had made the road and was speeding +down it. Rushing ahead of the others, Fairchild gained a point of +vantage where he could watch the fading black smudge of the horse and +rider as it went on and on along the rocky road, finally to reach the +main thoroughfare and turn swiftly. Then he went back to join the +others. + +"He 's taken the Center City road!" came his announcement. "Is there a +turn-off on it anywhere?" + +"No." Anita gave the answer. "It goes straight through--but he 'll +have a hard time making it there in this blizzard. If we only had +horses!" + +"They would n't do us much good now! Climb on my back as you did on +Harry's. You can handle these two men alone?" This to his partner. +The Cornishman grunted. + +"Yes. They won't start anything. Why?" + +"I 'm going to take Miss Richmond and hurry ahead to the sheriff's +office. He might not believe me. But he 'll take her word--and that +'ll be sufficient until you get there with the prisoners. I 've got to +persuade him to telephone to Center City and head off the Rodaines!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +He stooped and Anita, laughing at her posture, clambered upon his back, +her arms about his neck, arms which seemed to shut out the biting blast +of the blizzard as he staggered through the high-piled snow and +downward to the road. There he continued to carry her; Fairchild found +himself wishing that he could carry her forever, and that the road to +the sheriff's office were twenty miles away instead of two. But her +voice cut in on his wishes. + +"I can walk now." + +"But the drifts--" + +"We can get along so much faster!" came her plea. "I 'll hold on to +you--and you can help me along." + +Fairchild released her and she seized his arm. For a quarter of a mile +they hurried along, skirting the places where the snow had collected in +breast-high drifts, now and then being forced nearly down to the bank +of the stream to avoid the mountainous piles of fleecy white. Once, as +they floundered through a knee-high mass, Fairchild's arm went quickly +about her waist and he lifted her against him as he literally carried +her through. When they reached the other side, the arm still held its +place,--and she did not resist. Fairchild wanted to whistle, or sing, +or shout. But breath was too valuable--and besides, what little +remained had momentarily been taken from him. A small hand had found +his, where it encircled her. It had rested there, calm and warm and +enthralling, and it told Fairchild more than all the words in the world +could have told just then--that she realized that his arm was about +her--and that she wanted it there. Some way, after that, the stretch +of road faded swiftly. Almost before he realized it, they were at the +outskirts of the city. + +Grudgingly he gave up his hold upon her, as they hurried for the +sidewalks and for the sheriff's office. There Fairchild did not +attempt to talk--he left it all to Anita, and Bardwell, the sheriff, +listened. Taylor Bill had confessed to the robbery at the Old Times +dance and to his attempt to so arrange the evidence that the blame +would fall on Harry. Taylor Bill and Blindeye Bozeman had been caught +at work in a cross-cut tunnel which led to the property of the Blue +Poppy mine, and one of them, at least, had admitted that the sole +output of the Silver Queen had come from this thieving encroachment. +Then Anita completed the recital,--of the plans of the Rodaines to +leave and of their departure for Center City. At last, Fairchild +spoke, and he told the happenings which he had encountered in the +ramshackle house occupied by Crazy Laura. It was sufficient. The +sheriff reached for the telephone. + +"No need for hurry," he announced. "Young Rodaine can't possibly make +that trip in less than two hours. How long did it take you to come +down here?" + +"About an hour, I should judge." + +"Then we 've got plenty of time--hello--Central? Long distance, +please. What's that? Yeh--Long Distance. Want to put in a call for +Center City." A long wait, while a metallic voice streamed over the +wire into the sheriff's ear. He hung up the receiver. "Blocked," he +said shortly. "The wire 's down. Three or four poles fell from the +force of the storm. Can't get in there before morning." + +"But there 's the telegraph!" + +"It 'd take half an hour to get the operator out of bed--office is +closed. Nope. We 'll take the short cut. And we 'll beat him there +by a half-hour!" + +Anita started. + +"You mean the Argonaut tunnel?" + +"Yes. Call up there and tell them to get a motor ready for us to shoot +straight through. We can make it at thirty miles an hour, and the skip +in the Reunion Mine will get us to the surface in five minutes. The +tunnel ends sixteen hundred feet underground, about a thousand feet +from Center City," he explained, as he noted Fairchild's wondering +gaze. "You stay here. We 've got to wait for those prisoners--and +lock 'em up. I 'll be getting my car warmed up to take us to the +tunnel." + +Anita already was at the 'phone, and Fairchild sank into a chair, +watching her with luminous eyes. The world was becoming brighter; it +might be night, with a blizzard blowing, to every one else,--but to +Fairchild the sun was shining as it never had shone before. A thumping +sound came from without. Harry entered with his two charges, followed +shortly by Bardwell, the sheriff, while just beneath the office window +a motor roared in the process of "warming up." The sheriff looked from +one to the other of the two men. + +"These people have made charges against you," he said shortly. "I want +to know a little more about them before I go any farther. They say you +'ve been high-jacking." + +Taylor Bill nodded in the affirmative. + +"And that you robbed the Old Times dance and framed the evidence +against this big Cornishman?" + +Taylor Bill scraped a foot on the floor. + +"It's true. Squint Rodaine wanted me to do it. He 'd been trying for +thirty years to get that Blue Poppy mine. There was some kind of a +mix-up away back there that I did n't know much about--fact is, I did +n't know anything. The Silver Queen didn't amount to much and when +demonetization set in, I quit--you 'll remember, Sheriff--and went +away. I 'd worked for Squint before, and when I came back a couple of +years ago, I naturally went to him for a job again. Then he put this +proposition up to me at ten dollars a day and ten per cent. It looked +too good to be turned down." + +"How about you?" Bardwell faced Blindeye. The sandy lashes blinked +and the weak eyes turned toward the floor. + +"I--was in on it." + +That was enough. The sheriff reached for his keys. A moment more and +a steel door clanged upon the two men while the officer led the way to +his motor car. There he looked quizzically at Anita Richmond, piling +without hesitation into the front seat. + +"You going too?" + +"I certainly am," and she covered her intensity with a laugh, "there +are a number of things that I want to say to Mr. Maurice Rodaine--and I +have n't the patience to wait!" + +Bardwell chuckled. The doors of the car slammed and the engine roared +louder than ever. Soon they were churning along through the driving +snow toward the great buildings of the Argonaut Tunnel Company, far at +the other end of town. There men awaited them, and a tram motor, +together with its operator,--happy in the expectation of a departure +from the usual routine of hauling out the long strings of ore and +refuse cars from the great tunnel which, driving straight through the +mountains, had been built in the boom days to cut the workings of mine +after mine, relieving the owners of those holdings of the necessity of +taking their product by the slow method of burro packs to the +railroads, and gaining for the company a freight business as enriching +as a bonanza itself. The four pursuers took their places on the +benches of the car behind the motor. The trolley was attached. A +great door was opened, allowing the cold blast of the blizzard to whine +within the tunnel. Then, clattering over the frogs, green lights +flashing from the trolley wire, the speeding journey was begun. + +It was all new to Fairchild, engrossing, exciting. Close above them +were the ragged rocks of the tunnel roof, seeming to reach down as if +to seize them as they roared and clattered beneath. Seepage dripped at +intervals, flying into their faces like spray as they dashed through +it. Side tracks appeared momentarily when they passed the opening of +some mine where the ore cars stood in long lines, awaiting their turn +to be filled. The air grew warmer. The minutes were passing, and they +were nearing the center of the tunnel. Great gateways sped past them; +the motor smashed over sidetracks and spurs and switches as they +clattered by the various mine openings, the operator reaching above him +to hold the trolley steady as they went under narrow, low places where +the timbers had been placed, thick and heavy, to hold back the sagging +earth above. + +Three miles, four, five, while Anita Richmond held close to Fairchild +as the speed became greater and the sparks from the wire above threw +their green, vicious light over the yawning stretch before them. A +last spurt, slightly down-grade, with the motor pushing the wheels at +their greatest velocity; then the crackling of electricity suddenly +ceased, the motor slowed in its progress, finally to stop. The driver +pointed to the right. + +"Over there, sheriff--about fifty feet; that's the Reunion opening." + +"Thanks!" They ran across the spur tracks in the faint light of a +dirty incandescent, gleaming from above. A greasy being faced them and +Bardwell, the sheriff, shouted his mission. + +"Got to catch some people that are making a get-away through Center +City. Can you send us up in the skip?" + +"Yes, two at a time." + +"All right!" The sheriff turned to Harry. "You and I 'll go on the +first trip and hurry for the Ohadi road. Fairchild and Miss Richmond +will wait for the second and go to Sheriff Mason's office and tell him +what's up. Meet us there," he said to Fairchild, as he went forward. +Already the hoist was working; from far above came the grinding of +wheels on rails as the skip was lowered. A wave of the hand, then +Bardwell and Harry entered the big, steel receptacle. At the wall the +greasy workman pulled three times on the electric signal; a moment more +and the skip with its two occupants had passed out of sight. + +A long wait followed while Fairchild strove to talk of many +things,--and failed in all of them. Things were happening too swiftly +for them to be put into crisp sentences by a man whose thoughts were +muddled by the fact that beside him waited a girl in a whipcord riding +suit--the same girl who had leaped from an automobile on the Denver +highway and-- + +It crystallized things for him momentarily. + +"I 'm going to ask you something after a while--something that I 've +wondered and wondered about. I know it was n't anything--but--" + +She laughed up at him. + +"It did look terrible, didn't it?" + +"Well, it would n't have been so mysterious if you had n't hurried away +so quick. And then--" + +"You really did n't think I was the Smelter bandit, did you?" the laugh +still was on her lips. Fairchild scratched his head. + +"Darned if I know what I thought. And I don't know what I think yet." + +"But you 've managed to live through it." + +"Yes--but--" + +She touched his arm and put on a scowl. + +"It's very, very awful!" came in a low, mock-awed voice. "But--" then +the laugh came again--"maybe if you 're good and--well, maybe I 'll +tell you after a while." + +"Honest?" + +"Of course I 'm honest! Is n't that the skip?" + +Fairchild walked to the shaft. But the skip was not in sight. A long +ten minutes they waited, while the great steel carrier made the trip to +the surface with Harry and Sheriff Bardwell, then came lumbering down +again. Fairchild stepped in and lifted Anita to his side. + +The journey was made in darkness,--darkness which Fairchild longed to +turn to his advantage, darkness which seemed to call to him to throw +his arms about the girl at his side, to crush her to him, to seek out +with an instinct that needed no guiding light the laughing, pretty lips +which had caused him many a day of happiness, many a day of worried +wonderment. He strove to talk away the desire--but the grinding of the +wheels in the narrow shaft denied that. His fingers twitched, his arms +trembled as he sought to hold back the muscles, then, yielding to the +impulse, he started-- + +"Da-a-a-g-gone it!" + +"What's the matter?" + +"Nothing." + +But Fairchild was n't telling the truth. They had reached the light +just at the wrong, wrong moment. Out of the skip he lifted her, then +inquired the way to the sheriff's office of this, a new county. The +direction was given, and they went there. They told their story. The +big-shouldered, heavily mustached man at the desk grinned cheerily. + +"That there's the best news I 've heard in forty moons," he announced. +"I always did hate that fellow. You say Bardwell and your partner went +out on the Ohadi road to head the young 'un off?" + +"Yes. They had about a fifteen-minute start on us. Do you think--?" + +"We 'll wait here. They 're hefty and strong. They can handle him +alone." + +But an hour passed without word from the two Searchers. Two more went +by. The sheriff rose from his chair, stamped about the room, and +looked out at the night, a driving, aimless thing in the clutch of a +blizzard. + +"Hope they ain't lost," came at last. + +"Had n't we better--?" + +But a noise from without cut off the conversation. Stamping feet +sounded on the steps, the knob turned, and Sheriff Bardwell, +snow-white, entered, shaking himself like a great dog, as he sought to +rid himself of the effects of the blizzard. + +"Hello, Mason," came curtly. + +"Hello, Bardwell, what 'd you find?" + +The sheriff of Clear Creek county glanced toward Anita Richmond and was +silent. The girl leaped to her feet. + +"Don't be afraid to talk on my account," she begged. "Where's Harry? +Is he all right? Did he come back with you?" + +"Yes--he's back." + +"And you found Maurice?" + +Bardwell was silent again, biting at the end of his mustache. Then he +squared himself. + +"No matter how much a person dislikes another one--it's, it's--always a +shock," came at last. Anita came closer. + +"You mean that he 's dead?" + +The sheriff nodded, and Fairchild came suddenly to his feet. Anita's +face had grown suddenly old,--the oldness that precedes the youth of +great relief. + +"I 'm sorry--for any one who must die," came finally. "But +perhaps--perhaps it was better. Where was he?" + +"About a mile out. He must have rushed his horse too hard. The sweat +was frozen all over it--nobody can push a beast like that through these +drifts and keep it alive." + +"He did n't know much about riding." + +"I should say not. Did n't know much of anything when we got to him. +He was just about gone--tried to stagger to his feet when we came up, +but could n't make it. Kind of acted like he 'd lost his senses +through fear or exposure or something. Asked me who I was, and I said +Bardwell. Seemed to be tickled to hear my name--but he called it +Barnham. Then he got up on his hands and knees and clutched at me and +asked me if I 'd drawn out all the money and had it safe. Just to +humor him, I said I had. He tried to say something after that, but it +was n't much use. The first thing we knew he 'd passed out. That's +where Harry is now--took him over to the mortuary. There isn't anybody +named Barnham, is there?" + +"Barnham?" The name had awakened recollections for Fairchild; "why +he's the fellow that--" + +But Anita cut in. + +"He 's a lawyer in Denver. They 've been sending all the income from +stock sales to him for deposit. If Maurice asked if he 'd gotten the +money out, it must mean that they meant to run with all the proceeds. +We 'll have to telephone Denver." + +"Providing the line's working." Bardwell stared at the other sheriff. +"Is it?" + +"Yes--to Denver." + +"Then let's get headquarters in a hurry. You know Captain Lee, don't +you? You do the talking. Tell him to get hold of this fellow Barnham +and pinch him, and then send him up to Ohadi in care of Pete Carr or +some other good officer. We 've got a lot of things to say to him." + +The message went through. Then the two sheriffs rose and looked at +their revolvers. + +"Now for the tough one." Bardwell made the remark, and Mason smiled +grimly. Fairchild rose and went to them. + +"May I go along?" + +"Yes, but not the girl. Not this time." + +Anita did not demur. She moved to the big rocker beside the old base +burner and curled up in it. Fairchild walked to her side. + +"You won't run away," he begged. + +"I? Why?" + +"Oh--I don't know. It--it just seems too good to be true!" + +She laughed and pulled her cap from her head, allowing her wavy, brown +hair to fall about her shoulders, and over her face. Through it she +smiled up at him, and there was something in that smile which made +Fairchild's heart beat faster than ever. + +"I 'll be right here," she answered, and with that assurance, he +followed the other two men out into the night. + +Far down the street, where the rather bleak outlines of the hotel +showed bleaker than ever in the frigid night, a light was gleaming in a +second-story window. Mason turned to his fellow sheriff. + +"He usually stays there. That must be him--waiting for the kid." + +"Then we 'd better hurry--before somebody springs the news." + +The three entered, to pass the drowsy night clerk, examine the register +and to find that their conjecture had been correct. Tiptoeing, they +went to the door and knocked. A high-pitched voice came from within. + +"That you, Maurice?" + +Fairchild answered in the best imitation he could give. + +"Yes. I 've got Anita with me." + +Steps, then the door opened. For just a second, Squint Rodaine stared +at them in ghastly, sickly fashion. Then he moved back into the room, +still facing them. + +"What's the idea of this?" came his forced query. Fairchild stepped +forward. + +"Simply to tell you that everything 's blown up as far as you 're +concerned, Mr. Rodaine." + +"You needn't be so dramatic about it. You act like I 'd committed a +murder! What 've I done that you should--?" + +"Just a minute. I would n't try to act innocent. For one thing, I +happened to be in the same house with you one night when you showed +Crazy Laura, your wife, how to make people immortal. And we 'll +probably learn a few more things about your character when we 've +gotten back there and interviewed--" + +He stopped his accusations to leap forward, clutching wildly. But in +vain. With a lunge, Squint Rodaine had turned, then, springing high +from the floor, had seemed to double in the air as he crashed through +the big pane of the window and out to the twenty-foot plunge which +awaited him. + +Blocked by the form of Fairchild, the two sheriffs sought in vain to +use the guns which they had drawn from their holsters. Hurriedly they +gained the window, but already the form of Rodaine had unrolled itself +from the snow bank into which it had fallen, dived beneath the +protection of the low coping which ran above the first-floor windows of +the hotel, skirted the building in safety and whirled into the alley +that lay beyond. Squint Rodaine was gone. Frantically, Fairchild +turned for the door, but a big hand stopped him. + +"Let him go--let him think he 's gotten away," said grizzled Sheriff +Mason. "He ain't got a chance. There 's snow everywhere--and we can +trail him like a hound dawg trailing a rabbit. And I think I know +where he 's bound for. Whatever that was you said about Crazy Laura +hit awful close to home. It ain't going to be hard to find that +rattler!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +Fairchild felt the logic of the remark and ceased his worriment. +Quietly, as though nothing had happened, the three men went down the +stairs, passed the sleeping night clerk and headed back to the +sheriff's office, where waited Anita and Harry, who had completed his +last duties in regard to the chalky-faced Maurice Rodaine. The +telephone jangled. It was Denver. Mason talked a moment over the +wire, then turned to his fellow officer. + +"They 've got Barnham. He was in his office, evidently waiting for a +call from here. What's more, he had close to a million dollars in +currency strapped around him. Pete Carr 's bringing him and the boodle +up to Ohadi on the morning train. Guess we 'd better stir up some +horses now and chase along, had n't we?" + +"Yes, and get a gentle one for me," cautioned Harry. "It's been eight +years since I 've sit on the 'urricane deck of a 'orse!" + +"That goes for me too," laughed Fairchild. + +"And me--I like automobiles better," Anita was twisting her long hair +into a braid, to be once more shoved under her cap. Fairchild looked +at her with a new sense of proprietorship. + +"You 're not going to be warm enough!" + +"Oh, yes, I will." + +"But--" + +"I'll end the argument," boomed old Sheriff Mason, dragging a heavy fur +coat from a closet. "If she gets cold in this--I 'm crazy." + +There was little chance. In fact, the only difficulty was to find the +girl herself, once she and the great coat were on the back of a saddle +horse. The start was made. Slowly the five figures circled the hotel +and into the alley, to follow the tracks in the snow to a barn far at +the edge of town. They looked within. A horse and saddle were +missing, and the tracks in the snow pointed the way they had gone. +There was nothing necessary but to follow. + +A detour, then the tracks led the way to the Ohadi road, and behind +them came the pursuers, heads down against the wind, horses snorting +and coughing as they forced their way through the big drifts, each +following one another for the protection it afforded. A long, silent, +cold-gripped two hours,--then finally the lights of Ohadi. + +But even then the trail was not difficult. The little town was asleep; +hardly a track showed in the streets beyond the hoofprints of a horse +leading up the principal thoroughfare and on out to the Georgeville +road. Onward, until before them was the bleak, rat-ridden old +roadhouse which formed Laura's home, and a light was gleaming within. + +Silently the pursuers dismounted and started forward, only to stop +short. A scream had come to them, faint in the bluster of the storm, +the racking scream of a woman in a tempest of anger. Suddenly the +light seemed to bob about in the old house; it showed first at one +window--then another--as though some one were running from room to +room. Once two gaunt shadows stood forth--of a crouching man and a +woman, one hand extended in the air, as she whirled the lamp before her +for an instant and brought herself between its rays and those who +watched. + +Again the chase and then the scream, louder than ever, accompanied by +streaking red flame which spread across the top floor like wind-blown +spray. Shadows weaved before the windows, while the flames seemed to +reach out and enwrap every portion of the upper floor. The staggering +figure of a man with the blaze all about him was visible; then a woman +who rushed past him. Groping as though blinded, the burning form of +the man weaved a moment before a window, clawing in a futile attempt to +open it, the flames, which seemed to leap from every portion of his +body, enwrapping him. Slowly, a torch-like, stricken thing, he sank +out of sight, and as the pursuers outside rushed forward, the figure of +a woman appeared on the old veranda, half naked, shrieking, carrying +something tightly locked in her arms, and plunged down the steps into +the snow. + +Fairchild, circling far to one side, caught her, and with all his +strength resisted her squirming efforts until Harry and Bardwell had +come to his assistance. It was Crazy Laura, the contents of her arms +now showing in the light of the flames as they licked every window of +the upper portion of the house,--five heavy, sheepskin-bound books of +the ledger type, wrapped tight in a grasp that not even Harry could +loosen. + +"Don't take them from me!" the insane woman screamed. "He tried it, +didn't he? And where 's he now--up there burning! He hit me--and I +threw the lamp at him! He wanted my books--he wanted to take them away +from me--but I would n't let him. And you can't have them--hear +me--let go of my arm--let go!" + +She bit at them. She twisted and butted them with her gray head. She +screamed and squirmed,--at last to weaken. Slowly Harry forced her +arms aside and took from them the precious contents,--whatever they +might be. Grimly old Sheriff Mason wrapped her in his coat and led her +to a horse, there to force her to mount and ride with him into town. +The house--with Squint Rodaine--was gone. Already the flame was +breaking through the roof in a dozen places. It would be ashes before +the antiquated fire department of the little town of Ohadi could reach +there. + +Back in the office of Sheriff Bardwell the books--were opened, and +Fairchild uttered an exclamation. + +"Harry! Did n't she talk about her books at the Coroner's inquest?" + +"Yeh. That's them. Them 's her dairy." + +"Diary," Anita corrected. "Everybody knows about that--she writes +everything down in there. And the funny part about it, they say, is +that when she's writing, her mind is straight and she knows what she's +done and tells about it. They 've tried her out." + +Fairchild was leaning forward. + +"See if there 's any entry along early in July--about the time of the +inquest." + +Bardwell turned the closely written pages, with their items set forth +with a slight margin and a double line dividing them from the events +tabulated above. At last he stopped. + +"Testified to-day at the inquest," he read. "I lied. Roady made me do +it. I never saw anybody quarreling. Besides, I did it myself." + +"What's she mean--did it herself?" the sheriff looked up. "Guess we +'ll have to go 'way back for that." + +"First let's see how accurate the thing is," Fairchild interrupted. +"See if there 's an item under November 9 of this year." + +The sheriff searched, then read: + +"I dug a grave to-night. It was not filled. The immortal thing left +me. I knew it would. Roady had come and told me to dig a grave and +put it in there. I did. We filled it with quicklime. Then we went +upstairs and it was gone. I do not understand it. If Roady wanted me +to kill him, why did n't he say so. I will kill if Roady will be good +to me. I 've killed before for him." + +"Still referring to somebody she 's killed," cut in Anita. "I wonder +if it could be possible--" + +"I 've just thought of the date!" Harry broke in excitedly. "It was +along about June 7, 1892. I 'm sure it was around there." + +The old books were mulled over, one after the other. At last Bardwell +leaned forward and pointed to a certain page. + +"Here's an item under May 28. It says: 'Roady has been at me again! +He wants me to fix things so that the three men in the Blue Poppy mine +will get caught in there by a cave-in.'" The sheriff looked up. "This +seems to read a little better than the other stuff. It's not so +jagged. Don't guess she was as much off her nut then as she is now. +Let's see. Where 's the place? Oh, yes: 'If I 'll help him, I can +have half, and we 'll live together again, and he 'll be good to me and +I can have the boy. I know what it's all about. He wants to get the +mine without Sissie Larsen having anything to do with it. Sissie has +cemented up the hole he drilled into the pay ore and has n't told +Fairchild about it, because he thinks Roady will go partnerships with +him and help him buy in. But Roady won't do it. He wants that extra +money for me. He told me so. Roady is good to me sometimes. He +kisses me and makes over me just like he did the night our boy was +born. But that's when he wants me to do something. If he 'll keep his +promise I 'll fix the mine so they won't get out. Then we can buy it +at public sale or from the heirs; and Roady and I will live together +again.'" + +"The poor old soul," there was aching sympathy in Anita Richmond's +voice. "I--I can't help it if she was willing to kill people. The +poor old thing was crazy." + +"Yes, and she 's 'ad us bloody near crazy too. Maybe there 's another +entry." + +"I 'm coming to it. It's along in June. The date 's blurred. Listen: +'I did what Roady wanted me to. I sneaked into the mine and planted +dynamite in the timbers. I wanted to wait until the third man was +there, but I could n't. Fairchild and Larsen were fussing. Fairchild +had learned about the hole and wanted to know what Larsen had found. +Finally Larsen pulled a gun and shot Fairchild. He fell, and I knew he +was dead. Then Larsen bent over him, and when he did I hit him--on the +head with a single-jack hammer. Then I set off the charge. Nobody +ever will know how it happened unless they find the bullet or the gun. +I don't care if they do. Roady wanted me to do it.'" + +Fairchild started to speak, but the sheriff stopped him. + +"Wait, here 's another item: + +"'I failed. I did n't kill either of them. They got out someway and +drove out of town to-night. Roady is mad at me. He won't come near +me. And I 'm so lonesome for him!'" + +"The explanation!" Fairchild almost shouted it as he seized the book +and read it again. "Sheriff, I 've got to make a confession. My +father always thought that he had killed a man. Not that he told +me--but I could guess it easily enough, from other things that +happened. When he came to, he found a single-jack hammer lying beside +him, and Larsen's body across him. Could n't he naturally believe that +he had killed him while in a daze? He was afraid of Rodaine--that +Rodaine would get up a lynching party and string him up. Harry here +and Mrs. Howard helped him out of town. And this is the explanation!" + +Bardwell smiled quizzically. + +"It looks like there 's going to be a lot of explanations. What time +was it when you were trapped in that mine, Harkins?" + +"Along about the first of November." + +The sheriff turned to the page. It was there,--the story of Crazy +Laura and her descent into the Blue Poppy mine, and again the charge of +dynamite which wrecked the tunnel. With a little sigh, Bardwell closed +the book and looked out at the dawn, forcing its way through the +blinding snow. + +"Yes, I guess we 'll find a lot of things in this old book," came at +last. "But I think right now that the best thing any of us can find is +a little sleep." + +Rest,--rest for five wearied persons, but the rest of contentment and +peace. And late in the afternoon, three of them were gathered in the +old-fashioned parlor of Mother Howard's boarding house, waiting for the +return of that dignitary from a sudden mission upon which Anita +Richmond had sent her, involving a trip to the old Richmond mansion. +Harry turned away from his place at the window. + +"The district attorney 'ad a long talk with Barnham," he announced, +"and 'e 's figured out a wye for all the stock'olders in the Silver +Queen to get what's coming to them. As it is, they's about a 'unnerd +thousand short some'eres." + +Fairchild looked up. + +"What's the scheme?" + +"To call a meeting of the stock'olders and transfer all that money over +to a special fund to buy Blue Poppy stock. We 'll 'ave to raise money +anyway to work the mine like we ought to. And it 'd cost something. +You always 'ave to underwrite that sort of thing. I sort of like it, +even if we 'd 'ave to sell stock a little below par. It 'd keep Ohadi +from getting a bad name and all that." + +"I think so too." Anita Richmond laughed, "It suits me fine." + +Fairchild looked down at her and smiled. + +"I guess that's the answer," he said. "Of course that does n't include +the Rodaine stock. In other words, we give a lot of disappointed +stockholders par value for about ninety cents on the dollar. But +Farrell can look after all that. He 's got to have something to keep +him busy as attorney for the company." + +A step on the veranda, and Mother Howard entered, a package under her +arm, which she placed in Anita's lap. The girl looked up at the man +who stood beside her. + +"I promised," she said, "that I 'd tell you about the Denver road." + +He leaned close. + +"That is n't all you promised--just before I left you this morning," +came his whispered voice, and Harry, at the window, doubled in laughter. + +"Why did n't you speak it all out?" he gurgled. "I 'eard every word." + +Anita's eyes snapped. + +"Well, I don't guess that's any worse than me standing behind the +folding doors listening to you and Mother Howard gushing like a couple +of sick doves!" + +"That 'olds me," announced Harry. "That 'olds me. I ain't got a word +to sye!" + +Anita laughed. + +"Persons who live in glass houses, you know. But about this +explanation. I 'm going to ask a hypothetical question. Suppose you +and your family were in the clutches of persons who were always trying +to get you into a position where you 'd be more at their mercy. And +suppose an old friend of the family wanted to make the family a present +and called up from Denver for you to come on down and get it--not for +yourself, but just to have around in case of need. Then suppose you +went to Denver, got the valuable present and then, just when you were +getting up speed to make the first grade on Lookout, you heard a shot +behind you and looked around to see the sheriff coming. And if he +caught you, it 'd mean a lot of worry and the worst kind of gossip, and +maybe you 'd have to go to jail for breaking laws and everything like +that? In a case of that kind, what'd you do?" + +"Run to beat bloody 'ell!" blurted out Harry. + +"And that's just what she did," added Fairchild. "I know because I saw +her." + +Anita was unwrapping the package. + +"And seeing that I did run," she added with a laugh, "and got away with +it, who would like to share in what remains of one beautiful bottle of +Manhattan cocktails?" + +There was not one dissenting voice! + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CROSS-CUT*** + + +******* This file should be named 20104-8.txt or 20104-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/0/1/0/20104 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Gage</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: The Cross-Cut</p> +<p>Author: Courtney Ryley Cooper</p> +<p>Release Date: December 13, 2006 [eBook #20104]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CROSS-CUT***</p> +<br><br><center><h3>E-text prepared by Al Haines</h3></center><br><br> +<hr class="full" noshade> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<A NAME="img-front"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-front.jpg" ALT="Carbide pointing the way, he turned back, pushing the tram before him." BORDER="2" WIDTH="413" HEIGHT="629"> +<H3 CLASS="h3center" STYLE="width: 413px"> +Carbide pointing the way, he turned back, pushing the tram before him. +</H3> +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE CROSS-CUT +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BY +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +COURTNEY RYLEY COOPER +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +WITH FRONTISPIECE BY +<BR> +GEORGE W. GAGE +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +BOSTON +<BR> +LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY +<BR> +1921 +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H5 ALIGN="center"> +Copyright, 1921, +<BR> +BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. +<BR><BR> +All rights reserved +<BR><BR> +Published May, 1921 +</H5> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +TO +<BR> +G. F. C. +<BR><BR> +I'VE THREATENED YOU WITH A DEDICATION +<BR> +FOR A LONG TIME AND HERE IT IS! +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +TABLE OF CONTENTS +</H3> + +<BR> + +<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="100%"> +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap01">CHAPTER I</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap15">CHAPTER XV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap02">CHAPTER II</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap09">CHAPTER IX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap03">CHAPTER III</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap10">CHAPTER X</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap04">CHAPTER IV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap11">CHAPTER XI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap25">CHAPTER XXV</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap05">CHAPTER V</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap12">CHAPTER XII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> </TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap06">CHAPTER VI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap20">CHAPTER XX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> </TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap07">CHAPTER VII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> </TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE CROSS-CUT +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +</H3> + +<P> +It was over. The rambling house, with its rickety, old-fashioned +furniture—and its memories—was now deserted, except for Robert +Fairchild, and he was deserted within it, wandering from room to room, +staring at familiar objects with the unfamiliar gaze of one whose +vision suddenly has been warned by the visitation of death and the +sense of loneliness that it brings. +</P> + +<P> +Loneliness, rather than grief, for it had been Robert Fairchild's +promise that he would not suffer in heart for one who had longed to go +into a peace for which he had waited, seemingly in vain. Year after +year, Thornton Fairchild had sat in the big armchair by the windows, +watching the days grow old and fade into night, studying sunset after +sunset, voicing the vain hope that the gloaming might bring the +twilight of his own existence,—a silent man except for this, rarely +speaking of the past, never giving to the son who worked for him, cared +for him, worshiped him, the slightest inkling of what might have +happened in the dim days of the long ago to transform him into a beaten +thing, longing for the final surcease. And when the end came, it found +him in readiness, waiting in the big armchair by the windows. Even +now, a book lay on the frayed carpeting of the old room, where it had +fallen from relaxing fingers. Robert Fairchild picked it up, and with +a sigh restored it to the grim, fumed oak case. His days of petty +sacrifices that his father might while away the weary hours with +reading were over. +</P> + +<P> +Memories! They were all about him, in the grate with its blackened +coals, the old-fashioned pictures on the walls, the almost gloomy +rooms, the big chair by the window, and yet they told him nothing +except that a white-haired, patient, lovable old man was gone,—a man +whom he was wont to call "father." And in that going, the slow +procedure of an unnatural existence had snapped for Robert Fairchild. +As he roamed about in his loneliness, he wondered what he would do now, +where he could go; to whom he could talk. He had worked since sixteen, +and since sixteen there had been few times when he had not come home +regularly each night, to wait upon the white-haired man in the big +chair, to discern his wants instinctively, and to sit with him, often +in silence, until the old onyx clock on the mantel had clanged eleven; +it had been the same program, day, week, month and year. And now +Robert Fairchild was as a person lost. The ordinary pleasures of youth +had never been his; he could not turn to them with any sort of grace. +The years of servitude to a beloved master had inculcated within him +the feeling of self-impelled sacrifice; he had forgotten all thought of +personal pleasures for their sake alone. The big chair by the window +was vacant, and it created a void which Robert Fairchild could neither +combat nor overcome. +</P> + +<P> +What had been the past? Why the silence? Why the patient, yet +impatient wait for death? The son did not know. In all his memories +was only one faint picture, painted years before in babyhood: the +return of his father from some place, he knew not where, a long +conference with his mother behind closed doors, while he, in childlike +curiosity, waited without, seeking in vain to catch some explanation. +Then a sad-faced woman who cried at night when the house was still, who +faded and who died. That was all. The picture carried no explanation. +</P> + +<P> +And now Robert Fairchild stood on the threshold of something he almost +feared to learn. Once, on a black, stormy night, they had sat +together, father and son before the fire, silent for hours. Then the +hand of the white-haired man had reached outward and rested for a +moment on the young man's knee. +</P> + +<P> +"I wrote something to you, Boy, a day or so ago," he had said. "That +little illness I had prompted me to do it. I—I thought it was only +fair to you. After I 'm gone, look in the safe. You 'll find the +combination on a piece of paper hidden in a hole cut in that old +European history in the bookcase. I have your promise, I know—that +you 'll not do it until after I 'm gone." +</P> + +<P> +Now Thornton Fairchild was gone. But a message had remained behind; +one which the patient lips evidently had feared to utter during life. +The heart of the son began to pound, slow and hard, as, with the memory +of that conversation, he turned toward the bookcase and unlatched the +paneled door. A moment more and the hollowed history had given up its +trust, a bit of paper scratched with numbers. Robert Fairchild turned +toward the stairs and the small room on the second floor which had +served as his father's bedroom. +</P> + +<P> +There he hesitated before the little iron safe in the corner, summoning +the courage to unlock the doors of a dead man's past. At last he +forced himself to his knees and to the numerals of the combination. +</P> + +<P> +The safe had not been opened in years; that was evident from the +creaking of the plungers as they fell, the gummy resistance of the knob +as Fairchild turned it in accordance with the directions on the paper. +Finally, a great wrench, and the bolt was drawn grudgingly back; a +strong pull, and the safe opened. +</P> + +<P> +A few old books; ledgers in sheepskin binding. Fairchild disregarded +these for the more important things that might lie behind the little +inner door of the cabinet. His hand went forward, and he noticed, in a +hazy sort of way, that it was trembling. The door was unlocked; he +drew it open and crouched a moment, staring, before he reached for the +thinner of two envelopes which lay before him. A moment later he +straightened and turned toward the light. A crinkling of paper, a +quick-drawn sigh between clenched teeth; it was a letter; his strange, +quiet, hunted-appearing father was talking to him through the medium of +ink and paper, after death. +</P> + +<P> +Closely written, hurriedly, as though to finish an irksome task in as +short a space as possible, the missive was one of several pages,—pages +which Robert Fairchild hesitated to read. The secret—and he knew full +well that there was a secret—had been in the atmosphere about him ever +since he could remember. Whether or not this was the solution of it, +Robert Fairchild did not know, and the natural reticence with which he +had always approached anything regarding his father's life gave him an +instinctive fear, a sense of cringing retreat from anything that might +now open the doors of mystery. But it was before him, waiting in his +father's writing, and at last his gaze centered; he read: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +My son: +</P> + +<P> +Before I begin this letter to you I must ask that you take no action +whatever until you have seen my attorney—he will be yours from now on. +I have never mentioned him to you before; it was not necessary and +would only have brought you curiosity which I could not have satisfied. +But now, I am afraid, the doors must be unlocked. I am gone. You are +young, you have been a faithful son and you are deserving of every good +fortune that may possibly come to you. I am praying that the years +have made a difference, and that Fortune may smile upon you as she +frowned on me. Certainly, she can injure me no longer. My race is +run; I am beyond earthly fortunes. +</P> + +<P> +Therefore, when you have finished with this, take the deeds inclosed in +the larger envelope and go to St. Louis. There, look up Henry F. +Beamish, attorney-at-law, in the Princess Building. He will explain +them to you. +</P> + +<P> +Beyond this, I fear, there is little that can aid you. I cannot find +the strength, now that I face it, to tell you what you may find if you +follow the lure that the other envelope holds forth to you. +</P> + +<P> +There is always the hope that Fortune may be kind to me at last, and +smile upon my memory by never letting you know why I have been the sort +of man you have known, and not the jovial, genial companion that a +father should be. But there are certain things, my son, which defeat a +man. It killed your mother—every day since her death I have been +haunted by that fact; my prayer is that it may not kill you, +spiritually, if not physically. Therefore is it not better that it +remain behind a cloud until such time as Fortune may reveal it—and +hope that such a time will never come? I think so—not for myself, for +when you read this, I shall be gone; but for you, that you may not be +handicapped by the knowledge of the thing which whitened my hair and +aged me, long before my time. +</P> + +<P> +If he lives, and I am sure he does, there is one who will hurry to your +aid as soon as he knows you need him. Accept his counsels, laugh at +his little eccentricities if you will, but follow his judgment +implicitly. Above all, ask him no questions that he does not care to +answer—there are things that he may not deem wise to tell. It is only +fair that he be given the right to choose his disclosures. +</P> + +<P> +There is little more to say. Beamish will attend to everything for +you—if you care to go. Sell everything that is here; the house, the +furniture, the belongings. It is my wish, and you will need the +capital—if you go. The ledgers in the safe are only old accounts +which would be so much Chinese to you now. Burn them. There is +nothing else to be afraid of—I hope you will never find anything to +fear. And if circumstances should arise to bring before you the story +of that which has caused me so much darkness, I have nothing to say in +self-extenuation. I made one mistake—that of fear—and in committing +one error, I shouldered every blame. It makes little difference now. +I am dead—and free. +</P> + +<P> +My love to you, my son. I hope that wealth and happiness await you. +Blood of my blood flows in your veins—and strange though it may sound +to you—it is the blood of an adventurer. I can almost see you smile +at that! An old man who sat by the window, staring out; afraid of +every knock at the door—and yet an adventurer! But they say, once in +the blood, it never dies. My wish is that you succeed where I +failed—and God be with you! +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +Your father. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +For a long moment Robert Fairchild stood staring at the letter, his +heart pounding with excitement, his hands grasping the foolscap paper +as though with a desire to tear through the shield which the written +words had formed about a mysterious past and disclose that which was so +effectively hidden. So much had the letter told—and yet so little! +Dark had been the hints of some mysterious, intangible thing, great +enough in its horror and its far-reaching consequences to cause death +for one who had known of it and a living panic for him who had +perpetrated it. As for the man who stood now with the letter clenched +before him, there was promise of wealth, and the threat of sorrow, the +hope of happiness, yet the foreboding omen of discoveries which might +ruin the life of the reader as the existence of the writer had been +blasted,—until death had brought relief. Of all this had the letter +told, but when Robert Fairchild read it again in the hope of something +tangible, something that might give even a clue to the reason for it +all, there was nothing. In that super-calmness which accompanies great +agitation, Fairchild folded the paper, placed it in its envelope, then +slipped it into an inside pocket. A few steps and he was before the +safe once more and reaching for the second envelope. +</P> + +<P> +Heavy and bulky was this, filled with tax receipts, with plats and +blueprints and the reports of surveyors. Here was an assay slip, +bearing figures and notations which Robert Fairchild could not +understand. Here a receipt for money received, here a vari-colored map +with lines and figures and conglomerate designs which Fairchild +believed must relate in some manner to the location of a mining camp; +all were aged and worn at the edges, giving evidence of having been +carried, at some far time of the past, in a wallet. More receipts, +more blueprints, then a legal document, sealed and stamped, and bearing +the words: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +County of Clear Creek, ) ss.<BR> +State of Colorado. )<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +DEED PATENT. +</P> + +<P> +KNOW ALL MEN BY THESE PRESENTS: That on this day of our Lord, February +22, 1892, Thornton W. Fairchild, having presented the necessary +affidavits and statements of assessments accomplished in accordance +with— +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +On it trailed in endless legal phraseology, telling in muddled, +attorney-like language, the fact that the law had been fulfilled in its +requirements, and that the claim for which Thornton Fairchild had +worked was rightfully his, forever. A longer statement full of +figures, of diagrams and surveyor's calculations which Fairchild could +neither decipher nor understand, gave the location, the town site and +the property included within the granted rights. It was something for +an attorney, such as Beamish, to interpret, and Fairchild reached for +the age-yellowed envelope to return the papers to their resting place. +But he checked his motion involuntarily and for a moment held the +envelope before him, staring at it with wide eyes. Then, as though to +free by the stronger light of the window the haunting thing which faced +him, he rose and hurried across the room, to better light, only to find +it had not been imagination; the words still were before him, a +sentence written in faint, faded ink proclaiming the contents to be +"Papers relating to the Blue Poppy Mine", and written across this a +word in the bolder, harsher strokes of a man under stress of emotion, a +word which held the eyes of Robert Fairchild fixed and staring, a word +which spelled books of the past and evil threats of the future, the +single, ominous word: +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +"Accursed!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H3> + + +<P> +One works quickly when prodded by the pique of curiosity. And in spite +of all that omens could foretell, in spite of the dull, gloomy life +which had done its best to fashion a matter-of-fact brain for Robert +Fairchild, one sentence in that letter had found an echo, had started a +pulsating something within him that he never before had known: +</P> + +<P> +"—It is the blood of an adventurer." +</P> + +<P> +And it seemed that Robert Fairchild needed no more than the knowledge +to feel the tingle of it; the old house suddenly became stuffy and +prison-like as he wandered through it. Within his pocket were two +envelopes filled with threats of the future, defying him to advance and +fight it out,—whatever <I>it</I> might be. Again and again pounded through +his head the fact that only a night of travel intervened between +Indianapolis and St. Louis; within twelve hours he could be in the +office of Henry Beamish. And then— +</P> + +<P> +A hurried resolution. A hasty packing of a traveling bag and the +cashing of a check at the cigar store down on the corner. A wakeful +night while the train clattered along upon its journey. Then morning +and walking of streets until office hours. At last: +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm Robert Fairchild," he said, as he faced a white-haired, +Cupid-faced man in the rather dingy offices of the Princess Building. +A slow smile spread over the pudgy features of the genial appearing +attorney, and he waved a fat hand toward the office's extra chair. +</P> + +<P> +"Sit down, Son," came casually. "Need n't have announced yourself. I +'d have known you—just like your father, Boy. How is he?" Then his +face suddenly sobered. "I 'm afraid your presence is the answer. Am I +right?" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild nodded gravely. The old attorney slowly placed his fat hands +together, peaking the fingers, and stared out of the window to the +grimy roof and signboards of the next building. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps it's better so," he said at last. "We had n't seen each other +in ten years—not since I went up to Indianapolis to have my last talk +with him. Did he get any cheerier before—he went?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"Just the same, huh? Always waiting?" +</P> + +<P> +"Afraid of every step on the veranda, of every knock at the door." +</P> + +<P> +Again the attorney stared out of the window. +</P> + +<P> +"And you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I?" Fairchild leaned forward in his chair. "I don't understand." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you afraid?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of what?" +</P> + +<P> +The lawyer smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. Only—" and he leaned forward—"it's just as though I +were living my younger days over this morning. It doesn't seem any +time at all since your father was sitting just about where you are now, +and gad, Boy, how much you look like he looked that morning! The same +gray-blue, earnest eyes, the same dark hair, the same strong shoulders, +and good, manly chin, the same build—and look of determination about +him. The call of adventure was in his blood, and he sat there all +enthusiastic, telling me what he intended doing and asking my +advice—although he would n't have followed it if I had given it. Back +home was a baby and the woman he loved, and out West was sudden wealth, +waiting for the right man to come along and find it. Gad!" +White-haired old Beamish chuckled with the memory of it. "He almost +made me throw over the law business that morning and go out adventuring +with him! Then four years later," the tone changed suddenly, "he came +back." +</P> + +<P> +"What then?" Fairchild was on the edge of his chair. But Beamish only +spread his hands. +</P> + +<P> +"Truthfully, Boy, I don't know. I have guessed—but I won't tell you +what. All I know is that your father found what he was looking for and +was on the point of achieving his every dream, when something happened. +Then three men simply disappeared from the mining camp, announcing that +they had failed and were going to hunt new diggings. That was all. +One of them was your father—" +</P> + +<P> +"But you said that he 'd found—" +</P> + +<P> +"Silver, running twenty ounces to the ton on an eight-inch vein which +gave evidences of being only the beginning of a bonanza! I know, +because he had written me that, a month before." +</P> + +<P> +"And he abandoned it?" +</P> + +<P> +"He 'd forgotten what he had written when I saw him again. I did n't +question him. I did n't want to—his face told me enough to guess that +I would n't learn. He went home then, after giving me enough money to +pay the taxes on the mine for the next twenty years, simply as his +attorney and without divulging his whereabouts. I did it. Eight years +or so later, I saw him in Indianapolis. He gave me more money—enough +for eleven or twelve years—" +</P> + +<P> +"And that was ten years ago?" Robert Fairchild's eyes were reminiscent. +"I remember—I was only a kid. He sold off everything he had, except +the house." +</P> + +<P> +Henry Beamish walked to his safe and fumbled there a moment, to return +at last with a few slips of paper. +</P> + +<P> +"Here 's the answer," he said quietly, "the taxes are paid until 1922." +</P> + +<P> +Robert Fairchild studied the receipts carefully—futilely. They told +him nothing. The lawyer stood looking down upon him; at last he laid a +hand on his shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"Boy," came quietly, "I know just about what you 're thinking. I 've +spent a few hours at the same kind of a job myself, and I 've called +old Henry Beamish more kinds of a fool than you can think of for not +coming right out flat-footed and making Thornton tell me the whole +story. But some way, when I 'd look into those eyes with the fire all +dead and ashen within them, and see the lines of an old man in his +young face, I—well, I guess I 'm too soft-hearted to make folks +suffer. I just couldn't do it!" +</P> + +<P> +"So you can tell me nothing?" +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm afraid that's true—in one way. In another I 'm a fund of +information. To-night you and I will go to Indianapolis and probate +the will—it's simple enough; I 've had it in my safe for ten years. +After that, you become the owner of the Blue Poppy mine, to do with as +you choose." +</P> + +<P> +"But—" +</P> + +<P> +The old lawyer chuckled. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't ask my advice, Boy. I have n't any. Your father told me what +to do if you decided to try your luck—and silver 's at $1.29. It +means a lot of money for anybody who can produce pay ore—unless what +he said about the mine pinching out was true." +</P> + +<P> +Again the thrill of a new thing went through Robert Fairchild's veins, +something he never had felt until twelve hours before; again the urge +for strange places, new scenes, the fire of the hunt after the hidden +wealth of silver-seamed hills. Somewhere it lay awaiting him; nor did +he even know in what form. Robert Fairchild's life had been a plodding +thing of books and accounts, of high desks which as yet had failed to +stoop his shoulders, of stuffy offices which had been thwarted so far +in their grip at his lung power; the long walk in the morning and the +tired trudge homeward at night to save petty carfare for a silent man's +pettier luxuries had looked after that. But the recoil had not exerted +itself against an office-cramped brain, a dusty ledger-filled life that +suddenly felt itself crying out for the free, open country, without +hardly knowing what the term meant. Old Beamish caught the light in +the eyes, the quick contraction of the hands, and smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't need to tell me, Son," he said slowly. "I can see the +symptoms. You 've got the fever—You 're going to work that mine. +Perhaps," and he shrugged his shoulders, "it's just as well. But there +are certain things to remember." +</P> + +<P> +"Name them." +</P> + +<P> +"Ohadi is thirty-eight miles from Denver. That's your goal. Out +there, they 'll tell you how the mine caved in, and how Thornton +Fairchild, who had worked it, together with his two men, Harry Harkins, +a Cornishman, and 'Sissie' Larsen, a Swede, left town late one night +for Cripple Creek—and that they never came back. That's the story +they 'll tell you. Agree with it. Tell them that Harkins, as far as +you know, went back to Cornwall, and that you have heard vaguely that +Larsen later followed the mining game farther out West." +</P> + +<P> +"Is it the truth?" +</P> + +<P> +"How do I know? It 's good enough—people should n't ask questions. +Tell nothing more than that—and be careful of your friends. There is +one man to watch—if he is still alive. They call him 'Squint' +Rodaine, and he may or may not still be there. I don't know—I 'm only +sure of the fact that your father hated him, fought him and feared him. +The mine tunnel is two miles up Kentucky Gulch and one hundred yards to +the right. A surveyor can lead you to the very spot. It's been +abandoned now for thirty years. What you 'll find there is more than I +can guess. But, Boy," and his hand clenched tight on Robert +Fairchild's shoulder, "whatever you do, whatever you run into, whatever +friends or enemies you find awaiting you, don't let that light die out +of your eyes and don't pull in that chin! If you find a fight on your +hands, whether it's man, beast or nature, sail into it! If you run +into things that cut your very heart out to learn—beat 'em down and +keep going! And win! There—that's all the advice I know. Meet me at +the 11:10 train for Indianapolis. Good-by." +</P> + +<P> +"Good-by—I 'll be there." Fairchild grasped the pudgy hand and left +the office. For a moment afterward, old Henry Beamish stood thinking +and looking out over the dingy roof adjacent. Then, somewhat absently, +he pressed the ancient electric button for his more ancient +stenographer. +</P> + +<P> +"Call a messenger, please," he ordered when she entered, "I want to +send a cablegram." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +</H3> + + +<P> +Two weeks later, Robert Fairchild sat in the smoking compartment of the +Overland Limited, looking at the Rocky Mountains in the distance. In +his pocket were a few hundred dollars; in the bank in Indianapolis a +few thousand, representing the final proceeds of the sale of everything +that had connected him with a rather dreary past. Out before him— +</P> + +<P> +The train had left Limon Junction on its last, clattering, rushing leg +of the journey across the plains, tearing on through a barren country +of tumbleweed, of sagebrush, of prairie-dog villages and jagged arroyos +toward the great, crumpled hills in the distance,—hills which meant +everything to Robert Fairchild. Two weeks had created a metamorphosis +in what had been a plodding, matter-of-fact man with dreams which did +not extend beyond his ledgers and his gloomy home—but now a man +leaning his head against the window of a rushing train, staring ahead +toward the Rockies and the rainbow they held for him. Back to the +place where his father had gone with dreams aglow was the son traveling +now,—back into the rumpled mountains where the blue haze hung low and +protecting as though over mysteries and treasures which awaited one man +and one alone. Robert Fairchild momentarily had forgotten the +foreboding omens which, like murky shadows, had been cast in his path +by a beaten, will-broken father. He only knew that he was young, that +he was strong, that he was free from the drudgery which had sought to +claim him forever; he felt only the surge of excitement that can come +with new surroundings, new country, new life. Out there before him, as +the train rattled over culverts spanning the dry arroyos, or puffed +gingerly up the grades toward the higher levels of the plains, were the +hills, gray and brown in the foreground, blue as the blue sea farther +on, then fringing into the sun-pinked radiance of the snowy range, +forming the last barrier against a turquoise sky. It thrilled +Fairchild, it caused his heart to tug and pull,—nor could he tell +exactly why. +</P> + +<P> +Still eighty miles away, the range was sharply outlined to Fairchild, +from the ragged hump of Pikes Peak far to the south, on up to where the +gradual lowering of the mighty upheaval slid away into Wyoming. Eighty +miles, yet they were clear with the clearness that only altitudinous +country can bring; alluring, fascinating, beckoning to him until his +being rebelled against the comparative slowness of the train, and the +minutes passed in a dragging, long-drawn-out sequence that was almost +an agony to Robert Fairchild. +</P> + +<P> +Hours! The hills came closer. Still closer; then, when it seemed that +the train must plunge straight into them, they drew away again, as +though through some optical illusion, and brooded in the background, as +the long, transcontinental train began to bang over the frogs and +switches as it made its entrance into Denver. Fairchild went through +the long chute and to a ticket window of the Union Station. +</P> + +<P> +"When can I get a train for Ohadi?" +</P> + +<P> +The ticket seller smiled. "You can't get one." +</P> + +<P> +"But the map shows that a railroad runs there—" +</P> + +<P> +"Ran there, you mean," chaffed the clerk. +</P> + +<P> +"The best you can do is get to Forks Creek and walk the rest of the +way. That's a narrow-gauge line, and Clear Creek 's been on a rampage. +It took out about two hundred feet of trestle, and there won't be a +train into Ohadi for a week." +</P> + +<P> +The disappointment on Fairchild's face was more than apparent, almost +boyish in its depression. The ticket seller leaned closer to the +wicket. +</P> + +<P> +"Stranger out here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very much of one." +</P> + +<P> +"In a hurry to get to Ohadi?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you can go uptown and hire a taxi—they 've got big cars for +mountain work and there are good roads all the way. It 'll cost +fifteen or twenty dollars. Or—" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild smiled. "Give me the other system if you 've got one. I 'm +not terribly long on cash—for taxis." +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly. I was just going to tell you about it. No use spending +that money if you 've got a little pep, and it is n't a matter of life +or death. Go up to the Central Loop—anybody can direct you—and catch +a street car for Golden. That eats up fifteen miles and leaves just +twenty-three miles more. Then ask somebody to point out the road over +Mount Lookout. Machines go along there every few minutes—no trouble +at all to catch a ride. You 'll be in Ohadi in no time." +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild obeyed the instructions, and in the baggage room rechecked +his trunk to follow him, lightening his traveling bag at the same time +until it carried only necessities. A luncheon, then the street car. +Three quarters of an hour later, he began the five-mile trudge up the +broad, smooth, carefully groomed automobile highway which masters Mount +Lookout. A rumbling sound behind him, then as he stepped to one side, +a grimy truck driver leaned out to shout as he passed: +</P> + +<P> +"Want a lift? Hop on! Can't stop—too much grade." +</P> + +<P> +A running leap, and Fairchild seated himself on the tailboard of the +truck, swinging his legs and looking out over the fading plains as the +truck roared and clattered upward along the twisting mountain road. +</P> + +<P> +Higher, higher, while the truck labored along the grade, and while the +buildings in Golden below shrank smaller and smaller. The reservoir +lake in the center of the town, a broad expanse of water only a short +time before, began to take on the appearance of some great, blue-white +diamond glistening in the sun. Gradually a stream outlined itself in +living topography upon a map which seemed as large as the world itself. +Denver, fifteen miles away, came into view, its streets showing like +seams in a well-sewn garment, the sun, even at this distance, striking +a sheen from the golden dome of the capitol building. Higher! The +chortling truck gasped at the curves and tugged on the straightaway, +but Robert Fairchild had ceased to hear. His every attention was +centered on the tremendous stage unfolded before him, the vast +stretches of the plains rolling away beneath, even into Kansas and +Wyoming and Nebraska, hundreds of miles away, plains where once the +buffalo had roamed in great, shaggy herds, where once the emigrant +trains had made their slow, rocking progress into a Land of Heart's +Desire; and he began to understand something of the vastness of life, +the great scope of ambition; new things to a man whose world, until two +weeks before, had been the four chalky walls of an office. +</P> + +<P> +Cool breezes from pine-fringed gulches brushed his cheek and smoothed +away the burning touch of a glaring sun; the truck turned into the +hairpin curves of the steep ascent, giving him a glimpse of deep +valleys, green from the touch of flowing streams, of great clefts with +their vari-hued splotches of granite, and on beyond, mound after mound +of pine-clothed hills, fringing the peaks of eternal snow, far away. +The blood suddenly grew hot in Fairchild's veins; he whistled, he +repressed a wild, spasmodic desire to shout. The spirit that had been +the spirit of the determined men of the emigrant trains was his now; he +remembered that he was traveling slowly toward a fight—against whom, +or what, he knew not—but he welcomed it just the same. The exaltation +of rarefied atmosphere was in his brain; dingy offices were gone +forever. He was free; and for the first time in his life, he +appreciated the meaning of the word. +</P> + +<P> +Upward, still upward! The town below became merely a checkerboard +thing, the lake a dot of gleaming silver, the stream a scintillating +ribbon stretching off into the foothills. A turn, and they skirted a +tremendous valley, its slopes falling away in sheer descents from the +roadway. A darkened, moist stretch of road, fringed by pines, then a +jogging journey over rolling table-land. At last came a voice from the +driver's seat, and Fairchild turned like a man suddenly awakened. +</P> + +<P> +"Turn off up here at Genesee Mountain. Which way do you go?" +</P> + +<P> +"Trying to get to Ohadi." Fairchild shouted it above the roar of the +engine. The driver waved a hand forward. +</P> + +<P> +"Keep to the main road. Drop off when I make the turn. You 'll pick +up another ride soon. Plenty of chances." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks for the lift." +</P> + +<P> +"Aw, forget it." +</P> + +<P> +The truck wheeled from the main road and chugged away, leaving +Fairchild afoot, making as much progress as possible toward his goal +until good fortune should bring a swifter means of locomotion. A +half-mile he walked, studying the constant changes of the scenery +before him, the slopes and rises, the smooth valleys and jagged crags +above, the clouds as they drifted low upon the higher peaks, shielding +them from view for a moment, then disappearing. Then suddenly he +wheeled. Behind him sounded the swift droning of a motor, cut-out +open, as it rushed forward along the road,—and the noise told a story +of speed. +</P> + +<P> +Far at the brow of a steep hill it appeared, seeming to hang in space +for an instant before leaping downward. Rushing, plunging, once +skidding dangerously at a small curve, it made the descent, bumped over +a bridge, was lost for a second in the pines, then sped toward him, a +big touring car, with a small, resolute figure clinging to the wheel. +The quarter of a mile changed to a furlong, the furlong to a hundred +yards,—then, with a report like a revolver shot, the machine suddenly +slewed in drunken fashion far to one side of the road, hung dangerously +over the steep cliff an instant, righted itself, swayed forward and +stopped, barely twenty-five yards away. Staring, Robert Fairchild saw +that a small, trim figure had leaped forth and was waving excitedly to +him, and he ran forward. +</P> + +<P> +His first glance had proclaimed it a boy; the second had told a +different story. A girl—dressed in far different fashion from Robert +Fairchild's limited specifications of feminine garb—she caused him to +gasp in surprise, then to stop and stare. Again she waved a hand and +stamped a foot excitedly; a vehement little thing in a snug, whipcord +riding habit and a checkered cap pulled tight over closely braided +hair, she awaited him with all the impatience of impetuous womanhood. +</P> + +<P> +"For goodness' sake, come here!" she called, as he still stood gaping. +"I 'll give you five dollars. Hurry!" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild managed to voice the fact that he would be willing to help +without remuneration, as he hurried forward, still staring at her, a +vibrant little thing with dark-brown wisps of hair which had been blown +from beneath her cap straying about equally dark-brown, snapping eyes +and caressing the corners of tightly pressed, momentarily impatient +lips. Only a second she hesitated, then dived for the tonneau, jerking +with all her strength at the heavy seat cushion, as he stepped to the +running board beside her. +</P> + +<P> +"Can't get this dinged thing up!" she panted. "Always sticks when you +'re in a hurry. That's it! Jerk it. Thanks! Here!" She reached +forward and a small, sun-tanned hand grasped a greasy jack, "Slide +under the back axle and put this jack in place, will you? And rush it! +I 've got to change a tire in nothing flat! Hurry!" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild, almost before he knew it, found himself under the rear of +the car, fussing with a refractory lifting jack and trying to keep his +eyes from the view of trimly clad, brown-shod little feet, as they +pattered about at the side of the car, hurried to the running board, +then stopped as wrenches and a hammer clattered to the ground. Then +one shoe was raised, to press tight against a wheel; metal touched +metal, a feminine gasp sounded as strength was exerted in vain, then +eddying dust as the foot stamped, accompanied by an exasperated +ejaculation. +</P> + +<P> +"Ding these old lugs! They 're rusted! Got that jack in place yet?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes! I'm raising the car now." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, please hurry." There was pleading in the tone now. "Please!" +</P> + +<P> +The car creaked upward. Out came Fairchild, brushing the dust from his +clothes. But already the girl was pressing the lug wrench into his +hands. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't mind that dirt," came her exclamation. "I 'll—I 'll give you +some extra money to get your suit cleaned. Loosen those lugs, while I +get the spare tire off the back. And for goodness' sake, please hurry!" +</P> + +<P> +Astonishment had taken away speech for Fairchild. He could only +wonder—and obey. Swiftly he twirled the wrench while lug after lug +fell to the ground, and while the girl, struggling with a tire +seemingly almost as big as herself, trundled the spare into position to +await the transfer. As for Fairchild, he was in the midst of a task +which he had seen performed far more times than he had done it himself. +He strove to remove the blown-out shoe with the cap still screwed on +the valve stem; he fussed and swore under his breath, and panted, while +behind him a girl in whipcord riding habit and close-pulled cap +fidgeted first on one tan-clad foot, then on the other, anxiously +watching the road behind her and calling constantly for speed. +</P> + +<P> +At last the job was finished, the girl fastening the useless shoe +behind the machine while Fairchild tightened the last of the lugs. +Then as he straightened, a small figure shot to his side, took the +wrench from his hand and sent it, with the other tools, clattering into +the tonneau. A tiny hand went into a pocket, something that crinkled +was shoved into the man's grasp, and while he stood there gasping, she +leaped to the driver's seat, slammed the door, spun the starter until +it whined, and with open cutout roaring again, was off and away, +rocking down the mountain side, around a curve and out of sight—while +Fairchild merely stood there, staring wonderingly at a ten-dollar bill! +</P> + +<P> +A noise from the rear, growing louder, and the amazed man turned to see +a second machine, filled with men, careening toward him. Fifty feet +away the brakes creaked, and the big automobile came to a skidding, +dust-throwing stop. A sun-browned man in a Stetson hat, metal badge +gleaming from beneath his coat, leaned forth. +</P> + +<P> +"Which way did he go?" +</P> + +<P> +"He?" Robert Fairchild stared. +</P> + +<P> +"Yeh. Did n't a man just pass here in an automobile? Where'd he +go—straight on the main road or off on the circuit trail?" +</P> + +<P> +"It—it was n't a man." +</P> + +<P> +"Not a man?" The four occupants of the machine stared at him. "Don't +try to bull us that it was a woman." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no—no—of course not." Fairchild had found his senses. "But it +was n't a man. It—it was a boy, just about fifteen years old." +</P> + +<P> +"Sure?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes—" Fairchild was swimming in deep water now. "I got a good +look at him. He—he took that road off to the left." +</P> + +<P> +It was the opposite one to which the hurrying fugitive in whipcord had +taken. There was doubt in the interrogator's eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Sure of that?" he queried. "I 'm the sheriff of Arapahoe County. +That's an auto bandit ahead of us. We—" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I would n't swear to it. There was another machine ahead, and I +lost 'em both for a second down there by the turn. I did n't see the +other again, but I did get a glimpse of one off on that side road. It +looked like the car that passed me. That's all I know." +</P> + +<P> +"Probably him, all right." The voice came from the tonneau. "Maybe he +figured to give us the slip and get back to Denver. You did n't notice +the license number?" This to Fairchild. That bewildered person shook +his head. +</P> + +<P> +"No. Did n't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Could n't—covered with dust when we first took the trail and never +got close enough afterward. But it was the same car—that's almost a +cinch." +</P> + +<P> +"Let's go!" The sheriff was pressing a foot on the accelerator. Down +the hill went the car, to skid, then to make a short turn on to the +road which led away from the scent, leaving behind a man standing in +the middle of the road, staring at a ten-dollar bill,—and wondering +why he had lied! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +</H3> + + +<P> +Wonderment which got nowhere. The sheriff's car returned before +Fairchild reached the bottom of the grade, and again stopped to survey +the scene of defeat, while Fairchild once more told his story, deleting +items which, to him, appeared unnecessary for consumption by officers +of the law. Carefully the sheriff surveyed the winding road before him +and scratched his head. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't guess it would have made much difference which way he went," +came ruefully at last, "I never saw a fellow turn loose with so much +speed on a mountain road. We never could have caught him!" +</P> + +<P> +"Dangerous character?" Fairchild hardly knew why he asked the +question. The sheriff smiled grimly. +</P> + +<P> +"If it was the fellow we were after, he was plenty dangerous. We were +trailing him on word from Denver—described the car and said he 'd +pulled a daylight hold-up on a pay-wagon for the Smelter Company—so +when the car went through Golden, we took up the trail a couple of +blocks behind. He kept the same speed for a little while until one of +my deputies got a little anxious and took a shot at a tire. Man, how +he turned on the juice! I thought that thing was a jack rabbit the way +it went up the hill! We never had a chance after that!" +</P> + +<P> +"And you 're sure it was the same person?" +</P> + +<P> +The sheriff toyed with the gear shift. +</P> + +<P> +"You never can be sure about nothing in this business," came finally. +"But there 's this to think about: if that fellow was n't guilty of +something, why did he run?" +</P> + +<P> +"It might have been a kid in a stolen machine," came from the back seat. +</P> + +<P> +"If it was, we 've got to wait until we get a report on it. I guess +it's us back to the office." +</P> + +<P> +The automobile went its way then, and Fairchild his, still wondering; +the sheriff's question, with a different gender, recurring again and +again: +</P> + +<P> +"If she was n't guilty of something, why did she run?" +</P> + +<P> +And why had she? More, why had she been willing to give ten dollars in +payment for the mere changing of a tire? And why had she not offered +some explanation of it all? It was a problem which almost wiped out +for Robert Fairchild the zest of the new life into which he was going, +the great gamble he was about to take. And so thoroughly did it +engross him that it was not until a truck had come to a full stop +behind him, and a driver mingled a shout with the tooting of his horn, +that he turned to allow its passage. +</P> + +<P> +"Did n't hear you, old man," he apologized. "Could you give a fellow a +lift?" +</P> + +<P> +"Guess so." It was friendly, even though a bit disgruntled; "hop on." +</P> + +<P> +And Fairchild hopped, once more to sit on the tailboard, swinging his +legs, but this time his eyes saw the ever-changing scenery without +noticing it. In spite of himself, Fairchild found himself constantly +staring at a vision of a pretty girl in a riding habit, with dark-brown +hair straying about equally dark-brown eyes, almost frenzied in her +efforts to change a tire in time to elude a pursuing sheriff. Some +way, it all did n't blend. Pretty girls, no doubt, could commit +infractions of the law just as easily as ones less gifted with good +looks. Yet if this particular pretty girl had held up a pay wagon, why +did n't the telephoned notice from Denver state the fact, instead of +referring to her as a man? And if she had n't committed some sort of +depredation against the law, why on earth was she willing to part with +ten dollars, merely to save a few moments in changing a tire and thus +elude a sheriff? If there had been nothing wrong, could not a moment +of explanation have satisfied any one of the fact? Anyway, were n't +the officers looking for a man instead of for a woman? And yet: +</P> + +<P> +"If she was n't guilty of something, why did she run?" +</P> + +<P> +It was too much for any one, and Fairchild knew it. Yet he clung +grimly to the mystery as the truck clattered on, mile after mile, while +the broad road led along the sides of the hills, finally to dip +downward and run beside the bubbling Clear Creek,—clear no longer in +the memory of the oldest inhabitant; but soiled by the silica from ore +deposits that, churned and rechurned, gave to the stream a whitish, +almost milk-like character, as it twisted in and out of the tortuous +cañon on its turbulent journey to the sea. But Fairchild failed to +notice either that or the fact that ancient, age-whitened water wheels +had begun to appear here and there, where gulch miners, seekers after +gold in the silt of the creek's bed, had abandoned them years before; +that now and then upon the hills showed the gaunt scars of mine +openings,—reminders of dreams of a day long past; or even the more +important fact that in the distance, softened by the mellowing rays of +a dying sun, a small town gradually was coming into view. A mile more, +then the truck stopped with a jerk. +</P> + +<P> +"Where you bound for, pardner?" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild turned absently, then grinned in embarrassment. +</P> + +<P> +"Ohadi." +</P> + +<P> +"That's it, straight ahead. I turn off here. Stranger?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yep." +</P> + +<P> +"Miner?" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild shrugged his shoulders and nodded noncommittally. The truck +driver toyed with his wheel. +</P> + +<P> +"Just thought I 'd ask. Plenty of work around here for single and +double jackers. Things are beginning to look up a bit—at least in +silver. Gold mines ain't doing much yet—but there 's a good deal +happening with the white stuff." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks. Do you know a good place to stop?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yeh. Mother Howard's Boarding House. Everybody goes there, sooner or +later. You 'll see it on the left-hand side of the street before you +get to the main block. Good old girl; knows how to treat anybody in +the mining game from operators on down. She was here when mining was +mining!" +</P> + +<P> +Which was enough recommendation for Mother Howard. Fairchild lifted +his bag from the rear of the vehicle, waved a farewell to the driver +and started into the village. And then—for once—the vision of the +girl departed, momentarily, to give place to other thoughts, other +pictures, of a day long gone. +</P> + +<P> +The sun was slanting low, throwing deep shadows from the hills into the +little valley with its chattering, milk-white stream, softening the +scars of the mountains with their great refuse dumps; reminders of +hopes of twenty years before and as bare of vegetation as in the days +when the pick and gad and drill of the prospector tore the rock loose +from its hiding place under the surface of the ground. Nature, in the +mountainous country, resents any outrage against her dignity; the scars +never heal; the mine dumps of a score of years ago remain the same, +without a single shrub or weed or blade of grass growing in the big +heaps of rocky refuse to shield them. +</P> + +<P> +But now it was all softened and aglow with sunset. The deep red +buildings of the Argonaut tunnel—a great, criss-crossing hole through +the hills that once connected with more than thirty mines and their +feverish activities—were denuded of their rust and lack of repair. +The steam from the air-compressing engine, furnishing the necessary +motive power for the drills that still worked in the hills, curled +upward in billowy, rainbow-like coloring. The scrub pines of the +almost barren mountains took on a fluffier, softer tone; the jutting +rocks melted away into their own shadows, it was a picture of peace and +of memories. +</P> + +<P> +And it had been here that Thornton Fairchild, back in the nineties, had +dreamed his dreams and fought his fight. It had been here—somewhere +in one of the innumerable cañons that led away from the little town on +every side—that Thornton Fairchild had followed the direction of +"float ore" to its resting place, to pursue the vagrant vein through +the hills, to find it at last, to gloat over it in his letters to +Beamish and then to—what? +</P> + +<P> +A sudden cramping caught the son's heart, and it pounded with something +akin to fear. The old foreboding of his father's letter had come upon +him, the mysterious thread of that elusive, intangible Thing, great +enough to break the will and resistance of a strong man and turn him +into a weakling—silent, white-haired—sitting by a window, waiting for +death. What had it been? Why had it come upon his father? How could +it be fought? All so suddenly, Robert Fairchild had realized that he +was in the country of the invisible enemy, there to struggle against it +without the slightest knowledge of what it was or how it could be +combated. His forehead felt suddenly damp and cold. He brushed away +the beady perspiration with a gesture almost of anger, then with a look +of relief, turned in at a small white gate toward a big, rambling +building which proclaimed itself, by the sign on the door, to be Mother +Howard's Boarding House. +</P> + +<P> +A moment of waiting, then he faced a gray-haired, kindly faced woman, +who stared at him with wide-open eyes as she stood, hands on hips, +before him. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you tell me I don't know you!" she burst forth at last. +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm afraid you don't." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't I?" Mother Howard cocked her head. "If you ain't a Fairchild, I +'ll never feed another miner corned beef and cabbage as long as I live. +Ain't you now?" she persisted, "ain't you a Fairchild?" +</P> + +<P> +The man laughed in spite of himself. "You guessed it." +</P> + +<P> +"You 're Thornton Fairchild's boy!" She had reached out for his +handbag, and then, bustling about him, drew him into the big "parlor" +with its old-fashioned, plush-covered chairs, its picture album, its +glass-covered statuary on the old, onyx mantel. "Did n't I know you +the minute I saw you? Land, you're the picture of your dad! Sakes +alive, how is he?" +</P> + +<P> +There was a moment of silence. Fairchild found himself suddenly +halting and boyish as he stood before her. +</P> + +<P> +"He 's—he 's gone, Mrs. Howard." +</P> + +<P> +"Dead?" She put up both hands. "It don't seem possible. And me +remembering him looking just like you, full of life and strong and—" +</P> + +<P> +"Our pictures of him are a good deal different. I—I guess you knew +him when everything was all right for him. Things were different after +he got home again." +</P> + +<P> +Mother Howard looked quickly about her, then with a swift motion closed +the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Son," she asked in a low voice, "did n't he ever get over it?" +</P> + +<P> +"It?" Fairchild felt that he stood on the threshold of discoveries. +"What do you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"Didn't he ever tell you anything, Son?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. I—" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, there was n't any need to." But Mother Howard's sudden +embarrassment, her change of color, told Fairchild it was n't the +truth. "He just had a little bad luck out here, that was all. +His—his mine pinched out just when he thought he 'd struck it rich—or +something like that." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you sure that is the truth?" +</P> + +<P> +For a second they faced each other, Robert Fairchild serious and +intent, Mother Howard looking at him with eyes defiant, yet +compassionate. Suddenly they twinkled, the lips broke from their +straight line into a smile, and a kindly old hand reached out to take +him by the arm. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you stand there and try to tell Mother Howard she don't know +what she 's talking about!" came in tones of mock severity. "Hear me? +Now, you get up them steps and wash up for dinner. Take the first room +on the right. It's a nice, cheery place. And get that dust and grime +off of you. The dinner bell will ring in about fifteen minutes, and +they 's always a rush for the food. So hurry!" +</P> + +<P> +In his room, Fairchild tried not to think. His brain was becoming too +crammed with queries, with strange happenings and with the aggravating +mysticisms of the life into which his father's death had thrown him to +permit clearness of vision. Even in Mother Howard, he had not been +able to escape it; she told all too plainly, both by her actions and +her words, that she knew something of the mystery of the past,—and had +falsified to keep the knowledge from him. +</P> + +<P> +It was too galling for thought. Robert Fairchild hastily made his +toilet, then answered the ringing of the dinner bell, to be introduced +to strong-shouldered men who gathered about the long tables; +Cornishmen, who talked an "h-less" language, ruddy-faced Americans, and +a sprinkling of English, all of whom conversed about things which were +to Fairchild as so much Greek,—of "levels" and "stopes" and "winzes", +of "skips" and "manways" and "raises", which meant nothing to the man +who yet must master them all, if he were to follow his ambition. Some +ate with their knives, meeting the food halfway from their plates; some +acted and spoke in a manner revealing a college education and the poise +that it gives. But all were as one, all talking together; the operator +no more enthusiastic than the man whose sole recompense was the five +dollars a day he received for drilling powder holes; all happy, all +optimistic, all engrossed in the hopes and dreams that only mining can +give. And among them Mother Howard moved, getting the latest gossip +from each, giving her views on every problem and incidentally seeing +that the plates were filled to the satisfaction of even the hungriest. +</P> + +<P> +As for Robert Fairchild, he spoke but seldom, except to acknowledge the +introductions as Mother Howard made him known to each of his table +mates. But it was not aloofness; it was the fact that these men were +talking of things which Fairchild longed to know, but failed, for the +moment, to master. From the first, the newcomer had liked the men +about him, liked the ruggedness, the mingling of culture with the lack +of it, liked the enthusiasm, the muscle and brawn, liked them all,—all +but two. +</P> + +<P> +Instinctively, from the first mention of his name, he felt they were +watching him, two men who sat far in the rear of the big dining room, +older than the other occupants, far less inviting in appearance. One +was small, though chunky in build, with sandy hair and eyebrows; with +weak, filmy blue eyes over which the lids blinked constantly. The +other, black-haired with streaks of gray, powerful in his build, and +with a walrus-like mustache drooping over hard lips, was the sort of +antithesis naturally to be found in the company of the smaller, sandy +complexioned man. Who they were, what they were, Fairchild did not +know, except from the general attributes which told that they too +followed the great gamble of mining. But one thing was certain; they +watched him throughout the meal; they talked about him in low tones and +ceased when Mother Howard came near; they seemed to recognize in him +some one who brought both curiosity and innate enmity to the surface. +And more; long before the rest had finished their meal, they rose and +left the room, intent, apparently, upon some important mission. +</P> + +<P> +After that, Fairchild ate with less of a relish. In his mind was the +certainty that these two men knew him—or at least knew about him—and +that they did not relish his presence. Nor were his suspicions long in +being fulfilled. Hardly had he reached the hall, when the beckoning +eyes of Mother Howard signaled to him. Instinctively he waited for the +other diners to pass him, then looked eagerly toward Mother Howard as +she once more approached. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what you 're doing here," came shortly, "but I want to." +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild straightened. "There is n't much to tell you," he answered +quietly. "My father left me the Blue Poppy mine in his will. I 'm +here to work it." +</P> + +<P> +"Know anything about mining?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not a thing." +</P> + +<P> +"Or the people you 're liable to have to buck up against?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very little." +</P> + +<P> +"Then, Son," and Mother Howard laid a kindly hand on his arm, "whatever +you do, keep your plans to yourself and don't talk too much. And +what's more, if you happen to get into communication with Blindeye +Bozeman and Taylor Bill, lie your head off. Maybe you saw 'em, a +sandy-haired fellow and a big man with a black mustache, sitting at the +back of the room?" Fairchild nodded. "Well, stay away from them. +They belong to 'Squint' Rodaine. Know him?" +</P> + +<P> +She shot the question sharply. Again Fairchild nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"I 've heard the name. Who is he?" +</P> + +<P> +A voice called to Mother Howard from the dining room. She turned away, +then leaned close to Robert Fairchild. "He 's a miner, and he 's +always been a miner. Right now, he 's mixed up with some of the +biggest people in town. He 's always been a man to be afraid of—and +he was your father's worst enemy!" +</P> + +<P> +Then, leaving Fairchild staring after her, she moved on to her duties +in the kitchen. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +</H3> + + +<P> +Impatiently Fairchild awaited Mother Howard's return, and when at last +she came forth from the kitchen, he drew her into the old parlor, +shadowy now in the gathering dusk, and closed the doors. +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Howard," he began, "I—" +</P> + +<P> +"Mother Howard," she corrected. "I ain't used to being called much +else." +</P> + +<P> +"Mother, then—although I 'm not very accustomed to using the title. +My own mother died—shortly after my father came back from out here." +</P> + +<P> +She walked to his side then and put a hand on his shoulders. For a +moment it seemed that her lips were struggling to repress something +which strove to pass them, something locked behind them for years. +Then the old face, dim in the half light, calmed. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you want to know, Son?" +</P> + +<P> +"Everything!" +</P> + +<P> +"But there is n't much I can tell." +</P> + +<P> +He caught her hand. +</P> + +<P> +"There is! I know there is. I—" +</P> + +<P> +"Son—all I can do is to make matters worse. If I knew anything that +would help you—if I could give you any light on anything, Old Mother +Howard would do it! Lord, did n't I help out your father when he +needed it the worst way? Did n't I—" +</P> + +<P> +"But tell me what you know!" There was pleading in Fairchild's voice. +"Can't you understand what it all means to me? Anything—I 'm at sea, +Mother Howard! I 'm lost—you 've hinted to me about enemies, my +father hinted to me about them—but that's all. Is n't it fair that I +should know as much as possible if they still exist, and I 'm to make +any kind of a fight against them?" +</P> + +<P> +"You 're right, Son. But I 'm as much in the dark as you. In those +days, if you were a friend to a person, you didn't ask questions. All +that I ever knew was that your father came to this boarding house when +he was a young man, the very first day that he ever struck Ohadi. He +did n't have much money, but he was enthusiastic—and it was n't long +before he 'd told me about his wife and baby back in Indianapolis and +how he 'd like to win out for their sake. As for me—well, they always +called me Mother Howard, even when I was a young thing, sort of setting +my cap for every good-looking young man that came along. I guess +that's why I never caught one of 'em—I always insisted on darning +their socks and looking after all their troubles for 'em instead of +going out buggy-riding with some other fellow and making 'em jealous." +She sighed ever so slightly, then chuckled. "But that ain't getting to +the point, though, is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you could tell me about my father—" +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm going to—all I know. Things were a lot different out here then +from what they were later. Silver was wealth to anybody that could +find it; every month, the Secretary of the Treasury was required by law +to buy three or four million ounces for coining purposes, and it meant +a lot of money for us all. Everywhere around the hills and gulches you +could see prospectors, with their gads and little picks, fooling around +like life did n't mean anything in the world to 'em, except to grub +around in those rocks. That was the idea, you see, to fool around +until they 'd found a bit of ore or float, as they called it, and then +follow it up the gorge until they came to rock or indications that 'd +give 'em reason to think that the vein was around there somewhere. +Then they 'd start to make their tunnel—to drift in on the vein. I 'm +telling you all this, so you 'll understand." +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild was listening eagerly. A moment's pause and the old +lodging-house keeper went on. +</P> + +<P> +"Your father was one of these men. 'Squint' Rodaine was another—they +called him that because at some time in his life he 'd tried to shoot +faster than the other fellow—and did n't do it. The bullet hit right +between his eyes, but it must have had poor powder behind it—all it +did was to cut through the skin and go straight up his forehead. When +the wound healed, the scar drew his eyes close together, like a +Chinaman's. You never see Squint's eyes more than half open. +</P> + +<P> +"And he's crooked, just like his eyes—" Mother Howard's voice bore a +touch of resentment. "I never liked him from the minute I first saw +him, and I liked him less afterward. Then I got next to his game. +</P> + +<P> +"Your father had been prospecting just like everybody else. He 'd come +on float up Kentucky Gulch and was trying to follow it to the vein. +Squint saw him—and what's more, he saw that float. It looked good to +Squint—and late that night, I heard him and his two drinking partners, +Blindeye Bozeman and Taylor Bill—they just reverse his name for the +sound of it—talking in Blindeye's room. I 'm a woman—" Mother +Howard chuckled—"so I just leaned my head against the door and +listened. Then I flew downstairs to wait for your father when he came +in from sitting up half the night to get an assay on that float. And +you bet I told him—folks can't do sneaking things around me and get +away with it, and it was n't more 'n five minutes after he 'd got home +that your father knew what was going on—how Squint and them two others +was figuring on jumping his claim before he could file on it and all +that. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, there was a big Cornishman here that I was kind of sweet on—and +I guess I always will be. He 's been gone now though, ever since your +father left. I got him and asked him to help. And Harry was just the +kind of a fellow that would do it. Out in the dead of night they went +and staked out your father's claim—Harry was to get twenty-five per +cent—and early the next morning your dad was waiting to file on it, +while Harry was waiting for them three. And what a fight it must have +been—that Harry was a wildcat in those younger days." She laughed, +then her voice grew serious. "But all had its effect. Rodaine did n't +jump that claim, and a few of us around here filed dummy claims enough +in the vicinity to keep him off of getting too close—but there was one +way we couldn't stop him. He had power, and he 's always had it—and +he 's got it now. A lot of awful strange things happened to your +father after that—charges were filed against him for things he never +did. Men jumped on him in the dark, then went to the district +attorney's office and accused him of making the attack. And the funny +part was that the district attorney's office always believed them—and +not him. Once they had him just at the edge of the penitentiary, but +I—I happened to know a few things that—well, he did n't go." Again +Mother Howard chuckled, only to grow serious once more. "Those days +were a bit wild in Ohadi—everybody was crazy with the gold or silver +fever; out of their head most of the time. Men who went to work for +your father and Harry disappeared, or got hurt accidentally in the mine +or just quit through the bad name it was getting. Once Harry, coming +down from the tunnel at night, stepped on a little bridge that always +before had been as secure and safe as the hills themselves. It fell +with him—they went down together thirty feet, and there was nothing +but Nature to blame for it, in spite of what we three thought. Then, +at last, they got a fellow who was willing to work for them in spite of +what Rodaine's crowd—and it consisted of everybody in power—hinted +about your father's bad reputation back East and—" +</P> + +<P> +"My father never harmed a soul in his life!" Fairchild's voice was +hot, resentful. Mother Howard went on: +</P> + +<P> +"I know he did n't, Son. I 'm only telling the story. Miners are +superstitious as a general rule, and they 're childish at believing +things. It all worked in your father's case—with the exception of +Harry and 'Sissie' Larsen, a Swede with a high voice, just about like +mine. That's why they gave him the name. Your father offered him +wages and a ten per cent. bonus. He went to work. A few months later +they got into good ore. That paid fairly well, even if it was +irregular. It looked like the bad luck was over at last. Then—" +</P> + +<P> +Mother Howard hesitated at the brink of the very nubbin of it all, to +Robert Fairchild. A long moment followed, in which he repressed a +desire to seize her and wrest it from her, and at last— +</P> + +<P> +"It was about dusk one night," she went on. "Harry came in and took me +with him into this very room. He kissed me and told me that he must go +away. He asked me if I would go with him—without knowing why. And, +Son, I trusted him, I would have done anything for him—but I was n't +as old then as I am now. I refused—and to this day, I don't know why. +It—it was just woman, I guess. Then he asked me if I would help him. +I said I would. +</P> + +<P> +"He did n't tell me much; except that he had been uptown spreading the +word that the ore had pinched out and that the hanging rock had caved +in and that he and 'Sissie' and your father were through, that they +were beaten and were going away that night. But—and Harry waited a +long time before he told me this—'Sissie' was not going with them. +</P> + +<P> +"'I'm putting a lot in your hands,' he told me, 'but you 've got to +help us. "Sissie" won't be there—and I can't tell you why. The town +must think that he is. Your voice is just like "Sissie's." You 've +got to help us out of town.' +</P> + +<P> +"And I promised. Late that night, the three of us drove up the main +street, your father on one side of the seat. Harry on the other, and +me, dressed in some of Sissie's clothes, half hidden between them. I +was singing; that was Sissie's habit,—to get roaring drunk and blow +off steam by yodelling song after song as he rolled along. Our voices +were about the same; nobody dreamed that I was any one else but the +Swede—my head was tipped forward, so they couldn't see my features. +And we went our way with the miners standing on the curb waving to us, +and not one of them knowing that the person who sat between your father +and Harry was any one except Larsen. We drove outside town and +stopped. Then we said good-by, and I put on an old dress that I had +brought with me and sneaked back home. Nobody knew the difference." +</P> + +<P> +"But Larsen—?" +</P> + +<P> +"You know as much as I do, Son." +</P> + +<P> +"But did n't they tell you?" +</P> + +<P> +"They told me nothing and I asked 'em nothing. They were my friends +and they needed help. I gave it to them—that's all I know and that's +all I 've wanted to know." +</P> + +<P> +"You never saw Larsen again?" +</P> + +<P> +"I never saw any of them. That was the end." +</P> + +<P> +"But Rodaine—?" +</P> + +<P> +"He 's still here. You 'll hear from him—plenty soon. I could see +that, the minute Blindeye Bozeman and Taylor Bill began taking your +measure. You noticed they left the table before the meal was over? It +was to tell Rodaine." +</P> + +<P> +"Then he'll fight me too?" +</P> + +<P> +Mother Howard laughed,—and her voice was harsh. +</P> + +<P> +"Rodaine's a rattlesnake. His son 's a rattlesnake. His wife 's +crazy—Old Crazy Laura. He drove her that way. She lives by herself, +in an old house on the Georgeville road. And she 'd kill for him, even +if he does beat her when she goes to his house and begs him to take her +back. That's the kind of a crowd it is. You can figure it out for +yourself. She goes around at night, gathering herbs in graveyards; she +thinks she 's a witch. The old man mutters to himself and hates any +one who doesn't do everything he asks,—and just about everybody does +it, simply through fear. And just to put a good finish on it all, the +young 'un moves in the best society in town and spends most of his time +trying to argue the former district judge's daughter into marrying him. +So there you are. That's all Mother Howard knows, Son." +</P> + +<P> +She reached for the door and then, turning, patted Fairchild on the +shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"Boy," came quietly, "you 've got a broad back and a good head. +Rodaine beat your father—don't let him beat you. And always remember +one thing: Old Mother Howard 's played the game before, and she 'll +play it with you—against anybody. Good night. Go to bed—dark +streets are n't exactly the place for you." +</P> + +<P> +Robert Fairchild obeyed the instructions, a victim of many a +conjecture, many an attempt at reasoning as he sought sleep that was +far away. Again and again there rose before him the vision of two men +in an open buggy, with a singing, apparently maudlin person between +them whom Ohadi believed to be an effeminate-voiced Swede; in reality, +only a woman. And why had they adopted the expedient? Why had not +Larsen been with them in reality? Fairchild avoided the obvious +conclusion and turned to other thoughts, to Rodaine with his squint +eyes, to Crazy Laura, gathering herbs at midnight in the shadowy, +stone-sentineled stretches of graveyards, while the son, perhaps, +danced at some function of Ohadi's society and made love in the rest +periods. It was all grotesque; it was fantastic, almost +laughable,—had it not concerned him! For Rodaine had been his +father's enemy, and Mother Howard had told him enough to assure him +that Rodaine did not forget. The crazed woman of the graveyards was +Squint's lunatic wife, ready to kill, if necessary, for a husband who +beat her. And the young Rodaine was his son, blood of his blood; that +was enough. It was hours before Fairchild found sleep, and even then +it was a thing of troubled visions. +</P> + +<P> +Streaming sun awakened him, and he hurried to the dining room to find +himself the last lodger at the tables. He ate a rather hasty meal, +made more so by an impatient waitress, then with the necessary papers +in his pocket, Fairchild started toward the courthouse and the legal +procedure which must be undergone before he made his first trip to the +mine. +</P> + +<P> +A block or two, and then Fairchild suddenly halted. Crossing the +street at an angle just before him was a young woman whose features, +whose mannerisms he recognized. The whipcord riding habit had given +place now to a tailored suit which deprived her of the boyishness that +had been so apparent on their first meeting. The cap had disappeared +before a close-fitting, vari-colored turban. But the straying brown +hair still was there, the brown eyes, the piquant little nose and the +prettily formed lips. Fairchild's heart thumped,—nor did he stop to +consider why. A quickening of his pace, and he met her just as she +stepped to the curbing. +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm so glad of this opportunity," he exclaimed happily. "I want to +return that money to you. I—I was so fussed yesterday I did n't +realize—" +</P> + +<P> +"Aren't you mistaken?" She had looked at him with a slight smile. +Fairchild did not catch the inflection. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no. I 'm the man, you know, who helped you change that tire on +the Denver road yesterday." +</P> + +<P> +"Pardon me." This time one brown eye had wavered ever so slightly, +indicating some one behind Fairchild. "But I was n't on the Denver +road yesterday, and if you 'll excuse me for saying it, I don't +remember ever having seen you before." +</P> + +<P> +There was a little light in her eyes which took away the sting of the +denial, a light which seemed to urge caution, and at the same time to +tell Fairchild that she trusted him to do his part as a gentleman in a +thing she wished forgotten. More fussed than ever, he drew back and +bent low in apology, while she passed on. Half a block away, a young +man rounded a corner and, seeing her, hastened to join her. She +extended her hand; they chatted a moment, then strolled up the street +together. Fairchild watched blankly, then turned at a chuckle just +behind him emanating from the bearded lips of an old miner, loafing on +the stone coping in front of a small store. +</P> + +<P> +"Pick the wrong filly, pardner?" came the query. Fairchild managed to +smile. +</P> + +<P> +"Guess so." Then he lied quickly. "I thought she was a girl from +Denver." +</P> + +<P> +"Her?" The old miner stretched. "Nope. That's Anita Richmond, old +Judge Richmond's daughter. Guess she must have been expecting that +young fellow—or she would n't have cut you off so short. She ain't +usually that way." +</P> + +<P> +"Her fiancé?" Fairchild asked the question with misgiving. The miner +finished his stretch and added a yawn to it. Then he looked +appraisingly up the street toward the retreating figures. "Well, some +say he is and some say he ain't. Guess it mostly depends on the girl, +and she ain't telling yet." +</P> + +<P> +"And the man—who is he?" +</P> + +<P> +"Him? Oh, he 's Maurice Rodaine. Son of a pretty famous character +around here, old Squint Rodaine. Owns the Silver Queen property up the +hill. Ever hear of him?" +</P> + +<P> +The eyes of Robert Fairchild narrowed, and a desire to fight—a longing +to grapple with Squint Rodaine and all that belonged to him—surged +into his heart. But his voice, when he spoke, was slow and suppressed. +</P> + +<P> +"Squint Rodaine? Yes, I think I have. The name sounds rather +familiar." +</P> + +<P> +Then, deliberately, he started up the street, following at a distance +the man and the girl who walked before him. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +</H3> + + +<P> +There was no specific reason why Robert Fairchild should follow Maurice +Rodaine and the young woman who had been described to him as the +daughter of Judge Richmond, whoever he might be. And Fairchild sought +for none—within two weeks he had been transformed from a plodding, +methodical person into a creature of impulses, and more and more, as +time went on, he was allowing himself to be governed by the snap +judgment of his brain rather than by the carefully exacting mind of a +systematic machine, such as he had been for the greater part of his +adult life. All that he cared to know was that resentment was in his +heart,—resentment that the family of Rodaine should be connected in +some way with the piquant, mysterious little person he had helped out +of a predicament on the Denver road the day before. And, to his +chagrin, the very fact that there <I>was</I> a connection added a more +sinister note to the escapade of the exploded tire and the pursuing +sheriff; as he walked along, his gaze far ahead, Fairchild found +himself wondering whether there could be more than mere coincidence in +it all, whether she was a part of the Rodaine schemes and the Rodaine +trickery, whether— +</P> + +<P> +But he ceased his wondering to turn sharply into a near-by drug store, +there absently to give an order at the soda fountain and stand watching +the pair who had stopped just in front of him on the corner. She was +the same girl; there could be no doubt of that, and he raged inwardly +as she chatted and chaffed with the man who looked down upon her with a +smiling air of proprietorship which instilled instant rebellion in +Fairchild's heart. Nor did he know the reason for that, either. +</P> + +<P> +After a moment they parted, and Fairchild gulped at his fountain drink. +She had hesitated, then with a quick decision turned straight into the +drug store. +</P> + +<P> +"Buy a ticket, Mr. McCauley?" she asked of the man behind the counter. +"I 've sold twenty already, this morning. Only five more, and my work +'s over." +</P> + +<P> +"Going to be pretty much of a crowd, is n't there?" The druggist was +fishing in his pocket for money. Fairchild, dallying with his drink +now, glanced sharply toward the door and went back to his refreshment. +She was standing directly in the entrance, fingering the five remaining +tickets. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, everybody in town. Please take the five, won't you? Then I 'll +be through." +</P> + +<P> +"I 'll be darned if I will, 'Nita!" McCauley backed against a shelf +case in mock self-defense. "Every time you 've got anything you want +to get rid of, you come in here and shove it off on me. I 'll be gosh +gim-swiggled if I will. There 's only four in my family and four 's +all I 'm going to take. Fork 'em over—I 've got a prescription to +fill." He tossed four silver dollars on the showcase and took the +tickets. The girl demurred. +</P> + +<P> +"But how about the fifth one? I 've got to sell that too—" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, sell it to him!" And Fairchild, looking into the soda-fountain +mirror, saw himself indicated as the druggist started toward the +prescription case. "I ain't going to let myself get stuck for another +solitary, single one!" +</P> + +<P> +There was a moment of awkward silence as Fairchild gazed intently into +his soda glass, then with a feeling of queer excitement, set it on the +marble counter and turned. Anita Richmond had accepted the druggist's +challenge. She was approaching—in a stranger-like manner—a ticket of +some sort held before her. +</P> + +<P> +"Pardon me," she began, "but would you care to buy a ticket?" +</P> + +<P> +"To—to what?" It was all Fairchild could think of to say. +</P> + +<P> +"To the Old Timers' Dance. It's a sort of municipal thing, gotten up +by the bureau of mines—to celebrate the return of silver mining." +</P> + +<P> +"But—but I 'm afraid I 'm not much on dancing." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't have to be. Nobody 'll dance much—except the old-fashioned +affairs. You see, everybody 's supposed to represent people of the +days when things were booming around here. There 'll be a fiddle +orchestra, and a dance caller and everything like that, and a bar—but +of course there 'll only be imitation liquor. But," she added with +quick emphasis, "there 'll be a lot of things really real—real keno +and roulette and everything like that, and everybody in the costume of +thirty or forty years ago. Don't you want to buy a ticket? It's the +last one I 've got!" she added prettily. But Robert Fairchild had been +listening with his eyes, rather than his ears. Jerkily he came to the +realization that the girl had ceased speaking. +</P> + +<P> +"When's it to be?" +</P> + +<P> +"A week from to-morrow night. Are you going to be here that long?" +</P> + +<P> +She realized the slip of her tongue and colored slightly. Fairchild, +recovered now, reached into a pocket and carefully fingered the bills +there. Then, with a quick motion, as he drew them forth, he covered a +ten-dollar bill with a one-dollar note and thrust them forward. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I 'll take the ticket." +</P> + +<P> +She handed it to him, thanked him, and reached for the money. As it +passed into her hand, a corner of the ten-dollar bill revealed itself, +and she hastily thrust it toward him as though to return money paid by +mistake. Just as quickly, she realized his purpose and withdrew her +hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" she exclaimed, almost in a whisper, "I understand." She flushed +and stood a second hesitant, flustered, her big eyes almost childish as +they looked up into his. "You—you must think I 'm a cad!" Then she +whirled and left the store, and a slight smile came to the lips of +Robert Fairchild as he watched her hurrying across the street. He had +won a tiny victory, at least. +</P> + +<P> +Not until she had rounded a corner and disappeared did Fairchild leave +his point of vantage. Then, with a new enthusiasm, a greater desire +than ever to win out in the fight which had brought him to Ohadi, he +hurried to the courthouse and the various technicalities which must be +coped with before he could really call the Blue Poppy mine his own. +</P> + +<P> +It was easier than he thought. A few signatures, and he was free to +wander through town to where idlers had pointed out Kentucky gulch and +to begin the steep ascent up the narrow road on a tour of prospecting +that would precede the more legal and more safe system of a surveyor. +</P> + +<P> +The ascent was almost sheer in places, for in Kentucky gulch the hills +huddled close to the little town and rose in precipitous inclines +almost before the city limits had been reached. Beside the road a +small stream chattered, milk-white from the silica deposits of the +mines, like the waters of Clear Creek, which it was hastening to join. +Along the gullies were the scars of prospect holes, staring like dark, +blind eyes out upon the gorge;—reminders of the lost hopes of a day +gone by. Here and there lay some discarded piece of mining machinery, +rust-eaten and battered now, washed down inch by inch from the higher +hill where it had been abandoned when the demonetization of silver +struck, like a rapier, into the hearts of grubbing men, years before. +It was a cañon of decay, yet of life, for as he trudged along, the roar +of great motors came to Fairchild's ears; and a moment later he stepped +aside to allow the passage of ore-laden automobile trucks, loaded until +the springs had flattened and until the engines howled with their +compression as they sought to hold back their burdens on the steep +grade. And it was as he stood there, watching the big vehicles travel +down the mountain side, that Fairchild caught a glimpse of a human +figure which suddenly darted behind a clump of scrub pine and skirted +far to one side, taking advantage of every covering. A new beat came +into Fairchild's heart. He took to the road again, plodding upward +apparently without a thought of his pursuer, stopping to stare at the +bleak prospect holes, or to admire the pink-white beauties of the snowy +range in the far distance, seemingly a man entirely bereft of +suspicion. A quarter of a mile he went, a half. Once, as the road +turned beside a great rock, he sought its shelter and looked back. The +figure still was following, running carefully now along the bank of the +stream in an effort to gain as much ground as possible before the +return of the road to open territory should bring the necessity of +caution again. +</P> + +<P> +A mile more, then, again in the shelter of rocks, he swerved and sought +a hiding place, watching anxiously from his concealment for evidences +of discovery. There were none. The shadower came on, displaying more +and more caution as he approached the rocks, glancing hurriedly about +him as he moved swiftly from cover to cover. Closer—closer—then +Fairchild repressed a gasp. The man was old, almost white-haired, with +hard, knotted hands which seemed to stand out from his wrists; thin and +wiry with the resiliency that outdoor, hardened muscles often give to +age, and with a face that held Fairchild almost hypnotized. It was +like a hawk's; hook-beaked, colorless, toneless in all expressions save +that of a malicious tenacity; the eyes were slanted until they +resembled those of some fantastic Chinese image, while just above the +curving nose a blue-white scar ran straight up the forehead,—Squint +Rodaine! +</P> + +<P> +So he was on the trail already! Fairchild watched him pass, sneak +around the corner of the rocks, and stand a moment in apparent +bewilderment as he surveyed the ground before him. A mumbling curse +and he went on, his cautious gait discarded, walking briskly along the +rutty, boulder-strewn road toward a gaping hole in the hill, hardly a +furlong away. There he surveyed the ground carefully, bent and stared +hard at the earth, apparently for a trace of footprints, and finding +none, turned slowly and looked intently all about him. Carefully he +approached the mouth of the tunnel and stared within. Then he +straightened, and with another glance about him, hurried off up a gulch +leading away from the road, into the hills. Fairchild lay and watched +him until he was out of sight, and he knew instinctively that a +surveyor would only cover beaten territory now. Squint Rodaine, he +felt sure, had pointed out to him the Blue Poppy mine. +</P> + +<P> +But he did not follow the direction given by his pursuer. Squint +Rodaine was in the hills. Squint Rodaine might return, and the +consciousness of caution bade that Fairchild not be there when he came +back. Hurriedly he descended the rocks once more to turn toward town +and toward Mother Howard's boarding house. He wanted to tell her what +he had seen and to obtain her help and counsel. +</P> + +<P> +Quickly he made the return trip, crossing the little bridge over the +turbulent Clear Creek and heading toward the boarding house. Half a +block away he halted, as a woman on the veranda of the big, squarely +built "hotel" pointed him out, and the great figure of a man shot +through the gate, shouting, and hurried toward him. +</P> + +<P> +A tremendous creature he was, with red face and black hair which seemed +to scramble in all directions at once, and with a mustache which +appeared to scamper in even more directions than his hair. Fairchild +was a large man; suddenly he felt himself puny and inconsequential as +the mastodonic thing before him swooped forward, spread wide the big +arms and then caught him tight in them, causing the breath to puff over +his lips like the exhaust of a bellows. +</P> + +<P> +A release, then Fairchild felt himself lifted and set down again. He +pulled hard at his breath. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter with you?" he exclaimed testily. "You 've made a +mistake!" +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm blimed if I 'ave!" bellowed a tornado-like voice. "Blime! You +look just like 'im!" +</P> + +<P> +"But you 're mistaken, old man!" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild was vaguely aware that the spray-like mustache was working +like a dust-broom, that snappy blue eyes were beaming upon him, that +the big red nose was growing redder, while a tremendous paw had seized +his own hand and was doing its best to crush it. +</P> + +<P> +"Blimed if I 'ave!" came again. "You're your Dad's own boy! You look +just like 'im! Don't you know me?" +</P> + +<P> +He stepped back then and stood grinning, his long, heavily muscled arms +hanging low at his sides, his mustache trying vainly to stick out in +more directions than ever. Fairchild rubbed a hand across his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"You 've got me!" came at last. "I—" +</P> + +<P> +"You don't know me? 'Onest now, don't you? I 'm Arry! Don't you know +now? 'Arry from Cornwall!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII +</H3> + + +<P> +It came to Fairchild then,—the sentence in his father's letter +regarding some one who would hurry to his aid when he needed him, the +references of Beamish, and the allusion of Mother Howard to a faithful +friend. He forgot the pain as the tremendous Cornishman banged him on +the back, he forgot the surprise of it all; he only knew that he was +laughing and welcoming a big man old enough in age to be his father, +yet young enough in spirit to want to come back and finish a fight he +had seen begun, and strong enough in physique to stand it. Again the +heavy voice boomed: +</P> + +<P> +"You know me now, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"You bet! You 're Harry Harkins!" +</P> + +<P> +"'Arkins it is! I came just as soon as I got the cablegram!" +</P> + +<P> +"The cablegram?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yeh." Harry pawed at his wonderful mustache. "From Mr. Beamish, you +know. 'E sent it. Said you 'd started out 'ere all alone. And I +could n't stand by and let you do that. So 'ere I am!" +</P> + +<P> +"But the expense, the long trip across the ocean, the—" +</P> + +<P> +"'Ere I am!" said Harry again. "Ain't that enough?" +</P> + +<P> +They had reached the veranda now, to stand talking for a moment, then +to go within, where Mother Howard awaited, eyes glowing, in the parlor. +Harry flung out both arms. +</P> + +<P> +"And I still love you!" he boomed, as he caught the gray-haired, +laughing woman in his arms. "Even if you did run me off and would n't +go back to Cornwall!" +</P> + +<P> +Red-faced, she pushed him away and slapped his cheek playfully; it was +like the tap of a light breeze against granite. Then Harry turned. +</P> + +<P> +"'Ave you looked at the mine?" +</P> + +<P> +The question brought back to Fairchild the happenings of the morning +and the memory of the man who had trailed him. He told his story, +while Mother Howard listened, her arms crossed, her head bobbing, and +while Harry, his big grin still on his lips, took in the details with +avidity. Then for a moment a monstrous hand scrambled vaguely about in +the region of the Cornishman's face, grasping a hair of that radiating +mustache now and then and pulling hard at it, at last to drop,—and the +grin faded. +</P> + +<P> +"Le 's go up there," he said quietly. +</P> + +<P> +This time the trip to Kentucky gulch was made by skirting town; soon +they were on the rough, narrow roadway leading into the mountains. +Both were silent for the most part, and the expression on Harry's face +told that he was living again the days of the past, days when men were +making those pock-marks in the hills, when the prospector and his pack +jack could be seen on every trail, and when float ore in a gulley meant +riches waiting somewhere above. A long time they walked, at last to +stop in the shelter of the rocks where Fairchild had shadowed his +pursuer, and to glance carefully ahead. No one was in sight. Harry +jabbed out a big finger. +</P> + +<P> +"That's it," he announced, "straight a'ead!" +</P> + +<P> +They went on, Fairchild with a gripping at his throat that would not +down. This had been the hope of his father—and here his father had +met—what? He swerved quickly and stopped, facing the bigger man. +</P> + +<P> +"Harry," came sharply, "I know that I may be violating an unspoken +promise to my father. But I simply can't stand it any longer. What +happened here?" +</P> + +<P> +"We were mining—for silver." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't mean that—there was some sort of tragedy." +</P> + +<P> +Harry chuckled,—in concealment, Fairchild thought, of something he did +not want to tell him. +</P> + +<P> +"I should think so! The timbers gave way and the mine caved in!" +</P> + +<P> +"Not that! My father ran away from this town. You and Mother Howard +helped him. You didn't come back. Neither did my father. Eventually +it killed him." +</P> + +<P> +"So?" Harry looked seriously and studiously at the young man. "'E did +n't write me of'en." +</P> + +<P> +"He did n't need to write you. You were here with him—when it +happened." +</P> + +<P> +"No—" Harry shook his head. "I was in town." +</P> + +<P> +"But you knew—" +</P> + +<P> +"What's Mother Howard told you?" +</P> + +<P> +"A lot—and nothing." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know any more than she does." +</P> + +<P> +"But—" +</P> + +<P> +"Friends did n't ask questions in those days," came quietly. "I might +'ave guessed if I 'd wanted to—but I did n't want to." +</P> + +<P> +"But if you had?" +</P> + +<P> +Harry looked at him with quiet, blue eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"What would you guess?" +</P> + +<P> +Slowly Robert Fairchild's gaze went to the ground. There was only one +possible conjecture: Sissie Larsen had been impersonated by a woman. +Sissie Larsen had never been seen again in Ohadi. +</P> + +<P> +"I—I would hate to put it into words," came finally. Harry slapped +him on the shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"Then don't. It was nearly thirty years ago. Let sleeping dogs lie. +Take a look around before we go into the tunnel." +</P> + +<P> +They reconnoitered, first on one side, then on the other. No one was +in sight. Harry bent to the ground, and finding a pitchy pine knot, +lighted it. They started cautiously within, blinking against the +darkness. +</P> + +<P> +A detour and they avoided an ore car, rusty and half filled, standing +on the little track, now sagging on moldy ties. A moment more of +walking and Harry took the lead. +</P> + +<P> +"It's only a step to the shaft now," he cautioned. "Easy—easy—look +out for that 'anging wall—" he held the pitch torch against the roof +of the tunnel and displayed a loose, jagged section of rock, dripping +with seepage from the hills above. "Just a step now—'ere it is." +</P> + +<P> +The outlines of a rusty "hoist", with its cable leading down into a +slanting hole in the rock, showed dimly before them,—a massive, +chunky, deserted thing in the shadows. About it were clustered drills +that were eaten by age and the dampness of the seepage; farther on a +"skip", or shaft-car, lay on its side, half buried in mud and muck from +the walls of the tunnel. Here, too, the timbers were rotting; one +after another, they had cracked and caved beneath the weight of the +earth above, giving the tunnel an eerie aspect, uninviting, dangerous. +Harry peered ahead. +</P> + +<P> +"It ain't as bad as it looks," came after a moment's survey. "It's +only right 'ere at the beginning that it's caved. But that does n't do +us much good." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" Fairchild was staring with him, on toward the darkness of +the farther recesses. "If it is n't caved in farther back, we ought to +be able to repair this spot." +</P> + +<P> +But Harry shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"We did n't go into the vein 'ere," he explained. "We figured we 'ad +to 'ave a shaft anyway, sooner or later. You can't do under'and +stoping in a mine—go down on a vein, you know. You 've always got to +go up—you can't get the metal out if you don't. That's why we dug +this shaft—and now look at it!" +</P> + +<P> +He drew the flickering torch to the edge of the shaft and held it +there, staring downward. Fairchild beside him. Twenty feet below +there came the glistening reflection of the flaring flame. Water! +Fairchild glanced toward his partner. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know anything about it," he said at last. "But I should think +that would mean trouble." +</P> + +<P> +"Plenty!" agreed Harry lugubriously. "That shaft's two 'unnerd feet +deep and there 's a drift running off it for a couple o' 'unnerd feet +more before it 'its the vein. Four 'unnerd feet of water. 'Ow much +money 'ave you got?" +</P> + +<P> +"About twenty-five hundred dollars." +</P> + +<P> +Harry reached for his waving mustache, his haven in time of storm. +Thoughtfully he pulled at it, staring meanwhile downward. Then he +grunted. +</P> + +<P> +"And I ain't got more 'n five 'unnerd. It ain't enough. We 'll need +to repair this 'oist and put the skip in order. We 'll need to build +new track and do a lot of things. Three thousand dollars ain't enough." +</P> + +<P> +"But we 'll have to get that water out of there before we can do +anything." Fairchild interposed. "If we can't get at the vein up here, +we 'll have to get at it from below. And how 're we going to do that +without unwatering that shaft?" +</P> + +<P> +Again Harry pulled at his mustache. +</P> + +<P> +"That's just what 'Arry 's thinking about," came his answer finally. +"Le 's go back to town. I don't like to stand around this place and +just look at water in a 'ole." +</P> + +<P> +They turned for the mouth of the tunnel, sliding along in the greasy +muck, the torch extinguished now. A moment of watchfulness from the +cover of the darkness, then Harry pointed. On the opposite hill, the +figure of a man had been outlined for just a second. Then he had +faded. And with the disappearance of the watcher, Harry nudged his +partner in the ribs and went forth into the brighter light. An hour +more and they were back in town. Harry reached for his mustache again. +</P> + +<P> +"Go on down to Mother 'Oward's," he commanded. "I 've got to wander +around and say 'owdy to what's left of the fellows that was 'ere when I +was. It's been twenty years since I 've been away, you know," he +added, "and the shaft can wait." +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild obeyed the instructions, looking back over his shoulder as he +walked along toward the boarding house, to see the big figure of his +companion loitering up the street, on the beginning of his home-coming +tour. It was evident that Harry was popular. Forms rose from the +loitering places on the curbings in front of the stores, voices called +to him; even as the distance grew greater, Fairchild could hear the +shouts of greeting which were sounding to Harry as he announced his +return. +</P> + +<P> +The blocks passed. Fairchild turned through the gate of Mother +Howard's boarding house and went to his room to await the call for +dinner. The world did not look exceptionally good to him; his +brilliant dreams had not counted upon the decay of more than a quarter +of a century, the slow, but sure dripping of water which had seeped +through the hills and made the mine one vast well, instead of the free +open gateway to riches which he had planned upon. True, there had been +before him the certainty of a cave-in, but Fairchild was not a miner, +and the word to him had been a vague affair. Now, however, it was +taking on a new aspect; he was beginning to realize the full extent of +the fight which was before him if the Blue Poppy mine ever were to turn +forth the silver ore he hoped to gain from it, if the letter of his +father, full of threats though it might be, were to be realized in that +part of it which contained the promise of riches in abundance. +</P> + +<P> +Pitifully small his capital looked to Fairchild now. Inadequate—that +was certain—for the needs which now stood before it. And there was no +person to whom he could turn, no one to whom he could go, for more. To +borrow, one must have security; and with the exception of the faith of +the red-faced Harry, and the promise of a silent man, now dead, there +was nothing. It was useless; an hour of thought and Fairchild ceased +trying to look into the future, obeying, instead, the insistent +clanging of the dinner bell from downstairs. Slowly he opened the door +of his room, trudged down the staircase,—then stopped in bewilderment. +Harry stood before him, in all the splendor that a miner can know. +</P> + +<P> +He had bought a new suit, brilliant blue, almost electric in its +flashiness, nor had he been careful as to style. The cut of the +trousers was somewhat along the lines of fifteen years before, with +their peg tops and heavy cuffs. Beneath the vest, a glowing, +watermelon-pink shirt glared forth from the protection of a purple tie. +A wonderful creation was on his head, dented in four places, each +separated with almost mathematical precision. Below the cuffs of the +trousers were bright, tan, bump-toed shoes. Harry was a complete +picture of sartorial elegance, according to his own dreams. What was +more, to complete it all, upon the third finger of his right hand was a +diamond, bulbous and yellow and throwing off a dull radiance like the +glow of a burnt-out arclight; full of flaws, it is true, off color to a +great degree, but a diamond nevertheless. And Harry evidently realized +it. +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't I the cuckoo?" he boomed, as Fairchild stared at him. "Ain't I? +I 'ad to 'ave a outfit, and— +</P> + +<P> +"It might as well be now!" he paraphrased, to the tune of the +age-whitened sextette from "Floradora." "And look at the sparkler! +Look at it!" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild could do very little else but look. He knew the value, even +in spite of flaws and bad coloring. And he knew something else, that +Harry had confessed to having little more than five hundred dollars. +</P> + +<P> +"But—but how did you do it?" came gaspingly. "I thought—" +</P> + +<P> +"Installments!" the Cornishman burst out. "Ten per cent. down and the +rest when they catch me. Installments!" He jabbed forth a heavy +finger and punched Fairchild in the ribs. "Where's Mother 'Oward? +Won't I knock 'er eyes out?" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild laughed—he couldn't help it—in spite of the fact that five +hundred dollars might have gone a long way toward unwatering that +shaft. Harry was Harry—he had done enough in crossing the seas to +help him. And already, in the eyes of Fairchild, Harry was swiftly +approaching that place where he could do no wrong. +</P> + +<P> +"You 're wonderful, Harry," came at last. The Cornishman puffed with +pride. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm a cuckoo!" he admitted. "Where's Mother 'Oward? Where's Mother +'Oward? Won't I knock 'er eyes out, now?" +</P> + +<P> +And he boomed forward toward the dining room, to find there men he had +known in other days, to shake hands with them and to bang them on the +back, to sight Blindeye Bozeman and Taylor Bill sitting hunched over +their meal in the corner and to go effusively toward them. "'Arry" was +playing no favorites in his "'ome-coming." "'Arry" was "'appy", and a +little thing like the fact that friends of his enemies were present +seemed to make little difference. +</P> + +<P> +Jovially he leaned over the table of Bozeman and Bill, after he had +displayed himself before Mother Howard and received her sanction of his +selections in dress. Happily he boomed forth the information that +Fairchild and he were back to work the Blue Poppy mine and that they +already had made a trip of inspection. +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm going back this afternoon," he told them. "There 's water in the +shaft. I 've got to figure a wye to get it out." +</P> + +<P> +Then he returned to his table and Fairchild leaned close to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Is n't that dangerous?" +</P> + +<P> +"What?" Harry allowed his eyes to become bulbous as he whispered the +question. "Telling them two about what we 're going to do? Won't they +find it out anyway?" +</P> + +<P> +"I guess that's true. What time are you going to the mine?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know that I 'm going. And then I may. I 've got to kind of +sye 'ello around town first." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I 'm not to go with you?" +</P> + +<P> +Harry beamed at him. +</P> + +<P> +"It's your day off, Robert," he announced, and they went on with their +meal. +</P> + +<P> +That is, Fairchild proceeded. Harry did little eating. Harry was too +busy. Around him were men he had known in other days, men who had +stayed on at the little silver camp, fighting against the inevitable +downward course of the price of the white metal, hoping for the time +when resuscitation would come, and now realizing that feeling of joy +for which they had waited a quarter of a century. There were a +thousand questions to be answered, all asked by Harry. There was +gossip to relate and the lives of various men who had come and gone to +be dilated upon. Fairchild finished his meal and waited. But Harry +talked on. Bozeman and Bill left the dining room again to make a +report to the narrow-faced Squint Rodaine. Harry did not even notice +them. And as long as a man stayed to answer his queries, just so long +did Harry remain, at last to rise, brush a few crumbs from his +lightning-like suit, press his new hat gently upon his head with both +hands and start forth once more on his rounds of saying hello. And +there was nothing for Fairchild to do but to wait as patiently as +possible for his return. +</P> + +<P> +The afternoon grew old. Harry did not come back. The sun set and +dinner was served. But Harry was not there to eat it. Dusk came, and +then, nervous over the continued absence of his eccentric partner, +Fairchild started uptown. +</P> + +<P> +The usual groups were in front of the stores, and before the largest of +them Fairchild stopped. +</P> + +<P> +"Do any of you happen to know a fellow named Harry Harkins?" he asked +somewhat anxiously. The answer was in the affirmative. A miner +stretched out a foot and surveyed it studiously. +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't seen him since about five o'clock," he said at last. "He was +just starting up to the mine then." +</P> + +<P> +"To the mine? That late? Are you sure?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well—I dunno. May have been going to Center City. Can't say. All I +know is he said somethin' about goin' to th' mine earlier in th' +afternoon, an' long about five I seen him starting up Kentucky Gulch." +</P> + +<P> +"Who 's that?" The interruption had come in a sharp, yet gruff voice. +Fairchild turned to see before him a man he recognized, a tall, thin, +wiry figure, with narrowed, slanting eyes, and a scar that went +straight up his forehead. He evidently had just rounded the corner in +time to hear the conversation. Fairchild straightened, and in spite of +himself his voice was strained and hard. +</P> + +<P> +"I was merely asking about my partner in the Blue Poppy mine." +</P> + +<P> +"The Blue Poppy?" the squint eyes narrowed more than ever. "You 're +Fairchild, ain't you? Well, I guess you 're going to have to get along +without a partner from now on." +</P> + +<P> +"Get along without—?" +</P> + +<P> +A crooked smile came to the other man's lips. +</P> + +<P> +"That is, unless you want to work with a dead man. Harry Harkins got +drowned, about an hour ago, in the Blue Poppy shaft!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII +</H3> + + +<P> +The news caused Fairchild to recoil and stand gasping. And before he +could speak, a new voice had cut in, one full of excitement, tremulous, +anxious. +</P> + +<P> +"Drowned? Where 's his body?" +</P> + +<P> +"How do I know?" Squint Rodaine turned upon his questioner. "Guess +it's at the foot of the shaft. All I saw was his hat. What 're you so +interested for?" +</P> + +<P> +The questioner, small, goggle-eyed and given to rubbing his hands, +stared a moment speechlessly. Then he reached forward and grasped at +the lapels of Rodaine's coat. +</P> + +<P> +"He—he bought a diamond from me this morning—on the installment plan!" +</P> + +<P> +Rodaine smiled again in his crooked fashion. Then he pushed the +clawlike hands of the excited jeweler away from his lapels. +</P> + +<P> +"That's your own fault, Sam," he announced curtly. "If he 's at the +bottom of the shaft, your diamond 's there too. All I know about it is +that I was coming down from the Silver Queen when I saw this fellow go +into the tunnel of the Blue Poppy. He was all dressed up, else I don't +guess I would have paid much attention to him. But as it was, I kind +of stopped to look, and seen it was Harry Harkins, who used to work the +mine with this"—he pointed to Fairchild—"this fellow's father. About +a minute later, I heard a yell, like somebody was in trouble, then a +big splash. Naturally I ran in the tunnel and struck a match. About +twenty feet down, I could see the water was all riled up, and a new hat +was floating around on top of it. I yelled a couple of times and +struck a lot of matches—but he did n't come to the surface. That's +all I know. You can do as you please about your diamond. I 'm just +giving you the information." +</P> + +<P> +He turned sharply and went on then, while Sam the jeweler, the rest of +the loiterers clustered around him, looked appealingly toward Fairchild. +</P> + +<P> +"What 'll we do?" he wailed. +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild turned. "I don't know about you—but I 'm going to the mine." +</P> + +<P> +"It won't do any good—bodies don't float. It may never float—if it +gets caught down in the timbers somewheres." +</P> + +<P> +"Have to organize a bucket brigade." It was a suggestion from one of +the crowd. +</P> + +<P> +"Why not borry the Argonaut pump? They ain't using it." +</P> + +<P> +"Go get it! Go get it!" This time it was the wail of the little +jeweler. "Tell 'em Sam Herbenfelder sent you. They 'll let you have +it." +</P> + +<P> +"Can't carry the thing on my shoulder." +</P> + +<P> +"I 'll get the Sampler's truck"—a new volunteer had spoken—"there +won't be any kick about it." +</P> + +<P> +Another suggestion, still another. Soon men began to radiate, each on +a mission. The word passed down the street. More loiterers—a silver +miner spends a great part of his leisure time in simply watching the +crowd go by—hurried to join the excited throng. Groups, en route to +the picture show, decided otherwise and stopped to learn of the +excitement. The crowd thickened. Suddenly Fairchild looked up sharply +at the sound of a feminine voice. +</P> + +<P> +"What is the matter?" +</P> + +<P> +"Harry Harkins got drowned." All too willingly the news was dispersed. +Fairchild's eyes were searching now in the half-light from the faint +street bulbs. Then they centered. It was Anita Richmond, standing at +the edge of the crowd, questioning a miner, while beside her was a +thin, youthful counterpart of a hard-faced father, Maurice Rodaine. +Just a moment of queries, then the miner's hand pointed to Fairchild as +he turned toward her. +</P> + +<P> +"It's his partner." +</P> + +<P> +She moved forward then and Fairchild went to meet her. +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm sorry," she said, and extended her hand. Fairchild gripped it +eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you. But it may not be as bad as the rumors." +</P> + +<P> +"I hope not." Then quickly she withdrew her hand, and somewhat +flustered, turned as her companion edged closer. "Maurice, this is Mr. +Fairchild," she announced, and Fairchild could do nothing but stare. +She knew his name! A second more and it was explained; "My father knew +his father very well." +</P> + +<P> +"I think my own father was acquainted too," was the rejoinder, and the +eyes of the two men met for an instant in conflict. The girl did not +seem to notice. +</P> + +<P> +"I sold him a ticket this morning to the dance, not knowing who he was. +Then father happened to see him pass the house and pointed him out to +me as the son of a former friend of his. Funny how those things +happen, is n't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Decidedly funny!" was the caustic rejoinder of the younger Rodaine. +Fairchild laughed, to cover the air of intensity. He knew +instinctively that Anita Richmond was not talking to him simply because +she had sold him a ticket to a dance and because her father might have +pointed him out. He felt sure that there was something else behind +it,—the feeling of a debt which she owed him, a feeling of +companionship engendered upon a sunlit road, during the moments of +stress, and the continuance of that meeting in those few moments in the +drug store, when he had handed her back her ten-dollar bill. She had +called herself a cad then, and the feeling that she perhaps had been +abrupt toward a man who had helped her out of a disagreeable +predicament was prompting her action now; Fairchild felt sure of that. +And he was glad of the fact, very glad. Again he laughed, while +Rodaine eyed him narrowly. Fairchild shrugged his shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm not going to believe this story until it's proven to me," came +calmly. "Rumors can be started too easily. I don't see how it was +possible for a man to fall into a mine shaft and not struggle there +long enough for a man who had heard his shout to see him." +</P> + +<P> +"Who brought the news?" Rodaine asked the question. +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild deliberately chose his words: +</P> + +<P> +"A tall, thin, ugly old man, with mean squint eyes and a scar straight +up his forehead." +</P> + +<P> +A flush appeared on the other man's face. Fairchild saw his hands +contract, then loosen. +</P> + +<P> +"You 're trying to insult my father!" +</P> + +<P> +"Your father?" Fairchild looked at him blankly. "Would n't that be a +rather difficult job—especially when I don't know him?" +</P> + +<P> +"You described him." +</P> + +<P> +"And you recognized the description." +</P> + +<P> +"Maurice! Stop it!" The girl was tugging at Rodaine's sleeve. "Don't +say anything more. I 'm sorry—" and she looked at Fairchild with a +glance he could not interpret—"that anything like this could have come +up." +</P> + +<P> +"I am equally so—if it has caused you embarrassment." +</P> + +<P> +"You 'll get a little embarrassment out of it yourself—before you get +through!" Rodaine was scowling at him. Again Anita Richmond caught +his arm. +</P> + +<P> +"Maurice! Stop it! How could the thing have been premeditated when he +did n't even know your father? Come—let's go on. The crowd's getting +thicker." +</P> + +<P> +The narrow-faced man obeyed her command, and together they turned out +into the street to avoid the constantly growing throng, and to veer +toward the picture show, Fairchild watching after them, wondering +whether to curse or luck himself. His temper, his natural enmity +toward the two men whom he knew to be his enemies, had leaped into +control, for a moment, of his tongue and his senses, and in that moment +what had it done to his place in the estimation of the woman whom he +had helped on the Denver road? Yet, who was she? What connection had +she with the Rodaines? And had she not herself done something which +had caused a fear of discovery should the pursuing sheriff overtake +her? Bewildered, Robert Fairchild turned back to the more apparent +thing which faced him: the probable death of Harry—the man upon whom +he had counted for the knowledge and the perspicacity to aid him in the +struggle against Nature and against mystery—who now, according to the +story of Squint Rodaine, lay dead in the black waters of the Blue Poppy +shaft. +</P> + +<P> +Carbide lights had begun to appear along the street, as miners, +summoned by hurrying gossip mongers, came forward to assist in the +search for the missing man. High above the general conglomeration of +voices could be heard the cries of the instigator of activities, Sam +Herbenfelder, bemoaning the loss of his diamond, ninety per cent. of +the cost of which remained to be paid. To Sam, the loss of Harry was a +small matter, but that loss entailed also the disappearance of a +yellow, carbon-filled diamond, as yet unpaid for. His lamentations +became more vociferous than ever. Fairchild went forward, and with an +outstretched hand grasped him by the collar. +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't you wait until we 've found out something before you get the +whole town excited?" he asked. "All we 've got is one man's word for +this." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," Sam spread his hands, "but look who it was! Squint Rodaine! +Ach—will I ever get back that diamond?" +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm starting to the mine," Fairchild released him. "If you want to +go along and look for yourself, all right. But wait until you 're sure +about the thing before you go crazy over it." +</P> + +<P> +However, Sam had other thoughts. Hastily he shot through the crowd, +organizing the bucket brigade and searching for news of the Argonaut +pump, which had not yet arrived. Half-disgusted, Fairchild turned and +started up the hill, a few miners, their carbide lamps swinging beside +them, following him. Far in the rear sounded the wails of Sam +Herbenfelder, organizing his units of search. +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild turned at the entrance of the mine and waited for the first +of the miners and the accompanying gleam of his carbide. Then, they +went within and to the shaft, the light shining downward upon the oily, +black water below. Two objects floated there, a broken piece of +timber, torn from the side of the shaft, where some one evidently had +grasped hastily at it in an effort to stop a fall, and a new, +four-dented hat, gradually becoming water-soaked and sinking slowly +beneath the surface. And then, for the first time, fear clutched at +Fairchild's heart,—fear which hope could not ignore. +</P> + +<P> +"There 's his hat." It was a miner staring downward. +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild had seen it, but he strove to put aside the thought. +</P> + +<P> +"True," he answered, "but any one could lose a hat, simply by looking +over the edge of the shaft." Then, as if in proof of the forlorn hope +which he himself did not believe; "Harry 's a strong man. Certainly he +would know how to swim. And in any event he should have been able to +have kept afloat for at least a few minutes. Rodaine says that he +heard a shout and ran right in here; but all that he could see was +ruffled water and a floating hat. I—" Then he paused suddenly. It +had come to him that Rodaine might have helped in the demise of Harry! +</P> + +<P> +Shouts sounded from outside, and the roaring of a motor truck as it +made its slow, tortuous way up the boulder-strewn road with its gullies +and innumerable ruts. Voices came, rumbling and varied. Lights. +Gaining the mouth of the tunnel. Fairchild could see a mass of shadows +outlined by the carbides, all following the leadership of a small, +excited man, Sam Herbenfelder, still seeking his diamond. +</P> + +<P> +The big pump from the Argonaut tunnel was aboard the truck, which was +followed by two other auto vehicles, each loaded with gasoline engines +and smaller pumps. A hundred men were in the crowd, all equipped with +ropes and buckets. Sam Herbenfelder's pleas had been heard. The +search was about to begin for the body of Harry and the diamond that +circled one finger. And Fairchild hastened to do his part. +</P> + +<P> +Until far into the night they worked and strained to put the big pump +into position; while crews of men, four and five in a group, bailed +water as fast as possible, that the aggregate might be lessened to the +greatest possible extent before the pumps, with their hoses, were +attached. Then the gasoline engines began to snort, great lengths of +tubing were let down into the shaft, and spurting water started down +the mountain side as the task of unwatering the shaft began. +</P> + +<P> +But it was a slow job. Morning found the distance to the water +lengthened by twenty or thirty feet, and the bucket brigades nearly at +the end of their ropes. Men trudged down the hills to breakfast, +sending others in their places. Fairchild stayed on to meet Mother +Howard and assuage her nervousness as best he could, dividing his time +between her and the task before him. Noon found more water than ever +tumbling down the hills—the smaller pumps were working now in unison +with the larger one—for Sam Herbenfelder had not missed a single +possible outlet of aid in his campaign; every man in Ohadi with an +obligation to pay, with back interest due, or with a bill yet +unaccounted for was on his staff, to say nothing of those who had +volunteered simply to still the tearful remonstrances of the +hand-wringing, diamond-less, little jeweler. Afternoon—and most of +Ohadi was there. Fairchild could distinguish the form of Anita +Richmond in the hundreds of women and men clustered about the opening +of the tunnel, and for once she was not in the company of Maurice +Rodaine. He hurried to her and she smiled at his approach. +</P> + +<P> +"Have they found anything yet?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing—so far. Except that there is plenty of water in the shaft. +I 'm trying not to believe it." +</P> + +<P> +"I hope it is n't true." Her voice was low and serious. "Father was +talking to me—about you. And we hoped you two would succeed—this +time." +</P> + +<P> +Evidently her father had told her more than she cared to relate. +Fairchild caught the inflection in her voice but disregarded it. +</P> + +<P> +"I owe you an apology," he said bluntly. +</P> + +<P> +"For what?" +</P> + +<P> +"Last night. I could n't resist it—I forgot for a moment that you +were there. But I—I hope that you 'll believe me to be a gentleman, +in spite of it." +</P> + +<P> +She smiled up at him quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"I already have had proof of that. I—I am only hoping that you will +believe me—well, that you 'll forget something." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she countered quickly, as though to cut off his explanation. +"It seemed like a great deal. Yet it was nothing at all. I would feel +much happier if I were sure you had disregarded it." +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild looked at her for a long time, studying her with his serious, +blue eyes, wondering about many things, wishing that he knew more of +women and their ways. At last he said the thing that he felt, the +straightforward outburst of a straightforward man: +</P> + +<P> +"You 're not going to be offended if I tell you something?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly not." +</P> + +<P> +"The sheriff came along just after you had made the turn. He was +looking for an auto bandit." +</P> + +<P> +"A what?" She stared at him with wide-open, almost laughing eyes. +"But you don't believe—" +</P> + +<P> +"He was looking for a man," said Fairchild quietly. "I—I told him +that I had n't seen anything but—a boy. I was willing to do that +then—because I could n't believe that a girl like you would—" Then +he stumbled and halted. A moment he sought speech while she smiled up +at him. Then out it came: "I—I don't care what it was. I—I like +you. Honest, I do. I liked you so much when I was changing that tire +that I did n't even notice it when you put the money in my hand. +I—well, you 're not the kind of a girl who would do anything really +wrong. It might be a prank—or something like that—but it would n't +be wrong. So—so there 's an end to it." +</P> + +<P> +Again she laughed softly, in a way tantalizing to Robert Fairchild, as +though she were making game of him. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you know about women?" she asked finally, and Fairchild told +the truth: +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing." +</P> + +<P> +"Then—" the laugh grew heartier, finally, however, to die away. The +girl put forth her hand. "But I won't say what I was going to. It +would n't sound right. I hope that I—I live up to your estimation of +me. At least—I 'm thankful to you for being the man you are. And I +won't forget!" +</P> + +<P> +And once more her hand had rested in his,—a small, warm, caressing +thing in spite of the purely casual grasp of an impersonal action. +Again Robert Fairchild felt a thrill that was new to him, and he stood +watching her until she had reached the motor car which had brought her +to the big curve, and had faded down the hill. Then he went back to +assist the sweating workmen and the anxious-faced Sam Herbenfelder. +The water was down seventy feet. +</P> + +<P> +That night Robert Fairchild sought a few hours' sleep. Two days after, +the town still divided its attention between preparations for the Old +Times Dance and the progress in the dewatering of the Blue Poppy shaft. +Now and then the long hose was withdrawn, and dynamite lowered on +floats to the surface of the water, far below, a copper wire trailing +it. A push of the plunger, a detonation, and a wait of long moments; +it accomplished nothing, and the pumping went on. If the earthly +remains of Harry Harkins were below, they steadfastly refused to come +to the surface. +</P> + +<P> +The volunteers had thinned now to only a few men at the pumps and the +gasoline engine, and Sam Herbenfelder was taking turns with Fairchild +in overseeing the job. Spectators were not as frequent either; they +came and went,—all except Mother Howard, who was silently constant. +The water had fallen to the level of the drift, two hundred feet down; +the pumps now were working on the main flood which still lay below, +while outside the townspeople came and went, and twice daily the owner +and proprietor and general assignment reporter of the <I>Daily Bugle</I> +called at the mouth of the tunnel for news of progress. But there was +no news, save that the water was lower. The excitement of it began to +dim. Besides, the night of the dance was approaching, and there were +other calls for volunteers, for men to set up the old-time bar in the +lodge rooms of the Elks Club; for others to dig out ancient roulette +wheels and oil them in preparation for a busy play at a ten-cent limit +instead of the sky-high boundaries of a day gone by; for some one to go +to Denver and raid the costume shops, to say nothing of buying the +innumerable paddles which must accompany any old-time game of keno. +But Sam stayed on—and Fairchild with him—and the loiterers, who would +refuse to work at anything else for less than six dollars a day, freely +giving their services at the pumps and the engines in return for a +share of Sam's good will and their names in the papers. +</P> + +<P> +A day more and a day after that. Through town a new interest spread. +The water was now only a few feet high in the shaft; it meant that the +whole great opening, together with the drift tunnel, soon would be +dewatered to an extent sufficient to permit of exploration. Again the +motor cars ground up the narrow roadway. Outside the tunnel the crowds +gathered. Fairchild saw Anita Richmond and gritted his teeth at the +fact that young Rodaine accompanied her. Farther in the background, +narrow eyes watching him closely, was Squint Rodaine. And still +farther— +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild gasped as he noticed the figure plodding down the mountain +side. He put out a hand, then, seizing the nervous Herbenfelder by the +shoulder, whirled him around. +</P> + +<P> +"Look!" he exclaimed. "Look there! Did n't I tell you! Did n't I +have a hunch?" +</P> + +<P> +For, coming toward them jauntily, slowly, was a figure in beaming blue, +a Fedora on his head now, but with the rest of his wardrobe intact, +yellow, bump-toed shoes and all. Some one shouted. Everybody turned. +And as they did so, the figure hastened its pace. A moment later, a +booming voice sounded, the unmistakable voice of Harry Harkins: +</P> + +<P> +"I sye! What's the matter over there? Did somebody fall in?" +</P> + +<P> +The puffing of gasoline engines ceased. A moment more and the gurgling +cough of the pumps was stilled, while the shouting and laughter of a +great crowd sounded through the hills. A leaping form went forward, +Sam Herbenfelder, to seize Harry, to pat him and paw him, as though in +assurance that he really was alive, then to grasp wildly at the ring on +his finger. But Harry waved him aside. +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't I paid the installment on it?" he remonstrated. "What's the +rumpus?" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild, with Mother Howard, both laughing happily, was just behind +Herbenfelder. And behind them was thronging half of Ohadi. +</P> + +<P> +"We thought you were drowned!" +</P> + +<P> +"Me?" Harry's laughter boomed again, in a way that was infectious. +"Me drowned, just because I let out a 'oller and dropped my 'at?" +</P> + +<P> +"You did it on purpose?" Sam Herbenfelder shook a scrawny fist under +Harry's nose. The big Cornishman waved it aside as one would brush +away an obnoxious fly. Then he grinned at the townspeople about him. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," he confessed, "there was an un'oly lot of water in there, and I +didn't 'ave any money. What else was I to do?" +</P> + +<P> +"You—!" A pumpman had picked up a piece of heavy timbering and thrown +it at him in mock ferocity. "Work us to death and then come back and +give us the laugh! Where you been at?" +</P> + +<P> +"Center City," confessed Harry cheerily. +</P> + +<P> +"And you knew all the time?" Mother Howard wagged a finger under his +nose. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," and the Cornishman chuckled, "I did n't 'ave any money. I 'ad +to get that shaft unwatered, did n't I?" +</P> + +<P> +"Get a rail!" Another irate—but laughing—pumpman had come forward. +"Think you can pull that on us? Get a rail!" +</P> + +<P> +Some one seized a small, dead pine which lay on the ground near by. +Others helped to strip it of the scraggly limbs which still clung to +it. Harry watched them and chuckled—for he knew that in none was +there malice. He had played his joke and won. It was their turn now. +Shouting in mock anger, calling for all dire things, from lynchings on +down to burnings at the stake, they dragged Harry to the pine tree, +threw him astraddle of it, then, with willing hands volunteering on +every side, hoisted the tree high above them and started down the +mountain side, Sam Herbenfelder trotting in the rear and forgetting his +anger in the joyful knowledge that his ring at last was safe. +</P> + +<P> +Behind the throng of men with their mock threats trailed the women and +children, some throwing pine cones at the booming Harry, juggling +himself on the narrow pole; and in the crowd, Fairchild found some one +he could watch with more than ordinary interest,—Anita Richmond, +trudging along with the rest, apparently remonstrating with the sullen, +mean-visaged young man at her side. Instinctively Fairchild knew that +young Rodaine was not pleased with the return of Harkins. As for the +father— +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild whirled at a voice by his side and looked straight into the +crooked eyes of Thornton Fairchild's enemy. The blue-white scar had +turned almost black now, the eyes were red from swollen, blood-stained +veins, the evil, thin, crooked lips were working in sullen fury. They +were practically alone at the mouth of the mine, Fairchild with a laugh +dying on his lips, Rodaine with all the hate and anger and futile +malice that a human being can know typified in his scarred, hawklike +features. A thin, taloned hand came upward, to double, leaving one +bony, curved finger extending in emphasis of the words which streamed +from the slit of a mouth: +</P> + +<P> +"Funny, weren't you? Played your cheap jokes and got away with 'em. +But everybody ain't like them fools!" he pointed to the crowd just +rounding the rocks, Harry bobbing in the foreground. "There 's some +that remember—and I 'm one of 'em. You 've put over your fake; you +'ve had your laugh; you 've framed it so I 'll be the butt of every +numbskull in Ohadi. But just listen to this—just listen to this!" he +repeated, the harsh voice taking on a tone that was almost a screech. +"There's another time coming—and that time 's going to be mine!" +</P> + +<P> +And before Fairchild could retort, he had turned and was scrambling +down the mountain side. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX +</H3> + + +<P> +It was just as well. Fairchild could have said nothing that would have +helped matters. He could have done nothing that would have damaged +them. The cards were still the same; the deck still bore its markings, +and the deal was going on without ever a change, except that now the +matter of concealment of enmities had turned to an open, aboveboard +proposition. Whether Harry had so intended it or not, he had forced +Squint Rodaine to show his hand, and whether Squint realized it, that +amounted to something. Fairchild was almost grateful for the fact as +he went back into the tunnel, spun the flywheels of the gasoline +engines and started them revolving again, that the last of the water +might be drained from the shaft before the pumps must be returned to +their owners. +</P> + +<P> +Several hours passed, then Harry returned, minus his gorgeous clothing +and his diamond ring, dressed in mining costume now, with high leather +boots into which his trousers were tucked, and carrying a carbide +lantern. Dolefully he looked at the vacant finger where once a diamond +had sparkled. Then he chuckled. +</P> + +<P> +"Sam took it back," he announced. "And I took part of the money and +paid it out for rent on these pumps. We can keep 'em as long as we +want 'em. It's only costing about a fourth of what it might of. +Drowning 's worth something," he laughed again. Fairchild joined him, +then sobered. +</P> + +<P> +"It brought Rodaine out of the bushes," he said. "Squint threatened us +after they 'd hauled you down town on the rail." +</P> + +<P> +Harry winked jovially. +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't it just what I expected? It's better that wye than to 'ave 'im +snoopin' around. When I came up to the mine, 'e was right behind me. +I knew it. And I 'd figured on it. So I just gave 'im something to +get excited about. It was n't a minute after I 'd thrown a rock and my +'at in there and let out a yell that he came thumping in, looking +around. I was 'iding back of the timbers there. Out 'e went, +muttering to 'imself, and I—well, I went to Center City and read the +papers." +</P> + +<P> +They chuckled together then; it was something to know that they had not +only forced Squint Rodaine to show his enmity openly, but it was +something more to make him the instrument of helping them with their +work. The pumps were going steadily now, and a dirty stream of water +was flowing down the ditch that had been made at one side of the small +tram track. Harry looked down the hole, stared intently at nothing, +then turned to the rusty hoist. +</P> + +<P> +"'Ere 's the thing we 've got to fix up now. This 'ere chiv wheel's +all out of gear." +</P> + +<P> +"What makes your face so red?" Fairchild asked the question as the +be-mustached visage of Harry came nearer to the carbide. Harry looked +up. +</P> + +<P> +"Mother 'Oward almost slapped it off!" came his rueful answer. "For +not telling 'er what I was going to do, and letting 'er think I got +drownded. But 'ow was I to know?" +</P> + +<P> +He went to tinkering with the big chiv wheel then, supported on its +heavy timbers, and over which the cable must pass to allow the skip to +travel on its rails down the shaft. Fairchild absently examined the +engines and pumps, supplying water to the radiators and filling an oil +cup or two. Then he turned swiftly, voicing that which was uppermost +in his mind. +</P> + +<P> +"When you were here before, Harry, did you know a Judge Richmond?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yeh." Harry pawed his mustache and made a greasy, black mark on his +face. "But I don't think I want to know 'im now." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" +</P> + +<P> +"'E's mixed up with the Rodaines." +</P> + +<P> +"How much?" +</P> + +<P> +"They own 'im—that's all." +</P> + +<P> +There was silence for a moment. It had been something which Fairchild +had not expected. If the Rodaines owned Judge Richmond, how far did +that ownership extend? After a long time, he forced himself to a +statement. +</P> + +<P> +"I know his daughter." +</P> + +<P> +"You?" Harry straightened. "'Ow so?" +</P> + +<P> +"She sold me a ticket to a dance," Fairchild carefully forgot the +earlier meeting. "Then we 've happened to meet several times after +that. She said that her father had told her about me—it seems he used +to be a friend of my own father." +</P> + +<P> +Harry nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"So 'e was. And a good friend. But that was before things +'appened—like they 've 'appened in the last ten years. Not that I +know about it of my own knowledge. But Mother 'Oward—she knows a lot." +</P> + +<P> +"But what's caused the change? What—?" +</P> + +<P> +Harry's intent gaze stopped him. +</P> + +<P> +"'Ow many times 'ave you seen the girl when she was n't with young +Rodaine?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very few, that's true." +</P> + +<P> +"And 'ow many times 'ave you seen Judge Richmond?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have n't ever seen him." +</P> + +<P> +"You won't—if Mother 'Oward knows anything. 'E ain't able to get out. +'E's sick—apoplexy—a stroke. Rodaine's taken advantage of it." +</P> + +<P> +"How?" +</P> + +<P> +"'Ow does anybody take advantage of somebody that's sick? 'Ow does +anybody get a 'old on a person? Through money! Judge Richmond 'ad a +lot of it. Then 'e got sick. Rodaine, 'e got 'old of that money. Now +Judge Richmond 'as to ask 'im for every penny he gets—and 'e does what +Rodaine says." +</P> + +<P> +"But a judge—" +</P> + +<P> +"Judges is just like anybody else when they're bedridden and only 'arf +their faculties working. The girl, so Mother 'Oward tells me, is about +twenty now. That made 'er just a little kid, and motherless, when +Rodaine got in 'is work. She ain't got a thing to sye. And she loves +'er father. Suppose," Harry waved a hand, "that you loved somebody +awful strong, and suppose that person was under a influence? Suppose +it meant 'is 'appiness and 'is 'ealth for you to do like 'e wanted you? +Wouldn't you go with a man? What's more, if 'e don't die pretty soon, +you 'll see a wedding!" +</P> + +<P> +"You mean—?" +</P> + +<P> +"She 'll be Mrs. Maurice Rodaine. She loves 'er father enough to do +it—after 'er will's broken. And I don't care 'oo it is; there ain't a +woman in the world that's got the strength to keep on saying no to a +sick father!" +</P> + +<P> +Again Robert Fairchild filled an oil cup, again he tinkered about the +pumps. Then he straightened. +</P> + +<P> +"How are we going to work this mine?" he asked shortly. Harry stared +at him. +</P> + +<P> +"'Ow should I know? You own it!" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't mean that way. We were fifty-fifty from the minute you showed +up. There never has been any other thought in my mind—" +</P> + +<P> +"Fifty-fifty? You're making me a bloated capitalist!" +</P> + +<P> +"I hope I will. Or rather, I hope that you 'll make such a thing +possible for both of us. But I was talking about something else; are +we going to work hard and fight it out day and night for awhile until +we can get things going, or are we just going at it by easy stages?" +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose," answered Harry after a communication with his magic +mustache, "that we go dye and night 'til we get the water out? It +won't be long. Then we 'll 'ave to work together. You 'll need my +vast store of learning and enlightenment!" he grinned. +</P> + +<P> +"Good. But the pumping will last through tomorrow night. Can you take +the night trick?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sure. But why?" +</P> + +<P> +"I want to go to that dance!" +</P> + +<P> +Harry whistled. Harry's big lips spread into a grin. +</P> + +<P> +"And she 's got brown eyes!" he chortled to himself. "And she 's got +brown 'air, and she 's a wye about 'er. Oh! She's got a wye about +'er! And I 'll bet she 's going with Maurice Rodaine! Oh! She's got +a wye about'er!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, shut up!" growled Fairchild, but he grinned in schoolboy fashion +as he said it. Harry poured half a can of oil upon the bearings of the +chiv wheel with almost loving tenderness. +</P> + +<P> +"She 's got a wye about 'er!" he echoed. Fairchild suddenly frowned. +</P> + +<P> +"Just what do you mean? That she 's in love with Rodaine and just—" +</P> + +<P> +"'Ow should I know? But she 's got a wye about 'er!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well," the firm chin of the other man grew firmer, "it won't be hard +to find out!" +</P> + +<P> +And the next night he started upon his investigations. Nor did he stop +to consider that social events had been few and far between for him, +that his dancing had progressed little farther than the simple ability +to move his feet in unison to music. Years of office and home, home +and office, had not allowed Robert Fairchild the natural advantages of +the usual young man. But he put that aside now; he was going to that +dance, and he was going to stay there as long as the music sounded, or +rather as long as the brown eyes, brown hair and laughing lips of Anita +Richmond were apparent to him. What's more, he carried out his +resolution. +</P> + +<P> +The clock turned back with the entrance to that dance hall. Men were +there in the rough mining costumes of other days, with unlighted +candles stuck through patent holders into their hats, and women were +there also, dressed as women could dress only in other days of sudden +riches, in costumes brought from Denver, bespangled affairs with the +gorgeousness piled on until the things became fantastic instead of the +intensely beautiful creations that the original wearers had believed +them to be. There was only one idea in the olden mining days, to buy +as much as possible and to put it all on at once. High, Spanish combs +surmounted ancient styles of hairdressing. Rhinestones glittered in +lieu of the real diamonds that once were worn by the queens of the +mining camps. Dancing girls, newly rich cooks, poverty-stricken +prospectors' wives suddenly beaming with wealth, nineteenth-century +vamps, gambling hall habitués,—all were represented among the +femininity of Ohadi as they laughed and giggled at the outlandish +costumes they wore and thoroughly enjoyed themselves. +</P> + +<P> +Far at one side, making a brave effort with the "near" beer and "almost +there" concoctions of a prohibition buried country, was the +"old-fashioned bar" with its old-fashioned bartender behind it, roaring +out his orders and serving drinks with one hand while he waved and +pulled the trigger of a blank-cartridged revolver with the other. +Farther on was the roulette wheel, and Fairchild strolled to it, +watching the others to catch the drift of the game before he essayed +it, playing with pennies where, in the old days, men had gambled away +fortunes; surrounded by a crowd that laughed and chattered and forgot +its bets, around a place where once a "sleeper" might have meant a +fortune. The spirit of the old times was abroad. The noise and +clatter of a dance caller bellowed forth as he shouted for everybody to +grab their "podners one an' all, do-se-do, promenade th' hall!" and +Fairchild, as he watched, saw that his lack of dancing ability would +not be a serious handicap. There were many others who did not know the +old numbers. And those who did had worn their hobnailed boots, +sufficient to take the spring out of any one's feet. The women were +doing most of the leading, the men clattered along somewhere in the +rear, laughing and shouting and inadvertently kicking one another on +the shins. The old times had come back, boisterously, happily,—and +every one was living in those days when the hills gushed wealth, and +when poverty to-day might mean riches tomorrow. +</P> + +<P> +Again and again Fairchild's eyes searched the crowds, the multicolored, +overdressed costumes of the women, the old-fashioned affairs with which +many of the men had arrayed themselves, ranging all the way from high +leather boots to frock suits and stovepipe beaver hats. From one face +to another his gaze went; then he turned abstractedly to the long line +of tables, with their devotees of keno, and bought a paddle. +</P> + +<P> +From far away the drone of the caller sounded in a voice familiar, and +Fairchild looked up to see the narrow-eyed, scarred face of Squint +Rodaine, who was officiating at the wheel. He lost interest in the +game; lackadaisically he placed the buttons on their squares as the +numbers were shouted, finally to brush them all aside and desert the +game. His hatred of the Rodaines had grown to a point where he could +enjoy nothing with which they were connected, where he despised +everything with which they had the remotest affiliation,—excepting, of +course, one person. And as he rose, Fairchild saw that she was just +entering the dance hall. +</P> + +<P> +Quaint in an old-fashioned costume which represented more the Civil War +days than it did those of the boom times of silver mining, she seemed +prettier than ever to Robert Fairchild, more girlish, more entrancing. +The big eyes appeared bigger now, peeping from the confines of a poke +bonnet; the little hands seemed smaller with their half-length gloves +and shielded by the enormous peacock feather fan they carried. Only a +moment Fairchild hesitated. Maurice Rodaine, attired in a mauve frock +suit and the inevitable accompanying beaver, had stopped to talk to +some one at the door. She stood alone, looking about the hall, +laughing and nodding,—and then she looked at him! Fairchild did not +wait. +</P> + +<P> +From the platform at the end of the big room the fiddles had begun to +squeak, and the caller was shouting his announcements. Couples began +to line up on the floor. The caller's voice grew louder: +</P> + +<P> +"Two more couples—two more couples! Grab yo' podners!" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild was elbowing his way swiftly forward, apologizing as he went. +A couple took its place beside the others. Once more the plea of the +caller sounded: +</P> + +<P> +"One more couple—then the dance starts. One more couple, lady an' a +gent! One more—" +</P> + +<P> +"Please!" Robert Fairchild had reached her and was holding forth his +hand. She looked up in half surprise, then demurred. +</P> + +<P> +"But I don't know these old dances." +</P> + +<P> +"Neither do I—or any other, for that matter," he confessed with sudden +boldness. "But does that make any difference? Please!" +</P> + +<P> +She glanced quickly toward the door. Maurice Rodaine was still +talking, and Fairchild saw a little gleam come into her eyes,—the +gleam that shows when a woman decides to make some one pay for +rudeness. Again he begged: +</P> + +<P> +"Won't you—and then we 'll forget. I—I could n't take my payment in +money!" +</P> + +<P> +She eyed him quickly and saw the smile on his lips. From the platform +the caller voiced another entreaty: +</P> + +<P> +"One more cou-ple! Ain't there no lady an' gent that's goin' to fill +out this here dance? One more couple—one more couple!" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild's hand was still extended. Again Anita Richmond glanced +toward the door, chuckled to herself while Fairchild watched the +dimples that the merriment caused, and then—Fairchild forgot the fact +that he was wearing hobnailed shoes and that his clothes were worn and +old. He was going forward to take his place on the dance floor, and +she was beside him! +</P> + +<P> +Some way, as through a haze, he saw her. Some way he realized that now +and then his hand touched hers, and that once, as they whirled about +the room, in obedience to the monarch on the fiddler's rostrum, his arm +was about her waist, and her head touching his shoulder. It made +little difference whether the dance calls were obeyed after that. +Fairchild was making up for all the years he had plodded, all the years +in which he had known nothing but a slow, grubbing life, living them +all again and rightly, in the few swift moments of a dance. +</P> + +<P> +The music ended, and laughing they returned to the side of the hall. +Out of the haze he heard words, and knew indistinctly that they were +his own: +</P> + +<P> +"Will—will you dance with me again tonight?" +</P> + +<P> +"Selfish!" she chided. +</P> + +<P> +"But will you?" +</P> + +<P> +For just a moment her eyes grew serious. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you ever realize that we 've never been introduced?" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild was finding more conversation than he ever had believed +possible. +</P> + +<P> +"No—but I realize that I don't care—if you 'll forgive it. +I—believe that I 'm a gentleman." +</P> + +<P> +"So do I—or I would n't have danced with you." +</P> + +<P> +"Then please—" +</P> + +<P> +"Pardon me." She had laid a hand on his arm for just a moment, then +hurried away. Fairchild saw that she was approaching young Rodaine, +scowling in the background. That person shot an angry remark at her as +she approached and followed it with streaming sentences. Fairchild +knew the reason. Jealousy! Couples returning from the dance floor +jostled against him, but he did not move. He was waiting—waiting for +the outcome of the quarrel—and in a moment it came. Anita Richmond +turned swiftly, her dark eyes ablaze, her pretty lips set and firm. +She looked anxiously about her, sighted Fairchild, and then started +toward him, while he advanced to meet her. +</P> + +<P> +"I 've reconsidered," was her brief announcement. "I 'll dance the +next one with you." +</P> + +<P> +"And the next after that?" +</P> + +<P> +Again: "Selfish!" +</P> + +<P> +But Fairchild did not appear to hear. +</P> + +<P> +"And the next and the next and the next!" he urged as the caller issued +his inevitable invitations for couples. Anita smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe—I 'll think about it." +</P> + +<P> +"I 'll never know how to dance, unless you teach me." Fairchild +pleaded, as they made their way to the center of the floor. "I 'll—" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't work on my sympathies!" +</P> + +<P> +"But it's the truth. I never will." +</P> + +<P> +"S'lute yo' podners!" The dance was on. And while the music squealed +from the rostrum, while the swaying forms some way made the rounds +according to the caller's viewpoint of an old-time dance, Anita +Richmond evidently "thought about it." When the next dance came, they +went again on the floor together, Robert Fairchild and the brown-eyed +girl whom he suddenly realized he loved, without reasoning the past or +the future, without caring whom she might be or what her plans might +contain; a man out of prison lives by impulse, and Fairchild was but +lately released. +</P> + +<P> +A third dance and a fourth, while in the intervals Fairchild's eyes +sought out the sulky, sullen form of Maurice Rodaine, flattened against +the wall, eyes evil, mouth a straight line, and the blackness of hate +discoloring his face. It was as so much wine to Fairchild; he felt +himself really young for the first time in his life. And as the music +started again, he once more turned to his companion. +</P> + +<P> +Only, however, to halt and whirl and stare in surprise. There had come +a shout from the doorway, booming, commanding: +</P> + +<P> +"'Ands up, everybody! And quick about it!" +</P> + +<P> +Some one laughed and jabbed his hands into the air. Another, quickly +sensing a staged surprise, followed the example. It was just the +finishing touch necessary,—the old-time hold-up of the old-time dance. +The "bandit" strode forward. +</P> + +<P> +"Out from be'ind that bar! Drop that gun!" he commanded of the +white-aproned attendant. "Out from that roulette wheel. Everybody +line up! Quick—and there ain't no time for foolin'." +</P> + +<P> +Chattering and laughing, they obeyed, the sheriff, his star gleaming, +standing out in front of them all, shivering in mock fright, his hands +higher than any one's. The bandit, both revolvers leveled, stepped +forward a foot or so, and again ordered speed. Fairchild, standing +with his hands in the air, looked down toward Anita, standing beside +him. +</P> + +<P> +"Is n't it exciting," she exclaimed. "Just like a regular hold-up! I +wonder who the bandit is. He certainly looks the part, does n't he?" +</P> + +<P> +And Fairchild agreed that he did. A bandanna handkerchief was wrapped +about his head, concealing his hair and ears. A mask was over his +eyes, supplemented by another bandanna, which, beginning at the bridge +of his nose, flowed over his chin, cutting off all possible chance of +recognition. Only a second more he waited, then with a wave of the +guns, shouted his command: +</P> + +<P> +"All right, everybody! I'm a decent fellow. Don't want much, but I +want it quick! This 'ere 's for the relief of widders and orphans. +Make it sudden. Each one of you gents step out to the center of the +room and leave five dollars. And step back when you 've put it there. +Ladies stay where you 're at!" +</P> + +<P> +Again a laugh. Fairchild turned to his companion, as she nudged him. +"There, it's your turn." +</P> + +<P> +Out to the center of the floor went Fairchild, the rest of the victims +laughing and chiding him. Back he came in mock fear, his hands in the +air. On down the line went the contributing men. Then the bandit +rushed forward, gathered up the bills and gold pieces, shoved them in +his pockets, and whirled toward the door. +</P> + +<P> +"The purpose of this 'ere will be in the paper to-morrow," he +announced. "And don't you follow me to find out! Back there!" +</P> + +<P> +Two or three laughing men had started forward, among them a fiddler, +who had joined the line, and who now rushed out in flaunting bravery, +brandishing his violin as though to brain the intruder. Again the +command: +</P> + +<P> +"Back there—get back!" +</P> + +<P> +Then the crowd recoiled. Flashes had come from the masked man's guns, +the popping of electric light globes above and the showering of glass +testifying to the fact that they had contained something more than mere +wadding. Somewhat dazed, the fiddler continued his rush, suddenly to +crumple and fall, while men milled and women screamed. A door slammed, +the lock clicked, and the crowd rushed for the windows. The hold-up +had been real after all,—instead of a planned, joking affair. On the +floor the fiddler lay gasping—and bleeding. And the bandit was gone. +</P> + +<P> +All in a moment the dance hall seemed to have gone mad. Men were +rushing about and shouting; panic-stricken women clawed at one another +and fought their way toward a freedom they could not gain. Windows +crashed as forms hurtled against them; screams sounded. Hurriedly, as +the crowd massed thicker, Fairchild raised the small form of Anita in +his arms and carried her to a chair, far at one side. +</P> + +<P> +"It's all right now," he said, calming her. "Everything 's over—look, +they 're helping the fiddler to his feet. Maybe he 's not badly hurt. +Everything 's all right—" +</P> + +<P> +And then he straightened. A man had unlocked the door from the outside +and had rushed into the dance hall, excited, shouting. It was Maurice +Rodaine. +</P> + +<P> +"I know who it was," he almost screamed. "I got a good look at +him—jumped out of the window and almost headed him off. He took off +his mask outside—and I saw him." +</P> + +<P> +"You saw him—?" A hundred voices shouted the question at once. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." Then Maurice Rodaine nodded straight toward Robert Fairchild. +"The light was good, and I got a straight look at him. He was that +fellow's partner—a Cornishman they call Harry!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X +</H3> + + +<P> +"I don't believe it!" Anita Richmond exclaimed with conviction and +clutched at Fairchild's arm. "I don't believe it!" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't!" Robert answered. Then he turned to the accuser. "How could +it be possible for Harry to be down here robbing a dance hall when he +'s out working the mine?" +</P> + +<P> +"Working the mine?" This time it was the sheriff. "What's the +necessity for a day and night shift?" +</P> + +<P> +The question was pertinent—and Fairchild knew it. But he did not +hesitate. +</P> + +<P> +"I know it sounds peculiar—but it's the truth. We agreed upon it +yesterday afternoon." +</P> + +<P> +"At whose suggestion?" +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm not sure—but I think it was mine." +</P> + +<P> +"Young fellow," the sheriff had approached him now, "you 'd better be +certain about that. It looks to me like that might be a pretty good +excuse to give when a man can't produce an alibi. Anyway, the +identification seems pretty complete. Everybody in this room heard +that man talk with a Cousin Jack accent. And Mr. Rodaine says that he +saw his face. That seems conclusive." +</P> + +<P> +"If Mr. Rodaine's word counts for anything." +</P> + +<P> +The sheriff looked at him sharply. +</P> + +<P> +"Evidently you have n't been around here long." Then he turned to the +crowd. "I want a couple of good men to go along with me as deputies." +</P> + +<P> +"I have a right to go." Fairchild had stepped forward. +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly. But not as a deputy. Who wants to volunteer?" +</P> + +<P> +Half a dozen men came forward, and from them the sheriff chose two. +Fairchild turned to say good-by to Anita. In vain. Already Maurice +Rodaine had escorted her, apparently against her will, to a far end of +the dance hall, and there was quarreling with her. Fairchild hurried +to join the sheriff and his two deputies, just starting out of the +dance hall. Five minutes later they were in a motor car, chugging up +Kentucky Gulch. +</P> + +<P> +The trip was made silently. There was nothing for Fairchild to say; he +had told all he knew. Slowly, the motor car fighting against the +grade, the trip was accomplished. Then the four men leaped from the +machine at the last rise before the tunnel was reached and three of +them went forward afoot toward where a slight gleam of light came from +the mouth of the Blue Poppy. +</P> + +<P> +A consultation and then the creeping forms made the last fifty feet. +The sheriff took the lead, at last to stop behind a boulder and to +shout a command: +</P> + +<P> +"Hey you, in there." +</P> + +<P> +"'Ey yourself!" It was Harry's voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Come out—and be quick about it. Hold your light in front of your +face with both hands." +</P> + +<P> +"The 'ell I will! And 'oo 's talking?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sheriff Adams of Clear Creek County. You 've got one minute to come +out—or I 'll shoot." +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm coming on the run!" +</P> + +<P> +And almost instantly the form of Harry, his acetylene lamp lighting up +his bulbous, surprised countenance with its spraylike mustache, +appeared at the mouth of the tunnel. +</P> + +<P> +"What the bloody 'ell?" he gasped, as he looked into the muzzle of the +revolver. From down the mountain side came the shout of one of the +deputies: +</P> + +<P> +"Sheriff! Looks like it's him, all right. I 've found a horse down +here—all sweated up from running." +</P> + +<P> +"That's about the answer." Sheriff Adams went forward and with a +motion of his revolver sent Harry's hands into the air. "Let's see +what you 've got on you." +</P> + +<P> +A light gleamed below as an electric flash in the hands of one of the +deputies began an investigation of the surroundings. The sheriff, +finishing his search of 'Arry's pockets, stepped back. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," he demanded, "what did you do with the proceeds?" +</P> + +<P> +"The proceeds?" Harry stared blankly. "Of what?" +</P> + +<P> +"Quit your kidding now. They 've found your horse down there." +</P> + +<P> +"Would n't it be a good idea—" Fairchild had cut in acridly—"to save +your accusations on this thing until you're a little surer of it? +Harry has n't any horse. If he 's rented one, you ought to be able to +find that out pretty shortly." +</P> + +<P> +As if in answer, the sheriff turned and shouted a question down the +mountain side. And back came the answer: +</P> + +<P> +"It's Doc Mason's. Must have been stolen. Doc was at the dance." +</P> + +<P> +"I guess that settles it." The officer reached for his hip pocket. +"Stick out your hands, Harry, while I put the cuffs on them." +</P> + +<P> +"But 'ow in bloody 'ell 'ave I been doing anything when I 've been up +'ere working on this chiv wheel? 'Ow—?" +</P> + +<P> +"They say you held up the dance to-night and robbed us," Fairchild cut +in. Harry's face lost its surprised look, to give way to a glance of +keen questioning. +</P> + +<P> +"And do you say it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I most certainly do not. The identification was given by that +honorable person known as Mr. Maurice Rodaine." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! One thief identifying another—" +</P> + +<P> +"Just cut your remarks along those lines." +</P> + +<P> +"Sheriff!" Again the voice from below. +</P> + +<P> +"Yeh!" +</P> + +<P> +"We 've found a cache down here. Must have been made in a hurry—two +new revolvers, bullets, a mask, a couple of new handkerchiefs and the +money." +</P> + +<P> +Harry's eyes grew wide. Then he stuck out his hands. +</P> + +<P> +"The evidence certainly is piling up!" he grunted. "I might as well +save my talking for later." +</P> + +<P> +"That's a good idea." The sheriff snapped the handcuffs into place. +Then Fairchild shut off the pumps and they started toward the machine. +Back in Ohadi more news awaited them. Harry, if Harry had been the +highwayman, had gone to no expense for his outfit. The combined +general store and hardware emporium of Gregg Brothers had been robbed +of the articles necessary for a disguise,—also the revolvers and their +bullets. Robert Fairchild watched Harry placed in the solitary cell of +the county jail with a spirit that could not respond to the +Cornishman's grin and his assurances that morning would bring a +righting of affairs. Four charges hung heavy above him: that of +horse-stealing, of burglary, of highway robbery, and worse, the final +one of assault with attempt to kill. Fairchild turned wearily away; he +could not find the optimism to join Harry's cheerful announcement that +it would be "all right." The appearances were otherwise. Besides, up +in the little hospital on the hill, Fairchild had seen lights gleaming +as he entered the jail, and he knew that doctors were working there +over the wounded body of the fiddler. Tired, heavy at heart, his +earlier conquest of the night sodden and overshadowed now, he turned +away from the cell and its optimistic occupant,—out into the night. +</P> + +<P> +It was only a short walk to the hospital and Fairchild went there, to +leave with at least a ray of hope. The probing operation had been +completed; the fiddler would live, and at least the charge against +Harry would not be one of murder. That was a thing for which to be +thankful; but there was plenty to cause consternation, as Fairchild +walked slowly down the dark, winding street toward the main +thoroughfare. Without Harry, Fairchild now felt himself lost. Before +the big, genial, eccentric Cornishman had come into his life, he had +believed, with some sort of divine ignorance, that he could carry out +his ambitions by himself, with no knowledge of the technical details +necessary to mining, with no previous history of the Blue Poppy to +guide him, and with no help against the enemies who seemed everywhere. +Now he saw that it was impossible. More, the incidents of the night +showed how swiftly those enemies were working, how sharp and +stiletto-like their weapons. +</P> + +<P> +That Harry was innocent was certain,—to Robert Fairchild. There was +quite a difference between a joke which a whole town recognized as such +and a deliberate robbery which threatened the life of at least one man. +Fairchild knew in his heart that Harry was not built along those lines. +</P> + +<P> +Looking back over it now, Fairchild could see how easily Fate had +played into the hands of the Rodaines, if the Rodaines had not +possessed a deeper concern than merely to seize upon a happening and +turn it to their own account. The highwayman was big. The highwayman +talked with a "Cousin-Jack" accent,—for all Cornishmen are "Cousin +Jacks" in the mining country. Those two features in themselves, +Fairchild thought, as he stumbled along in the darkness, were +sufficient to start the scheming plot in the brain of Maurice Rodaine, +already ugly and evil through the trick played by Harry on his father +and the rebuke that had come from Anita Richmond. It was an easy +matter for him to get the inspiration, leap out of the window, and then +wait until the robber had gone, that he might flare forth with his +accusation. And after that—. +</P> + +<P> +Either Chance, or something stronger, had done the rest. The finding +of the stolen horse and the carelessly made cache near the mouth of the +Blue Poppy mine would be sufficient in the eyes of any jury. The +evidence was both direct and circumstantial. To Fairchild's mind, +there was small chance for escape by Harry, once his case went to +trial. Nor did the pounding insistence of intuitive knowledge that the +whole thing had been a deliberately staged plot on the part of the +Rodaines, father and son, make the slightest difference in Fairchild's +estimation. How could he prove it? By personal animosity? There was +the whole town of Ohadi to testify that the highwayman was a big man, +of the build of Harry, and that he spoke with a Cornish accent. There +were the sworn members of the posse to show that they, without +guidance, had discovered the horse and the cache,—and the Rodaines +were nowhere about to help them. And experience already had told +Fairchild that the Rodaines, by a deliberately constructed system, held +a ruling power; that against their word, his would be as nothing. +Besides, where would be Harry's alibi? He had none; he had been at the +mine, alone. There was no one to testify for him, not even Fairchild. +</P> + +<P> +The world was far from bright. Down the dark street the man wandered, +his hands sunk deep in his pockets, his head low between his +shoulders,—only to suddenly galvanize into intensity, and to stop +short that he might hear again the voice which had come to him. At one +side was a big house,—a house whose occupants he knew instinctively, +for he had seen the shadow of a woman, hands outstretched, as she +passed the light-strewn shade of a window on the second floor. More, +he had heard her voice, supplemented by gruffer tones. And then it +came again. +</P> + +<P> +It was pleading, and at the same time angered with the passion of a +person approaching hysteria. A barking sentence answered her, +something that Fairchild could not understand. He left the old board +sidewalk and crept to the porch that he might hear the better. Then +every nerve within him jangled, and the black of the darkness changed +to red. The Rodaines were within; he had heard first the cold voice of +the father, then the rasping tones of the son, in upbraiding. More, +there had come the sobbing of a woman; instinctively Fairchild knew +that it was Anita Richmond. And then: +</P> + +<P> +It was her voice, high, screaming. Hysteria had come,—the wild, +racking hysteria of a person driven to the breaking point: +</P> + +<P> +"Leave this house—hear me! Leave this house! Can't you see that +you're killing him? Don't you dare touch me—leave this house! No—I +won't be quiet—I won't—you 're killing him, I tell you—!" +</P> + +<P> +And Fairchild waited for nothing more. A lunge, and he was on the +veranda. One more spring and he had reached the door, to find it +unlocked, to throw it wide and to leap into the hall. Great steps, and +he had cleared the stairs to the second floor. +</P> + +<P> +A scream came from a doorway before him; dimly, as through a red +screen, Fairchild saw the frightened face of Anita Richmond, and on the +landing, fronting him angrily, stood the two Rodaines. For a moment, +Fairchild disregarded them and turned to the sobbing, disheveled little +being in the doorway. +</P> + +<P> +"What's happened?" +</P> + +<P> +"They were threatening me—and father!" she moaned. "But you shouldn't +have come in—you should n't have—" +</P> + +<P> +"I heard you scream. I could n't help it. I heard you say they were +killing your father—" +</P> + +<P> +The girl looked anxiously toward an inner room, where Fairchild could +see faintly the still figure of a man outlined under the covers of an +old-fashioned four-poster. +</P> + +<P> +"They—they—got him excited. He had another stroke. I—I could n't +stand it any longer." +</P> + +<P> +"You 'd better get out," said Fairchild curtly to the Rodaines, with a +suggestive motion toward the stairs. They hesitated a moment and +Maurice seemed about to launch himself at Robert, but his father laid a +restraining hand on his arm. A step and the elder Rodaine hesitated. +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm only going because of your father," he said gruffly, with a +glance toward Anita. +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild knew differently, but he said nothing. The gray of Rodaine's +countenance told where his courage lay; it was yellow gray, the dirty +gray of a man who fights from cover, and from cover only. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I know," Anita said. "It's—it's all right. I—I 'm sorry. +I—did n't realize that I was screaming—please forgive me—and go, +won't you? It means my father's life now." +</P> + +<P> +"That's the only reason I am going; I 'm not going because—" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I know. Mr. Fairchild should n't have come in here. He should +n't have done it. I 'm sorry—please go." +</P> + +<P> +Down the steps they went, the older man with his hand still on his +son's arm; while, white-faced, Fairchild awaited Anita, who had +suddenly sped past him into the sick room, then was wearily returning. +</P> + +<P> +"Can I help you?" he asked at last. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," came her rather cold answer, only to be followed by a quickly +whispered "Forgive me." And then the tones became louder—so that they +could be heard at the bottom of the stairs: "You can help me +greatly—simply by going and not creating any more of a disturbance." +</P> + +<P> +"But—" +</P> + +<P> +"Please go," came the direct answer. "And please do not vent your +spite on Mr. Rodaine and his son. I 'm sure that they will act like +gentlemen if you will. You should n't have rushed in here." +</P> + +<P> +"I heard you screaming, Miss Richmond." +</P> + +<P> +"I know," came her answer, as icily as ever. Then the door downstairs +closed and the sound of steps came on the veranda. She leaned close to +him. "I had to say that," came her whispered words. "Please don't try +to understand anything I do in the future. Just go—please!" +</P> + +<P> +And Fairchild obeyed. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI +</H3> + + +<P> +The Rodaines were on the sidewalk when Fairchild came forth from the +Richmond home, and true to his instructions from the frightened girl, +he brushed past them swiftly and went on down the street, not turning +at the muttered invectives which came from the crooked lips of the +older man, not seeming even to notice their presence as he hurried on +toward Mother Howard's boarding house. Whether Fate had played with +him or against him, he did not know,—nor could he summon the brain +power to think. Happenings had come too thickly in the last few hours +for him to differentiate calmly; everything depended upon what course +the Rodaines might care to pursue. If theirs was to be a campaign of +destruction, without a care whom it might involve, Fairchild could see +easily that he too might soon be juggled into occupying the cell with +Harry in the county jail. Wearily he turned the corner to the main +street and made his plodding way, along it, his shoulders drooping, his +brain fagged from the flaring heat of anger and the strain that the +events of the night had put upon it. In his creaky bed in the old +boarding house, he again sought to think, but in vain. He could only +lie awake and stare into the darkness about him, while through his mind +ran a muddled conglomeration of foreboding, waking dreams, revamps of +the happenings of the last three weeks, memories which brought him +nothing save sleeplessness and the knowledge that, so far, he fought a +losing fight. +</P> + +<P> +After hours, daylight began to streak the sky. Fairchild, dull, worn +by excitement and fatigue, strove to rise, then laid his head on the +pillow for just a moment of rest. And with that perversity which +extreme weariness so often exerts, his eyes closed, and he slept,—to +wake at last with the realization that it was late morning, and that +some one was pounding on the door. Fairchild raised his head. +</P> + +<P> +"Is that you, Mother Howard? I'm getting up, right away." +</P> + +<P> +A slight chuckle answered him. +</P> + +<P> +"But this is n't Mother Howard. May I see you a moment?" +</P> + +<P> +"Who is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"No one you know—yet. I 've come to talk to you about your partner. +May I come in?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." Fairchild was fully alive now to the activities that the day +held before him. The door opened, and a young man, alert, almost cocky +in manner, with black, snappy eyes showing behind horn-rimmed glasses, +entered and reached for the sole chair that the room contained. +</P> + +<P> +"My name 's Farrell," he announced. "Randolph P. Farrell. And to make +a long story short, I 'm your lawyer." +</P> + +<P> +"My lawyer?" Fairchild stared. "I haven't any lawyer in Ohadi. The +only—" +</P> + +<P> +"That does n't alter the fact. I 'm your lawyer, and I 'm at your +service. And I don't mind telling you that it's just about my first +case. Otherwise, I don't guess I 'd have gotten it." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" The frankness had driven other queries from Fairchild's +mind. Farrell, the attorney, grinned cheerily. +</P> + +<P> +"Because I understand it concerns the Rodaines. Nobody but a fool out +of college cares to buck up against them. Besides, nearly everybody +has a little money stuck into their enterprises. And seeing I have no +money at all, I 'm not financially interested. And not being +interested, I 'm wholly just, fair and willing to fight 'em to a +standstill. Now what's the trouble? Your partner 's in jail, as I +understand it. Guilty or not guilty?" +</P> + +<P> +"Wa—wait a minute!" The breeziness of the man had brought Fairchild +to more wakefulness and to a certain amount of cheer. "Who hired you?" +Then with a sudden inspiration: "Mother Howard did n't go and do this?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mother Howard? You mean the woman who runs the boarding house? Not +at all." +</P> + +<P> +"But—" +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm not exactly at liberty to state." +</P> + +<P> +Suspicion began to assert itself. The smile of comradeship that the +other man's manner instilled faded suddenly. +</P> + +<P> +"Under those conditions, I don't believe—" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't say it! Don't get started along those lines. I know what you +'re thinking. Knew that was what would happen from the start. And +against the wishes of the person who hired me for this work, I—well, I +brought the evidence. I might as well show it now as try to put over +this secret stuff and lose a lot of time doing it. Here, take a +glimpse and then throw it away, tear it up, swallow it, or do anything +you want to with it, just so nobody else sees it. Ready? Look." +</P> + +<P> +He drew forth a small visiting card. Fairchild glanced. Then he +looked—and then he sat up straight in bed. For before him were the +engraved words: +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +Miss Anita Natalie Richmond. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +While across the card was hastily written, in a hand distinctively +feminine: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Mr. Fairchild: This is my good friend. He will help you. There is no +fee attached. Please destroy. +<BR><BR> +Anita Richmond. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Bu—but I don't understand." +</P> + +<P> +"You know Miss—er—the writer of this card, don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"But why should she—?" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Farrell, barrister-at-law, grinned broadly. +</P> + +<P> +"I see you don't know Miss—the writer of this card at all. That's her +nature. Besides—well, I have a habit of making long stories short. +All she 's got to do with me is crook her finger and I 'll jump +through. I 'm—none of your business. But, anyway, here I am—" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild could not restrain a laugh. There was something about the +man, about his nervous, yet boyish way of speaking, about his +enthusiasm, that wiped out suspicion and invited confidence. The owner +of the Blue Poppy mine leaned forward. +</P> + +<P> +"But you did n't finish your sentence about—the writer of that card." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean—oh—well, there 's nothing to that. I 'm in love with her. +Been in love with her since I 've been knee-high to a duck. So 're +you. So 's every other human being that thinks he's a regular man. +So's Maurice Rodaine. Don't know about the rest of you—but I have n't +got a chance. Don't even think of it any more—look on it as a +necessary affliction, like wearing winter woolens and that sort of +thing. Don't let it bother you. The problem right now is to get your +partner out of jail. How much money have you got?" +</P> + +<P> +"Only a little more than two thousand." +</P> + +<P> +"Not enough. There 'll be bonds on four charges. At the least, they +'ll be around a thousand dollars apiece. Probabilities are that they +'ll run around ten thousand for the bunch. How about the Blue Poppy?" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild shrugged his shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what it's worth." +</P> + +<P> +"Neither do I. Neither does the judge. Neither does any one else. +Therefore, it's worth at least ten thousand dollars. That 'll do the +trick. Get out your deeds and that sort of thing—we 'll have to file +them with the bond as security." +</P> + +<P> +"But that will ruin us!" +</P> + +<P> +"How so? A bond 's nothing more than a mortgage. It doesn't stop you +from working on the mine. All it does is give evidence that your +friend and partner will be on the job when the bailiff yells oyez, +oyez, oyez. Otherwise, they 'll take the mine away from you and sell +it at public sale for the price of the bond. But that's a happen-so of +the future. And there 's no danger if our client—you will notice that +I call him our client—is clothed with the dignity and the protecting +mantle of innocence and stays here to see his trial out." +</P> + +<P> +"He 'll do that, all right." +</P> + +<P> +"Then we 're merely using the large and ample safe of the court of this +judicial district as a deposit vault for some very valuable papers. I +'d suggest now that you get up, seize your deeds and accompany me to +the palace of justice. Otherwise, that partner of yours will have to +eat dinner in a place called in undignified language the hoosegow!" +</P> + +<P> +It was like warm sunshine on a cold day, the chatter of this young man +in horn-rimmed glasses. Soon Fairchild was dressed and walking +hurriedly up the street with the voluble attorney. A half-hour more +and they were before the court. Fairchild, the lawyer and the +jail-worn Harry, his mustache fluttering in more directions than ever. +</P> + +<P> +"Not guilty, Your Honor," said Randolph P. Farrell. "May I ask the +extent of the bond?" +</P> + +<P> +The judge adjusted his glasses and studied the information which the +district attorney had laid before him. +</P> + +<P> +"In view of the number of charges and the seriousness of each, I must +fix an aggregate bond of five thousand dollars, or twelve hundred fifty +dollars for each case." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you; we had come prepared for more. Mr. Fairchild, who is Mr. +Harkins' partner, is here to appear as bondsman. The deeds are in his +name alone, the partnership existing, as I understand it, upon their +word of honor between them. I refer, Your Honor, to the deeds of the +Blue Poppy mine. Would Your Honor care to examine them?" +</P> + +<P> +His Honor would. His Honor did. For a long moment he studied them, +and Fairchild, in looking about the courtroom, saw the bailiff in +conversation with a tall, thin man, with squint eyes and a scar-marked +forehead. A moment later, the judge looked over his glasses. +</P> + +<P> +"Bailiff!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Your Honor." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you any information regarding the value of the Blue Poppy mining +claims?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sir, I have just been talking to Mr. Rodaine. He says they 're well +worth the value of the bond." +</P> + +<P> +"How about that, Rodaine?" The judge peered down the court room. +Squint Rodaine scratched his hawklike nose with his thumb and nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"They 'll do," was his answer, and the judge passed the papers to the +clerk of the court. +</P> + +<P> +"Bond accepted. I 'll set this trial for—" +</P> + +<P> +"If Your Honor please, I should like it at the very, very earliest +possible moment," Randolph P. Farrell had cut in. "This is working a +very great hardship upon an innocent man and—" +</P> + +<P> +"Can't be done." The judge was scrawling on his docket. "Everything +'s too crowded. Can't be reached before the November term. Set it for +November 11th." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, Your Honor." Then he turned with a wide grin to his +clients. "That's all until November." +</P> + +<P> +Out they filed through the narrow aisle of the court room, Fairchild's +knee brushing the trouser leg of Squint Rodaine as they passed. At the +door, the attorney turned toward them, then put forth a hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Drop in any day this week and we 'll go over things," he announced +cheerfully. "We put one over on his royal joblots that time, anyway. +Hates me from the ground up. Worst we can hope for is a conviction and +then a Supreme Court reversal. I 'll get him so mad he 'll fill the +case with errors. He used to be an instructor down at Boulder, and I +stuck the pages of a lecture together on him one day. That's why I +asked for an early trial. Knew he 'd give me a late one. That 'll let +us have time to stir up a little favorable evidence, which right now we +don't possess. Understand—all money that comes from the mine is held +in escrow until this case is decided. But I 'll explain that. Going +to stick around here and bask in the effulgence of really possessing a +case. S'long!" +</P> + +<P> +And he turned back into the court room, while Fairchild, the dazed +Harry stalking beside him, started down the street. +</P> + +<P> +"'Ow do you figure it?" asked the Cornishman at last. +</P> + +<P> +"What?" +</P> + +<P> +"Rodaine. 'E 'elped us out!" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild stopped. It had not occurred to him before. But now he saw +it: that if Rodaine, as an expert on mining, had condemned the Blue +Poppy, it could have meant only one thing, the denial of bond by the +judge and the lack of freedom for Harry. Fairchild rubbed a hand +across his brow. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't figure it," came at last. "And especially since his son is +the accuser and since I got the best of them both last night!" +</P> + +<P> +"Got the best of 'em? You?" +</P> + +<P> +The story was brief in its telling. And it brought no explanation of +the sudden amiability displayed by the crooked-faced Rodaine. They +went on, striving vainly for a reason, at last to stop in front of the +post-office, as the postmaster leaned out of the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Your name's Fairchild, isn't it?" asked the person of letters, as he +fastened a pair of gimlet eyes on the owner of the Blue Poppy. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Thought so. Some of the fellows said you was. Better drop in here +for your mail once in a while. There 's been a letter for you here for +two days!" +</P> + +<P> +"For me?" Vaguely Fairchild went within and received the missive, a +plain, bond envelope without a return address. He turned it over and +over in his hand before he opened it—then looked at the +postmark,—Denver. At last: +</P> + +<P> +"Open it, why don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +Harry's mustache was tickling his ear, as the big miner stared over his +shoulder. Fairchild obeyed. They gasped together. Before them were +figures and sentences which blurred for a moment, finally to resolve +into: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +Mr. Robert Fairchild,<BR> +Ohadi, Colorado.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +Dear Sir; +</P> + +<P> +I am empowered by a client whose name I am not at liberty to state, to +make you an offer of $50,000. for your property in Clear Creek County, +known as the Blue Poppy mine. In replying, kindly address your letter +to +<BR><BR> +Box 180, Denver, Colo. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Harry whistled long and thoughtfully. +</P> + +<P> +"That's a 'ole lot of money!" +</P> + +<P> +"An awful lot, Harry. But why was the offer made? There 's nothing to +base it on. There 's—" +</P> + +<P> +Then for a moment, as they stepped out of the post-office, he gave up +the thought, even of comparative riches. Twenty feet away, a man and a +girl were approaching, talking as though there never had been the +slightest trouble between them. They crossed the slight alleyway, and +she laid her hand on his arm, almost caressingly, Fairchild thought, +and he stared hard as though in unbelief of their identity. But it was +certain. It was Maurice Rodaine and Anita Richmond; they came closer, +her eyes turned toward Fairchild, and then— +</P> + +<P> +She went on, without speaking, without taking the trouble to notice, +apparently, that he had been standing there. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XII +</H3> + + +<P> +After this, there was little conversation until Harry and Fairchild had +reached the boarding house. Then, with Mother Howard for an adviser, +the three gathered in the old parlor, and Fairchild related the events +of the night before, adding what had happened at the post-office, when +Anita had passed him without speaking. Mother Howard, her arms folded +as usual, bobbed her gray head. +</P> + +<P> +"It's like her, Son," she announced at last. "She 's a good girl. I +'ve known her ever since she was a little tad not big enough to walk. +And she loves her father." +</P> + +<P> +"But—" +</P> + +<P> +"She loves her father. Is n't that enough? The Rodaines have the +money—and they have almost everything that Judge Richmond owns. It's +easy enough to guess what they 've done with it—tied it up so that he +can't touch it until they 're ready for him to do it. And they 're not +going to do that until they 've gotten what they want." +</P> + +<P> +"Which is—?" +</P> + +<P> +"Anita! Any fool ought to be able to know that. Of course," she added +with an acrid smile, "persons that are so head over heels in love +themselves that they can't see ten feet in front of them would n't be +able to understand it—but other people can. The Rodaines know they +can't do anything directly with Anita. She would n't stand for it. +She 's not that kind of a girl. They know that money does n't mean +anything to her—and what's more, they 've been forced to see that +Anita ain't going to turn handsprings just for the back-action honor of +marrying a Rodaine. Anita could marry a lot richer fellows than +Maurice Rodaine ever dreamed of being, if she wanted to—and there +wouldn't be any scoundrel of a father, or any graveyard wandering, +crazy mother to go into the bargain. And they realize it. But they +realize too, that there ain't a chance of them losing out as long as +her father's happiness depends on doing what they want her to do. So, +after all, ain't it easy to see the whole thing?" +</P> + +<P> +"To you, possibly. But not to me." +</P> + +<P> +Mother Howard pressed her lips in exasperation. +</P> + +<P> +"Just go back over it," she recapitulated. "She got mad at him at the +dance last night, did n't she? He 'd done something rude—from the way +you tell it. Then you sashayed up and asked her to dance every dance +with you. You don't suppose that was because you were so tall and +handsome, do you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well—" Fairchild smiled ruefully—"I was hoping that it was because +she rather liked me." +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose it was? But she rather likes a lot of people. You understand +women just like a pig understands Sunday—you don't know anything about +'em. She was mad at Maurice Rodaine and she wanted to give him a +lesson. She never thought about the consequences. After the dance was +over, just like the sniveling little coward he is, he got his father +and went to the Richmond house. There they began laying out the old +man because he had permitted his daughter to do such a disgraceful +thing as to dance with a man she wanted to dance with instead of +kowtowing and butting her head against the floor every time Maurice +Rodaine crooked his finger. And they were n't gentle about it. What +was the result? Poor old Judge Richmond got excited and had another +stroke. And what did Anita do naturally—just like a woman? She got +the high-strikes and then you came rushing in. After that, she calmed +down and had a minute to think of what might be before her. That +stroke last night was the second one for the Judge. There usually +ain't any more after the third one. Now, can't you see why Anita is +willing to do anything on earth just to keep peace and just to give her +father a little rest and comfort and happiness in the last days of his +life? You 've got to remember that he ain't like an ordinary father +that you can go to and tell all your troubles. He 's laying next door +to death, and Anita, just like any woman that's got a great, big, good +heart in her, is willing to face worse than death to help him. It's as +plain to me as the nose on Harry's face." +</P> + +<P> +"Which is quite plain," agreed Fairchild ruefully. Harry rubbed the +libeled proboscis, pawed at his mustache and fidgeted in his chair. +</P> + +<P> +"I understand that, all right," he announced at last. "But why should +anybody want to buy the mine?" +</P> + +<P> +It brought Fairchild to the realization of a new development, and he +brought forth the letter, once more to stare at it. +</P> + +<P> +"Fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money," came at last. "It would +pretty near pay us for coming out here, Harry." +</P> + +<P> +"That it would." +</P> + +<P> +"And what then?" Mother Howard, still looking through uncolored +glasses, took the letter and scanned it. "You two ain't quitters, are +you?" +</P> + +<P> +"'Oo, us?" Harry bristled. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you. If you are, get yourselves a piece of paper and write to +Denver and take the offer. If you ain't—keep on fighting." +</P> + +<P> +"I believe you 're right, Mother Howard." +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild had reached for the letter again and was staring at it as +though for inspiration. "That amount of money seems to be a great +deal. Still, if a person will offer that much for a mine when there 's +nothing in sight to show its value, it ought to mean that there's +something dark in the woodpile and that the thing 's worth fighting +out. And personally speaking, I 'm willing to fight!" +</P> + +<P> +"I never quit in my life!" Harry straightened in his chair and his +mustache stuck forth pugnaciously. Mother Howard looked down at him, +pressed her lips, then smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"No," she announced, "except to run away like a whipped pup after you +'d gotten a poor lonely boarding-house keeper in love with you!" +</P> + +<P> +"Mother 'Oward, I 'll—" +</P> + +<P> +But the laughing, gray-haired woman had scrambled through the doorway +and slammed the door behind her, only to open it a second later and +poke her head within. +</P> + +<P> +"Need n't think because you can hold up a dance hall and get away with +it, you can use cave-man stuff on me!" she admonished. And in that one +sentence was all the conversation necessary regarding the charges +against Harry, as far as Mother Howard was concerned. She did n't +believe them, and Harry's face showed that the world had become bright +and serene again. He swung his great arms as though to loosen the big +muscles of his shoulders. He pecked at his mustache. Then he turned +to Fairchild. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," he asked, "what do we do? Go up to the mine—just like nothing +'ad ever 'appened?" +</P> + +<P> +"Exactly. Wait until I change my clothes. Then we 'll be ready to +start. I 'm not even going to dignify this letter by replying to it. +And for one principal reason—" he added—"that I think the Rodaines +have something to do with it." +</P> + +<P> +'"Ow so?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. It's only a conjecture; I guess the connection comes +from the fact that Squint put a good valuation on the mine this morning +in court. And if it is any of his doings—then the best thing in the +world is to forget it. I 'll be ready in a moment." +</P> + +<P> +An hour later they entered the mouth of the Blue Poppy tunnel, once +more to start the engines and to resume the pumping, meanwhile +struggling back and forth with timbers from the mountain side, as they +began the task of rehabilitating the tunnel where it had caved in just +beyond the shaft. It was the beginning of a long task; well enough +they knew that far below there would be much more of this to do, many +days of back-breaking labor in which they must be the main +participants, before they ever could hope to begin their real efforts +in search of ore. +</P> + +<P> +And so, while the iron-colored water gushed from the pump tubes. Harry +and Fairchild made their trips, scrambling ones as they went outward, +struggling ones as they came back, dragging the "stulls" or heavy +timbers which would form the main supports, the mill-stakes, or lighter +props, the laggs and spreaders, all found in the broken, well-seasoned +timber of the mountain side, all necessary for the work which was +before them. The timbering of a mine is not an easy task. One by one +the heavy props must be put into place, each to its station, every one +in a position which will furnish the greatest resistance against the +tremendous weight from above, the constant inclination of the earth to +sink and fill the man-made excavations. For the earth is a jealous +thing; its own caverns it makes and preserves judiciously. Those made +by the hand of humanity call forth the resistance of gravity and of +disintegration, and it takes measures of strength and power to combat +them. That day, Harry and Fairchild worked with all their strength at +the beginning of a stint that would last—they did not, could not know +how long. And they worked together. Their plan of a day and night +shift had been abandoned; the trouble engendered by their first attempt +had been enough to shelve that sort of program. +</P> + +<P> +Hour after hour they toiled, until the gray mists hung low over the +mountain tops, until the shadows lengthened and twilight fell. The +engines ceased their chugging, the coughing swirl of the dirty water as +it came from the drift, far below, stopped. Slowly two weary men +jogged down the rutty road to the narrow, winding highway which led +through Kentucky Gulch and into town. But they were happy with a new +realization: that they were actively at work, that something had been +accomplished by their labors, and progress made in spite of the +machinations of malignant men, in spite of the malicious influences of +the past and of the present, and in spite of the powers of Nature. +</P> + +<P> +It was a new, a grateful life to Fairchild. It gave him something else +to think about than the ponderings upon the mysterious events which +seemed to whirl, like a maelstrom, about him. And more, it gave him +little time to think at all, for that night he did not lie awake to +stare about him in the darkness. Muscles were aching in spite of their +inherent strength. His head pounded from the pressure of intensified +heart action. His eyes closed wearily, yet with a wholesome fatigue. +Nor did he wake until Harry was pounding on the door in the dawn of the +morning. +</P> + +<P> +Their meal came before the dining room was regularly open. Mother +Howard herself flipping the flapjacks and frying the eggs which formed +their breakfast, meanwhile finding the time to pack their lunch +buckets. Then out into the crisp air of morning they went, and back to +their labors. +</P> + +<P> +Once more the pumps; once more the struggle against the heavy timbers; +once more the "clunk" of the axe as it bit deep into wood, or the +pounding of hammers as great spikes were driven into place. Late that +afternoon they turned to a new duty,—that of mucking away the dirt and +rotted logs from a place that once had been impassable. The timbering +of the broken-down portion of the tunnel just behind the shaft had been +repaired, and Harry flipped the sweat away from his broad forehead with +an action of relief. +</P> + +<P> +"Not that it does us any particular good," he announced. "There ain't +nothing back there that we can get at. But it's room we 'll need when +we start working down below, and we might as well 'ave it fixed up—" +</P> + +<P> +He ceased suddenly and ran to the pumps. A peculiar gurgling sound had +come from the ends of the hose, and the flow depreciated greatly; +instead of the steady gush of water, a slimy silt was coming out now, +spraying and splattering about on the sides of the drainage ditch. +Wildly Harry waved a monstrous paw. +</P> + +<P> +"Shut 'em off!" he yelled to Fairchild in the dimness of the tunnel. +"It's sucking the muck out of the sump!" +</P> + +<P> +"Out of the what?" Fairchild had killed the engines and run forward to +where Harry, one big hand behind the carbide flare, was peering down +the shaft. +</P> + +<P> +"The sump—it's a little 'ole at the bottom of the shaft to 'old any +water that 'appens to seep in. That means the 'ole drift is unwatered." +</P> + +<P> +"Then the pumping job 's over?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yeh." Harry rose. "You stay 'ere and dismantle the pumps, so we can +send 'em back. I 'll go to town. We 've got to buy some stuff." +</P> + +<P> +Then he started off down the trail, while Fairchild went to his work. +And he sang as he dragged at the heavy hose, pulling it out of the +shaft and coiling it at the entrance to the tunnel, as he put skids +under the engines, and moved them, inch by inch, to the outer air. +Work was before him, work which was progressing toward a goal that he +had determined to seek, in spite of all obstacles. The mysterious +offer which he had received gave evidence that something awaited him, +that some one knew the real value of the Blue Poppy mine, and that if +he could simply stick to his task, if he could hold to the unwavering +purpose to win in spite of all the blocking pitfalls that were put in +his path, some day, some time, the reward would be worth its price. +</P> + +<P> +More, the conversation with Mother Howard on the previous morning had +been comforting; it had given a woman's viewpoint upon another woman's +actions. And Fairchild intuitively believed she was correct. True, +she had talked of others who might have hopes in regard to Anita +Richmond; in fact, Fairchild had met one of those persons in the +lawyer, Randolph Farrell. But just the same it all was cheering. It +is man's supreme privilege to hope. +</P> + +<P> +And so Fairchild was happy and somewhat at ease for the first time in +weeks. Out at the edge of the mine, as he made his trips, he stopped +now and then to look at something he had disregarded previously,—the +valley stretching out beneath him, the three hummocks of the far-away +range, named Father, Mother and Child by some romantic mountaineer; the +blue-gray of the hills as they stretched on, farther and farther into +the distance, gradually whitening until they resolved themselves into +the snowy range, with the gaunt, high-peaked summit of Mount Evans +scratching the sky in the distance. +</P> + +<P> +There was a shimmer in the air, through which the trees were turned +into a bluer green, and the crags of the mountains made softer, the +gaping scars of prospect holes less lonely and less mournful with their +ever-present story of lost hopes. On a great boulder far at one side a +chipmunk chattered. Far down the road an ore train clattered along on +the way to the Sampler,—that great middleman institution which is a +part of every mining camp, and which, like the creamery station at the +cross roads, receives the products of the mines, assays them by its +technically correct system of four samples and four assayers to every +shipment, and buys them, with its allowances for freight, smelting +charges and the innumerable expenditures which must be made before +money can become money in reality. Fairchild sang louder than ever, a +wordless tune, an old tune, engendered in his brain upon a +paradoxically happy and unhappy night,—that of the dance when he had +held Anita Richmond in his arms, and she had laughed up at him as, by +her companionship, she had paid the debt of the Denver road. Fairchild +had almost forgotten that. Now, with memory, his brow puckered, and +his song died slowly away. +</P> + +<P> +"What the dickens was she doing?" he asked himself at last. "And why +should she have wanted so terribly to get away from that sheriff?" +</P> + +<P> +There was no answer. Besides, he had promised to ask for none. And +further, a shout from the road, accompanied by the roaring of a motor +truck, announced the fact that Harry was making his return. +</P> + +<P> +Five men were with him, to help him carry in ropes, heavy pulleys, +weights and a large metal shaft bucket, then to move out the smaller of +the pumps and trundle away with them, leaving the larger one and the +larger engine for a single load. At last Harry turned to his +paraphernalia and rolled up his sleeves. +</P> + +<P> +"'Ere 's where we work!" he announced. "It's us for a pulley and +bucket arrangement until we can get the 'oist to working and the skip +to running. 'Elp me 'eave a few timbers." +</P> + +<P> +It was the beginning of a three-days' job, the building of a heavy +staging over the top of the shaft, the affixing of the great pulley and +then the attachment of the bucket at one end, and the skip, loaded with +pig iron, on the other. Altogether, it formed a sort of crude, +counterbalanced elevator, by which they might lower themselves into the +shaft, with various bumpings and delays,—but which worked +successfully, nevertheless. Together they piled into the big, iron +bucket. Harry lugging along spikes and timbers and sledges and ropes. +Then, pulling away at the cable which held the weights, they furnished +the necessary gravity to travel downward. +</P> + +<P> +An eerie journey, faced on one side by the crawling rope of the skip as +it traveled along the rusty old track on its watersoaked ties, on the +others by the still dripping timbers of the aged shaft and its broken, +rotting ladder, while the carbide lanterns cast shadows about, while +the pulley above creaked and the eroded wheels of the skip squeaked and +protested! Downward—a hundred feet—and they collided with the +upward-bound skip, to fend off from it and start on again. The air +grew colder, more moist. The carbides spluttered and flared. Then a +slight bump, and they were at the bottom. Fairchild started to crawl +out from the bucket, only to resume his old position as Harry yelled +with fright. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't do it!" gulped the Cornishman. "Do you want me to go up like a +skyrocket? Them weights is all at the top. We 've got to fix a plug +down 'ere to 'old this blooming bucket or it 'll go up and we 'll stay +down!" +</P> + +<P> +Working from the side of the bucket, still held down by the weight of +the two men, they fashioned a catch, or lock, out of a loop of rope +attached to heavy spikes, and fastened it taut. +</P> + +<P> +"That 'll 'old," announced the big Cornishman. "Out we go!" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild obeyed with alacrity. He felt now that he was really coming +to something, that he was at the true beginning of his labors. Before +him the drift tunnel, damp and dripping and dark, awaited, seeming to +throw back the flare of the carbides as though to shield the treasures +which might lie beyond. Harry started forward a step, then pausing, +shifted his carbide and laid a hand on his companion's shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"Boy," he said slowly, "we 're starting at something now—and I don't +know where it's going to lead us. There's a cave-in up 'ere, and if we +'re ever going to get anywhere in this mine, we 'll 'ave to go past it. +And I 'm afraid of what we 're going to find when we cut our wye +through!" +</P> + +<P> +Clouds of the past seemed to rise and float past Fairchild. Clouds +which carried visions of a white, broken old man sitting by a window, +waiting for death, visions of an old safe and a letter it contained. +For a long, long moment, there was silence. Then came Harry's voice +again. +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm afraid it ain't going to be good news, Boy. But there ain't no +wye to get around it. It's got to come out sometime—things like that +won't stay 'idden forever. And your father 's gone now—gone where it +can't 'urt 'im." +</P> + +<P> +"I know," answered Fairchild in a queer, husky voice. "He must have +known, Harry—he must have been willing that it come, now that he is +gone. He wrote me as much." +</P> + +<P> +"It's that or nothing. If we sell the mine, some one else will find +it. And we can't 'it the vein without following the drift to the +stope. But you're the one to make the decision." +</P> + +<P> +Again, a long moment; again, in memory, Fairchild was standing in a +gloomy, old-fashioned room, reading a letter he had taken from a dusty +safe. Finally his answer came: +</P> + +<P> +"He told me to go ahead, if necessary. And we 'll go, Harry." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIII +</H3> + + +<P> +They started forward then, making their way through the slime and silt +of the drift flooring, slippery and wet from years of flooding. From +above them the water dripped from the seep-soaked hanging-wall, which +showed rough and splotchy in the gleam of the carbides and seemed to +absorb the light until they could see only a few feet before them as +they clambered over water-soaked timbers, disjointed rails of the +little tram track which once had existed there, and floundered in and +out of the greasy pockets of mud which the floating ties of the track +had left behind. On—on—they stopped. +</P> + +<P> +Progress had become impossible. Before them, twisted and torn and +piled about in muddy confusion, the timbers of the mine suddenly showed +in a perfect barricade, supplanted from behind by piles of muck and +rocky refuse which left no opening to the chamber of the stope beyond. +Harry's carbide went high in the air, and he slid forward, to stand a +moment in thought before the obstacle. At place after place he +surveyed it, finally to turn with a shrug of his shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"It's going to mean more 'n a month of the 'ardest kind of work, Boy," +came his final announcement. "'Ow it could 'ave caved in like that is +more than I know. I 'm sure we timbered it good." +</P> + +<P> +"And look—" Fairchild was beside him now, with his carbide—"how +everything's torn, as though from an explosion." +</P> + +<P> +"It seems that wye. But you can't tell. Rock 'as an awful way of +churning up things when it decides to turn loose. All I know is we 've +got a job cut out for us." +</P> + +<P> +There was only one thing to do,—turn back. Fifteen minutes more and +they were on the surface, making their plans; projects which entailed +work from morning until night for many a day to come. There was a +track to lay, an extra skip to be lowered, that they might haul the +muck and broken timbers from the cave-in to the shaft and on out to the +dump. There were stulls and mill-stakes and laggs to cut and to be +taken into the shaft. And there was good, hard work of muscle and +brawn and pick and shovel, that muck might be torn away from the +cave-in, and good timbers put in place, to hold the hanging wall from +repeating its escapade of eighteen years before. Harry reached for a +new axe and indicated another. +</P> + +<P> +"We 'll cut ties first," he announced. +</P> + +<P> +And thus began the weeks of effort, weeks in which they worked with +crude appliances; weeks in which they dragged the heavy stulls and +other timbers into the tunnel and then lowered them down the shaft to +the drift, two hundred feet below, only to follow them in their +counter-balanced bucket and laboriously pile them along the sides of +the drift, there to await use later on. Weeks in which they worked in +mud and slime, as they shoveled out the muck and with their gad hooks +tore down loose portions of the hanging wall to form a roadbed for +their new tram. Weeks in which they cut ties, in which they crawled +from their beds even before dawn, nor returned to Mother Howard's +boarding house until long after dark; weeks in which they seemed to +lose all touch with the outside world. Their whole universe had turned +into a tunnel far beneath the surface of the earth, a drift leading to +a cave-in, which they had not yet begun to even indent with excavations. +</P> + +<P> +It was a slow, galling progress, but they kept at it. Gradually the +tram line began to take shape, pieced together from old portions of the +track which still lay in the drift and supplemented by others bought +cheaply at that graveyard of miner's hopes,—the junk yard in Ohadi. +At last it was finished; the work of moving the heavy timbers became +easier now as they were shunted on to the small tram truck from which +the body had been dismantled and trundled along the rails to the +cave-in, there to be piled in readiness for their use. And finally— +</P> + +<P> +A pick swung in the air, to give forth a chunky, smacking sound, as it +struck water-softened, spongy wood. The attack against the cave-in had +begun, to progress with seeming rapidity for a few hours, then to +cease, until the two men could remove the debris which they had dug out +and haul it by slow, laborious effort to the surface. But it was a +beginning, and they kept at it. +</P> + +<P> +A foot at a time they tore away the old, broken, splintered timbers and +the rocky refuse which lay piled behind each shivered beam; only to +stop, carry away the muck, and then rebuild. And it was +effort,—effort which strained every muscle of two strong men, as with +pulleys and handmade, crude cranes, they raised the big logs and +propped them in place against further encroachment of the hanging wall. +Cold and damp, in the moist air of the tunnel they labored, but there +was a joy in it all. Down here they could forget Squint Rodaine and +his chalky-faced son; down here they could feel that they were working +toward a goal and lay aside the handicap which humans might put in +their path. +</P> + +<P> +Day after day of labor and the indentation upon the cave-in grew from a +matter of feet to one of yards. A week. Two. Then, as Harry swung +his pick, he lurched forward and went to his knees. "I 've gone +through!" he announced in happy surprise. "I 've gone through. We 're +at the end of it!" +</P> + +<P> +Up went Fairchild's carbide. Where the pick still hung in the rocky +mass, a tiny hole showed, darker than the surrounding refuse. He put +forth a hand and clawed at the earth about the tool; it gave way +beneath his touch, and there was only vacancy beyond. Again Harry +raised his pick and swung it with force. Fairchild joined him. A +moment more and they were staring at a hole which led to darkness, and +there was joy in Harry's voice as he made a momentary survey. +</P> + +<P> +"It's fairly dry be'ind there," he announced. "Otherwise we 'd have +been scrambling around in water up to our necks. We 're lucky there, +any'ow." +</P> + +<P> +Again the attack and again the hole widened. At last Harry +straightened. +</P> + +<P> +"We can go in now," came finally. "Are you willing to go with me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course. Why not?" +</P> + +<P> +The Cornishman's hand went to his mustache. +</P> + +<P> +"I ain't tickled about what we 're liable to find." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean—?" +</P> + +<P> +But Harry stopped him. +</P> + +<P> +"Let's don't talk about it till we 'ave to. Come on." +</P> + +<P> +Silently they crawled through the opening, the silt and fine rock +rattling about them as they did so, to come upon fairly dry earth on +the other side, and to start forward. Under the rays of the carbides, +they could see that the track here was in fairly good condition; the +only moisture being that of a natural seepage which counted for little. +The timbers still stood dry and firm, except where dripping water in a +few cases had caused the blocks to become spongy and great holes to be +pressed in them by the larger timbers which held back the tremendous +weight from above. Suddenly, as they walked along. Harry took the +lead, holding his lantern far ahead of him, with one big hand behind +it, as though for a reflector. Then, just as suddenly, he turned. +</P> + +<P> +"Let's go out," came shortly. +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's there!" In the light of the lantern, +</P> + +<P> +Harry's face was white, his big lips livid. "Let's go—" +</P> + +<P> +But Fairchild stopped him. +</P> + +<P> +"Harry," he said, and there was determination in his voice, "if it's +there—we 've got to face it. I 'll be the one who will suffer. My +father is gone. There are no accusations where he rests now; I 'm sure +of that. If—if he ever did anything in his life that wasn't right, he +paid for it. We don't know what happened, Harry—all we are sure of is +that if it's what we 're—we 're afraid of, we 've gone too far now to +turn back. Don't you think that certain people would make an +investigation if we should happen to quit the mine now?" +</P> + +<P> +"The Rodaines!" +</P> + +<P> +"Exactly. They would scent something, and within an hour they 'd be +down in here, snooping around. And how much worse would it be for them +to tell the news—than for us!" +</P> + +<P> +"Nobody 'as to tell it—" Harry was staring at his carbide +flare—"there 's a wye." +</P> + +<P> +"But we can't take it, Harry. In my father's letter was the statement +that he made only one mistake—that of fear. I 'm going to believe +him—and in spite of what I find here, I 'm going to hold him innocent, +and I 'm going to be fair and square and aboveboard about it all. The +world can think what it pleases—about him and about me. There 's +nothing on my conscience—and I know that if my father had not made the +mistake of running away when he did, there would have been nothing on +his." +</P> + +<P> +Harry shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"'E could n't do much else, Boy. Rodaine was stronger in some ways +then than he is now. That was in different days. That was in times +when Squint Rodaine could 'ave gotten a 'undred men together quicker 'n +a cat's wink and lynched a man without 'im 'aving a trial or anything. +And if I 'd been your father, I 'd 'ave done the same as 'e did. I 'd +'ave run too—'e 'd 'ave paid for it with 'is life if 'e didn't, guilty +or not guilty. And—" he looked sharply toward the younger man—"you +say to go on?" +</P> + +<P> +"Go on," said Fairchild, and he spoke the words between tightly +clenched teeth. Harry turned his light before him, and once more +shielded it with his big hand. A step—two, then: +</P> + +<P> +"Look—there—over by the footwall!" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild forced his eyes in the direction designated and stared +intently. At first it appeared only like a succession of disjointed, +broken stones, lying in straggly fashion along the footwall of the +drift where it widened into the stope, or upward slant on the vein. +Then, it came forth clearer, the thin outlines of something which +clutched at the heart of Robert Fairchild, which sickened him, which +caused him to fight down a sudden, panicky desire to shield his eyes +and to run,—a heap of age-denuded bones, the scraps of a miner's +costume still clinging to them, the heavy shoes protruding in comically +tragic fashion over bony feet; a huddled, cramped skeleton of a human +being! +</P> + +<P> +They could only stand and stare at it,—this reminder of a tragedy of a +quarter of a century agone. Their lips refused to utter the words that +strove to travel past them; they were two men dumb, dumb through a +discovery which they had forced themselves to face, through a fact +which they had hoped against, each more or less silently, yet felt sure +must, sooner or later, come before them. And now it was here. +</P> + +<P> +And this was the reason that twenty years before Thornton Fairchild, +white, grim, had sought the aid of Harry and of Mother Howard. This +was the reason that a woman had played the part of a man, singing in +maudlin fashion as they traveled down the center of the street at +night, to all appearances only three disappointed miners seeking a new +field. And yet— +</P> + +<P> +"I know what you 're thinking." It was Harry's voice, strangely hoarse +and weak. "I 'm thinking the same thing. But it must n't be. Dead +men don't alwyes mean they 've died—in a wye to cast reflections on +the man that was with 'em. Do you get what I mean? You've said—" and +he looked hard into the cramped, suffering face of Robert +Fairchild—"that you were going to 'old your father innocent. So 'm I. +We don't know, Boy, what went on 'ere. And we 've got to 'ope for the +best." +</P> + +<P> +Then, while Fairchild stood motionless and silent, the big Cornishman +forced himself forward, to stoop by the side of the heap of bones which +once had represented a man, to touch gingerly the clothing, and then to +bend nearer and hold his carbide close to some object which Fairchild +could not see. At last he rose and with old, white features, +approached his partner. +</P> + +<P> +"The appearances are against us," came quietly. "There 's a 'ole in +'is skull that a jury 'll say was made by a single jack. It 'll seem +like some one 'ad killed 'im, and then caved in the mine with a box of +powder. But 'e 's gone, Boy—your father—I mean. 'E can't defend +'imself. We 've got to take 'is part." +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe—" Fairchild was grasping at the final straw—"maybe it's not +the person we believe it to be at all. It might be somebody else—who +had come in here and set off a charge of powder by accident and—" +</P> + +<P> +But the shaking of Harry's head stifled the momentary ray of hope. +</P> + +<P> +"No. I looked. There was a watch—all covered with mold and mildewed. +I pried it open. It's got Larsen's name inside!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIV +</H3> + + +<P> +Again there was a long moment of silence, while Harry stood pawing at +his mustache and while Robert Fairchild sought to summon the strength +to do the thing which was before him. It had been comparatively easy +to make resolutions while there still was hope. It was a far different +matter now. All the soddenness of the old days had come back to him, +ghosts which would not be driven away; memories of a time when he was +the grubbing, though willing slave of a victim of fear,—of a man whose +life had been wrecked through terror of the day when intruders would +break their way through the debris, and when the discovery would be +made. And it had remained for Robert Fairchild, the son, to find the +hidden secret, for him to come upon the thing which had caused the +agony of nearly thirty years of suffering, for him to face the +alternative of again placing that gruesome find into hiding, or to +square his shoulders before the world and take the consequences. +Murder is not an easy word to hear, whether it rests upon one's own +shoulders, or upon the memory of a person beloved. And right now +Robert Fairchild felt himself sagging beneath the weight of the +accusation. +</P> + +<P> +But there was no time to lose in making his decision. Beside him stood +Harry, silent, morose. Before him,—Fairchild closed his eyes in an +attempt to shut out the sight of it. But still it was there, the +crumpled heap of tattered clothing and human remains, the awry, heavy +shoes still shielding the fleshless bones of the feet. He turned +blindly, his hands groping before him. +</P> + +<P> +"Harry," he called, "Harry! Get me out of here—I—can't stand it!" +</P> + +<P> +Wordlessly the big man came to his side. Wordlessly they made the trip +back to the hole in the cave-in and then followed the trail of new-laid +track to the shaft. Up—up—the trip seemed endless as they jerked and +pulled on the weighted rope, that their shaft bucket might travel to +the surface. Then, at the mouth of the tunnel, Robert Fairchild stood +for a long time staring out over the soft hills and the radiance of the +snowy range, far away. It gave him a new strength, a new +determination. The light, the sunshine, the soft outlines of the scrub +pines in the distance, the freedom and openness of the mountains seemed +to instill into him a courage he could not feel down there in the +dampness and darkness of the tunnel. His shoulders surged, as though +to shake off a great weight. His eyes brightened with resolution. +Then he turned to the faithful Harry, waiting in the background. +</P> + +<P> +"There's no use trying to evade anything, Harry. We 've got to face +the music. Will you go with me to notify the coroner—or would you +rather stay here?" +</P> + +<P> +"I 'll go." +</P> + +<P> +Silently they trudged into town and to the little undertaking shop +which also served as the office of the coroner. They made their +report, then accompanied the officer, together with the sheriff, back +to the mine and into the drift. There once more they clambered through +the hole in the cave-in and on toward the beginning of the stope. And +there they pointed out their discovery. +</P> + +<P> +A wait for the remainder of that day,—a day that seemed ages long, a +day in which Robert Fairchild found himself facing the editor of the +<I>Bugle</I>, and telling his story, Harry beside him. But he told only +what he had found, nothing of the past, nothing of the white-haired man +who had waited by the window, cringing at the slightest sound on the +old, vine-clad veranda, nothing of the letter which he had found in the +dusty safe. Nothing was asked regarding that; nothing could be gained +by telling it. In the heart of Robert Fairchild was the conviction +that somehow, some way, his father was innocent, and in his brain was a +determination to fight for that innocence as long as it was humanly +possible. But gossip told what he did not. +</P> + +<P> +There were those who remembered the departure of Thornton Fairchild +from Ohadi. There were others who recollected perfectly that in the +center of the rig was a singing, maudlin man, apparently "Sissie" +Larsen. And they asked questions. They cornered Harry, they shot +their queries at him one after another. But Harry was adamant. +</P> + +<P> +"I ain't got anything to sye! And there's an end to it!" +</P> + +<P> +Then, forcing his way past them, he crossed the street and went up the +worn steps to the little office of Randolph P. Farrell, with his +grinning smile and his horn-rimmed glasses, there to tell what he +knew,—and to ask advice. And with the information the happy-go-lucky +look faded, while Fairchild, entering behind Harry, heard a verdict +which momentarily seemed to stop his heart. +</P> + +<P> +"It means, Harry, that you were accessory to a crime—if this was a +murder. You knew that something had happened. You helped without +asking questions. And if it can be proved a murder—well," and he +drummed on his desk with the end of his pencil—"there 's no statute of +limitations when the end of a human life is concerned!" +</P> + +<P> +Only a moment Harry hesitated. Then: +</P> + +<P> +"I 'll tell the truth—if they ask me." +</P> + +<P> +"When?" The lawyer was bending forward. +</P> + +<P> +"At the inquest. Ain't that what you call it?" +</P> + +<P> +"You'll tell nothing. Understand? You'll tell nothing, other than +that you, with Robert Fairchild, found that skeleton. An inquest is +n't a trial. And that can't come without knowledge and evidence that +this man was murdered. So, remember—you tell the coroner's jury that +you found this body and nothing more!" +</P> + +<P> +"But—" +</P> + +<P> +"It's a case for the grand jury after that, to study the findings of +the coroner's jury and to sift out what evidence comes to it." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean—" This time it was Fairchild cutting in—"that if the +coroner's jury cannot find evidence that this man was murdered, or +something more than mere supposition to base a charge on—there 'll be +no trouble for Harry?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's very improbable. So tell what happened on this day of this year +of our Lord and nothing more! You people almost had me scared myself +for a minute. Now, get out of here and let a legal light shine without +any more clouds for a few minutes." +</P> + +<P> +They departed then and traveled down the stairs with far more spring in +their step than when they had entered. Late that night, as they were +engaged at their usual occupation of relating the varied happenings of +the day to Mother Howard, there came a knock at the door. +Instinctively, Fairchild bent toward her: +</P> + +<P> +"Your name 's out of this—as long as possible." +</P> + +<P> +She smiled in her mothering, knowing way. Then she opened the door, +there to find a deputy from the sheriff's office. +</P> + +<P> +"They 've impaneled a jury up at the courthouse," he announced. "The +coroner wants Mr. Fairchild and Mr. Harkins to come up there and tell +what they know about this here skeleton they found." +</P> + +<P> +It was the expected. The two men went forth, to find the street about +the courthouse thronged, for already the news of the finding of the +skeleton had traveled far, even into the little mining camps which +skirted the town. It was a mystery of years long agone, and as such it +fascinated and lured, in far greater measure perhaps, than some murder +of a present day. Everywhere were black crowds under the faint street +lamps. The basement of the courthouse was illuminated; and there were +clusters of curious persons about the stairways. Through the throngs +started Harry and Fairchild, only to be drawn aside by Farrell, the +attorney. +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm not going to take a part in this unless I have to," he told them. +"It will look better for you if it is n't necessary for me to make an +appearance. Whatever you do," and he addressed Harry, "say nothing +about what you were telling me this afternoon. In the first place, you +yourself have no actual knowledge of what happened. How do you know +but what Thornton Fairchild was attacked by this man and forced to kill +in self-defense? It's a penitentiary offense for a man to strike +another, without sufficient justification, beneath ground. And had +Sissie Larsen even so much as slapped Thornton Fairchild, that man +would have been perfectly justified in killing him to protect himself. +I 'm simply telling you that so that you will have no qualms in keeping +concealed facts which, at this time, have no bearing. Guide yourselves +accordingly—and as I say, I will be there only as a spectator, unless +events should necessitate something else." +</P> + +<P> +They promised and went on, somewhat calmer in mind, to edge their way +to the steps and to enter the basement of the courthouse. The coroner +and his jury, composed of six miners picked up haphazard along the +street—according to the custom of coroners in general—were already +present. So was every person who possibly could cram through the doors +of the big room. To them all Fairchild paid little attention,—all but +three. +</P> + +<P> +They were on a back seat in the long courtroom,—Squint Rodaine and his +son, chalkier, yet blacker than ever, while between them sat an old +woman with white hair which straggled about her cheeks, a woman with +deep-set eyes, whose hands wandered now and then vaguely before her; a +wrinkled woman, fidgeting about on her seat, watching with craned neck +those who stuffed their way within the already crammed room, her eyes +never still, her lips moving constantly, as though mumbling some +never-ending rote. Fairchild stared at her, then turned to Harry. +</P> + +<P> +"Who 's that with the Rodaines?" +</P> + +<P> +Harry looked furtively. "Crazy Laura—his wife." +</P> + +<P> +"But—" +</P> + +<P> +"And she ain't 'ere for anything good!" +</P> + +<P> +Harry's voice bore a tone of nervousness. "Squint Rodaine don't even +recognize 'er on the street—much less appear in company with 'er. +Something's 'appening!" +</P> + +<P> +"But what could she testify to?" +</P> + +<P> +"'Ow should I know?" Harry said it almost petulantly. "I did n't even +know she—" +</P> + +<P> +"Oyez, oyez, oyez!" It was the bailiff, using a regular district-court +introduction of the fact that an inquest was about to be held. The +crowded room sighed and settled. The windows became frames for human +faces, staring from without. The coroner stepped forward. +</P> + +<P> +"We are gathered here to-night to inquire into the death of a man +supposed to be L. A. Larsen, commonly called 'Sissie', whose skeleton +was found to-day in the Blue Poppy mine. What this inquest will bring +forth, I do not know, but as sworn and true members of the coroner's +jury, I charge and command you in the great name of the sovereign State +of Colorado, to do your full duty in arriving at your verdict." +</P> + +<P> +The jury, half risen from its chair, some with their left hands held +high above them, some with their right, swore in mumbling tones to do +their duty, whatever that might be. The coroner surveyed the +assemblage. +</P> + +<P> +"First witness," he called out; "Harry Harkins!" +</P> + +<P> +Harry went forward, clumsily seeking the witness chair. A moment later +he had been sworn, and in five minutes more, he was back beside +Fairchild, staring in a relieved manner about him. He had been +questioned regarding nothing more than the mere finding of the body, +the identification by means of the watch, and the notification of the +coroner. Fairchild was called, to suffer no more from the queries of +the investigator than Harry. There was a pause. It seemed that the +inquest was over. A few people began to move toward the door—only to +halt. The coroner's voice had sounded again: +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Laura Rodaine!" +</P> + +<P> +Prodded to her feet by the squint-eyed man beside her, she rose, and +laughing in silly fashion, stumbled to the aisle, her straying hair, +her ragged clothing, her big shoes and shuffling gait all blending with +the wild, eerie look of her eyes, the constant munching of the almost +toothless mouth. Again she laughed, in a vacant, embarrassed manner, +as she reached the stand and held up her hand for the administration of +the oath. Fairchild leaned close to his partner. +</P> + +<P> +"At least she knows enough for that." +</P> + +<P> +Harry nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"She knows a lot, that ole girl. They say she writes down in a book +everything she does every day. But what can she be 'ere to testify to?" +</P> + +<P> +The answer seemed to come in the questioning voice of the coroner. +</P> + +<P> +"Your name, please?" +</P> + +<P> +"Laura Rodaine. Least, that's the name I go by. My real maiden name +is Laura Masterson, and—" +</P> + +<P> +"Rodaine will be sufficient. Your age?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think it's sixty-four. If I had my book I could tell. I—" +</P> + +<P> +"Your book?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I keep everything in a book. But it is n't here. I could n't +bring it." +</P> + +<P> +"The guess will be sufficient in this case. You 've lived here a good +many years, Mrs. Rodaine?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Around thirty-five. Let's see—yes, I 'm sure it's thirty-five. +My boy was born here—he 's about thirty and we came here five years +before that." +</P> + +<P> +"I believe you told me to-night that you have a habit of wandering +around the hills?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I 've done that—I do it right along—I 've done it ever since my +husband and I split up—that was just a little while after the boy was +born—" +</P> + +<P> +"Sufficient. I merely wanted to establish that fact. In wandering +about, did you ever see anything, twenty-three or four years ago or so, +that would lead you to believe you know something about the death of +this man whose demise we are inquiring?" +</P> + +<P> +The big hand of Harry caught at Fairchild's arm. The old woman had +raised her head, craning her neck and allowing her mouth to fall open, +as she strove for words. At last: +</P> + +<P> +"I know something. I know a lot. But I 've never figured it was +anybody's business but my own. So I have n't told it. But I +remember—" +</P> + +<P> +"What, Mrs. Rodaine?" +</P> + +<P> +"The day Sissie Larsen was supposed to leave town—that was the day he +got killed." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you remember the date?" +</P> + +<P> +"No—I don't remember that." +</P> + +<P> +"Would it be in your book?" +</P> + +<P> +She seemed to become suddenly excited. She half rose in her chair and +looked down the line of benches to where her husband sat, the scar +showing plainly in the rather brilliant light, his eyes narrowed until +they were nearly closed. Again the question, and again a moment of +nervousness before she answered: +</P> + +<P> +"No—no—it would n't be in my book. I looked." +</P> + +<P> +"But you remember?" +</P> + +<P> +"Just like as if it was yesterday." +</P> + +<P> +"And what you saw—did it give you any idea—" +</P> + +<P> +"I know what I saw." +</P> + +<P> +"And did it lead to any conclusion?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"What, may I ask?" +</P> + +<P> +"That somebody had been murdered!" +</P> + +<P> +"Who—and by whom?" +</P> + +<P> +Crazy Laura munched at her toothless gums for a moment and looked again +toward her husband. Then, her watery, almost colorless eyes searching, +she began a survey of the big room, looking intently from one figure to +another. On and on—finally to reach the spot where stood Robert +Fairchild and Harry, and there they stopped. A lean finger, knotted by +rheumatism, darkened by sun and wind, stretched out. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I know who did it, and I know who got killed. It was 'Sissie' +Larsen—he was murdered. The man who did it was a fellow named +Thornton Fairchild who owned the mine—if I ain't mistaken, he was the +father of this young man—" +</P> + +<P> +"I object!" Farrell, the attorney, was on his feet and struggling +forward, jamming his horn-rimmed glasses into a pocket as he did so. +"This has ceased to be an inquest; it has resolved itself into some +sort of an inquisition!" +</P> + +<P> +"I fail to see why." The coroner had stepped down and was facing him. +</P> + +<P> +"Why? Why—you 're inquiring into a death that happened more than +twenty years ago—and you 're basing that inquiry upon the word of a +woman who is not legally able to give testimony in any kind of a court +or on any kind of a case! It's not judicial, it's not within the +confines of a legitimate, honorable practice, and it certainly is not +just to stain the name of any man with the crime of murder upon the +word of an insane person, especially when that man is dead and unable +to defend himself!" +</P> + +<P> +"Are n't you presuming?" +</P> + +<P> +"I certainly am not. Have you any further evidence upon the lines that +she is going to give?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not directly." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I demand that all the testimony which this woman has given be +stricken out and the jury instructed to disregard it." +</P> + +<P> +The official smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"I think otherwise. Besides, this is merely a coroner's inquest and +not a court action. The jury is entitled to all the evidence that has +any bearing on the case." +</P> + +<P> +"But this woman is crazy!" +</P> + +<P> +"Has she ever been adjudged so, or committed to any asylum for the +insane?" +</P> + +<P> +"No—but nevertheless, there are a hundred persons in this court room +who will testify to the fact that she is mentally unbalanced and not a +fit person to fasten a crime upon any man's head by her testimony. And +referring even to yourself, Coroner, have you within the last +twenty-five years, in fact, since a short time after the birth of her +son, called her anything else but Crazy Laura? Has any one else in +this town called her any other name? Man, I appeal to your—" +</P> + +<P> +"What you say may be true. It may not. I don't know. I only am sure +of one thing—that a person is sane in the eyes of the law until +adjudged otherwise. Therefore, her evidence at this time is perfectly +legal and proper." +</P> + +<P> +"It won't be as soon as I can bring an action before a lunacy court and +cause her examination by a board of alienists." +</P> + +<P> +"That's something for the future. In that case, things might be +different. But I can only follow the law, with the members of the jury +instructed, of course, to accept the evidence for what they deem it is +worth. You will proceed, Mrs. Rodaine. What did you see that caused +you to come to this conclusion?" +</P> + +<P> +"Can't you even stick to the rules and ethics of testimony?" It was +the final plea of the defeated Farrell. The coroner eyed him slowly. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Farrell," came his answer, "I must confess to a deviation from +regular court procedure in this inquiry. It is customary in an inquest +of this character; certain departures from the usual rules must be made +that the truth and the whole truth be learned. Proceed, Mrs. Rodaine, +what was it you saw?" +</P> + +<P> +Transfixed, horrified, Fairchild watched the mumbling, munching mouth, +the staring eyes and straying white hair, the bony, crooked hands as +they weaved before her. From those toothless jaws a story was about to +come, true or untrue, a story that would stain the name of his father +with murder! And that story now was at its beginning. +</P> + +<P> +"I saw them together that afternoon early," the old woman was saying. +"I came up the road just behind them, and they were fussing. Both of +'em acted like they were mad at each other, but Fairchild seemed to be +the maddest. +</P> + +<P> +"I did n't pay much attention to them because I just thought they were +fighting about some little thing and that it wouldn't amount to much. +I went on up the gulch—I was gathering flowers. After awhile, the +earth shook and I heard a big explosion, from way down underneath +me—like thunder when it's far away. Then, pretty soon, I saw +Fairchild come rushing out of the mine, and his hands were all bloody. +He ran to the creek and washed them, looking around to see if anybody +was watching him—but he did n't notice me. Then when he 'd washed the +blood from his hands, he got up on the road and went down into town. +Later on, I thought I saw all three of 'em leave town, Fairchild, +Sissie and a fellow named Harkins. So I never paid any more attention +to it until to-day. That's all I know." +</P> + +<P> +She stepped down then and went back to her seat with Squint Rodaine and +the son, fidgeting there again, craning her neck as before, while +Fairchild, son of a man just accused of murder, watched her with eyes +fascinated from horror. The coroner looked at a slip of paper in his +hand. +</P> + +<P> +"William Barton," he called. A miner came forward, to go through the +usual formalities, and then to be asked the question: +</P> + +<P> +"Did you see Thornton Fairchild on the night he left Ohadi?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, a lot of us saw him. He drove out of town with Harry Harkins, +and a fellow who we all thought was Sissie Larsen. The person we +believed to be Sissie was singing like the Swede did when he was drunk." +</P> + +<P> +"That's all. Mr. Harkins, will you please take the stand again?" +</P> + +<P> +"I object!" again it was Farrell. "In the first place, if this crazy +woman's story is the result of a distorted imagination, then Mr. +Harkins can add nothing to it. If it is not, Mr. Harkins is cloaked by +the protection of the law which fully applies to such cases and which, +Mr. Coroner, you cannot deny." +</P> + +<P> +The coroner nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"I agree with you this time, Mr. Farrell. I wish to work no hardship +on any one. If Mrs. Rodaine's story is true, this is a matter for a +special session of the grand jury. If it is not true—well, then there +has been a miscarriage of justice and it is a matter to be rectified in +the future. But at the present, there is no way of determining that +matter. Gentlemen of the jury," he turned his back on the crowded room +and faced the small, worried appearing group on the row of kitchen +chairs, "you have heard the evidence. You will find a room at the +right in which to conduct your deliberations. Your first official act +will be to select a foreman and then to attempt to determine from the +evidence as submitted the cause of death of the corpse over whom this +inquest has been held. You will now retire." +</P> + +<P> +Shuffling forms faded through the door at the right. Then followed +long moments of waiting, in which Robert Fairchild's eyes went to the +floor, in which he strove to avoid the gaze of every one in the crowded +court room. He knew what they were thinking, that his father had been +a murderer, and that he—well, that he was blood of his father's blood. +He could hear the buzzing of tongues, the shifting of the court room on +the unstable chairs, and he knew fingers were pointing at him. For +once in his life he had not the strength to face his fellow men. A +quarter of an hour—a knock on the door—then the six men clattered +forth again, to hand a piece of paper to the coroner. And he, +adjusting his glasses, turned to the court room and read: +</P> + +<P> +"We, the jury, find that the deceased came to his death from injuries +sustained at the hands of Thornton Fairchild, in or about the month of +June, 1892." +</P> + +<P> +That was all, but it was enough. The stain had been placed; the thing +which the white-haired man who had sat by a window back in Indianapolis +had feared all his life had come after death. And it was as though he +were living again in the body of his son, his son who now stood beside +the big form of Harry, striving to force his eyes upward and finally +succeeding,—standing there facing the morbid, staring crowd as they +turned and jostled that they might look at him, the son of a murderer! +</P> + +<P> +How long it lasted he did not, could not know. The moments were dazed, +bleared things which consisted to him only of a succession of eyes, of +persons who pointed him out, who seemed to edge away from him as they +passed him. It seemed hours before the court room cleared. Then, the +attorney at one side, Harry at the other, he started out of the court +room. +</P> + +<P> +The crowd still was on the street, milling, circling, dividing into +little groups to discuss the verdict. Through them shot scrambling +forms of newsboys, seeking, in imitation of metropolitan methods, to +enhance the circulation of the <I>Bugle</I> with an edition of a paper +already hours old. Dazedly, simply for the sake of something to take +his mind from the throngs and the gossip about him, Fairchild bought a +paper and stepped to the light to glance over the first page. There, +emblazoned under the "Extra" heading, was the story of the finding of +the skeleton in the Blue Poppy mine, while beside it was something +which caused Robert Fairchild to almost forget, for the moment, the +horrors of the ordeal which he was undergoing. It was a paragraph +leading the "personal" column of the small, amateurish sheet, +announcing the engagement of Miss Anita Natalie Richmond to Mr. Maurice +Rodaine, the wedding to come "probably in the late fall!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XV +</H3> + + +<P> +Fairchild did not show the item to Harry. There was little that it +could accomplish, and besides, he felt that his comrade had enough to +think about. The unexpected turn of the coroner's inquest had added to +the heavy weight of Harry's troubles; it meant the probability in the +future of a grand jury investigation and the possible indictment as +accessory after the fact in the murder of "Sissie" Larsen. Not that +Fairchild had been influenced in the slightest by the testimony of +Crazy Laura; the presence of Squint Rodaine and his son had shown too +plainly that they were connected in some way with it, that, in fact, +they were responsible. An opportunity had arisen for them, and they +had seized upon it. More, there came the shrewd opinion of old Mother +Howard, once Fairchild and Harry had reached the boarding house and +gathered in the parlor for their consultation: +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't it what I said right in the beginning?" the gray-haired woman +asked. "She 'll kill for that man, if necessary. It was n't as hard +as you think—all Squint Rodaine had to do was to act nice to her and +promise her a few things that he 'll squirm out of later on, and she +went on the stand and lied her head off." +</P> + +<P> +"But for a crazy woman—" +</P> + +<P> +"Laura's crazy—and she ain't crazy. I 've seen that woman as sensible +and as shrewd as any sane woman who ever drew breath. Then again, I +'ve seen her when I would n't get within fifty miles of her. Sometimes +she 's pitiful to me; and then again I 've got to remember the fact +that she 's a dangerous woman. Goodness only knows what would happen +to a person who fell into her clutches when she 's got one of those +immortality streaks on." +</P> + +<P> +"One of those what?" Harry looked up in surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Immortality. That's why you 'll find her sneaking around graveyards +at night, gathering herbs and taking them to that old house on the +Georgeville Road, where she lives, and brewing them into some sort of +concoction that she sprinkles on the graves. She believes that it's a +sure system of bringing immortality to a person. Poison—that's about +what it is." +</P> + +<P> +Harry shrugged his shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"Poison 's what she is!" he exclaimed. "Ain't it enough that I 'm +accused of every crime in the calendar without 'er getting me mixed up +in a murder? And—" this time he looked at Fairchild with dolorous +eyes—"'ow 're we going to furnish bond this time, if the grand jury +indicts me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm afraid there won't be any." +</P> + +<P> +Mother Howard set her lips for a minute, then straightened proudly. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I guess there will! They can't charge you a million dollars on +a thing like that. It's bondable—and I guess I 've got a few things +that are worth something—and a few friends that I can go to. I don't +see why I should be left out of everything, just because I 'm a woman!" +</P> + +<P> +"Lor' love you!" Harry grinned, his eyes showing plainly that the +world was again good for him and that his troubles, as far as a few +slight charges of penitentiary offenses were concerned, amounted to +very little in his estimation. Harry had a habit of living just for +the day. And the support of Mother Howard had wiped out all future +difficulties for him. The fact that convictions might await him and +that the heavy doors at Cañon City might yawn for him made little +difference right now. Behind the great bulwark of his mustache, his +big lips spread in a happy announcement of joy, and the world was good. +</P> + +<P> +Silently, Robert Fairchild rose and left the parlor for his own room. +Some way he could not force himself to shed his difficulties in the +same light, airy way as Harry. He wanted to be alone, alone where he +could take stock of the obstacles which had arisen in his path, of the +unexplainable difficulties and tribulations which had come upon him, +one trailing the other, ever since he had read the letter left for him +by his father. And it was a stock-taking of disappointing proportions. +</P> + +<P> +Looking back, Fairchild could see now that his dreams had led only to +catastrophes. The bright vista which had been his that day he sat +swinging his legs over the tailboard of the truck as it ground up Mount +Lookout had changed to a thing of gloomy clouds and of ominous futures. +Nothing had gone right. From the very beginning, there had been only +trouble, only fighting, fighting, fighting against insurmountable odds, +which seemed to throw him ever deeper into the mire of defeat, with +every onslaught. He had met a girl whom he had instinctively liked, +only to find a mystery about her which could not be fathomed. He had +furthered his acquaintance with her, only to bring about a condition +where now she passed him on the street without speaking and which, he +felt, had instigated that tiny notice in the <I>Bugle</I>, telling of her +probable marriage in the late autumn to a man he detested as a cad and +as an enemy. He had tried his best to follow the lure of silver; if +silver existed in the Blue Poppy mine, he had labored against the +powers of Nature, only to be the unwilling cause of a charge of murder +against his father. And more, it was clear, cruelly clear, that if it +had not been for his own efforts and those of a man who had come to +help him, the skeleton of Sissie Larsen never would have been +discovered, and the name of Thornton Fairchild might have gone on in +the peace which the white-haired, frightened man had sought. +</P> + +<P> +But now there was no choosing. Robert was the son of a murderer. Six +men had stamped that upon him in the basement of the courthouse that +night. His funds were low, growing lower every day, and there was +little possibility of rehabilitating them until the trial of Harry +should come, and Fate should be kind enough to order an acquittal, +releasing the products from escrow. In case of a conviction, Fairchild +could see only disaster. True, the optimistic Farrell had spoken of a +Supreme Court reversal of any verdict against his partner, but that +would avail little as far as the mine was concerned. It must still +remain in escrow as the bond of Harry until the case was decided, and +that might mean years. And one cannot borrow money upon a thing that +is mortgaged in its entirety to a commonwealth. In the aggregate, the +outlook was far from pleasant. The Rodaines had played with stacked +cards, and so far every hand had been theirs. Fairchild's credit, and +his standing, was ruined. He had been stamped by the coroner's jury as +the son of a murderer, and that mark must remain upon him until it +could be cleared by forces now imperceptible to Fairchild. His partner +was under bond, accused of four crimes. The Rodaines had won a +victory, perhaps greater than they knew. They had succeeded in soiling +the reputations of the two men they called enemies, damaging them to +such an extent that they must henceforth fight at a disadvantage, +without the benefit of a solid ground of character upon which to stand. +Fairchild suddenly realized that he was all but whipped, that the +psychological advantage was all on the side of Squint Rodaine, his son, +and the crazy woman who did their bidding. More, another hope had gone +glimmering; even had the announcement not come forth that Anita +Richmond had given her promise to marry Maurice Rodaine, the action of +a coroner's jury that night had removed her from hope forever. A son +of a man who has been called a slayer has little right to love a woman, +even if that woman has a bit of mystery about her. All things can be +explained—but murder! +</P> + +<P> +It was growing late, but Fairchild did not seek bed. Instead he sat by +the window, staring out at the shadows of the mountains, out at the +free, pure night, and yet at nothing. After a long time, the door +opened, and a big form entered—Harry—to stand silent a moment, then +to come forward and lay a hand on the other man's shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't let it get you, Boy," he said softly—for him. "It's going to +come out all right. Everything comes out all right—if you ain't wrong +yourself." +</P> + +<P> +"I know, Harry. But it's an awful tangle right now." +</P> + +<P> +"Sure it is. But it ain't as if a sane person 'ad said it against you. +There 'll never be anything more to that; Farrell 'll 'ave 'er adjudged +insane if it ever comes to anything like that. She 'll never give no +more testimony. I 've been talking with 'im—'e stopped in just after +you came upstairs. It's only a crazy woman." +</P> + +<P> +"But they took her word for it, Harry. They believed her. And they +gave the verdict—against my father!" +</P> + +<P> +"I know. I was there, right beside you. I 'eard it. But it 'll come +out right, some way." +</P> + +<P> +There was a moment of silence, then a gripping fear at the heart of +Fairchild. +</P> + +<P> +"Just how crazy is she, Harry?" +</P> + +<P> +"'Er? Plumb daft! Of course, as Mother 'Oward says, there 's times +when she 's straight—but they don't last long. And, if she 'd given +'er testimony in writing, Mother 'Oward says it all might 'ave been +different, and we 'd not 'ave 'ad anything to worry about." +</P> + +<P> +"In writing?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, she 's 'arfway sane then. It seems 'er mind 's disconnected, +some wye. I don't know 'ow—Mother 'Oward 's got the 'ole lingo, and +everybody in town knows about it. Whenever anybody wants to get +anything real straight from Crazy Laura, they make 'er write it. That +part of 'er brain seems all right. She remembers everything she does +then and 'ow crazy it is, and tells you all about it." +</P> + +<P> +"But why did n't Farrell insist upon that tonight?" +</P> + +<P> +"'E could n't have gotten 'er to do it. And nobody can get 'er to do +it as long has Squint's around—so Mother 'Oward says. 'E 's got a +influence about 'im. And she does exactly what 'e 'll sye—all 'e 's +got to do is to look at 'er. Notice 'ow flustered up she got when the +coroner asked 'er about that book?" +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder what it would really tell?" +</P> + +<P> +Harry chuckled. +</P> + +<P> +"Nobody knows. Nobody 's ever seen it. Not even Squint Rodaine. +That's the one thing she 's got the strength to keep from 'im—I guess +it's a part of 'er right brain that tells 'er to keep it a secret! I +'m going to bed now. So 're you. And you 're going to sleep. Good +night." +</P> + +<P> +He went out of the room then, and Fairchild, obedient to the big +Cornishman's command, sought rest. But it was a hard struggle. +Morning came, and he joined Harry at breakfast, facing the curious +glances of the other boarders, staving off their inquiries and their +illy couched consolations. For, in spite of the fact that it was not +voiced in so many words, the conviction was present that Crazy Laura +had told at least a semblance of the truth, and that the dovetailing +incidents of the past fitted into a well-connected story for which +there must be some foundation. Moreover, in the corner were Blindeye +Bozeman and Taylor Bill, hurrying through their breakfast that they +might go to their work in the Silver Queen, Squint Rodaine's mine, less +than a furlong from the ill-boding Blue Poppy. Fairchild could see +that they were talking about him, their eyes turned often in his +direction; once Taylor Bill nodded and sneered as he answered some +remark of his companion. The blood went hot in Fairchild's brain. He +rose from the table, hands clenched, muscles tensed, only to find +himself drawn back by the strong grasp of Harry. The big Cornishman +whispered to him as he took his seat again: +</P> + +<P> +"It 'll only make more trouble. I know 'ow you feel—but 'old in. +'Old in!" +</P> + +<P> +It was an admonition which Fairchild was forced to repeat to himself +more than once that morning as he walked uptown with Harry, to face the +gaze of the street loafers, to be plied with questions, and to strive +his best to fence away from them. There were those who were plainly +curious; there were others who professed not to believe the testimony +and who talked loudly of action against the coroner for having +introduced the evidence of a woman known by every one to be lacking in +balanced mentality. There were others who, by their remarks, showed +that they were concealing the real truth of their thoughts and only +using a cloak of interest to guide them to other food for the carrion +proclivities of their minds. To all of them Fairchild and Harry made +the same reply: that they had nothing to say, that they had given all +the information possible on the witness stand during the inquest, and +that there was nothing further forthcoming. +</P> + +<P> +And it was while he made this statement for the hundredth time that +Fairchild saw Anita Richmond going to the post-office with the rest of +the usual crowd, following the arrival of the morning train. Again she +passed him without speaking, but her glance did not seem so cold as it +had been on the morning that he had seen her with Rodaine, nor did the +lack of recognition appear as easily simulated. That she knew what had +happened and the charge that had been made against his father, +Fairchild did not doubt. That she knew he had read the "personal" in +the <I>Bugle</I> was as easily determined. Between them was a gulf—caused +by what Fairchild could only guess—a gulf which he could not essay to +cross, and which she, for some reason, would not. But there was +nothing that could stop him from watching her, with hungry eyes which +followed her until she had disappeared in the doorway of the +post-office, eyes which believed they detected a listlessness in her +walk and a slight droop to the usually erect little shoulders, eyes +which were sure of one thing: that the smile was gone from the lips, +that upon her features were the lines and hollows of sleeplessness, and +the unmistakable lack of luster and color which told him that she was +not happy. Even the masculine mentality of Fairchild could discern +that. But it could not answer the question which the decision brought. +She had become engaged to a man whom she had given evidence of hating. +She had refused to recognize Fairchild, whom she had appeared to like. +She had cast her lot with the Rodaines—and she was unhappy. Beyond +that, everything was blank to Fairchild. +</P> + +<P> +An hour later Harry, wandering by the younger man's side, strove for +words and at last uttered them. +</P> + +<P> +"I know it's disagreeable," came finally. "But it's necessary. You +'ave n't quit?" +</P> + +<P> +"Quit what?" +</P> + +<P> +"The mine. You 're going to keep on, ain't you?" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild gritted his teeth and was silent. The answer needed +strength. Finally it came. +</P> + +<P> +"Harry, are you with me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I ain't stopped yet!" +</P> + +<P> +"Then that's the answer. As long as there 's a bit of fight left in +us, we 'll keep at that mine. I don't know where it's going to lead +us—but from appearances as they stand now, the only outlook seems to +be ruin. But if you 're willing, I 'm willing, and we 'll make the +scrap together." +</P> + +<P> +Harry hitched at his trousers. +</P> + +<P> +"They 've got that blooming skeleton out by this time. I 'm willing to +start—any time you say." +</P> + +<P> +The breath went over Fairchild's teeth in a long, slow intake. He +clenched his hands and held them trembling before him for a lengthy +moment. Then he turned to his partner. +</P> + +<P> +"Give me an hour," he begged. "I 'll go then—but it takes a little +grit to—" +</P> + +<P> +"Who's Fairchild here?" A messenger boy was making his way along the +curb with a telegram. Robert stretched forth a hand in surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"I am. Why?" +</P> + +<P> +The answer came as the boy shoved forth the yellow envelope and the +delivery sheet. Fairchild signed, then somewhat dazedly ran a finger +under the slit of the envelope. Then, wondering, he read: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Please come to Denver at once. Have most important information for you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +R. V. Barnham,<BR> +H & R Building.<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +A moment of staring, then Fairchild passed the telegram over to Harry +for his opinion. There was none. Together they went across the street +and to the office of Farrell, their attorney. He studied the telegram +long. Then: +</P> + +<P> +"I can't see what on earth it means, unless there is some information +about this skeleton or the inquest. If I were you, I 'd go." +</P> + +<P> +"But supposing it's some sort of a trap?" +</P> + +<P> +"No matter what it is, go and let the other fellow do all the talking. +Listen to what he has to say and tell him nothing. That's the only +safe system. I 'd go down on the noon train—that 'll get you there +about two. You can be back by 10:30 to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +"No 'e can't," it was Harry's interruption as he grasped a pencil and +paper. "I 've got a list of things a mile long for 'im to get. We're +going after this mine 'ammer and tongs now!" +</P> + +<P> +When noon came, Robert Fairchild, with his mysterious telegram, boarded +the train for Denver, while in his pocket was a list demanding the +outlay of nearly a thousand dollars: supplies of fuses, of dynamite, of +drills, of a forge, of single and double jack sledges, of fulminate +caps,—a little of everything that would be needed in the months to +come, if he and 'Arry were to work the mine. It was only a beginning, +a small quantity of each article needed, part of which could be picked +up in the junk yards at a reasonable figure, other things that would +eat quickly into the estimate placed upon the total. And with a +capital already dwindling, it meant an expenditure which hurt, but +which was necessary, nevertheless. +</P> + +<P> +Slow, puffing and wheezing, the train made its way along Clear Creek +cañon, crawled across the newly built trestle which had been erected to +take the place of that which had gone out with the spring flood of the +milky creek, then jangled into Denver. Fairchild hurried uptown, found +the old building to which he had been directed by the telegram, and +made the upward trip in the ancient elevator, at last to knock upon a +door. A half-whining voice answered him, and he went within. +</P> + +<P> +A greasy man was there, greasy in his fat, uninviting features, in his +seemingly well-oiled hands as they circled in constant kneading, in his +long, straggling hair, in his old, spotted Prince Albert—and in his +manners. Fairchild turned to peer at the glass panel of the door. It +bore the name he sought. Then he looked again at the oily being who +awaited him. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Barnham?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's what I 'm called." He wheezed with the self-implied humor of +his remark and motioned toward a chair. "May I ask what you 've come +to see me about?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have n't the slightest idea. You sent for me." Fairchild produced +the telegram, and the greasy person who had taken a position on the +other side of a worn, walnut table became immediately obsequious. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course! Of course! Mr. Fairchild! Why did n't you say so when +you came in? Of course—I 've been looking for you all day. May I +offer you a cigar?" +</P> + +<P> +He dragged a box of domestic perfectos from a drawer of the table and +struck a match to light one for Fairchild. He hastily summoned an ash +tray from the little room which adjoined the main, more barren office. +Then with a bustling air of urgent business he hurried to both doors +and locked them. +</P> + +<P> +"So that we may not be disturbed," he confided in that high, whining +voice. "I am hoping that this is very important." +</P> + +<P> +"I also." Fairchild puffed dubiously upon the more dubious cigar. The +greasy individual returned to his table, dragged the chair nearer it, +then, seating himself, leaned toward Fairchild. +</P> + +<P> +"If I 'm not mistaken, you 're the owner of the Blue Poppy mine." +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm supposed to be." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course—of course. One never knows in these days what he owns or +when he owns it. Very good, I 'd say, Mr. Fairchild, very good. Could +you possibly do me the favor of telling me how you 're getting along?" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild's eyes narrowed. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you had information—for me!" +</P> + +<P> +"Very good again." Mr. Barnham raised a fat hand and wheezed in an +effort at intense enjoyment of the reply. "So I have—so I have. I +merely asked that to be asking. Now, to be serious, have n't you some +enemies, Mr. Fairchild?" +</P> + +<P> +"Have I?" +</P> + +<P> +"I was merely asking." +</P> + +<P> +"And I judged from your question that you seemed to know." +</P> + +<P> +"So I do. And one friend." Barnham pursed his heavy lips and nodded +in an authoritative manner. "One, very, very good friend." +</P> + +<P> +"I was hoping that I had more than that." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, perhaps so. But I speak only from what I know. There is one +person who is very anxious about your welfare." +</P> + +<P> +"So?" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Barnham leaned forward in an exceedingly friendly manner. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, is n't there?" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild squared away from the table. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Barnham," came coldly; the inherent distrust for the greasy, +uninviting individual having swerved to the surface. "You wired me +that you had some very important news for me. I came down here +expressly because of that wire. Now that I 'm here, your mission seems +to be wholly taken up in drawing from me any information that I happen +to possess about myself. Plainly and frankly, I don't like it, and I +don't like you—and unless you can produce a great deal more than you +have already, I 'll have to chalk up the expense to a piece of bad +judgment and go on about my business." +</P> + +<P> +He started to rise, and Barnham scrambled to his feet. +</P> + +<P> +"Please don't," he begged, thrusting forth a fat hand, "please, please +don't. This is a very important matter. One—one has to be careful in +going about a thing as important as this is. The person is in a very +peculiar position." +</P> + +<P> +"But I 'm tired of the way you beat around the bush. You tell me some +meager scrap of filmy news and then ask me a dozen questions. As I +told you before, I don't like it—and I 'm just about at the point +where I don't care what information you have!" +</P> + +<P> +"But just be patient a moment—I 'm coming to it. Suppose—" then he +cupped his hands and stared hard at the ceiling, "Suppose that I told +you that there was some one who was willing to see you through all your +troubles, who had arranged everything for you, and all you had to do +would be to say the word to find yourself in the midst of comfort and +riches?" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVI +</H3> + + +<P> +Fairchild blinked in surprise at this and sank back into his chair. +Finally he laughed uneasily and puffed again on the dubious cigar. +</P> + +<P> +"I 'd say," came finally, "that there is n't any such animal." +</P> + +<P> +"But there is. She has—" Then he stopped, as though to cover the +slip. Fairchild leaned forward. +</P> + +<P> +"She?" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Barnham gave the appearance of a very flustered man. +</P> + +<P> +"My tongue got away from me; I should n't have said it. I really +should n't have said it. If she ever finds it out, it will mean +trouble for me. But truly," and he beamed, "you are such a tough +customer to deal with and so suspicious—no offense meant, of +course—that I really was forced to it. I—feel sure she will forgive +me." +</P> + +<P> +"Whom do you mean by 'she'?" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Barnham smiled in a knowing manner. +</P> + +<P> +"You and I both know," came his cryptic answer. "She is your one +great, good friend. She thinks a great deal of you, and you have done +several things to cause that admiration. Now, Mr. Fairchild, coming to +the point, suppose she should point a way out of your troubles?" +</P> + +<P> +"How?" +</P> + +<P> +"In the first place, you and your partner are in very great +difficulties." +</P> + +<P> +"Are we?" Fairchild said it sarcastically. +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed you are, and there is no need of attempting to conceal the +fact. Your friend, whose name must remain a secret, does not love +you—don't ever think that—but—" +</P> + +<P> +Then he hesitated as though to watch the effect on Fairchild's face. +There was none; Robert had masked it. In time the words went on: "But +she does think enough of you to want to make you happy. She has +recently done a thing which gives her a great deal of power in one +direction. In another, she has connections who possess vast money +powers and who are looking for an opening here in the west. Now,—" he +made a church steeple out of his fingers and leaned back in his chair, +staring vacuously at the ceiling, "if you will say the word and do a +thing which will relieve her of a great deal of embarrassment, I am +sure that she can so arrange things that life will be very easy for you +henceforth." +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm becoming interested." +</P> + +<P> +"In the first place, she is engaged to be married to a very fine young +man. You, of course, may say differently, and I do not know—I am only +taking her word for it. But—if I understand it, your presence in +Ohadi has caused a few disagreements between them and—well, you know +how willful and headstrong girls will be. I believe she has committed +a few—er—indiscretions with you." +</P> + +<P> +"That's a lie!" Fairchild's temper got away from him and his fist +banged on the table. "That's a lie and you know it!" +</P> + +<P> +"Pardon me—er—pardon me! I made use of a word that can have many +meanings, and I am sure that in using it, I did n't place the same +construction that you did in hearing it. But let that pass. I +apologize. What I should have said was that, if you will pardon me, +she used you, as young women will do, as a foil against her fiancé in a +time of petty quarreling between them. Is that plainer?" +</P> + +<P> +It was too plain to Fairchild. It hurt. But he nodded his head and +the other man went on. +</P> + +<P> +"Now the thing has progressed to a place where you may be—well—what +one might call the thorn in the side of their happiness. You are the +'other man', as it were, to cause quarrels and that sort of thing. And +she feels that she has not done rightly by you, and, through her +friendship and a desire to see peace all around, believes she can +arrange matters to suit all concerned. To be plain and blunt, Mr. +Fairchild, you are not in an enviable position. I said that I had +information for you, and I 'm going to give it. You are trying to work +a mine. That demands capital. You have n't got it and there is no way +for you to procure it. To get capital, one must have standing—and you +must admit that you are lacking to a great extent in that very +necessary ingredient. In the first place, your mine is in escrow, +being held in court in lieu of five thousand dollars bond on—" +</P> + +<P> +"You seem to have been making a few inquiries?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not at all. I never heard of the proposition before she brought it to +me. As I say, the deeds to your mine are held in escrow. Your partner +now is accused of four crimes and will go to trial on them in the fall. +It is almost certain that he will be convicted on at least one of the +charges. That would mean that the deeds to the mine must remain in +jurisdiction of the court in lieu of a cash bond while the case goes to +the Supreme Court. Otherwise, you must yield over your partner to go +to jail. In either event, the result would not be satisfactory. For +yourself, I dare say that a person whose father is supposed to have +committed a murder—not that I say he did it, understand—hardly could +establish sufficient standing to borrow the money to proceed on an +undertaking which requires capital. Therefore, I should say that you +were in somewhat of a predicament. Now—" a long wait and then, +"please take this as only coming from a spokesman: My client is in a +position to use her good offices to change the viewpoint of the man who +is the chief witness against your partner. She also is in a position +to use those same good offices in another direction, so that there +might never be a grand jury investigation of the finding of a certain +body or skeleton, or something of the kind, in your mine—which, if you +will remember, brought about a very disagreeable situation. And +through her very good connections in another way, she is able to +relieve you of all your financial embarrassment and procure for you +from a certain eastern syndicate, the members of which I am not at +liberty to name, an offer of $200,000 for your mine. All that is +necessary for you to do is to say the word." +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild leaned forward. +</P> + +<P> +"And of course," he said caustically, "the name of this mysterious +feminine friend must be a secret?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly. No mention of this transaction must be made to her +directly, or indirectly. Those are my specific instructions. Now, Mr. +Fairchild, that seems to me to be a wonderful offer. And it—" +</P> + +<P> +"Do you want my answer now?" +</P> + +<P> +"At any time when you have given the matter sufficient thought." +</P> + +<P> +"That's been accomplished already. And there 's no need of waiting. I +want to thank you exceedingly for your offer, and to tell you—that you +can go straight to hell!" +</P> + +<P> +And without looking back to see the result of his ultimatum, Fairchild +rose, strode to the door, unlocked it, and stamped down the hall. He +had taken snap judgment, but in his heart, he felt that he was right. +What was more, he was as sure as he was sure of life itself that Anita +Richmond had not arranged the interview and did not even know of it. +One streaking name was flitting through Fairchild's brain and causing +it to seethe with anger. Cleverly concealed though the plan might have +been, nicely arranged and carefully planted, to Robert Fairchild it all +stood out plainly and clearly—the Rodaines! +</P> + +<P> +And yet why? That one little word halted Fairchild as he left the +elevator. Why should the Rodaines be willing to free him from all the +troubles into which his mining ventures had taken him, start him out +into the world and give him a fortune with which to make his way +forward? Why? What did they know about the Blue Poppy mine, when +neither he nor Harry had any idea of what the future might hold for +them there? Certainly they could not have investigated in the years +that were gone; the cave-in precluded that. There was no other tunnel, +no other means of determining the riches which might be hidden within +the confines of the Blue Poppy claims, yet it was evident. That day in +court Rodaine had said that the Blue Poppy was a good property and that +it was worth every cent of the value which had been placed on it. How +did he know? And why—? +</P> + +<P> +At least one answer to Rodaine's action came to him. It was simple now +to see why the scar-faced man had put a good valuation on the mine +during the court procedure and apparently helped Fairchild out in a +difficulty. In fact, there were several reasons for it. In the first +place, the tying up of the mine by placing it in the care of a court +would mean just that many more difficulties for Fairchild, and it would +mean that the mine would be placed in a position where work could be +hampered for years if a first conviction could be obtained. Further, +Rodaine could see that if by any chance the bond should be forfeited, +it would be an easy matter for the claims to be purchased cheap at a +public sale by any one who desired them and who had the inside +information of what they were worth. And evidently Rodaine and Rodaine +alone possessed that knowledge. +</P> + +<P> +It was late now. Fairchild went to a junk yard or two, searching for +the materials which Harry had ordered, and failed to find them. Then +he sought a hotel, once more to struggle with the problems which the +interview with Barnham had created and to cringe at a thought which +arose like a ghost before him: +</P> + +<P> +Suppose that it had been Anita Richmond after all who had arranged +this? It was logical in a way. Maurice Rodaine was the one man who +could give direct evidence against Harry as the man who had held up the +Old Times Dance, and Anita now was engaged to marry him. Judge +Richmond had been a friend of Thornton Fairchild; could it have been +possible that this friendship might have entailed the telling of +secrets which had not been related to any one else? The matter of the +finding of the skeleton could be handled easily, Fairchild saw, through +Maurice Rodaine. One word from him to his father could change the +story of Crazy Laura and make it, on the second telling, only the +maundering tale of an insane, herb-gathering woman. Anita could have +arranged it, and Anita might have arranged it. Fairchild wished now +that he could recall his words, that he could have held his temper and +by some sort of strategy arranged matters so that the offer might have +come more directly—from Anita herself. +</P> + +<P> +Yet, why should she have gone through this procedure to reach him? Why +had she not gone to Farrell with the proposition—to a man whom she +knew Fairchild trusted, instead of to a greasy, hand rubbing shyster? +And besides— +</P> + +<P> +But the question was past answering now. Fairchild had made his +decision, and he had told the lawyer where to go. If, at the same +time, he had relegated the woman who had awakened affection in his +heart, only to have circumstances do their best to stamp it out again, +to the same place,—well, that had been done, too, and there was no +recalling of it now. But one thing was certain: the Blue Poppy mine +was worth money. Somewhere in that beetling hill awaited wealth, and +if determination counted for anything, if force of will and force of +muscle were worth only a part of their accepted value, Fairchild meant +to find it. Once before an offer had come, and now that he thought of +it, Fairchild felt almost certain that it had been from the same +source. That was for fifty thousand dollars. Why should the value +have now jumped to four times its original figures? It was more than +the adventurer could encompass; he sought to dismiss it all, went to a +picture show, then trudged back to his hotel and to sleep. +</P> + +<P> +The next day found him still striving to put the problem away from him +as he went about the various errands outlined by Harry. A day after +that, then the puffing, snorting, narrow-gauged train took him again +through Clear Creek cañon and back to Ohadi. The station was strangely +deserted. +</P> + +<P> +None of the usual loungers were there. None of the loiterers who, +watch in hand, awaited the arrival and departure of the puffing train +as though it were a matter of personal concern. Only the bawling 'bus +man for the hotel, the station agent wrestling with a trunk or +two,—that was all. Fairchild looked about him in surprise, then +approached the agent. +</P> + +<P> +"What's happened? Where 's everybody?" +</P> + +<P> +"Up on the hill." +</P> + +<P> +"Something happened?" +</P> + +<P> +"A lot. From what I hear it's a strike that's going to put Ohadi on +the map again." +</P> + +<P> +"Who made it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't know. Some fellow came running down here an hour or so ago and +said there 'd been a tremendous strike made on the hill, and everybody +beat it up there." +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild went on, to turn into a deserted street,—a street where the +doors of the stores had been left open and the owners gone. Everywhere +it was the same; it was as if Ohadi suddenly had been struck by some +catastrophe which had wiped out the whole population. Only now and +then a human being appeared, a few persons left behind at the banks, +but that was about all. Then from far away, up the street leading from +Kentucky Gulch, came the sound of cheering and shouting. Soon a crowd +appeared, led by gesticulating, vociferous men, who veered suddenly +into the Ohadi Bank at the corner, leaving the multitude without for a +moment, only to return, their hands full of gold certificates, which +they stuck into their hats, punched through their buttonholes, stuffed +into their pockets, allowing them to hang half out, and even jammed +down the collars of their rough shirts, making outstanding decorations +of currency about their necks. On they came, closer—closer, and then +Fairchild gritted his teeth. There were four of them leading the +parade, displaying the wealth that stood for the bonanza of the silver +strike they had just made, four men whose names were gall and wormwood +to Robert Fairchild. +</P> + +<P> +Blindeye Bozeman and Taylor Bill were two of them. The others were +Squint and Maurice Rodaine! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVII +</H3> + + +<P> +Had it been any one else, Fairchild would have shouted for happiness +and joined the parade. As it was, he stood far at one side, a silent, +grim figure, watching the miners and townspeople passing before him, +leaping about in their happiness, calling to him the news that he did +not want to hear: +</P> + +<P> +The Silver Queen had "hit." The faith of Squint Rodaine, maintained +through the years, had shown his perspicacity. It was there; he always +had said it was there, and now the strike had been made at last, +lead-silver ore, running as high as two hundred dollars a ton. And +just like Squint—so some one informed Fairchild—he had kept it a +secret until the assays all had been made and the first shipments +started to Denver. It meant everything for Ohadi; it meant that mining +would boom now, that soon the hills would be clustered with +prospectors, and that the little town would blossom as a result of +possessing one of the rich silver mines of the State. Some one tossed +to Fairchild a small piece of ore which had been taken from a car at +the mouth of the mine; and even to his uninitiated eyes it was +apparent,—the heavy lead, bearing in spots the thin filagree of white +metal—and silver ore must be more than rich to make a showing in any +kind of sample. +</P> + +<P> +He felt cheap. He felt defeated. He felt small and mean not to be +able to join the celebration. Squint and Maurice Rodaine possessed the +Silver Queen; that they, of all persons, should be the fortunate ones +was bitter and hard to accept. Why should they, of every one in Ohadi, +be the lucky men to find a silver bonanza, that they might flaunt it +before him, that they might increase their standing in the community, +that they might raise themselves to a pedestal in the eyes of every one +and thereby rally about them the whole town in any difficulty which +might arise in the future? It hurt Fairchild, it sickened him. He saw +now that his enemies were more powerful than ever. And for a moment he +almost wished that he had yielded down there in Denver, that he had not +given the ultimatum to the greasy Barnham, that he had accepted the +offer made him,—and gone on, out of the fight forever. +</P> + +<P> +Anita! What would it mean to her? Already engaged, already having +given her answer to Maurice Rodaine, this now would be an added +incentive for her to follow her promise. It would mean a possibility +of further argument with her father, already too weak from illness to +find the means of evading the insidious pleas of the two men who had +taken his money and made him virtually their slave. Could they not +demonstrate to him now that they always had worked for his best +interests? And could not that plea go even farther—to Anita +herself—to persuade her that they were always laboring for her, that +they had striven for this thing that it might mean happiness for her +and for her father? And then, could they not content themselves with +promises, holding before her a rainbow of the far-away, to lead her +into their power, just as they had led the stricken, bedridden man she +called "father"? The future looked black for Robert Fairchild. Slowly +he walked past the happy, shouting crowd and turned up Kentucky Gulch +toward the ill-fated Blue Poppy. +</P> + +<P> +The tunnel opening looked more forlorn than ever when he sighted it, a +bleak, staring, single eye which seemed to brood over its own +misfortunes, a dead, hopeless thing which never had brought anything +but disappointment. A choking came into Fairchild's throat. He +entered the tunnel slowly, ploddingly; with lagging muscles he hauled +up the bucket which told of Harry's presence below, then slowly lowered +himself into the recesses of the shaft and to the drift leading to the +stope, where only a few days before they had found that gaunt, +whitened, haunting thing which had brought with it a new misfortune. +</P> + +<P> +A light gleamed ahead, and the sound of a single jack hammering on the +end of a drill could be heard. Fairchild called and went forward, to +find Harry, grimy and sweating, pounding away at a narrow streak of +black formation which centered in the top of the stope. +</P> + +<P> +"It's the vein," he announced, after he had greeted Fairchild, "and it +don't look like it's going to amount to much!" +</P> + +<P> +"No?" +</P> + +<P> +Harry withdrew the drill from the hole he was making and mopped his +forehead. +</P> + +<P> +"It ain't a world-beater," came disconsolately. "I doubt whether it +'ll run more 'n twenty dollars to the ton, the wye smelting prices 'ave +gone up! And there ain't much money in that. What 'appened in Denver?" +</P> + +<P> +"Another frame-up by the Rodaines to get the mine away from us. It was +a lawyer. He stalled that the offer had been made to us by Miss +Richmond." +</P> + +<P> +"How much?" +</P> + +<P> +"Two hundred thousand dollars and us to get out of all the troubles we +are in." +</P> + +<P> +"And you took it, of course?" +</P> + +<P> +"I did not!" +</P> + +<P> +"No?" Harry mopped his forehead again. "Well, maybe you 're right. +Maybe you 're wrong. But whatever you did—well, that's just the thing +I would 'ave done." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks, Harry." +</P> + +<P> +"Only—" and Harry was staring lugubriously at the vein above him, +"it's going to take us a long time to get two hundred thousand dollars +out of things the wye they stand now." +</P> + +<P> +"But—" +</P> + +<P> +"I know what you're thinking—that there's silver 'ere and that we 're +going to find it. Maybe so. I know your father wrote some pretty +glowing accounts back to Beamish in St. Louis. It looked awful good +then. Then it started to pinch out, and now—well, it don't look so +good." +</P> + +<P> +"But this is the same vein, is n't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. I guess it is. But it's pinching fast. It was about +this wye when we first started on it. It was n't worth much and it was +n't very wide. Then, all of a sudden, it broadened out, and there was +a lot more silver in it. We thought we 'd found a bonanza. But it +narrowed down again, and the old standard came back. I don't know what +it's going to do now—it may quit altogether." +</P> + +<P> +"But we 're going to keep at it, Harry, sink or swim." +</P> + +<P> +"You know it!" +</P> + +<P> +"The Rodaines have hit—maybe we can have some good luck too." +</P> + +<P> +"The Rodaines?" Harry stared. "'It what?" +</P> + +<P> +"Two hundred dollar a ton ore!" +</P> + +<P> +A long whistle. Then Harry, who had been balancing a single jack, +preparatory to going back to his work, threw it aside and began to roll +down his sleeves. +</P> + +<P> +"We 're going to 'ave a look at it." +</P> + +<P> +"A look? What good would it—?" +</P> + +<P> +"A cat can look at a king," said Harry. "They can't arrest us for +going up there like everybody else." +</P> + +<P> +"But to go there and ask them to look at their riches—" +</P> + +<P> +"There ain't no law against it!" +</P> + +<P> +He reached for his carbide lamp, hooked to a small chink of the hanging +wall, and then pulled his hat over his bulging forehead. Carefully he +attempted to smooth his straying mustache, and failing, as always, gave +up the job. +</P> + +<P> +"I 'd be 'appy, just to look at it," he announced. "Come on. Let's +forget 'oo they are and just be lookers-on." +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild agreed against his will. Out of the shaft they went and on +up the hill to where the townspeople again were gathering about the +opening of the Silver Queen. A few were going in. Fairchild and 'Arry +joined them. +</P> + +<P> +A long walk, stooping most of the way, as the progress was made through +the narrow, low-roofed tunnel; then a slight raise which traveled for a +fair distance at an easy grade—at last to stop; and there before them, +jammed between the rock, was the strike, a great, heavy streaking vein, +nearly six feet wide, in which the ore stuck forth in tremendous +chunks, embedded in a black background. Harry eyed it studiously. +</P> + +<P> +"You can see the silver sticking out!" he announced at last. "It's +wonderful—even if the Rodaines did do it." +</P> + +<P> +A form brushed past them, Blindeye Bozeman, returning from the +celebration. Picking up a drill, he studied it with care, finally to +lay it aside and reach for a gad, a sort of sharp, pointed prod, with +which to tear away the loose matter that he might prepare the way for +the biting drive of the drill beneath the five-pound hammer, or single +jack. His weak, watery eyes centered on Harry, and he grinned. +</P> + +<P> +"Didn't believe it, huh?" came his query. +</P> + +<P> +Harry pawed his mustache. +</P> + +<P> +"I believed it, all right, but anybody likes to look at the United +States Mint!" +</P> + +<P> +"You 've said it. She 's going to be more than that when we get a few +portable air compressors in here and start at this thing in earnest +with pneumatic drills. What's more, the old man has declared Taylor +Bill and me in on it—for a ten per cent. bonus. How's that sound to +you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Like 'eaven," answered Harry truthfully. "Come on, Boy, let's us get +out of 'ere. I 'll be getting the blind staggers if I stay much +longer." +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild accompanied him wordlessly. It was as though Fate had played +a deliberate trick, that it might laugh at him. And as he walked +along, he wondered more than ever about the mysterious telegram and the +mysterious conversation of the greasy Barnham in Denver. That—as he +saw it now—had been only an attempt at another trick. Suppose that he +had accepted; suppose that he had signified his willingness to sell his +mine and accept the good offices of the "secret friend" to end his +difficulties. What would have been the result? +</P> + +<P> +For once a ray of cheer came to him. The Rodaines had known of this +strike long before he ever went to that office in Denver. They had +waited long enough to have their assays made and had completed their +first shipment to the smelter. There was no necessity that they buy +the Blue Poppy mine. Therefore, was it simply another trick to break +him, to lead him up to a point of high expectations, then, with a laugh +at his disappointment, throw him down again? His shoulders +straightened as they reached the outside air, and he moved close to +Harry as he told him his conjectures. The Cornishman bobbed his head. +</P> + +<P> +"I never thought of it that way!" he agreed. "But it could explain a +lot of things. They 're working on our—what-you-call-it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Psychological resistance." +</P> + +<P> +"That's it. Psych—that's it. They want to beat us and they don't +care 'ow. It 'urts a person to be disappointed. That's it. I alwyes +said you 'ad a good 'ead on you! That's it. Let's go back to the Blue +Poppy." +</P> + +<P> +Back they went, once more to descend the shaft, once more to follow the +trail along the drift toward the opening of the stope. And there, +where loose earth covered the place where a skeleton once had rested, +Fairchild took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. +</P> + +<P> +"Harry," he said, with a new determination, "this vein does n't look +like much, and the mine looks worse. From the viewpoint we 've got now +of the Rodaine plans, there may not be a cent in it. But if you're +game, I'm game, and we'll work the thing until it breaks us." +</P> + +<P> +"You 've said it. If we 'it anything, fine and well—if we can turn +out five thousand dollars' worth of stuff before the trial comes up, +then we can sell hit under the direction of the court, turn over that +money for a cash bond, and get the deeds back. If we can't, and if the +mine peters out, then we ain't lost anything but a lot of 'opes and +time. But 'ere goes. We 'll double-jack. I 've got a big 'ammer +'ere. You 'old the drill for awhile and turn it, while I sling th' +sledge. Then you take th' 'ammer and Lor' 'ave mercy on my 'ands if +you miss." +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild obeyed. They began the drilling of the first indentation +into the six-inch vein which lay before them. Hour after hour they +worked, changing positions, sending hole after hole into the narrow +discoloration which showed their only prospect of returns for the +investments which they had put into the mine. Then, as the afternoon +grew late, Harry disappeared far down the drift to return with a +handful of greasy, candle-like things, wrapped in waxed paper. +</P> + +<P> +"I knew that dynamite of yours could n't be shipped in time, so I +bought a little up 'ere," he explained, as he cut one of the sticks in +two with a pocketknife and laid the pieces to one side. Then out came +a coil of fuse, to be cut to its regular lengths and inserted in the +copper-covered caps of fulminate of mercury, Harry showing his contempt +for the dangerous things by crimping them about the fuse with his +teeth, while Fairchild, sitting on a small pile of muck near by, begged +for caution. But Harry only grinned behind his big mustache and went +on. +</P> + +<P> +Out came his pocketknife again as he slit the waxed paper of the +gelatinous sticks, then inserted the cap in the dynamite. One after +another the charges were shoved into the holes, Harry tamping them into +place with a steel rod, instead of with the usual wooden affair, his +mustache brushing his shoulder as he turned to explain the virtues of +dynamite when handled by an expert. +</P> + +<P> +"It's all in the wye you do it," he announced. "If you don't strike +fire with a steel rod, it's fine." +</P> + +<P> +"But if you do?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, then!" Harry laughed. "Then it's flowers and a funeral—after +they 've finished picking you up." +</P> + +<P> +One after another he pressed the dynamite charges tight into the drill +holes and tamped them with muck wrapped in a newspaper that he dragged +from his hip pocket. Then he lit the fuses from his lamp and stood a +second in assurance that they all were spluttering. +</P> + +<P> +"Now we run!" he announced, and they hurried, side by side, down the +drift tunnel until they reached the shaft. "Far enough," said Harry. +</P> + +<P> +A long moment of waiting. Then the earth quivered and a muffled, +booming roar came from the distance. Harry stared at his carbide lamp. +</P> + +<P> +"One," he announced. Then, "Two." +</P> + +<P> +Three, four and five followed, all counted seriously, carefully by +Harry. Finally they turned back along the drift toward the stope, the +acrid odor of dynamite smoke-cutting at their nostrils as they +approached the spot where the explosions had occurred. There Harry +stood in silent contemplation for a long time, holding his carbide over +the pile of ore that had been torn from the vein above. +</P> + +<P> +"It ain't much," came at last. "Not more 'n 'arf a ton. We won't get +rich at that rate. And besides—" he looked upward—"we ain't even +going to be getting that pretty soon. It's pinching out." +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild followed his gaze, to see in the torn rock above him only a +narrow streak now, fully an inch and a half narrower than the vein had +been before the powder holes had been drilled. It could mean only one +thing: that the bet had been played and lost, that the vein had been +one of those freak affairs that start out with much promise, seem to +give hope of eternal riches, and then gradually dwindle to nothing. +Harry shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"It won't last." +</P> + +<P> +"Not more than two or three more shots," Fairchild agreed. +</P> + +<P> +"You can't tell about that. It may run that way all through the +mountain—but what's a four-inch vein? You can go up 'ere in the +Argonaut tunnel and find 'arf a dozen of them things that they don't +even take the trouble to mine. That is, unless they run 'igh in +silver—" he picked up a chunk of the ore from the muck pile where it +had been deposited and studied it intently—"but I don't see any pure +silver sticking out in this stuff." +</P> + +<P> +"But it must be here somewhere. I don't know anything about +mining—but don't veins sometimes pinch off and then show up later on?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sure they do—sometimes. But it's a gamble." +</P> + +<P> +"That's all we 've had from the beginning, Harry." +</P> + +<P> +"And it's about all we 're going to 'ave any time unless something bobs +up sudden like." +</P> + +<P> +Then, by common consent, they laid away their working clothes and left +the mine, to wander dejectedly down the gulch and to the boarding +house. After dinner they chatted a moment with Mother Howard, +neglecting to tell her, however, of the downfall of their hopes, then +went upstairs, each to his room. An hour later Harry knocked at +Fairchild's door, and entered, the evening paper in his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"'Ere 's something more that's nice," he announced, pointing to an item +on the front page. It was the announcement that a general grand jury +was to be convened late in the summer and that one of its tasks +probably would be to seek to unravel the mystery of the murder of +Sissie Larsen! +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild read it with morbidity. Trouble seemed to have become more +than occasional, and further than that, it appeared to descend upon him +at just the times when he could least resist it. He made no comment; +there was little that he could say. Again he read the item and again, +finally to turn the page and breathe sharply. Before him was a +six-column advertisement, announcing the strike in the Silver Queen +mine and also spreading the word that a two-million-dollar company +would be formed, one million in stock to represent the mine itself, the +other to be subscribed to exploit this new find as it should be +exploited. Glowing words told of the possibilities of the Silver +Queen, the assayer's report was reproduced on a special cut which +evidently had been made in Denver and sent to Ohadi by rush delivery. +Offices had been opened; everything had been planned in advance and the +advertisement written before the town was aware of the big discovery up +Kentucky Gulch. All of it Fairchild read with a feeling he could not +down,—a feeling that Fate, somehow, was dealing the cards from the +bottom, and that trickery and treachery and a venomous nature were the +necessary ingredients, after all, to success. The advertisement seemed +to sneer at him, to jibe at him, calling as it did for every upstanding +citizen of Ohadi to join in on the stock-buying bonanza that would make +the Silver Queen one of the biggest mines in the district and Ohadi the +big silver center of Colorado. The words appeared to be just so many +daggers thrust into his very vitals. But Fairchild read them all, in +spite of the pain they caused. He finished the last line, looked at +the list of officers, and gasped. +</P> + +<P> +For there, following one another, were three names, two of which +Fairchild had expected. But the other— +</P> + +<P> +They were, president and general manager, R. B. (Squint) Rodaine; +secretary-treasurer, Maurice Rodaine; and first vice-president—Miss +Anita Natalie Richmond! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVIII +</H3> + + +<P> +After that, Fairchild heard little that Harry said as he rambled on +about the plans for the future. He answered the big Cornishman's +questions with monosyllables, volunteering no information. He did not +even show him the advertisement—he knew that it would be as galling to +Harry as it was to him. And so he sat and stared, until finally his +partner said good night and left the room. +</P> + +<P> +That name could mean only one thing: that she had consented to become a +partner with them, that they had won her over, after all. Now, even a +different light came upon the meeting with Barnham in Denver and a +different view to Fairchild. What if she had been playing their game +all along? What if she had been merely a tool for them; what if she +had sent Farrell at their direction, to learn everything he and Harry +knew? What—? +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild sought to put the thought from him and failed. Now that he +looked at it in retrospect, everything seemed to have a sinister +meaning. He had met the girl under circumstances which never had been +explained. The first time she ever had seen him after that she +pretended not to recognize him. Yet, following a conversation with +Maurice Rodaine, she took advantage of an opportunity to talk to him +and freely admitted to him that she had been the person he believed her +to be. True, Fairchild was looking now at his idol through blue +glasses, and they gave to her a dark, mysterious tone that he could not +fathom. There were too many things to explain; too many things which +seemed to connect her directly with the Rodaines; too many things which +appeared to show that her sympathies were there and that she might only +be a trickster in their hands, a trickster to trap him! Even the +episode of the lawyer could be turned to this account. Had not another +lawyer played the friendship racket, in an effort to buy the Blue Poppy +mine? +</P> + +<P> +And here Fairchild smiled grimly. From the present prospects, it would +seem that the gain would have been all on his side, for certainly there +was little to show now toward a possibility of the Blue Poppy ever +being worth anything near the figure which he had been offered for it. +And yet, if that offer had not been made as some sort of stiletto jest, +why had it been made at all? Was it because Rodaine knew that wealth +did lie concealed there? Was it because Squint Rodaine had better +information even than the faithful, hard-working, unfortunate Harry? +Fairchild suddenly took hope. He clenched his hands and he spoke, to +himself, to the darkness and to the spirits of discouragement that were +all about him: +</P> + +<P> +"If it's there, we 'll find it—if we have to work our fingers to the +bone, if we have to starve and die there—we'll find it!" +</P> + +<P> +With that determination, he went to bed, to awake in the morning filled +with a desire to reach the mine, to claw at its vitals with the +sharp-edged drills, to swing the heavy sledge until his shoulders and +back ached, to send the roaring charges of dynamite digging deeper and +deeper into that thinning vein. And Harry was beside him every step of +the way. +</P> + +<P> +A day's work, the booming charges, and they returned to the stope to +find that the vein had neither lessened nor grown greater. Another +day—and one after that. The vein remained the same, and the two men +turned to mucking that they might fill their ore car with the proceeds +of the various blasts, haul it to the surface by the laborious, slow +process of the man-power elevator, then return once more to their +drilling, begrudging every minute that they were forced to give to the +other work of tearing away the muck and refuse that they might gain the +necessary room to follow the vein. +</P> + +<P> +The days grew to a week, and a week to a fortnight. Once a truck made +its slow way up the tortuous road, chortled away with a load of ore, +returned again and took the remainder from the old, half-rotted ore +bins, to the Sampler, there to be laid aside while more valuable ore +was crushed and sifted for its assays, and readier money taken in. The +Blue Poppy had nothing in its favor. Ten or twenty dollar ore looked +small beside the occasional shipments from the Silver Queen, where +Blindeye Bozeman and Taylor Bill formed the entire working staff until +the much-sought million dollars should flow in and a shaft-house, +portable air pumps, machine drills and all the other attributes of +modern mining methods should be put into operation. +</P> + +<P> +And it appeared that the million dollars would not be slow in coming. +Squint Rodaine had established his office in a small, vacant store +building on the main street, and Fairchild could see, as he went to and +from his work, a constant stream of townspeople as they made that their +goal—there to give their money into the keeping of the be-scarred man +and to trust to the future for wealth. It galled Fairchild, it made +his hate stronger than ever; yet within him there could not live the +hope that the Silver Queen might share the fate of the Blue Poppy. +Other persons besides the Rodaines were interested now, persons who +were putting their entire savings into the investment; and Fairchild +could only grit his teeth and hope—for them—that it would be an +everlasting bonanza. As for the girl who was named as vice-president— +</P> + +<P> +He saw her, day after day, riding through town in the same automobile +that he had helped re-tire on the Denver road. But now she did not +look at him; now she pretended that she did not see him. +Before,—well, before, her eyes had at least met his, and there had +been some light of recognition, even though her carefully masked face +had belied it. Now it was different. She had gone over to the +Rodaines, she was engaged to marry the chalky-faced, hook-nosed son and +she was vice-president of their two-million-dollar mining corporation. +Fairchild did not even strive to find a meaning for it all; women are +women, and men do well sometimes if they diagnose themselves. +</P> + +<P> +The summer began to grow old, and Fairchild felt that he was aging with +it. The long days beneath the ground had taught him many things about +mining now, all to no advantage. Soon they would be worth nothing, +save as five-dollar-a-day single-jackers, working for some one else. +The bank deposits were thinning, and the vein was thinning with it. +Slowly but surely, as they fought, the strip of pay ore in the rocks +was pinching out. Soon would come the time when they could work it no +longer. And then,—but Fairchild did not like to think about that. +</P> + +<P> +September came, and with it the grand jury. But here for once was a +slight ray of hope. The inquisitorial body dragged through its various +functionings, while Farrell stood ready with his appeal to the court +for a lunacy board at the first hint of an investigation into Crazy +Laura's story. Three weeks of prying into "vice conditions", gambling, +profiteering and the usual petty nonsense with which so many grand +juries have managed to fritter away time under the misapprehension of +applying some weighty sort of superhuman reasoning to ordinary things, +and then good news. The body of twelve good men and true had worn +themselves out with other matters and adjourned without even taking up +the mystery of the Blue Poppy mine. But the joy of Fairchild and Harry +was short-lived. In the long, legal phraseology of the jury's report +was the recommendation that this important subject be the first for +inquiry by the next grand inquisitorial body to be convened,—and the +threat still remained. +</P> + +<P> +But before the two men were now realities which were worse even than +threats, and Harry turned from his staging late one afternoon to voice +the most important. +</P> + +<P> +"We 'll start single-jacking to-morrow," he announced with a little +sigh. "In the 'anging wall." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean—?" +</P> + +<P> +"We can't do much more up 'ere. It ain't worth it. The vein 's +pinched down until we ain't even getting day laborer's wages out of +it—and it's October now." +</P> + +<P> +October! October—and winter on the way. October—and only a month +until the time when Harry must face a jury on four separate charges, +any one of which might send him to Cañon City for the rest of his days; +Harry was young no longer. October—and in the dreamy days of summer, +Fairchild had believed that October would see him rich. But now the +hills were brown with the killing touch of frost; the white of the +snowy range was creeping farther and farther over the mountains; the +air was crisp with the hint of zero soon to come; the summer was dead, +and Fairchild's hopes lay inert beside it. He was only working now +because he had determined to work. He was only laboring because a +great, strong, big-shouldered man had come from Cornwall to help him +and was willing to fight it out to the end. October—and the +announcement had said that a certain girl would be married in the late +fall, a girl who never looked in his direction any more, who had +allowed her name to become affiliated with that of the Rodaines, now +nearing the task of completing their two million. October—month of +falling leaves and dying dreams, month of fragrant beauties gone to +dust, the month of the last, failing fight against the clutch of grim, +all-destroying winter. And Fairchild was sagging in defeat just as the +leaves were falling from the shaking aspens, as the moss tendrils were +curling into brittle, brown things of death. October! +</P> + +<P> +For a long moment, Fairchild said nothing, then as Harry came from the +staging, he moved to the older man's side. +</P> + +<P> +"I—I did n't quite catch the idea," came at last. Harry pointed with +his sledge. +</P> + +<P> +"I 've been noticing the vein. It keeps turning to the left. It +struck me that it might 'ave branched off from the main body and that +there 's a bigger vein over there some'eres. We 'll just 'ave to make +a try for it. It's our only chance." +</P> + +<P> +"And if we fail to find it there?" +</P> + +<P> +"We 'll put a couple of 'oles in the foot wall and see what we strike. +And then—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—?" +</P> + +<P> +"If it ain't there—we 're whipped!" +</P> + +<P> +It was the first time that Harry had said the word seriously. +Fairchild pretended not to hear. Instead, he picked up a drill, looked +at its point, then started toward the small forge which they had +erected just at the foot of the little raise leading to the stope. +There Harry joined him; together they heated the long pieces of steel +and pounded their biting faces to the sharpness necessary to drilling +in the hard rock of the hanging wall, tempering them in the bucket of +water near by, working silently, slowly,—hampered by the weight of +defeat. They were being whipped; they felt it in every atom of their +beings. But they had not given up their fight. Two blows were left in +the struggle, and two blows they meant to strike before the end came. +The next morning they started at their new task, each drilling holes at +points five feet apart in the hanging wall, to send them in as far as +possible, then at the end of the day to blast them out, tearing away +the rock and stopping their work at drilling that they might muck away +the refuse. The stope began to take on the appearance of a vast +chamber, as day after day, banging away at their drill holes, stopping +only to sharpen the bits or to rest their aching muscles, they pursued +into the entrails of the hills the vagrant vein which had escaped them. +And day after day, each, without mentioning it to the other, was +tortured by the thought of that offer of riches, that mysterious +proffer of wealth for the Blue Poppy mine,—tortured like men who are +chained in the sight of gold and cannot reach it. For the offer +carried always the hint that wealth was there, somewhere, that Squint +Rodaine knew it, but that they could not find it. Either that—or flat +failure. Either wealth that would yield Squint a hundredfold for his +purchase, or a sneer that would answer their offer to sell. And each +man gritted his teeth and said nothing. But they worked on. +</P> + +<P> +October gave up its fight. The first day of November came, to find the +chamber a wide, vacuous thing now, sheltering stone and refuse and two +struggling men,—nothing more. Fairchild ceased his labors and mopped +his forehead, dripping from the heat engendered by frenzied labor; +without the tunnel opening, the snow lay deep upon the mountain sides, +for it had been more than a week since the first of the white blasts +had scurried over the hills to begin the placid, cold enwrapment of the +winter. A long moment, then: +</P> + +<P> +"Harry." +</P> + +<P> +"Aye." +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm going after the other side. We 've been playing a half-horsed +game here." +</P> + +<P> +"I 've been thinking that, Boy." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I 'm going to tackle the foot wall. You stay where you are, for +a few more shots; it can't do much good, the way things are going, and +it can't do much harm. I was at the bank to-day." +</P> + +<P> +"Yeh." +</P> + +<P> +"My balance is just two hundred." +</P> + +<P> +"Counting what we borrowed from Mother 'Oward?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +Harry clawed at his mustache. His nose, already red from the pressure +of blood, turned purplish. +</P> + +<P> +"We 're nearing the end, Boy. Tackle the foot wall." +</P> + +<P> +They said no more. Fairchild withdrew his drill from the "swimmer" or +straightforward powder hole and turned far to the other side of the +chamber, where the sloping foot wall showed for a few feet before it +dived under the muck and refuse. There, gad in hand, he pecked about +the surface, seeking a spot where the rock had splintered, thereby +affording a softer entrance for the biting surface of the drill. Spot +after spot he prospected, suddenly to stop and bend forward. At last +came an exclamation, surprised, wondering: +</P> + +<P> +"Harry!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yeh." +</P> + +<P> +"Come here." +</P> + +<P> +The Cornishman left his work and walked to Fairchild's side. The +younger man pointed. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you ever fill up drill holes with cement?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Not as I know of. Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"There 's one." Fairchild raised his gad and chipped away the softer +surface of the rock, leaving a tubular protuberance of cement +extending. Harry stared. +</P> + +<P> +"What the bloody 'ell?" he conjectured. "D' you suppose—" Then, with +a sudden resolution: "Drill there! Gad a 'ole off to one side a bit +and drill there. It seems to me Sissie Larsen put a 'ole there or +something—I can't remember. But drill. It can't do any 'arm." +</P> + +<P> +The gad chipped away the rock. Soon the drill was biting into the +surface of the foot wall. Quitting time came; the drill was in two +feet, and in the morning, Fairchild went at his task again. Harry +watched him over a shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"If it don't bring out anything in six feet—it ain't there," he +announced. Fairchild found the humor to smile. +</P> + +<P> +"You 're almost as cheerful as I am." Noon came and they stopped for +lunch. Fairchild finished the remark begun hours before. "I 'm in +four feet now—and all I get is rock." +</P> + +<P> +"Sure now?" +</P> + +<P> +"Look." +</P> + +<P> +They went to the foot wall and with a scraper brought out some of the +muggy mass caused by the pouring of water into the "down-hole" to make +the sittings capable of removal. Harry rubbed it with a thumb and +forefinger. +</P> + +<P> +"That's all," he announced, as he went back to his dinner pail. +Together, silently, they finished their luncheon. Once more Fairchild +took up his work, dully, almost lackadaisically, pounding away at the +long, six-foot drill with strokes that had behind them only muscles, +not the intense driving power of hope. A foot he progressed into the +foot wall and changed drills. Three inches more. Then— +</P> + +<P> +"Harry!" +</P> + +<P> +"What's 'appened?" The tone of Fairchild's voice had caused the +Cornishman to lean from his staging and run to Fairchild's side. That +person had cupped his hand and was holding it beneath the drill hole, +while into it he was pulling the muck with the scraper and staring at +it. +</P> + +<P> +"This stuff's changed color!" he exclaimed. "It looks like—" +</P> + +<P> +"Let me see!" The older man took a portion of the blackish, gritty +mass and held it close to his carbide. "It looks like something—it +looks like something!" His voice was high, excited. "I 'll finish the +'ole and jam enough dynamite in there to tear the insides out of it. I +'ll give 'er 'ell. But in the meantime, you take that down to the +assayer!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap19"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIX +</H3> + + +<P> +Fairchild did not hesitate. Scraping the watery conglomeration into a +tobacco can, he threw on his coat and ran for the shaft. Then he +pulled himself up, singing, and dived into the fresh-made drifts of a +new storm as he started toward town; nor did he stop to investigate the +fast fading footprints of some one who evidently had passed the mine a +short time before. Fairchild was too happy to notice such things just +now; in a tin can in his side pocket was a blackish, muggy mixture +which might mean worlds to him; he was hurrying to receive the verdict, +which could come only from the retorts and tests of one man, the +assayer. +</P> + +<P> +Into town and through it to the scrambling buildings of the Sampler, +where the main products of the mines of Ohadi found their way before +going to the smelter. There he swung wide the door and turned to the +little room on the left, the sanctum of a white-haired, almost +tottering old man who wandered about among his test tubes and "buttons" +as he figured out the various weights and values of the ores as the +samples were brought to him from the dirty, dusty, bin-filled rooms of +the Sampler proper. A queer light came into the old fellow's eyes as +he looked into those of Robert Fairchild. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't get 'em too high!" he admonished. +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild stared. +</P> + +<P> +"What?" +</P> + +<P> +"Hopes. I 've seen many a fellow come in just like you. I 've been +here thirty year. They call me Old Undertaker Chastine!" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"But I'm hoping—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yep, Son." Undertaker Chastine looked over his glasses. "You 're +just like all the rest. You 're hoping. That's what they all do; they +come in here with their eyes blazing like a grate fire and their faces +all lighted up as bright as an Italian cathedral. And they tell me +they 've got the world by the tail. Then I take their specimens and I +put 'em over the hurdles,—and half the time they go out wishing there +was n't any such person in the world as an assayer. Boy," and he +pursed his lips, "I 've buried more fortunes than you could shake a +stick at. I 've seen men come in here millionaires and go out +paupers—just because I 've had to tell 'em the truth. And I 'm +soft-hearted. I would n't kill a flea—not even if it was eatin' up +the best bird dog that ever set a pa'tridge. And just because o' that, +I 've adopted the system of taking all hope out of a fellow right in +the beginning. Then if you 've really got something, it's a joyful +surprise. If you ain't, the disappointment don't hurt so much. So +trot 'er out and let the old Undertaker have a look at 'er. But I 'm +telling you right at the start that it won't amount to much." +</P> + +<P> +Sobered now, Fairchild reached for his tobacco can, which had been +stuffed full of every scrap of slime that he and 'Arry had been able to +drag from the powder hole. Evidently, his drill had been in the ore, +whatever it was, for some time before he realized it; the can was +heavy, exceedingly heavy, giving evidence of purity of something at +least. But Undertaker Chastine shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"Can't tell," he announced. "Feels heavy, looks black and all that. +But it might not be anything but straight lead with a sprinkling of +silver. I 've seen stuff that looked a lot better than this not run +more 'n fifteen dollars to the ton. And then again—" +</P> + +<P> +He began to tinker about with his pottery. He dragged out a scoop from +somewhere and prepared various white powders. Then he turned to the +furnace, with its high-chimneyed draft, and filled a container with the +contents of the tobacco can. +</P> + +<P> +"Let 'er roast, Son," he announced. "That's the only way. Let 'er +roast—and while it's getting hot, well, you just cool your heels." +</P> + +<P> +Long waiting—while the eccentric old assayer told doleful tales of +other days, tales of other men who had rushed in, just like Fairchild, +with their sample of ore, only to depart with the knowledge that they +were no richer than before, days when the news of the demonetization of +silver swooped down upon the little town like some black tornado, +closing down the mines, shutting up the gambling halls and great +saloons, nailing up the doors, even of the Sampler, for years to come. +</P> + +<P> +"Them was the times when there was a lot of undertakers around here +besides me," Chastine went on. "Everybody was an undertaker then. +Lor', Boy, how that thing hit. We 'd been getting along pretty well at +ninety-five cents and a dollar an ounce for silver, and there was men +around here wearing hats that was the biggest in the shop, but that did +n't come anywhere near fittin' 'em. And then, all of a sudden, it hit! +We used to get in all our quotations in those days over the telephone, +and every morning I 'd phone down to Old Man Saxby that owned the +Sampler then to find out how the New York market stood. The treasury, +you know, had been buying up three or four million ounces of silver a +month for minting. Then some high-falutin' Congressman got the idea +they didn't want to do that any more, and he began to talk. Well, one +morning, I telephoned down, and silver 'd dropped to eighty-five. The +next morning it went to seventy. The House or the Senate, I 've +forgotten which, had passed the demonetization bill. After that, +things dragged along and then—I telephoned down again. +</P> + +<P> +"'What's the quotation on silver?' I asked him." +</P> + +<P> +"'Hell,' says Old Man Saxby, 'there ain't any quotation! Close 'er +up—close up everything. They 've passed the demonetization bill, the +president 's going to sign it, and you ain't got a job.' +</P> + +<P> +"And young feller—" Old Undertaker Chastine looked over his glasses +again, "that was some real disappointment. And it's a lot worse than +you 're liable to get in a minute." +</P> + +<P> +He turned to the furnace and took out the pottery dish in which the +sample had been smelting, white-hot now. He cooled it and tinkered +with his chemicals. He fussed with his scales, he adjusted his +glasses, he coughed once or twice in an embarrassed manner; finally to +turn to Fairchild. +</P> + +<P> +"Young man," he queried, "it ain't any of my business, but where 'd you +get this ore?" +</P> + +<P> +"Out of my mine, the Blue Poppy!" +</P> + +<P> +"Sure you ain't been visiting?" +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean?" Fairchild was staring at him in wonderment. +</P> + +<P> +Old Undertaker Chastine rubbed his hands on his big apron and continued +to look over his glasses. +</P> + +<P> +"What 'll you take for the Blue Poppy mine, Son?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why—it's not for sale." +</P> + +<P> +"Sure it ain't going to be—soon?" +</P> + +<P> +"Absolutely not." Then Fairchild caught the queer look in the man's +eyes. "What do you mean by all these questions? Is that good ore—or +is n't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Son, just one more question—and I hope you won't get mad at me. I 'm +a funny old fellow, and I do a lot of things that don't seem right at +the beginning. But I 've saved a few young bloods like you from +trouble more than once. You ain't been high-grading?" +</P> + +<P> +"You mean—" +</P> + +<P> +"Just exactly what I said—wandering around somebody else's property +and picking up a few samples, as it were, to mix in with your own +product? Or planting them where they can be found easily by a +prospective buyer?" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild's chin set, and his arms moved slowly. Then he +laughed—laughed at the small, white-haired, eccentric old man who +through his very weakness had the strength to ask insulting questions. +</P> + +<P> +"No—I 'll give you my word I have n't been high-grading," he said at +last. "My partner and I drilled a hole in the foot wall of the stope +where we were working, hoping to find the rest of a vein that was +pinching out on us. And we got this stuff. Is it any good?" +</P> + +<P> +"Is it good?" Again Old Undertaker Chastine looked over his glasses. +"That's just the trouble. It's too good—it's so good that it seems +there's something funny about it. Son, that stuff assays within a +gram, almost, of the ore they 're taking out of the Silver Queen!" +</P> + +<P> +"What's that?" Fairchild had leaped forward and grasped the other man +by the shoulders, his eyes agleam, his whole being trembling with +excitement. "You're not kidding me about it? You're sure—you 're +sure?" +</P> + +<P> +"Absolutely! That's why I was so careful for a minute. I thought +maybe you had been doing a little high-grading or had been up there and +sneaked away some of the ore for a salting proposition. Boy, you 've +got a bonanza, if this holds out." +</P> + +<P> +"And it really—" +</P> + +<P> +"It's almost identical. I never saw two samples of ore that were more +alike. Let's see, the Blue Poppy's right up Kentucky Gulch, not so +very far away from the Silver Queen, is n't it? Then there must be a +tremendous big vein concealed around there somewhere that splits, one +half of it running through the mountain in one direction and the other +cutting through on the opposite side. It looks like peaches and cream +for you, Son. How thick is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. We just happened to put a drill in there and this is +some of the scrapings." +</P> + +<P> +"You have n't cut into it at all, then?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not unless Harry, my partner, has put in a shot since I 've been gone. +As soon as we saw that we were into ore, I hurried away to come down +here to get an assay." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Son, now you can hurry back and begin cutting into a fortune. +If that vein's only four inches wide, you 've got plenty to keep you +for the rest of your life." +</P> + +<P> +"It must be more than that—the drill must have been into it several +inches before I ever noticed it. I 'd been scraping the muck out of +there without paying much attention. It looked so hopeless." +</P> + +<P> +Undertaker Chastine turned to his work. +</P> + +<P> +"Then hurry along, Son. I suppose," he asked, as he looked over his +glasses for the last time, "that you don't want me to say anything +about it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not until—" +</P> + +<P> +"You 're sure. I know. Well, good news is awful hard to keep—but I +'ll do my best. Run along." +</P> + +<P> +And Fairchild "ran." Whistling and happy, he turned out of the office +of the Sampler and into the street, his coat open, his big cap high on +his head, regardless of the sweep of the cold wind and the fine snow +that it carried on its icy breath. Through town he went, bumping into +pedestrians now and then, and apologizing in a vacant, absent manner. +The waiting of months was over, and Fairchild at last was beginning to +see his dreams come true. Like a boy, he turned up Kentucky Gulch, +bucking the big drifts and kicking the snow before him in flying, +splattering spray, stopping his whistling now and then to +sing,—foolish songs without words or rhyme or rhythm, the songs of a +heart too much engrossed with the joy of living to take cognizance of +mere rules of melody! +</P> + +<P> +So this was the reason that Rodaine had acknowledged the value of the +mine that day in court! This was the reason for the mysterious offer +of fifty thousand dollars and for the later one of nearly a quarter of +a million! Rodaine had known; Rodaine had information, and Rodaine had +been willing to pay to gain possession of what now appeared to be a +bonanza. But Rodaine had failed. And Fairchild had won! +</P> + +<P> +Won! But suddenly he realized that there was a blankness about it all. +He had won money, it is true. But all the money in the world could not +free him from the taint that had been left upon him by a coroner's +investigation, from the hint that still remained in the recommendation +of the grand jury that the murder of Sissie Larsen be looked into +further. Nor could it remove the stigma of the four charges against +Harry, which soon were to come to trial, and without a bit of evidence +to combat them. Riches could do much—but they could not aid in that +particular, and somewhat sobered by the knowledge, Fairchild turned +from the main road and on up through the high-piled snow to the mouth +of the Blue Poppy mine. +</P> + +<P> +A faint acrid odor struck his nostrils as he started to descend the +shaft, the "perfume" of exploded dynamite, and it sent anew into +Fairchild's heart the excitement and intensity of the strike. +Evidently Harry had shot the deep hole, and now, there in the chamber, +was examining the result, which must, by this time, give some idea of +the extent of the ore and the width of the vein. Fairchild pulled on +the rope with enthusiastic strength, while the bucket bumped and +swirled about the shaft in descent. A moment more and he had reached +the bottom, to leap from the carrier, light his carbide lamp which hung +where he had left it on the timbers, and start forward. +</P> + +<P> +The odor grew heavier. Fairchild held his light before him and looked +far ahead, wondering why he could not see the gleam from Harry's lamp. +He shouted. There was no answer, and he went on. +</P> + +<P> +Fifty feet! Seventy-five! Then he stopped short with a gasp. Twisted +and torn before him were the timbers of the tunnel, while muck and +refuse lay everywhere. A cave-in—another cave-in—at almost the exact +spot where the one had occurred years before, shutting off the chamber +from communication with the shaft, tearing and rending the new timbers +which had been placed there and imprisoning Harry behind them! +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild shouted again and again, only gaining for his answer the +ghostlike echoes of his own voice as they traveled to the shaft and +were thrown back again. He tore off his coat and cap, and attacked the +timbers like the fear-maddened man he was, dragging them by superhuman +force out of the way and clearing a path to the refuse. Then, running +along the little track, he searched first on one side, then the other, +until, nearly at the shaft, he came upon a miner's pick and a shovel. +With these, he returned to the task before him. +</P> + +<P> +Hours passed, while the sweat poured from his forehead and while his +muscles seemed to tear themselves loose from their fastenings with the +exertion that was placed upon them. Foot after foot, the muck was torn +away, as Fairchild, with pick and shovel, forced a tunnel through the +great mass of rocky debris which choked the drift. Onward—onward—at +last to make a small opening in the barricade, and to lean close to it +that he might shout again. But still there was no answer. +</P> + +<P> +Feverish now, Fairchild worked with all the reserve strength that was +in him. He seized great chunks of rock that he could not even have +budged at an ordinary time and threw them far behind him. His pick +struck again and again with a vicious, clanging reverberation; the hole +widened. Once more Fairchild leaned toward it. +</P> + +<P> +"Harry!" he called. "Harry!" +</P> + +<P> +But there was no answer. Again he shouted, then he returned to his +work, his heart aching in unison with his muscles. Behind that broken +mass, Fairchild felt sure, was his partner, torn, bleeding through the +effects of some accident, he did not know what, past answering his +calls, perhaps dead. Greater became the hole in the cave-in; soon it +was large enough to admit his body. Seizing his carbide lamp, +Fairchild made for the opening and crawled through, hurrying onward +toward the chamber where the stope began, calling Harry's name at every +step, in vain. The shadows before him lengthened, as the chamber gave +greater play to the range of light. Fairchild rushed within, held high +his carbide and looked about him. But no crumpled form of a man lay +there, no bruised, torn human being. The place was empty, except for +the pile of stone and refuse which had been torn away by dynamite +explosions in the hanging wall, where Harry evidently had shot away the +remaining refuse in a last effort to see what lay in that +direction,—stones and muck which told nothing. On the other side— +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild stared blankly. The hole that he had made into the foot wall +had been filled with dynamite and tamped, as though ready for shooting. +But the charge had not been exploded. Instead—on the ground lay the +remainder of the tamping paper and a short foot and a half of fuse, +with its fulminate of mercury cap attached, where it had been pulled +from its berth by some great force and hastily stamped out. And Harry— +</P> + +<P> +Harry was gone! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap20"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XX +</H3> + + +<P> +It was as though the shades of the past had come to life again, to +repeat in the twentieth century a happening of the nineteenth. There +was only one difference—no form of a dead man now lay against the foot +wall, to rest there more than a score of years until it should come to +light, a pile of bones in time-shredded clothing. And as he thought of +it, Fairchild remembered that the earthly remains of "Sissie" Larsen +had lain within almost a few feet of the spot where he had drilled the +prospect hole into the foot wall, there to discover the ore that +promised bonanza. +</P> + +<P> +But this time there was nothing and no clue to the mystery of Harry's +disappearance. Fairchild suddenly strengthened with an idea. Perhaps, +after all, he had been on the other side of the cave-in and had hurried +on out of the mine. But in that event, would he not have waited for +his return, to tell him of the accident? Or would he not have +proceeded down to the Sampler to bring the news if he had not cared to +remain at the tunnel opening? However, it was a chance, and Fairchild +took it. Once more he crawled through the hole that he had made in the +cave-in and sought the outward world. Then he hurried down Kentucky +Gulch and to the Sampler. But Harry had not been there. He went +through town, asking questions, striving his best to shield his +anxiety, cloaking his queries under the cover of cursory remarks. +Harry had not been seen. At last, with the coming of night, he turned +toward the boarding house, and on his arrival. Mother Howard, sighting +his white face, hurried to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you seen Harry?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No—he has n't been here." +</P> + +<P> +It was the last chance. Clutching fear at his heart, he told Mother +Howard of the happenings at the mine, quickly, as plainly as possible. +Then once more he went forth, to retrace his steps to the Blue Poppy, +to buck the wind and the fine snow and the high, piled drifts, and to +go below. But the surroundings were the same: still the cave-in, with +its small hole where he had torn through it, still the ragged hanging +wall where Harry had fired the last shots of dynamite in his +investigations, still the trampled bit of fuse with its cap attached. +Nothing more. Gingerly Fairchild picked up the cap and placed it where +a chance kick could not explode it. Then he returned to the shaft. +</P> + +<P> +Back into the black night, with the winds whistling through the pines. +Back to wandering about through the hills, hurrying forward at the +sight of every faint, dark object against the snow, in the hope that +Harry, crippled by the cave-in, might have some way gotten out of the +shaft. But they were only boulders or logs or stumps of trees. At +midnight, Fairchild turned once more toward town and to the boarding +house. But Harry had not appeared. There was only one thing left to +do. +</P> + +<P> +This time, when Fairchild left Mother Howard's, his steps did not lead +him toward Kentucky Gulch. Instead he kept straight on up the street, +past the little line of store buildings and to the courthouse, where he +sought out the sole remaining light in the bleak, black +building,—Sheriff Bardwell's office. That personage was nodding in +his chair, but removed his feet from the desk and turned drowsily as +Fairchild entered. +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" he questioned, "what's up?" +</P> + +<P> +"My partner has disappeared. I want to report to you—and see if I can +get some help." +</P> + +<P> +"Disappeared? Who?" +</P> + +<P> +"Harry Harkins. He 's a big Cornishman, with a large mustache, very +red face, about sixty years old, I should judge—" +</P> + +<P> +"Wait a minute," Bardwell's eyes narrowed. "Ain't he the fellow I +arrested in the Blue Poppy mine the night of the Old Times dance?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"And you say he 's disappeared?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think you heard me!" Fairchild spoke with some asperity. "I said +that he had disappeared, and I want some help in hunting for him. He +may be injured, for all I know, and if he 's out here in the mountains +anywhere, it's almost sure death for him unless he can get some aid +soon. I—" +</P> + +<P> +But the sheriff's eyes still remained suspiciously narrow. +</P> + +<P> +"When does his trial come up?" +</P> + +<P> +"A week from to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +"And he 's disappeared." A slow smile came over the other man's lips. +"I don't think it will help much to start any relief expedition for +him. The thing to do is to get a picture and a general description and +send it around to the police in the various parts of the country! That +'ll be the best way to find him!" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild's teeth gritted, but he could not escape the force of the +argument, from the sheriff's standpoint. For a moment there was +silence, then the miner came closer to the desk. +</P> + +<P> +"Sheriff," he said as calmly as possible, "you have a perfect right to +give that sort of view. That's your business—to suspect people. +However, I happen to feel sure that my partner would stand trial, no +matter what the charge, and that he would not seek to evade it in any +way. Some sort of an accident happened at the mine this afternoon—a +cave-in or an explosion that tore out the roof of the tunnel—and I am +sure that my partner is injured, has made his way out of the mine, and +is wandering among the hills. Will you help me to find him?" +</P> + +<P> +The sheriff wheeled about in his chair and studied a moment. Then he +rose. +</P> + +<P> +"Guess I will," he announced. "It can't do any harm to look for him, +anyway." +</P> + +<P> +Half an hour later, aided by two deputies who had been summoned from +their homes, Fairchild and the sheriff left for the hills to begin the +search for the missing Harry. Late the next afternoon, they returned +to town, tired, their horses almost crawling in their dragging pace +after sixteen hours of travel through the drifts of the hills and +gullies. Harry had not been found, and so Fairchild reported when, +with drooping shoulders, he returned to the boarding house and to the +waiting Mother Howard. And both knew that this time Harry's +disappearance was no joke, as it had been before. They realized that +back of it all was some sinister reason, some mystery which they could +not solve,—for the present at least. That night, Fairchild faced the +future and made his resolve. +</P> + +<P> +There was only a week now until Harry's case should come to trial. +Only a week until the failure of the defendant to appear should throw +the deeds of the Blue Poppy mine into the hands of the court, to be +sold for the amount of the bail. And in spite of the fact that +Fairchild now felt his mine to be a bonanza, unless some sort of a +miracle could happen before that time, the mine was the same as lost. +True, it would go to the highest bidder at a public sale and any money +brought in above the amount of bail would be returned to him. But who +would be that bidder? Who would get the mine—perhaps for twenty or +twenty-five thousand dollars, when it now was worth millions? +Certainly not he. Already he and Harry had borrowed from Mother Howard +all that she could lend them. True she had friends; but none could +produce from twenty to two hundred thousand dollars for a mine, simply +on his word. And unless something should happen to intervene, unless +Harry should return, or in some way Fairchild could raise the necessary +five thousand dollars to furnish a cash bond and again recover the +deeds of the Blue Poppy, he was no better off than before the strike +was made. Long he thought, finally to come to his conclusion, and +then, with the air of a gambler who has placed his last bet to win or +lose, he went to bed. +</P> + +<P> +But morning found him awake long before the rest of the house was +stirring. Downtown he hurried, to eat a hasty breakfast in the +all-night restaurant, then to start on a search for men. The first +workers on the street that morning found Fairchild offering them six +dollars a day. And by eight o'clock, ten of them were at work in the +drift of the Blue Poppy mine, working against time that they might +repair the damage which had been caused by the cave-in. +</P> + +<P> +It was not an easy task. That day and the next and the next after +that, they labored. Then Fairchild glanced at the progress that was +being made and sought out the pseudo-foreman. +</P> + +<P> +"Will it be finished by night?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Easily." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. I may need these men to work on a day and night shift, I +'m not sure. I 'll be back in an hour." +</P> + +<P> +Away he went and up the shaft, to travel as swiftly as possible through +the drift-piled road down Kentucky Gulch and to the Sampler. There he +sought out old Undertaker Chastine, and with him went to the proprietor. +</P> + +<P> +"My name is Fairchild, and I 'm in trouble," he said candidly. "I 've +brought Mr. Chastine in with me because he assayed some of my ore a few +days ago and believes he knows what it's worth. I 'm working against +time to get five thousand dollars. If I can produce ore that runs two +hundred dollars to the ton, and if I 'll sell it to you for one hundred +seventy-five dollars a ton until I can get the money I need, provided I +can get the permission of the court,—will you put it through for me?" +</P> + +<P> +The Sampler owner smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"If you 'll let me see where you 're getting the ore." Then he figured +a moment. "That 'd be thirty or forty ton," came at last. "We could +handle that as fast as you could bring it in here." +</P> + +<P> +But a new thought had struck Fairchild,—a new necessity for money. +</P> + +<P> +"I 'll give it to you for one hundred fifty dollars a ton, providing +you do the hauling and lend me enough after the first day or so to pay +my men." +</P> + +<P> +"But why all the excitement—and the rush?" +</P> + +<P> +"My partner 's Harry Harkins. He 's due for trial Friday, and he 's +disappeared. The mine is up as security. You can see what will happen +unless I can substitute a cash bond for the amount due before that +time. Is n't that sufficient?" +</P> + +<P> +"It ought to be. But as I said, I want to see where the ore comes +from." +</P> + +<P> +"You 'll see in the morning—if I 've got it," answered Fairchild with +a new hope thrilling in his voice. "All that I have so far is an assay +of some drill scrapings. I don't know how thick the vein is or whether +it's going to pinch out in ten minutes after we strike it. But I 'll +know mighty soon." +</P> + +<P> +Every cent that Robert Fairchild possessed in the world was in his +pockets,—two hundred dollars. After he had paid his men for their +three days of labor, there would be exactly twenty dollars left. But +Fairchild did not hesitate. To Farrell's office he went and with him +to an interview, in chambers, with the judge. Then, the necessary +permission having been granted, he hurried back to the mine and into +the drift, there to find the last of the muck being scraped away from +beneath the site of the cave-in. Fairchild paid off. Then he turned +to the foreman. +</P> + +<P> +"How many of these men are game to take a chance?" +</P> + +<P> +"Pretty near all of 'em—if there 's any kind of a gamble to it." +</P> + +<P> +"There 's a lot of gamble. I 've got just twenty dollars in my +pocket—enough to pay each man one dollar apiece for a night's work if +my hunch doesn't pan out. If it does pan, the wages are twenty dollars +a day for three days, with everybody, including myself, working like +hell! Who's game?" +</P> + +<P> +The answer came in unison. Fairchild led the way to the chamber, +seized a hammer and took his place. +</P> + +<P> +"There 's two-hundred-dollar ore back of this foot wall if we can break +in and start a new stope," he announced. "It takes a six-foot hole to +reach it, and we can have the whole story by morning. Let's go!" +</P> + +<P> +Along the great length of the foot wall, extending all the distance of +the big chamber, the men began their work, five men to the drills and +as many to the sledges, as they started their double-jacking. Hour +after hour the clanging of steel against steel sounded in the big +underground room, as the drills bit deeper and deeper into the hard +formation of the foot wall, driving steadily forward until their +contact should have a different sound, and the muggy scrapings bear a +darker hue than that of mere wall-rock. Hour after hour passed, while +the drill-turners took their places with the sledges, and the sledgers +went to the drills—the turnabout system of "double-jacking"—with +Fairchild, the eleventh man, filling in along the line as an extra +sledger, that the miners might be the more relieved in their strenuous, +frenzied work. Midnight came. The first of the six-foot drills sank +to its ultimate depth. Then the second and third and fourth: finally +the fifth. They moved on. Hours more of work, and the operation had +been repeated. The workmen hurried for the powder house, far down the +drift, by the shaft, lugging back in their pockets the yellow, +candle-like sticks of dynamite, with their waxy wrappers and their +gelatinous contents together with fuses and caps. Crimping +nippers—the inevitable accompaniment of a miner—came forth from the +pockets of the men. Careful tamping, then the men took their places at +the fuses. +</P> + +<P> +"Give the word!" one of them announced crisply as he turned to +Fairchild. "Each of us 'll light one of these things, and then I say +we 'll run! Because this is going to be some explosion!" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild smiled the smile of a man whose heart is thumping at its +maximum speed. Before him in the long line of the foot wall were ten +holes, "up-holes", "downs" and "swimmers", attacking the hidden ore in +every direction. Ten holes drilled six feet into the rock and tamped +with double charges of dynamite. He straightened. +</P> + +<P> +"All right, men! Ready?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ready!" +</P> + +<P> +"Touch 'em off!" +</P> + +<P> +The carbide lamps were held close to the fuses for a second. Soon they +were all going, spitting like so many venomous, angry serpents—but +neither Fairchild nor the miners had stopped to watch. They were +running as hard as possible for the shaft and for the protection that +distance might give. A wait that seemed ages. Then: +</P> + +<P> +"One!" +</P> + +<P> +"And two—and three!" +</P> + +<P> +"There goes four and five—they went together!" +</P> + +<P> +"Six—seven—eight—nine—" +</P> + +<P> +Again a wait, while they looked at one another with vacuous eyes. A +long interval until the tenth. +</P> + +<P> +"Two went together then! I thought we 'd counted nine?" The foreman +stared, and Fairchild studied. Then his face lighted. +</P> + +<P> +"Eleven 's right. One of them must have set off the charge that Harry +left in there. All the better—it gives us just that much more of a +chance." +</P> + +<P> +Back they went along the drift tunnel now, coughing slightly as the +sharp smoke of the dynamite cut their lungs. A long journey that +seemed as many miles instead of feet. Then with a shout, Fairchild +sprang forward, and went to his hands and knees. +</P> + +<P> +It was there before him—all about him—the black, heavy masses of +lead-silver ore, a great, heaping, five-ton pile of it where it had +been thrown out by the tremendous force of the explosion. It seemed +that the whole great floor of the cavern was covered with it, and the +workmen shouted with Fairchild as they seized bits of the precious +black stuff and held it to the light for closer examination. +</P> + +<P> +"Look!" The voice of one of them was high and excited. "You can see +the fine streaks of silver sticking out! It's high-grade and plenty of +it!" +</P> + +<P> +But Fairchild paid little attention. He was playing in the stuff, +throwing it in the air and letting it fall to the floor of the cavern +again, like a boy with a new sack of marbles, or a child with its +building blocks. Five tons and the night was not yet over! Five tons, +and the vein had not yet shown its other side! +</P> + +<P> +Back to work they went now, six of the men drilling, Fairchild and the +other four mucking out the refuse, hauling it up the shaft, and then +turning to the ore that they might get it to the old, rotting bins and +into position for loading as soon as the owner of the Sampler could be +notified in the morning and the trucks could fight their way through +the snowdrifts of Kentucky Gulch to the mine for loading. Again +through the hours the drills bit into the rock walls, while the ore car +clattered along the tram line and while the creaking of the block and +tackle at the shaft seemed endless. In three days, approximately forty +tons of ore must come out of that mine,—and work must not cease. +</P> + +<P> +Morning, and in spite of the sleep-laden eyes, the heavy aching in his +head, the tired drooping of the shoulders, Fairchild tramped to the +boarding house to notify Mother Howard and ask for news of Harry. +There had been none. Then he went on, to wait by the door of the +Sampler until Bittson, the owner, should appear, and drag him away up +the hill, even before he could open up for the morning. +</P> + +<P> +"There it is!" he exclaimed, as he led him to the entrance of the +chamber. "There it is; take all you want of it and assay it!" +</P> + +<P> +Bittson went forward into the cross-cut, where the men were drilling +even at new holes, and examined the vein. Already it was three feet +thick, and there was still ore ahead. One of the miners looked up. +</P> + +<P> +"Just finishing up on the cross-cut," he announced, as he nodded toward +his drill. "I 've just bitten into the foot wall on the other side. +Looks to me like the vein 's about five feet thick—as near as I can +measure it." +</P> + +<P> +"And—" Bittson picked up a few samples, examined them by the light of +the carbides and tossed them away—"you can see the silver sticking +out. I caught sight of a couple of pencil threads of it in one or two +of those samples. All right, Boy!" he turned to Fairchild. "What was +that bargain we made?" +</P> + +<P> +"It was based on two hundred dollars a ton ore. This may run above—or +below. But whatever it is, I 'll sell you all you can handle for the +next three days at fifty dollars a ton under the assay price." +</P> + +<P> +"You 've said the word. The trucks will be here in an hour if we have +to shovel a path all the way up Kentucky Gulch." +</P> + +<P> +He hurried away then, while Fairchild and the men followed him into +town and to their breakfast. Then, recruiting a new gang on the +promise of payment at the end of their three-day shift, Fairchild went +back to the mine. But the word had spread, and others were there +before him. +</P> + +<P> +Already a wide path showed up Kentucky Gulch. Already fifteen or +twenty miners were assembled about the opening of the Blue Poppy +tunnel, awaiting permission to enter, the usual rush upon a lucky mine +to view its riches. Behind him, Fairchild could see others coming from +Ohadi to take a look at the new strike, and his heart bounded with +happiness tinged with sorrow. Harry was not there to enjoy it all; +Harry was gone, and in spite of his every effort, Fairchild had failed +to find him. +</P> + +<P> +All that morning they thronged down the shaft of the Blue Poppy. The +old method of locomotion grew too slow; willing hands repaired the +hoist and sent volunteers for a gasoline engine to run it, while in the +meantime officials of curiosity labored on the broken old ladder that +once had encompassed the distance from the bottom of the shaft to the +top, rehabilitating it to such an extent that it might be used again. +The drift was crowded with persons bearing candles and carbides. The +big chamber was filled, leaving barely room for the men to work with +their drills at the final holes that would be needed to clear the vein +to the foot wall on the other side and enable the miners to start +upward on their new stope. Fairchild looked about him proudly, +happily; it was his, his and Harry's—if Harry ever should come back +again—the thing he had worked for, the thing he had dreamed of, +planned for. +</P> + +<P> +Some one brushed against him, and there came a slight tug at his coat. +Fairchild looked downward to see passing the form of Anita Richmond. A +moment later she looked toward him, but in her eyes there was no light +of recognition, nothing to indicate that she had just given him a +signal of greeting and congratulation. And yet Fairchild felt that she +had. Uneasily he walked away, following her with his eyes as she made +her way into the blackness of the tunnel and toward the shaft. Then, +absently, he put his hand into his pocket. +</P> + +<P> +Something there caused his heart to halt momentarily,—a piece of +paper. He crumpled it in his hand, he rubbed his fingers over it +wonderingly; it had not been in his pocket before she had passed him. +Hurriedly he walked to the far side of the chamber and there, +pretending to examine a bit of ore, brought the missive from its place +of secretion, to unfold it with trembling fingers, then to stare at the +words which showed before him: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Squint Rodaine is terribly worried about something. Has been on an +awful rampage all morning. Something critical is brewing, but I don't +know what. Suggest you keep watch on him. Please destroy this." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +That was all. There was no signature. But Robert Fairchild had seen +the writing of Anita Richmond once before! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap21"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXI +</H3> + + +<P> +So she was his friend! So all these days of waiting had not been in +vain; all the cutting hopelessness of seeing her, only to have her turn +away her head and fail to recognize him, had been for their purpose +after all. And yet Fairchild remembered that she was engaged to +Maurice Rodaine, and that the time of the wedding must be fast +approaching. Perhaps there had been a quarrel, perhaps— Then he +smiled. There was no perhaps about it! Anita Richmond was his friend; +she had been forced into the promise of marriage to Maurice Rodaine, +but she had not been forced into a relinquishment of her desire to +reward him somehow, some way, for the attention that he had shown her +and the liking that she knew existed in his heart. +</P> + +<P> +Hastily Fairchild folded the paper and stuffed it into an inside +pocket. Then, seeking out one of the workmen, he appointed him foreman +of the gang, to take charge in his absence. Following which, he made +his way out of the mine and into town, there to hire men of Mother +Howard's suggestion and send them to the Blue Poppy, to take their +stations every few feet along the tunnel, to appear mere spectators, +but in reality to be guards who were constantly on the watch for +anything untoward that might occur. Fairchild was taking no chances +now. An hour more found him at the Sampler, watching the ore as it ran +through the great crusher hoppers, to come forth finely crumbled powder +and be sampled, ton by ton, for the assays by old Undertaker Chastine +and the three other men of his type, without which no sampler pays for +ore. Bittson approached, grinning. +</P> + +<P> +"You guessed just about right," he announced. "That stuff 's running +right around two hundred dollars a ton. Need any money now?" +</P> + +<P> +"All you can let me have!" +</P> + +<P> +"Four or five hundred? We 've gotten in eight tons of that stuff +already; don't guess I 'd be taking any risk on that!" he chuckled. +Fairchild reached for the currency eagerly. All but a hundred dollars +of it would go to Mother Howard,—for that debt must be paid off first. +And, that accomplished, denying himself the invitation of rest that his +bed held forth for him, he started out into town, apparently to loiter +about the streets and receive the congratulations of the towns-people, +but in reality to watch for one person and one alone,—Squint Rodaine! +</P> + +<P> +He saw him late in the afternoon, shambling along, his eyes glaring, +his lips moving wordlessly, and he took up the trail. But it led only +to the office of the Silver Queen Development Company, where the +scar-faced man doubled at his desk, and, stuffing a cigar into his +mouth, chewed on it angrily. Instinctively Fairchild knew that the +greatest part of his mean temper was due to the strike in the Blue +Poppy; instinctively also he felt that Squint Rodaine had known of the +value all along, that now he was cursing himself for the failure of his +schemes to obtain possession of what had appeared until only a day +before to be nothing more than a disappointing, unlucky, ill-omened +hole in the ground. Fairchild resumed his loitering, but evening found +him near the Silver Queen office. +</P> + +<P> +Squint Rodaine did not leave for dinner. The light burned long in the +little room, far past the usual closing time and until after the +picture-show crowds had come and gone, while the man of the blue-white +scar remained at his desk, staring at papers, making row after row of +figures, and while outside, facing the chill and the cold of winter, +Fairchild trod the opposite side of the street, careful that no one +caught the import of his steady, sentry-like pace, yet equally careful +that he did not get beyond a range of vision where he could watch the +gleam of light from the office of the Silver Queen. Anita's note had +told him little, yet had implied much. Something was fermenting in the +seething brain of Squint Rodaine, and if the past counted for anything, +it was something that concerned him. +</P> + +<P> +An hour more, then Fairchild suddenly slunk into the shadows of a +doorway. Squint had snapped out the light and was locking the door. A +moment later he had passed him, his form bent, his shoulders hunched +forward, his lips muttering some unintelligible jargon. Fifty feet +more, then Fairchild stepped from the doorway and took up the trail. +</P> + +<P> +It was not a hard one to follow. The night wind had brought more snow +with it, to make a silent pad upon the sidewalks and to outline to +Fairchild more easily the figure which slouched before him. Gradually +Robert dropped farther and farther in the rear; it gave him that much +more protection, that much more surety in trailing his quarry to +wherever he might be bound. +</P> + +<P> +And it was a certainty that the destination was not home. Squint +Rodaine passed the street leading to his house without even looking up. +Two blocks more, and they reached the city limits. But Squint kept on, +and far in the rear, watching carefully every move, Fairchild followed +his quarry's shadow. +</P> + +<P> +A mile, and they were in the open country, crossing and recrossing the +ice-dotted Clear Creek. A furlong more, then Fairchild went to his +knees that he might use the snow for a better background. Squint +Rodaine had turned up the lane which led to a great, shambling, old, +white building that, in the rosy days of the mining game, had been a +roadhouse with its roulette wheels, its bar, its dining tables and its +champagne, but which now, barely furnished in only a few of its rooms, +inhabited by mountain rats and fluttering bats and general decay for +the most part, formed the uncomfortable abode of Crazy Laura! +</P> + +<P> +And Fairchild followed. It could mean only one thing when Rodaine +sought the white-haired, mumbling old hag whom once he had called his +wife. It could mean but one outcome, and that of disaster for some +one. Mother Howard had said that Crazy Laura would kill for Squint. +Fairchild felt sure that once, at least, she had lied for him, so that +the name of Thornton Fairchild might be branded as that of a murderer +and that his son might be set down in the community as a person of +ill-intent and one not to be trusted. And now that Squint Rodaine was +seeking her once more, Fairchild meant to follow, and to hear—if such +a thing were within the range of human possibility—the evil drippings +of his crooked lips. +</P> + +<P> +He crossed to the side of the road where ran the inevitable gully and +taking advantage of the shelter, hurried forward, smiling grimly in the +darkness at the memory of the fact that things were now reversed; that +he was following Squint Rodaine as Rodaine once had followed him. +Swiftly he moved, closer—closer; the scar-faced man went through the +tumble-down gate and approached the house, not knowing that his pursuer +was less than fifty yards away! +</P> + +<P> +A moment of cautious waiting then, in which Fairchild did not move. +Finally a light showed in an upstairs room of the house, and Fairchild, +masking his own footprints in those made by Rodaine, crept to the +porch. Swiftly, silently, protected by the pad of snow on the soles of +his shoes, he made the doorway and softly tried the lock. It gave +beneath his pressure, and he glided within the dark hallway, musty and +dusty in its odor, forbidding, evil and dark. A mountain rat, already +disturbed by the entrance of Rodaine, scampered across his feet, and +Fairchild shrunk into a corner, hiding himself as best he could in case +the noise should cause an investigation from above. But it did not. +Now Fairchild could hear voices, and in a moment more they became +louder, as a door opened. +</P> + +<P> +"It don't make any difference! I ain't going to stand for it! I tell +you to do something and you go and make a mess of it! Why did n't you +wait until they were both there?" +</P> + +<P> +"I—I thought they were, Roady!" The woman's voice was whining, +pleading. "Ain't you going to kiss me?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I ain't going to kiss you. You went and made a mess of things." +</P> + +<P> +"You kissed me the night our boy was born. Remember that, Roady? +Don't you remember how you kissed me then?" +</P> + +<P> +"That was a long time ago, and you were a different woman then. You 'd +do what I 'd tell you." +</P> + +<P> +"But I do now, Roady. Honest, I do. I 'll do anything you tell me +to—if you 'll just be good to me. Why don't you hold me in your arms +any more—?" +</P> + +<P> +A scuffling sound came from above. Fairchild knew that she had made an +effort to clasp him to her, and that he had thrust her away. The +voices came closer. +</P> + +<P> +"You know what you got us into, don't you? They made a strike there +to-day—same value as in the Silver Queen. If it had n't been for +you—" +</P> + +<P> +"But they get out someway—they always get out." The voice was high +and weird now. "They 're immortal. That's what they are—they 're +immortal. They have the gift—they can get out—" +</P> + +<P> +"Bosh! Course they get out when you wait until after they 're gone. +Why, one of 'em was downtown at the assayer's, so I understand, when +you went in there." +</P> + +<P> +"But the other—he 's immortal. He got out—" +</P> + +<P> +"You're crazy!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, crazy!" She suddenly shrieked at the word. "That's what they +all call me—Crazy Laura. And you call me Crazy Laura too, when my +back 's turned. But I ain't—hear me—I ain't! I know—they're +immortal, just like the others were immortal! I can't hold 'em when +they 've got the spirit that rises above—I 've tried, ain't I—and I +'ve only got one!" +</P> + +<P> +"One?" Squint's voice became suddenly excited. "One—what one?" +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm not going to tell. But I know—Crazy Laura—that's what they +call me—and they give me a sulphur pillow to sleep on. But I know—I +know!" +</P> + +<P> +There was silence then for a moment, and Fairchild, huddled in the +darkness below, felt the creeping, crawling chill of horror pass over +him as he listened. Above were a rogue and a lunatic, discussing +between them what, at times, seemed to concern him and his partner; +more, it seemed to go back to other days, when other men had worked the +Blue Poppy and met misfortunes. A bat fluttered about, just passing +his face, its vermin-covered wings sending the musty air close against +his cringing flesh. Far at the other side of the big hall a mountain +rat resumed its gnawing. Then it ceased. Squint Rodaine was talking +again. +</P> + +<P> +"So you 're not going to tell me about 'the one', eh? What have you +got this door shut for?" +</P> + +<P> +"No door 's shut." +</P> + +<P> +"It is—don't you think I can see? This door leading into the front +room." +</P> + +<P> +The sound of heavy shoes, followed by a lighter tread. Then a scream +above which could be heard the jangling of a rusty lock and the bumping +of a shoulder against wood. High and strident came Crazy Laura's voice: +</P> + +<P> +"Stay out of there—I tell you, Roady! Stay out of there! It's +something that mortals should n't see—it's something—stay out—stay +out!" +</P> + +<P> +"I won't—unlock this door!" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't do it—the time has n't come yet—I must n't—" +</P> + +<P> +"You won't—well, there 's another way." A crash, the sudden, +stumbling feet of a man, then the scratching of a match and an +exclamation: "So this is your immortal, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +Only a moaning answered, moaning intermingled with some vague form of a +weird chant, the words of which Fairchild in the musty, dark hall below +could not distinguish. At last came Squint's voice again, this time in +softened tones: +</P> + +<P> +"Laura—Laura, honey." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Squint." +</P> + +<P> +"Why did n't you tell your sweetheart about this?" +</P> + +<P> +"I must n't—you 've spoiled it now, Roady." +</P> + +<P> +"No—Honey. I can show you the way. He 's nearly gone. What were you +going to do when he went—?" +</P> + +<P> +"He 'd have dissolved in air, Roady—I know. The spirits have told me." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps so." The voice of the scar-faced, mean-visaged Squint Rodaine +was still honeyed, still cajoling. "Perhaps so—but not at once. Is +n't there a barrel of lime in the basement?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Come downstairs with me." +</P> + +<P> +They started downward then, and Fairchild, creeping as swiftly as he +could, hurried under the protection of the rotten casing, where the +wainscoting had dropped away with the decay of years. There he watched +them pass, Rodaine in the lead, carrying a smoking lamp with its +half-broken chimney careening on the base. Crazy Laura, mumbling her +toothless gums, her hag-like hands extended before her, shuffling along +in the rear. He heard them go far to the rear of the house, then +descend more stairs. And he went flat to his stomach on the floor, +with his ear against a tiny chink that he might hear the better. +Squint still was talking in his loving tones. +</P> + +<P> +"See, Honey," he was saying. "I 've—I 've broken the spell by going +in upstairs. You should have told me. I did n't know—I just +thought—well, I thought there was some one in there you liked, and I +got jealous." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you, Roady?" She cackled. "Did you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—I did n't know you had <I>him</I> there. And you were making him +immortal?" +</P> + +<P> +"I found him, Roady. His eyes were shut, and he was bleeding. It was +at dusk, and nobody saw him when I carried him in here. Then I started +giving him the herbs—" +</P> + +<P> +"That you 've gathered around at night?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—where the dead sleep. I get the red berries most. That's the +blood of the dead, come to life again." +</P> + +<P> +The quaking, crazy voice from below caused Fairchild to shiver with a +sudden cold that no warmth could eradicate. Still, however, he lay +there listening, fearful that every move from below might bring a +cessation of their conversation. But Rodaine talked on. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course, I know. But I 've spoiled that now. There's another way, +Laura. Get that spade. See, the dirt's soft here. Dig a hole about +four feet deep and six or seven feet long. Then put half that lime +from the barrel in there. Understand?" +</P> + +<P> +"What for?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's the only way now; we 'll have to do that. It's the other way to +immortality. You 've given him the herbs?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Then this is the end. See? Now do that, won't you, Honey?" +</P> + +<P> +"You'll kiss me, Roady?" +</P> + +<P> +"There!" The faint sound of a kiss came from below. "And there's +another one. And another!" +</P> + +<P> +"Just like the night our boy was born. Don't you remember how you bent +over and kissed me then and held me in your arms?" +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm holding you that way now, Honey—just the same way that I held +you the night our boy was born. And I 'll help you with this. You dig +the hole and put half the lime in there—don't put it all. We 'll need +the rest to put on top of him. You 'll have it done in about two +hours. There 's something else needed—some acid that I 've got to +get. It 'll make it all the quicker. I 'll be back, Honey. Kiss me." +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild, seeking to still the horror-laden quiver of his body, heard +the sound of a kiss and then the clatter of a man's heavy shoes on the +stairs, accompanied by a slight clink from below. He knew that +sound,—the scraping of the steel of a spade against the earth as it +was dragged into use. A moment more and Rodaine, mumbling to himself, +passed out the door. But the woman did not come upstairs. Fairchild +knew why: her crazed mind was following the instructions of the man who +knew how to lead the lunatic intellect into the channels he desired; +she was digging, digging a grave for some one, a grave to be lined with +quicklime! +</P> + +<P> +Now she was talking again and chanting, but Fairchild did not attempt +to determine the meaning of it all. Upstairs was some one who had been +found by this woman in an unconscious state and evidently kept in that +condition through the potations of the ugly poison-laden drugs she +brewed,—some one who now was doomed to die and to lie in a quicklime +grave! Carefully Fairchild gained his feet; then, as silently as +possible, he made for the rickety stairs, stopping now and again to +listen for discovery from below. But it did not come; the insane woman +was chanting louder than ever now. Fairchild went on. +</P> + +<P> +He felt his way up the remaining stairs, a rat scampering before him; +he sneaked along the wall, hands extended, groping for that broken +door, finally to find it. Cautiously he peered within, striving in +vain to pierce the darkness. At last, listening intently for the +singing from below, he drew a match from his pocket and scratched it +noiselessly on his trousers. Then, holding it high above his head, he +looked toward the bed—and stared in horror! +</P> + +<P> +A blood-encrusted face showed on the slipless pillow, while across the +forehead was a jagged, red, untended wound. The mouth was open, the +breathing was heavy and labored. The form was quite still, the eyes +closed. And the face was that of Harry! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap22"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXII +</H3> + + +<P> +So this explained, after a fashion, Harry's disappearance. This +revealed why the search through the mountains had failed. This— +</P> + +<P> +But Fairchild suddenly realized that now was not a time for +conjecturing upon the past. The man on the bed was unconscious, +incapable of helping himself. Far below, a white-haired woman, her +toothless jaws uttering one weird chant after another, was digging for +him a quicklime grave, in the insane belief that she was aiding in +accomplishing some miracle of immortality. In time—and Fairchild did +not know how long—an evil-visaged, scar-faced man would return to help +her carry the inert frame of the unconscious man below and bury it. +Nor could Fairchild tell from the conversation whether he even intended +to perform the merciful act of killing the poor, broken being before he +covered it with acids and quick-eating lime in a grave that soon would +remove all vestige of human identity forever. Certainly now was not a +time for thought; it was one for action! +</P> + +<P> +And for caution. Instinct told Fairchild that for the present, at +least, Rodaine must believe that Harry had escaped unaided. There were +too many other things in which Robert felt sure Rodaine had played a +part, too many other mysterious happenings which must be met and coped +with, before the man of the blue-white scar could know that finally the +underling was beginning to show fight, that at last the crushed had +begun to rise. Fairchild bent and unlaced his shoes, taking off also +the heavy woolen socks which protected his feet from the biting cold. +Steeling himself to the ordeal which he must undergo, he tied the laces +together and slung the footgear over a shoulder. Then he went to the +bed. +</P> + +<P> +As carefully as possible, he wrapped Harry in the blankets, seeking to +protect him in every way against the cold. With a great effort, he +lifted him, the sick man's frame huddled in his arms like some gigantic +baby, and started out of the eerie, darkened house. +</P> + +<P> +The stairs—the landing—the hall! Then a query from below: +</P> + +<P> +"Is that you, Roady?" +</P> + +<P> +The breath pulled sharp into Fairchild's lungs. He answered in the +best imitation he could give of the voice of Squint Rodaine: +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Go on with your digging, Honey. I 'll be there soon." +</P> + +<P> +"And you'll kiss me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Just like I kissed you the night our boy was born." +</P> + +<P> +It was sufficient. The chanting began again, accompanied by the swish +of the spade as it sank into the earth and the cludding roll of the +clods as they were thrown to one side. Fairchild gained the door. A +moment more and he staggered with his burden into the protecting +darkness of the night. +</P> + +<P> +The snow crept about his ankles, seeming to freeze them at every touch, +but Fairchild did not desist. His original purpose must be carried out +if Rodaine were not to know,—the appearance that Harry had aroused +himself sufficiently to wrap the blankets about him and wander off by +himself. And this could be accomplished only by the pain and cold and +torture of a barefoot trip. +</P> + +<P> +Some way, by shifting the big frame of his unconscious partner now and +then, Fairchild made the trip to the main road and veered toward the +pumphouse of the Diamond J. mine, running as it often did without +attendance while the engineer made a trip with the electric motor into +the hill. Cautiously he peered through the windows. No one was there. +Beyond lay warmth and comfort—and a telephone. Fairchild went within +and placed Harry on the floor. Then he reached for the 'phone and +called the hospital. +</P> + +<P> +"Hello!" he announced in a husky, disguised voice. "This is Jeb +Gresham of Georgeville. I 've just found a man lying by the side of +the Diamond J. pumphouse, unconscious, with a big cut in his head. I +'ve brought him inside. You 'll find him there; I 've got to go on. +Looks like he 's liable to die unless you can send the ambulance for +him." +</P> + +<P> +"We 'll make it a rush trip," came the answer, and Fairchild hung up +the 'phone, to rub his half-frozen, aching feet a moment, then to +reclothe them in the socks and shoes, watching the entrance of the +Diamond J. tunnel as he did so. A long minute—then he left the +pumphouse, made a few tracks in the snow around the entrance, and +walked swiftly down the road. Fifteen minutes later, from a hiding +place at the side of the Clear Creek bridge, he saw the lights of the +ambulance as it swerved to the pumphouse. Out came the stretcher. The +attendants went in search of the injured man. When they came forth +again, they bore the form of Harry Harkins, and the heart of Fairchild +began to beat once more with something resembling regularity. His +partner—at least such was his hope and his prayer—was on the way to +aid and to recovery, while Squint Rodaine would know nothing other than +that he had wandered away! Grateful, lighter in heart than he had been +for days. Fairchild plodded along the road in the tracks of the +ambulance, as it headed back for town. +</P> + +<P> +The news already had spread by the time he reached there; news travels +fast in a small mining camp. Fairchild went to the hospital, and to +the side of the cot where Harry had been taken, to find the doctor +there before him, already bandaging the wound on Harry's head and +looking with concern now and then at the pupils of the unconscious +man's eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you going to stay here with him?" the physician asked, after he +had finished the dressing of the laceration. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," Fairchild said, in spite of aching fatigue and heavy eyes. The +doctor nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"Good. I don't know whether he 's going to pull through or not. Of +course, I can't say—but it looks to me from his breathing and his +heart action that he 's not suffering as much from this wound as he is +from some sort of poisoning. +</P> + +<P> +"We 've given him apomorphine and it should begin to take effect soon. +We 're using the batteries too. You say that you 're going to be here? +That's a help. They 're shy a nurse on this floor to-night, and I 'm +having a pretty busy time of it. I 'm very much afraid that poor old +Judge Richmond 's going to lay down his cross before morning." +</P> + +<P> +"He 's dying?" Fairchild said it with a clutching sensation at his +throat. The physician nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"There 's hardly a chance for him." +</P> + +<P> +"You 're going there?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Will you please give—?" +</P> + +<P> +The physician waited. Finally Fairchild shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"Never mind," he finished. "I thought I would ask you something—but +it would be too much of a favor. Thank you just the same. Is there +anything I can do here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing except to keep watch on his general condition. If he seems to +be getting worse, call the interne. I 've left instructions with him." +</P> + +<P> +"Very good." +</P> + +<P> +The physician went on, and Fairchild took his place beside the bed of +the unconscious Harry, his mind divided between concern for his +faithful partner and the girl who, some time in the night, must say +good-by forever to the father she loved. It had been on Fairchild's +tongue to send her some sort of message by the physician, some word +that would show her he was thinking of her and hoping for her. But he +had reconsidered. Among those in the house of death might be Maurice +Rodaine, and Fairchild did not care again to be the cause of such a +scene as had happened on the night of the Old Times dance. +</P> + +<P> +Judge Richmond was dying. What would that mean? What effect would it +have upon the engagement of Anita and the man Fairchild hoped that she +detested? What—then he turned at the entrance of the interne with the +batteries. +</P> + +<P> +"If you 're going to be here all night," said the white-coated +individual, "it 'll help me out a lot if you 'll use these batteries +for me. Put them on at their full force and apply them to his cheeks, +his hands, his wrists and the soles of his feet alternately. From the +way he acts, there 's some sort of morphinic poisoning. We can't tell +what it is—except that it acts like a narcotic. And about the only +way we can pull him out is with these applications." +</P> + +<P> +The interne turned over the batteries and went on about his work, while +Fairchild, hoping within his heart that he had not placed an impediment +in the way of Harry's recovery by not telling what he knew of Crazy +Laura and her concoctions, began his task. Yet he was relieved by the +knowledge that such information could aid but little. Nothing but a +chemical analysis could show the contents of the strange brews which +the insane woman made from her graveyard herbiage, and long before that +could come, Harry might be dead. And so he pressed the batteries +against the unconscious man's cheeks, holding them there tightly, that +the full shock of the electricity might permeate the skin and arouse +the sluggish blood once more to action. Then to the hands, the wrists, +the feet and back again; it was the beginning of a routine that was to +last for hours. +</P> + +<P> +Midnight came and early morning. With dawn, the figure on the bed +stirred slightly and groaned. Fairchild looked up, to see the doctor +just entering. +</P> + +<P> +"I think he 's regaining consciousness." +</P> + +<P> +"Good." The physician brought forth his hypodermic. "That means a bit +of rest for me. A little shot in the arm, and he ought to be out of +danger in a few hours." +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild watched him as he boiled the needle over the little gas jet +at the head of the cot, then dissolved a white pellet preparatory to +sending a resuscitory fluid into Harry's arm. +</P> + +<P> +"You 've been to Judge Richmond's?" he asked at last. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." Then the doctor stepped close to the bed. "I 've just closed +his eyes—forever." +</P> + +<P> +Ten minutes later, after another examination of Harry's pupils, he was +gone, a weary, tired figure, stumbling home to his rest—rest that +might be disturbed at any moment—the reward of the physician. As for +Fairchild, he sat a long time in thought, striving to find some way to +send consolation to the girl who was grieving now, struggling to figure +a means of telling her that he cared, that he was sorry, and that his +heart hurt too. But there was none. +</P> + +<P> +Again a moan from the man on the bed, and at last a slight resistance +to the sting of the batteries. An hour passed, two; gradually Harry +came to himself, to stare about him in a wondering, vacant manner and +then to fasten his eyes upon Fairchild. He seemed to be struggling for +speech, for coördination of ideas. Finally, after many minutes— +</P> + +<P> +"That's you, Boy?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Harry." +</P> + +<P> +"But where are we?" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild laughed softly. +</P> + +<P> +"We 're in a hospital, and you 're knocked out. Don't you know where +you 've been?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know anything, since I slid down the wall." +</P> + +<P> +"Since you what?" +</P> + +<P> +But Harry had lapsed back into semi-consciousness again, to lie for +hours a mumbling, dazed thing, incapable of thought or action. And it +was not until late in the night after the rescue, following a few hours +of rest forced upon him by the interne, that Fairchild once more could +converse with his stricken partner. +</P> + +<P> +"It's something I 'll 'ave to show you to explain," said Harry. "I +can't tell you about it. You know where that little fissure is in the +'anging wall, away back in the stope?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that's it. That's where I got out." +</P> + +<P> +"But what happened before that?" +</P> + +<P> +"What didn't 'appen?" asked Harry, with a painful grin. "Everything in +the world 'appened. I—but what did the assay show?" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild reached forth and laid a hand on the brawny one of his +partner. +</P> + +<P> +"We 're rich, Harry," he said, "richer than I ever dreamed we could be. +The ore's as good as that of the Silver Queen!" +</P> + +<P> +"The bloody 'ell it is!" Then Harry dropped back on his pillow for a +long time and simply grinned at the ceiling. Somewhat anxious. +Fairchild leaned forward, but his partner's eyes were open and smiling. +"I 'm just letting it sink in!" he announced, and Fairchild was silent, +saving his questions until "it" had sunk. Then: +</P> + +<P> +"You were saying something about that fissure?" +</P> + +<P> +"But there is other things first. After you went to the assayers, I +fooled around there in the chamber, and I thought I 'd just take a +flyer and blow up them 'oles that I 'd drilled in the 'anging wall at +the same time that I shot the other. So I put in the powder and fuses, +tamped 'em down and then I thinks thinks I, that there's somebody +moving around in the drift. But I did n't pay any attention to it—you +know. I was busy and all that, and you often 'ear noises that sound +funny. So I set 'em off—that is, I lit the fuses and I started to +run. Well, I 'ad n't any more 'n started when bloeyy-y-y-y, right in +front of me, the whole world turned upside down, and I felt myself +knocked back into the chamber. And there was them fuses. All of 'em +burning. Well, I managed to pull out the one from the foot wall and +stamp it out, but I didn't 'ave time to get at the others. And the +only place where there was a chance for me was clear at the end of the +chamber. Already I was bleeding like a stuck hog where a whole 'arf +the mountain 'ad 'it me on the 'ead, and I did n't know much what I was +doing. I just wanted to get be'ind something—that's all I could think +of. So I shied for that fissure in the rocks and crawled back in +there, trying to squeeze as far along as I could. And 'ere 's the +funny part of it—I kept on going!" +</P> + +<P> +"You what?" +</P> + +<P> +"Kept on going. I 'd always thought it was just a place where the +'anging wall 'ad slipped, and that it stopped a few feet back. But it +don't—it goes on. I crawled along it as fast as I could—I was about +woozy, anyway—and by and by I 'eard the shots go off be'ind me. But +there was n't any use in going back—the tunnel was caved in. So I +kept on. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know 'ow long I went or where I went at. It was all dark—and +I was about knocked out. After while, I ran into a stream of water +that came out of the inside of the 'ill somewhere, and I took a drink. +It gave me a bit of strength. And then I kept on some more—until all +of a sudden, I slipped and fell, just when I was beginning to see +dyelight. And that's all I know. 'Ow long 'ave I been gone?" +</P> + +<P> +"Long enough to make me gray-headed," Fairchild answered with a little +laugh. Then his brow furrowed. "You say you slipped and fell just as +you were beginning to see daylight?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. It looked like it was reflected from below, somewyes." +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"Is n't there quite a spring right by Crazy Laura's house?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; it keeps going all year; there 's a current and it don't freeze +up. It comes out like it was a waterfall—and there 's a roaring noise +be'ind it." +</P> + +<P> +"Then that's the explanation. You followed the fissure until it joined +the natural tunnel that the spring has made through the hills. And +when you reached the waterfall—well, you fell with it." +</P> + +<P> +"But 'ow did I get 'ere?" +</P> + +<P> +Briefly Fairchild told him, while Harry pawed at his still magnificent +mustache. Robert continued: +</P> + +<P> +"But the time 's not ripe yet, Harry, to spring it. We 've got to find +out more about Rodaine first and what other tricks he 's been up to. +And we 've got to get other evidence than merely our own word. For +instance, in this case, you can't remember anything. All the testimony +I could give would be unsupported. They 'd run me out of town if I +even tried to start any such accusation. But one thing 's certain: We +'re on the open road at last, we know who we 're fighting and the +weapons he fights with. And if we 're only given enough time, we 'll +whip him. I 'm going home to bed now; I 've got to be up early in the +morning and get hold of Farrell. Your case comes up at court." +</P> + +<P> +"And I 'm up in a 'ospital!" +</P> + +<P> +Which fact the court the next morning recognized, on the testimony of +the interne, the physician and the day nurses of the hospital, to the +extent of a continuance until the January term in the trial of the +case. A thing which the court further recognized was the substitution +of five thousand dollars in cash for the deeds of the Blue Poppy mine +as security for the bailee. And with this done, the deeds to his mine +safe in his pocket, Fairchild went to the bank, placed the papers +behind the great steel gates of the safety deposit vault, and then +crossed the street to the telegraph office. A long message was the +result, and a money order to Denver that ran beyond a hundred dollars. +The instructions that went with it to the biggest florist in town were +for the most elaborate floral design possible to be sent by express for +Judge Richmond's funeral—minus a card denoting the sender. Following +this, Fairchild returned to the hospital, only to find Mother Howard +taking his place beside the bed of Harry. One more place called for +his attention,—the mine. +</P> + +<P> +The feverish work was over now. The day and night shifts no longer +were needed until Harry and Fairchild could actively assume control of +operations and themselves dig out the wealth to put in the improvements +necessary to procure the compressed air and machine drills, and +organize the working of the mine upon the scale which its value +demanded. But there was one thing essential, and Fairchild procured +it,—guards. Then he turned his attention to his giant partner. +</P> + +<P> +Health returned slowly to the big Cornishman. The effects of nearly a +week of slow poisoning left his system grudgingly; it would be a matter +of weeks before he could be the genial, strong giant that he once had +represented. And in those weeks Fairchild was constantly beside him. +</P> + +<P> +Not that there were no other things which were represented in Robert's +desires,—far from it. Stronger than ever was Anita Richmond in +Fairchild's thoughts now, and it was with avidity that he learned every +scrap of news regarding her, as brought to him by Mother Howard. +Hungrily he listened for the details of how she had weathered the shock +of her father's death; anxiously he inquired for her return in the days +following the information—via Mother Howard—that she had gone on a +short trip to Denver to look after matters pertaining to her father's +estate. Dully he heard that she had come back, and that Maurice +Rodaine had told friends that the passing of the Judge had caused only +a slight postponement in their marital plans. And perhaps it was this +which held Fairchild in check, which caused him to wonder at the +vagaries of the girl—a girl who had thwarted the murderous plans of a +future father-in-law—and to cause him to fight down a desire to see +her, an attempt to talk to her and to learn directly from her lips her +position toward him,—and toward the Rodaines. +</P> + +<P> +Finally, back to his normal strength once more, Harry rose from the +armchair by the window of the boarding house and turned to Fairchild. +</P> + +<P> +"We 're going to work to-night," he announced calmly. +</P> + +<P> +"When?" Fairchild did not believe he understood. Harry grinned. +"To-night. I 've taken a notion. Rodaine 'll expect us to work in the +daytime. We 'll fool 'im. We 'll leave the guards on in the daytime +and work at night. And what's more, we 'll keep a guard on at the +mouth of the shaft while we 're inside, not to let nobody down. See?" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild agreed. He knew Squint Rodaine was not through. And he knew +also that the fight against the man with the blue-white scar had only +begun. The cross-cut had brought wealth and the promise of riches to +Fairchild and Harry for the rest of their lives. But it had not freed +them from the danger of one man,—a man who was willing to kill, +willing to maim, willing to do anything in the world, it seemed, to +achieve his purpose. Harry's suggestion was a good one. +</P> + +<P> +Together, when night came, they bundled their greatcoats about them and +pulled their caps low over their ears. Winter had come in earnest, +winter with a blizzard raging through the town on the breast of a +fifty-mile gale. Out into it the two men went, to fight their way +though the swirling, frigid fleece to Kentucky Gulch and upward. At +last they passed the guard, huddled just within the tunnel, and +clambered down the ladder which had been put in place by the +sight-seers on the day of the strike. Then— +</P> + +<P> +Well, then Harry ran, to do much as Fairchild had done, to chuckle and +laugh and toss the heavy bits of ore about, to stare at them in the +light of his carbide torch, and finally to hurry into the new stope +which had been fashioned by the hired miners in Fairchild's employ and +stare upward at the heavy vein of riches above him. +</P> + +<P> +"Wouldn't it knock your eyes out?" he exclaimed, beaming. "That vein +'s certainly five feet wide." +</P> + +<P> +"And two hundred dollars to the ton," added Fairchild, laughing. "No +wonder Rodaine wanted it." +</P> + +<P> +"I 'll sye so!" exclaimed Harry, again to stand and stare, his mouth +open, his mustache spraying about on his upper lip in more directions +than ever. A long time of congratulatory celebration, then Harry led +the way to the far end of the great cavern. "'Ere it is!" he +announced, as he pointed to what had seemed to both of them never to be +anything more than a fissure in the rocks. "It's the thing that saved +my life." +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild stared into the darkness of the hole in the earth, a narrow +crack in the rocks barely large enough to allow a human form to squeeze +within. He laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"You must have made yourself pretty small, Harry." +</P> + +<P> +"What? When I went through there? Sye, I could 'ave gone through the +eye of a needle. There were six charges of dynamite just about to go +off be'ind me!" +</P> + +<P> +Again the men chuckled as they looked at the fissure, a natural, usual +thing in a mine, and often leading, as this one did, by subterranean +breaks and slips to the underground bed of some tumbling spring. +Suddenly, however, Fairchild whirled with a thought. +</P> + +<P> +"Harry! I wonder—couldn't it have been possible for my father to have +escaped from this mine in the same way?" +</P> + +<P> +"'E must 'ave." +</P> + +<P> +"And that there might not have been any killing connected with Larsen +at all? Why couldn't Larsen have been knocked out by a flying +stone—just like you were? And why—?" +</P> + +<P> +"'E might of, Boy." But Harry's voice was negative. "The only thing +about it was the fact that your father 'ad a bullet 'ole in 'is 'ead." +Harry leaned forward and pointed to his own scar. "It 'it right about +'ere, and glanced. It did n't 'urt 'im much, and I bandaged it and +then covered it with 'is 'at, so nobody could see." +</P> + +<P> +"But the gun? We did n't find any." +</P> + +<P> +"'E 'ad it with 'im. It was Sissie Larsen's. No, Boy, there must 'ave +been a fight—but don't think that I mean your father murdered anybody. +If Sissie Larsen attacked 'im with a gun, then 'e 'ad a right to kill. +But as I 've told you before—there would n't 'ave been a chance for +'im to prove 'is story with Squint working against 'im. And that's one +reason why I did n't ask any questions. And neither did Mother 'Oward. +We were willing to take your father's word that 'e 'ad n't done +anything wrong—and we were willing to 'elp 'im to the limit." +</P> + +<P> +"You did it, Harry." +</P> + +<P> +"We tried to—" He ceased and perked his head toward the bottom of the +shaft, listening intently. "Did n't you 'ear something?" +</P> + +<P> +"I thought so. Like a woman's voice." +</P> + +<P> +"Listen—there it is again!" +</P> + +<P> +They were both silent, waiting for a repetition of the sound. Faintly +it came, for the third time: +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Fairchild!" +</P> + +<P> +They ran to the foot of the shaft, and Fairchild stared upward. But he +could see no one. He cupped his hands and called: +</P> + +<P> +"Who wants me?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's me." The voice was plainer now—a voice that Fairchild +recognized immediately. +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm—I 'm under arrest or something up here," was added with a laugh. +"The guard won't let me come down." +</P> + +<P> +"Wait, and I 'll raise the bucket for you. All right, guard!" Then, +blinking with surprise, he turned to the staring Harry. "It's Anita +Richmond," he whispered. Harry pawed for his mustache. +</P> + +<P> +"On a night like this? And what the bloody 'ell is she doing 'ere, +any'ow?" +</P> + +<P> +"Search me!" The bucket was at the top now. +</P> + +<P> +A signal from above, and Fairchild lowered it, to extend a hand and to +aid the girl to the ground, looking at her with wondering, eager eyes. +In the light of the carbide torch, she was the same boyish appearing +little person he had met on the Denver road, except that snow had taken +the place of dust now upon the whipcord riding habit, and the brown +hair which caressed the corners of her eyes was moist with the breath +of the blizzard. Some way Fairchild found his voice, lost for a moment. +</P> + +<P> +"Are—are you in trouble?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." She smiled at him. +</P> + +<P> +"But out on a night like this—in a blizzard. How did you get up here?" +</P> + +<P> +She shrugged her shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"I walked. Oh," she added, with a smile, "it did n't hurt me any. The +wind was pretty stiff—but then I 'm fairly strong. I rather enjoyed +it." +</P> + +<P> +"But what's happened—what's gone wrong? Can I help you with +anything—or—" +</P> + +<P> +Then it was that Harry, with a roll of his blue eyes and a funny waggle +of his big shoulders, moved down the drift toward the stope, leaving +them alone together. Anita Richmond watched after him with a smile, +waiting until he was out of hearing distance. Then she turned +seriously. +</P> + +<P> +"Mother Howard told me where you were," came quietly. "It was the only +chance I had to see you. I—I—maybe I was a little lonely or—or +something. But, anyway, I wanted to see you and thank you and—" +</P> + +<P> +"Thank me? For what?" +</P> + +<P> +"For everything. For that day on the Denver road, and for the night +after the Old Times dance when you came to help me. I—I have n't had +an easy time. And I 've been in rather an unusual position. Most of +the people I know are afraid and—some of them are n't to be trusted. +I—I could n't go to them and confide in them. And—you—well, I knew +the Rodaines were your enemies—and I 've rather liked you for it." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you. But—" and Fairchild's voice became a bit frigid—"I have +n't been able to understand everything. You are engaged to Maurice +Rodaine." +</P> + +<P> +"I was, you mean." +</P> + +<P> +"Then—" +</P> + +<P> +"My engagement ended with my father's death," came slowly—and there +was a catch in her voice. "He wanted it—it was the one thing that +held the Rodaines off him. And he was dying slowly—it was all I could +do to help him, and I promised. But—when he went—I felt that my—my +duty was over. I don't consider myself bound to him any longer." +</P> + +<P> +"You 've told Rodaine so?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not yet. I—I think that maybe that was one reason I wanted to see +some one whom I believed to be a friend. He 's coming after me at +midnight. We 're to go away somewhere." +</P> + +<P> +"Rodaine? Impossible!" +</P> + +<P> +"They 've made all their plans. I—I wondered if you—if you 'd be +somewhere around the house—if you 'd—" +</P> + +<P> +"I 'll be there. I understand." Fairchild had reached out and touched +her arm. "I—want to thank you for the opportunity. I—yes, I 'll be +there," came with a short laugh. "And Harry too. There'll be no +trouble—from the Rodaines!" +</P> + +<P> +She came a little closer to him then and looked up at him with trustful +eyes, all the brighter in the spluttering light of the carbide. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you—it seems that I 'm always thanking you. I was afraid—I +did n't know where to go—to whom to turn. I thought of you. I knew +you 'd help me—women can guess those things." +</P> + +<P> +"Can they?" Fairchild asked it eagerly. "Then you 've guessed all +along that—" +</P> + +<P> +But she smiled and cut in. +</P> + +<P> +"I want to thank you for those flowers. They were beautiful." +</P> + +<P> +"You knew that too? I didn't send a card." +</P> + +<P> +"They told me at the telegraph office that you had wired for them. +They—meant a great deal to me." +</P> + +<P> +"It meant more to me to be able to send them." Then Fairchild stared +with a sudden idea. "Maurice 's coming for you at midnight. Why is it +necessary that you be there?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why—" the idea had struck her too—"it is n't. I—I just had n't +thought of it. I was too badly scared, I guess. Everything 's been +happening so swiftly since—since you made the strike up here." +</P> + +<P> +"With them?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, they 've been simply crazy about something. You got my note?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"That was the beginning. The minute Squint Rodaine heard of the +strike, I thought he would go out of his head. I was in the office—I +'m vice-president of the firm, you know," she added with a sarcastic +laugh. "They had to do something to make up for the fact that every +cent of father's money was in it." +</P> + +<P> +"How much?" Fairchild asked the question with no thought of being +rude—and she answered in the same vein. +</P> + +<P> +"A quarter of a million. They 'd been getting their hands on it more +and more ever since father became ill. But they could n't entirely get +it into their own power until the Silver Queen strike—and then they +persuaded him to sign it all over in my name into the company. That's +why I 'm vice-president." +</P> + +<P> +"And is that why you arranged things to buy this mine?" Fairchild knew +the answer before it was given. +</P> + +<P> +"I? I arrange—I never thought of such a thing." +</P> + +<P> +"I felt that from the beginning. An effort was made through a lawyer +in Denver who hinted you were behind it. Some way, I felt differently. +I refused. But you said they were going away?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. They 've been holding conferences—father and son—one after +another. I 've had more peace since the strike here than at any time +in months. They 're both excited about something. Last night Maurice +came to me and told me that it was necessary for them all to go to +Chicago where the head offices would be established, and that I must go +with him. I did n't have the strength to fight him then—there was n't +anybody near by who could help me. So I—I told him I 'd go. Then I +lay awake all night, trying to think out a plan—and I thought of you." +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm glad." Fairchild touched her small gloved hand then, and she did +not draw it away. His fingers moved slowly under hers. There was no +resistance. At last his hand closed with a tender pressure,—only to +release her again. For there had come a laugh—shy, embarrassed, +almost fearful—and the plea: +</P> + +<P> +"Can we go back where Harry is? Can I see the strike again?" +</P> + +<P> +Obediently Fairchild led the way, beyond the big cavern, through the +cross-cut and into the new stope, where Harry was picking about with a +gad, striving to find a soft spot in which to sink a drill. He looked +over his shoulder as they entered and grinned broadly. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh," he exclaimed, "a new miner!" +</P> + +<P> +"I wish I were," she answered. "I wish I could help you." +</P> + +<P> +"You 've done that, all right, all right." Harry waved his gad. "'E +told me—about the note!" +</P> + +<P> +"Did it do any good?" she asked the question eagerly. Harry chuckled. +</P> + +<P> +"I 'd 'ave been a dead mackerel if it 'ad n't," came his hearty +explanation. "Where you going at all dressed up like that?" +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm supposed," she answered with a smile toward Fairchild, "to go to +Center City at midnight. Squint Rodaine 's there and Maurice and I are +supposed to join him. But—but Mr. Fairchild 's promised that you and +he will arrange it otherwise." +</P> + +<P> +"Center City? What's Squint doing there?" +</P> + +<P> +"He does n't want to take the train from Ohadi for some reason. We 're +all going East and—" +</P> + +<P> +But Harry had turned and was staring upward, apparently oblivious of +their presence. His eyes had become wide, his head had shot forward, +his whole being had become one of strained attention. Once he cocked +his head, then, with a sudden exclamation, he leaped backward. +</P> + +<P> +"Look out!" he exclaimed. "'Urry, look out!" +</P> + +<P> +"But what is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's coming down! I 'eard it!" Excitedly he pointed above, toward +the black vein of lead and silver. "'Urry for that 'ole in the +wall—'urry, I tell you!" He ran past them toward the fissure, yelling +at Fairchild. "Pick 'er up and come on! I tell you I 'eard the wall +moving—it's coming down, and if it does, it 'll bust in the 'ole +tunnel!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap23"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIII +</H3> + + +<P> +Hardly realizing what he was doing or why he was doing it, Fairchild +seized Anita in his arms, and raising her to his breast as though she +were a child, rushed out through the cross-cut and along the cavern to +the fissure, there to find Harry awaiting them. +</P> + +<P> +"Put 'er in first!" said the Cornishman anxiously. "The farther the +safer. Did you 'ear anything more?" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild obeyed, shaking his head in a negative to Harry's question, +then squeezed into the fissure, edging along beside Anita, while Harry +followed. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" she asked anxiously. +</P> + +<P> +"Harry heard some sort of noise from above, as if the earth was +crumbling. He 's afraid the whole mine 's going to cave in again." +</P> + +<P> +"But if it does?" +</P> + +<P> +"We can get out this way—somehow. This connects up with a +spring-hole; it leads out by Crazy Laura's house." +</P> + +<P> +"Ugh!" Anita shivered. "She gives me the creeps!" +</P> + +<P> +"And every one else; what's doing, Harry?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing. That's the funny part of it!" +</P> + +<P> +The big Cornishman had crept to the edge of the fissure and had stared +for a moment toward the cross-cut leading to the stope. "If it was +coming, it ought to 'ave showed up by now. I 'm going back. You stay +'ere." +</P> + +<P> +"But—" +</P> + +<P> +"Stay 'ere, I said. And," he grinned in the darkness, "don't let 'im +'old your 'and, Miss Richmond." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you go on!" But she laughed. And Harry laughed with her. +</P> + +<P> +"I know 'im. 'E 's got a wye about 'im." +</P> + +<P> +"That's what you said about Miss Richmond once!" +</P> + +<P> +"Have you two been talking about me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Often." Then there was silence—for Harry had left the fissure to go +into the stope and make an investigation. A long moment and he was +back, almost creeping, and whispering as he reached the end of the +fissure. +</P> + +<P> +"Come 'ere—both of you! Come 'ere!" +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sh-h-h-h-h-h. Don't talk too loud. We 've been blessed with luck +already. Come 'ere." +</P> + +<P> +He led the way, the man and woman following him. In the stope the +Cornishman crawled carefully to the staging, and standing on tiptoes, +pressed his ear against the vein above him. Then he withdrew and +nodded sagely. +</P> + +<P> +"That's what it is!" came his announcement at last. "You can 'ear it!" +</P> + +<P> +"But what?" +</P> + +<P> +"Get up there and lay your ear against that vein. See if you 'ear +anything. And be quiet about it. I 'm scared to make a move, for fear +somebody 'll 'ear me." +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild obeyed. From far away, carried by the telegraphy of the +earth—and there are few conductors that are better—was the steady +pound, pound, pound of shock after shock as it traveled along the +hanging wall. Now and then a rumble intervened, as of falling rock, +and scrambling sounds, like a heavy wagon passing over a bridge. +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild turned, wondering, then reached for Anita. +</P> + +<P> +"You listen," he ordered, as he lifted her to where she could hear. +"Do you get anything?" +</P> + +<P> +The girl's eyes shone. +</P> + +<P> +"I know what that is," she said quickly. "I 've heard that same sort +of thing before—when you 're on another level and somebody 's working +above. Is n't that it, Mr. Harkins?" +</P> + +<P> +Harry nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"That's it," came tersely. Then bending, he reached for a pick, and +muffling the sound as best he could between his knees, knocked the head +from the handle. Following this, he lifted the piece of hickory +thoughtfully and turned to Fairchild. "Get yourself one," he ordered. +"Miss Richmond, I guess you 'll 'ave to stay 'ere. I don't see 'ow we +can do much else with you." +</P> + +<P> +"But can't I go along—wherever you 're going?" +</P> + +<P> +"There's going to be a fight," said Harry quietly. "And I 'm going to +knock somebody's block off!" +</P> + +<P> +"But—I 'd rather be there than here. I—I don't have to get in it. +And—I 'd want to see how it comes out. Please—!" she turned to +Fairchild—"won't you let me go?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you 'll stay out of danger." +</P> + +<P> +"It's less danger for me there than—than home. And I 'd be scared to +death here. I wouldn't if I was along with you two, because I know—" +and she said it with almost childish conviction—"that you can whip +'em." +</P> + +<P> +Harry chuckled. +</P> + +<P> +"Come along, then. I 've got a 'unch, and I can't sye it now. But it +'ll come out in the wash. Come along." +</P> + +<P> +He led the way out through the shaft and into the blizzard, giving the +guard instructions to let no one pass in their absence. Then he +suddenly kneeled. +</P> + +<P> +"Up, Miss Richmond. Up on my back. I 'm 'efty—and we 've got +snowdrifts to buck." +</P> + +<P> +She laughed, looked at Fairchild as though for his consent, then +crawled to the broad back of Harry, sitting on his shoulders like a +child "playing horse." +</P> + +<P> +They started up the mountain side, skirting the big gullies and edging +about the highest drifts, taking advantage of the cover of the pines, +and bending against the force of the blizzard, which seemed to threaten +to blow them back, step for step. No one spoke; instinctively +Fairchild and Anita had guessed Harry's conclusions. The nearest mine +to the Blue Poppy was the Silver Queen, situated several hundred feet +above it in altitude and less than a furlong away. And the metal of +the Silver Queen and the Blue Poppy, now that the strike had been made, +had assayed almost identically the same. It was easy to make +conclusions. +</P> + +<P> +They reached the mouth of the Silver Queen. Harry relieved Anita from +her position on his shoulders, and then reconnoitered a moment before +he gave the signal to proceed. Within the tunnel they went, to follow +along its regular, rising course to the stope where, on that garish day +when Taylor Bill and Blindeye Bozeman had led the enthusiastic parade +through the streets, the vein had shown. It was dark there—no one was +at work. Harry unhooked his carbide from his belt, lit it and looked +around. The stope was deeper now than on the first day, but not enough +to make up for the vast amount of ore which had been taken out of the +mine in the meanwhile. On the floor were tons of the metal, ready for +tramming. Harry looked at them, then at the stope again. +</P> + +<P> +"It ain't coming from 'ere!" he announced. "It's—" then his voice +dropped to a whisper—"what's that?" +</P> + +<P> +Again a rumbling had come from the distance, as of an ore car traveling +over the tram tracks. Harry extinguished his light, and drawing Anita +and Fairchild far to the end of the stope, flattened them and himself +on the ground. A long wait, while the rumbling came closer, still +closer; then, in the distance, a light appeared, shining from a side of +the tunnel. A clanging noise, followed by clattering sounds, as though +of steel rails hitting against each other. Finally the tramming once +more,—and the light approached. +</P> + +<P> +Into view came an ore car, and behind it loomed the great form of +Taylor Bill as he pushed it along. Straight to the pile of ore he +came, unhooked the front of the tram, tripped it and piled the contents +of the car on top of the dump which already rested there. With that, +carbide pointing the way, he turned back, pushing the tram before him. +Harry crept to his feet. +</P> + +<P> +"We 've got to follow!" he whispered. "It's a blind entrance to the +tunnel som'eres." +</P> + +<P> +They rose and trailed the light along the tracks, flattening themselves +against the timbers of the tunnel as the form of Taylor Bill, faintly +outlined in the distance, turned from the regular track, opened a great +door in the side of the tunnel, which, to all appearances, was nothing +more than the ordinary heavy timbering of a weak spot in the rocks, +pulled it far back, then swerved the tram within. Then, he stopped and +raised a portable switch, throwing it into the opening. A second later +the door closed behind him, and the sound of the tram began to fade in +the distance. Harry went forward, creeping along the side of the +tunnel, feeling his way, stopping to listen now and then for the sound +of the fading ore car. Behind him were Fairchild and Anita, following +the same procedure. And all three stopped at once. +</P> + +<P> +The hollow sound was coming directly to them now. Harry once more +brought out his carbide to light it for a moment and to examine the +timbering. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a good job!" he commented. "You could n't tell it five feet off!" +</P> + +<P> +"They 've made a cross-cut!" This time it was Anita's voice, plainly +angry in spite of its whispering tones. "No wonder they had such a +wonderful strike," came scathingly. "That other stope down there—" +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't nothing but a salted proposition," said Harry. "They 've +cemented up the top of it with the real stuff and every once in a while +they blow a lot of it out and cement it up again to make it look like +that's the real vein." +</P> + +<P> +"And they 're working our mine!" Red spots of anger were flashing +before Fairchild's eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"You 've said it! That's why they were so anxious to buy us out. And +that's why they started this two-million-dollar stock proposition, when +they found they could n't do it. They knew if we ever 'it that vein +that it would n't be any time until they 'd be caught on the job. +That's why they 're ready to pull out—with somebody else 's million. +They 're getting at the end of their rope. Another thing; that +explains them working at night." +</P> + +<P> +Anita gritted her teeth. +</P> + +<P> +"I see it now—I can get the reason. They 've been telephoning Denver +and holding conferences and all that sort of thing. And they planned +to leave these two men behind here to take all the blame." +</P> + +<P> +"They'll get enough of it!" added Harry grimly. "They 're miners. +They could see that they were making a straight cross-cut tunnel on to +our vein. They ain't no children, Blindeye and Taylor Bill. And 'ere +'s where they start getting their trouble." +</P> + +<P> +He pulled at the door and it yielded grudgingly. The three slipped +past, following along the line of the tram track in the darkness, +Harry's pick handle swinging beside him as they sneaked along. Rods +that seemed miles; at last lights appeared in the distance. Harry +stopped to peer ahead. Then he tossed aside his weapon. +</P> + +<P> +"There 's only two of 'em—Blindeye and Taylor Bill. I could whip 'em +both myself but I 'll take the big 'un. You—" he turned to +Fairchild—"you get Blindeye." +</P> + +<P> +"I 'll get him." +</P> + +<P> +Anita stopped and groped about for a stone. +</P> + +<P> +"I 'll be ready with something in case of accident," came with +determination. "I 've got a quarter of a million in this myself!" +</P> + +<P> +They went on, fifty yards, a hundred. Creeping now, they already were +within the zone of light, but before them the two men, double-jacking +at a "swimmer", had their backs turned. Onward—until Harry and +Fairchild were within ten feet of the "high-jackers", while Anita +waited, stone in hand, in the background. Came a yell, high-pitched, +fiendish, racking, as Harry leaped forward. And before the two +"high-jackers" could concentrate enough to use their sledge and drill +as weapons, they were whirled about, battered against the hanging wall, +and swirling in a daze of blows which seemed to come from everywhere at +once. Wildly Harry yelled as he shot blow after blow into the face of +an ancient enemy. High went Fairchild's voice as he knocked Blindeye +Bozeman staggering for the third time against the hanging wall, only to +see him rise and to knock him down once more. And from the edge of the +zone of light came a feminine voice, almost hysterical with the +excitement of it all, the voice of a girl who, in her tensity, had +dropped the piece of stone she had carried, to stand there, hands +clenched, figure doubled forward, eyes blazing, and crying: +</P> + +<P> +"Hit him again! Hit him again! Hit him again—for me!" +</P> + +<P> +And Fairchild hit, with the force of a sledge hammer. Dizzily the +sandy-haired man swung about in his tracks, sagged, then fell, +unconscious. Fairchild leaped upon him, calling at the same time to +the girl: +</P> + +<P> +"Find me a rope! I 'll truss his hands while he 's knocked out!" +</P> + +<P> +Anita leaped into action, to kneel at Fairchild's side a moment later +with a hempen strand, as he tied the man's hands behind his back. +There was no need to worry about Harry. The yells which were coming +from farther along the stope, the crackling blows, all told that Harry +was getting along exceedingly well. Glancing out of a corner of his +eye, Fairchild saw now that the big Cornishman had Taylor Bill flat on +his back and was putting on the finishing touches. And then suddenly +the exultant yells changed to ones of command. +</P> + +<P> +"Talk English! Talk English, you bloody blighter! 'Ear me, talk +English!" +</P> + +<P> +"What's he mean?" Anita bent close to Fairchild. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know—I don't think Taylor Bill can talk anything else. Put +your finger on this knot while I tighten it. Thanks." +</P> + +<P> +Again the command had come from farther on: +</P> + +<P> +"Talk English! 'Ear me—I'll knock the bloody 'ell out of you if you +don't. Talk English—like this: 'Throw up your 'ands!' 'Ear me?" +</P> + +<P> +Anita swerved swiftly and went to her feet. Harry looked up at her +wildly, his mustache bristling like the spines of a porcupine. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you 'ear 'im sye it?" he asked. "No? Sye it again!" +</P> + +<P> +"Throw up your 'ands!" came the answer of the beaten man on the ground. +Anita ran forward. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a good deal like it," she answered. "But the tone was higher." +</P> + +<P> +"Raise your tone!" commanded Harry, while Fairchild, finishing his job +of tying his defeated opponent, rose, staring in wonderment. Then the +answer came: +</P> + +<P> +"That's it—that's it. It sounded just like it!" +</P> + +<P> +And Fairchild remembered too,—the English accent of the highwayman on +the night of the Old Times Dance. Harry seemed to bounce on the +prostrate form of his ancient enemy. +</P> + +<P> +"Bill," he shouted, "I 've got you on your back. And I 've got a right +to kill you. 'Onest I 'ave. And I 'll do it too—unless you start +talking. I might as well kill you as not.—It's a penitentiary offense +to 'it a man underground unless there 's a good reason. So I 'm ready +to go the 'ole route. So tell it—tell it and be quick about it. Tell +it—was n't you him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Him—who?" the voice was weak, frightened. +</P> + +<P> +"You know 'oo—the night of the Old Times dance! Didn't you pull that +'old-up?" +</P> + +<P> +There was a long silence. Finally: +</P> + +<P> +"Where's Rodaine?" +</P> + +<P> +"In Center City." It was Anita who spoke. "He 's getting ready to run +away and leave you two to stand the brunt of all this trouble." +</P> + +<P> +Again a silence. And again Harry's voice: +</P> + +<P> +"Tell it. Was n't you the man?" +</P> + +<P> +Once more a long wait. Finally: +</P> + +<P> +"What do I get out of it?" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild moved to the man's side. +</P> + +<P> +"My promise and my partner's promise that if you tell the whole truth, +we 'll do what we can to get you leniency. And you might as well do +it; there 's little chance of you getting away otherwise. As soon as +we can get to the sheriff's office, we 'll have Rodaine under arrest, +anyway. And I don't think that he 's going to hurt himself to help +you. So tell the truth; weren't you the man who held up the Old Times +dance?" +</P> + +<P> +Taylor Bill's breath traveled slowly past his bruised lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Rodaine gave me a hundred dollars to pull it," came finally. +</P> + +<P> +"And you stole the horse and everything—" +</P> + +<P> +"And cached the stuff by the Blue Poppy, so 's I 'd get the blame?" +Harry wiggled his mustache fiercely. "Tell it or I 'll pound your 'ead +into a jelly!" +</P> + +<P> +"That's about the size of it." +</P> + +<P> +But Fairchild was fishing in his pockets for pencil and paper, finally +to bring them forth. +</P> + +<P> +"Not that we doubt your sincerity, Bill," he said sarcastically, "but I +think things would be a bit easier if you'd just write it out. Let him +up, Harry." +</P> + +<P> +The big Cornishman obeyed grudgingly. But as he did so, he shook a +fist at his bruised, battered enemy. +</P> + +<P> +"It ain't against the law to 'it a man when 'e 's a criminal," came at +last. The thing was weighing on Harry's mind. "I don't care anyway if +it is—" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, there 's nothing to that," Anita cut in. "I know all about the +law—father has explained it to me lots of times when there 've been +cases before him. In a thing of this kind, you 've got a right to take +any kind of steps necessary. Stop worrying about it." +</P> + +<P> +"Well," and Harry stood watching a moment as Taylor Bill began the +writing of his confession, "it's such a relief to get four charges off +my mind, that I did n't want to worry about any more. Make hit +fulsome, Bill—tell just 'ow you did it!" +</P> + +<P> +And Taylor Bill, bloody, eyes black, lips bruised, obeyed. Fairchild +took the bescrawled paper and wrote his name as a witness, then handed +it to Harry and Anita for their signatures. At last, he placed it in +his pocket and faced the dolorous high-jacker. +</P> + +<P> +"What else do you know, Bill?" +</P> + +<P> +"About what? Rodaine? Nothing—-except that we were in cahoots on +this cross-cut. There is n't any use denying it"—there had come to +the surface the inherent honor that is in every metal miner, a +stalwartness that may lie dormant, but that, sooner or later, must +rise. There is something about taking wealth from the earth that is +clean. There is something about it which seems honest in its very +nature, something that builds big men in stature and in ruggedness, and +it builds an honor which fights against any attempt to thwart it. +Taylor Bill was finding that honor now. He seemed to straighten. His +teeth bit at his swollen, bruised lips. He turned and faced the three +persons before him. +</P> + +<P> +"Take me down to the sheriff's office," he commanded. "I 'll tell +everything. I don't know so awful much—because I ain't tried to learn +anything more than I could help. But I 'll give up everything I 've +got." +</P> + +<P> +"And how about him?" Fairchild pointed to Blindeye, just regaining +consciousness. Taylor Bill nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"He 'll tell—he 'll have to." +</P> + +<P> +They trussed the big miner then, and dragging Bozeman to his feet, +started out of the cross-cut with them. Harry's carbide pointing the +way through the blind door and into the main tunnel. Then they halted +to bundle themselves tighter against the cold blast that was coming +from without. On—to the mouth of the mine. Then they stopped—short. +</P> + +<P> +A figure showed in the darkness, on horseback. An electric flashlight +suddenly flared against the gleam of the carbide. An exclamation, an +excited command to the horse, and the rider wheeled, rushing down the +mountain side, urging his mount to dangerous leaps, sending him +plunging through drifts where a misstep might mean death, fleeing for +the main road again. Anita Richmond screamed: +</P> + +<P> +"That's Maurice! I got a glimpse of his face! He 's gotten away—go +after him somebody—go after him!" +</P> + +<P> +But it was useless. The horseman had made the road and was speeding +down it. Rushing ahead of the others, Fairchild gained a point of +vantage where he could watch the fading black smudge of the horse and +rider as it went on and on along the rocky road, finally to reach the +main thoroughfare and turn swiftly. Then he went back to join the +others. +</P> + +<P> +"He 's taken the Center City road!" came his announcement. "Is there a +turn-off on it anywhere?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." Anita gave the answer. "It goes straight through—but he 'll +have a hard time making it there in this blizzard. If we only had +horses!" +</P> + +<P> +"They would n't do us much good now! Climb on my back as you did on +Harry's. You can handle these two men alone?" This to his partner. +The Cornishman grunted. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. They won't start anything. Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm going to take Miss Richmond and hurry ahead to the sheriff's +office. He might not believe me. But he 'll take her word—and that +'ll be sufficient until you get there with the prisoners. I 've got to +persuade him to telephone to Center City and head off the Rodaines!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap24"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIV +</H3> + + +<P> +He stooped and Anita, laughing at her posture, clambered upon his back, +her arms about his neck, arms which seemed to shut out the biting blast +of the blizzard as he staggered through the high-piled snow and +downward to the road. There he continued to carry her; Fairchild found +himself wishing that he could carry her forever, and that the road to +the sheriff's office were twenty miles away instead of two. But her +voice cut in on his wishes. +</P> + +<P> +"I can walk now." +</P> + +<P> +"But the drifts—" +</P> + +<P> +"We can get along so much faster!" came her plea. "I 'll hold on to +you—and you can help me along." +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild released her and she seized his arm. For a quarter of a mile +they hurried along, skirting the places where the snow had collected in +breast-high drifts, now and then being forced nearly down to the bank +of the stream to avoid the mountainous piles of fleecy white. Once, as +they floundered through a knee-high mass, Fairchild's arm went quickly +about her waist and he lifted her against him as he literally carried +her through. When they reached the other side, the arm still held its +place,—and she did not resist. Fairchild wanted to whistle, or sing, +or shout. But breath was too valuable—and besides, what little +remained had momentarily been taken from him. A small hand had found +his, where it encircled her. It had rested there, calm and warm and +enthralling, and it told Fairchild more than all the words in the world +could have told just then—that she realized that his arm was about +her—and that she wanted it there. Some way, after that, the stretch +of road faded swiftly. Almost before he realized it, they were at the +outskirts of the city. +</P> + +<P> +Grudgingly he gave up his hold upon her, as they hurried for the +sidewalks and for the sheriff's office. There Fairchild did not +attempt to talk—he left it all to Anita, and Bardwell, the sheriff, +listened. Taylor Bill had confessed to the robbery at the Old Times +dance and to his attempt to so arrange the evidence that the blame +would fall on Harry. Taylor Bill and Blindeye Bozeman had been caught +at work in a cross-cut tunnel which led to the property of the Blue +Poppy mine, and one of them, at least, had admitted that the sole +output of the Silver Queen had come from this thieving encroachment. +Then Anita completed the recital,—of the plans of the Rodaines to +leave and of their departure for Center City. At last, Fairchild +spoke, and he told the happenings which he had encountered in the +ramshackle house occupied by Crazy Laura. It was sufficient. The +sheriff reached for the telephone. +</P> + +<P> +"No need for hurry," he announced. "Young Rodaine can't possibly make +that trip in less than two hours. How long did it take you to come +down here?" +</P> + +<P> +"About an hour, I should judge." +</P> + +<P> +"Then we 've got plenty of time—hello—Central? Long distance, +please. What's that? Yeh—Long Distance. Want to put in a call for +Center City." A long wait, while a metallic voice streamed over the +wire into the sheriff's ear. He hung up the receiver. "Blocked," he +said shortly. "The wire 's down. Three or four poles fell from the +force of the storm. Can't get in there before morning." +</P> + +<P> +"But there 's the telegraph!" +</P> + +<P> +"It 'd take half an hour to get the operator out of bed—office is +closed. Nope. We 'll take the short cut. And we 'll beat him there +by a half-hour!" +</P> + +<P> +Anita started. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean the Argonaut tunnel?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Call up there and tell them to get a motor ready for us to shoot +straight through. We can make it at thirty miles an hour, and the skip +in the Reunion Mine will get us to the surface in five minutes. The +tunnel ends sixteen hundred feet underground, about a thousand feet +from Center City," he explained, as he noted Fairchild's wondering +gaze. "You stay here. We 've got to wait for those prisoners—and +lock 'em up. I 'll be getting my car warmed up to take us to the +tunnel." +</P> + +<P> +Anita already was at the 'phone, and Fairchild sank into a chair, +watching her with luminous eyes. The world was becoming brighter; it +might be night, with a blizzard blowing, to every one else,—but to +Fairchild the sun was shining as it never had shone before. A thumping +sound came from without. Harry entered with his two charges, followed +shortly by Bardwell, the sheriff, while just beneath the office window +a motor roared in the process of "warming up." The sheriff looked from +one to the other of the two men. +</P> + +<P> +"These people have made charges against you," he said shortly. "I want +to know a little more about them before I go any farther. They say you +'ve been high-jacking." +</P> + +<P> +Taylor Bill nodded in the affirmative. +</P> + +<P> +"And that you robbed the Old Times dance and framed the evidence +against this big Cornishman?" +</P> + +<P> +Taylor Bill scraped a foot on the floor. +</P> + +<P> +"It's true. Squint Rodaine wanted me to do it. He 'd been trying for +thirty years to get that Blue Poppy mine. There was some kind of a +mix-up away back there that I did n't know much about—fact is, I did +n't know anything. The Silver Queen didn't amount to much and when +demonetization set in, I quit—you 'll remember, Sheriff—and went +away. I 'd worked for Squint before, and when I came back a couple of +years ago, I naturally went to him for a job again. Then he put this +proposition up to me at ten dollars a day and ten per cent. It looked +too good to be turned down." +</P> + +<P> +"How about you?" Bardwell faced Blindeye. The sandy lashes blinked +and the weak eyes turned toward the floor. +</P> + +<P> +"I—was in on it." +</P> + +<P> +That was enough. The sheriff reached for his keys. A moment more and +a steel door clanged upon the two men while the officer led the way to +his motor car. There he looked quizzically at Anita Richmond, piling +without hesitation into the front seat. +</P> + +<P> +"You going too?" +</P> + +<P> +"I certainly am," and she covered her intensity with a laugh, "there +are a number of things that I want to say to Mr. Maurice Rodaine—and I +have n't the patience to wait!" +</P> + +<P> +Bardwell chuckled. The doors of the car slammed and the engine roared +louder than ever. Soon they were churning along through the driving +snow toward the great buildings of the Argonaut Tunnel Company, far at +the other end of town. There men awaited them, and a tram motor, +together with its operator,—happy in the expectation of a departure +from the usual routine of hauling out the long strings of ore and +refuse cars from the great tunnel which, driving straight through the +mountains, had been built in the boom days to cut the workings of mine +after mine, relieving the owners of those holdings of the necessity of +taking their product by the slow method of burro packs to the +railroads, and gaining for the company a freight business as enriching +as a bonanza itself. The four pursuers took their places on the +benches of the car behind the motor. The trolley was attached. A +great door was opened, allowing the cold blast of the blizzard to whine +within the tunnel. Then, clattering over the frogs, green lights +flashing from the trolley wire, the speeding journey was begun. +</P> + +<P> +It was all new to Fairchild, engrossing, exciting. Close above them +were the ragged rocks of the tunnel roof, seeming to reach down as if +to seize them as they roared and clattered beneath. Seepage dripped at +intervals, flying into their faces like spray as they dashed through +it. Side tracks appeared momentarily when they passed the opening of +some mine where the ore cars stood in long lines, awaiting their turn +to be filled. The air grew warmer. The minutes were passing, and they +were nearing the center of the tunnel. Great gateways sped past them; +the motor smashed over sidetracks and spurs and switches as they +clattered by the various mine openings, the operator reaching above him +to hold the trolley steady as they went under narrow, low places where +the timbers had been placed, thick and heavy, to hold back the sagging +earth above. +</P> + +<P> +Three miles, four, five, while Anita Richmond held close to Fairchild +as the speed became greater and the sparks from the wire above threw +their green, vicious light over the yawning stretch before them. A +last spurt, slightly down-grade, with the motor pushing the wheels at +their greatest velocity; then the crackling of electricity suddenly +ceased, the motor slowed in its progress, finally to stop. The driver +pointed to the right. +</P> + +<P> +"Over there, sheriff—about fifty feet; that's the Reunion opening." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks!" They ran across the spur tracks in the faint light of a +dirty incandescent, gleaming from above. A greasy being faced them and +Bardwell, the sheriff, shouted his mission. +</P> + +<P> +"Got to catch some people that are making a get-away through Center +City. Can you send us up in the skip?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, two at a time." +</P> + +<P> +"All right!" The sheriff turned to Harry. "You and I 'll go on the +first trip and hurry for the Ohadi road. Fairchild and Miss Richmond +will wait for the second and go to Sheriff Mason's office and tell him +what's up. Meet us there," he said to Fairchild, as he went forward. +Already the hoist was working; from far above came the grinding of +wheels on rails as the skip was lowered. A wave of the hand, then +Bardwell and Harry entered the big, steel receptacle. At the wall the +greasy workman pulled three times on the electric signal; a moment more +and the skip with its two occupants had passed out of sight. +</P> + +<P> +A long wait followed while Fairchild strove to talk of many +things,—and failed in all of them. Things were happening too swiftly +for them to be put into crisp sentences by a man whose thoughts were +muddled by the fact that beside him waited a girl in a whipcord riding +suit—the same girl who had leaped from an automobile on the Denver +highway and— +</P> + +<P> +It crystallized things for him momentarily. +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm going to ask you something after a while—something that I 've +wondered and wondered about. I know it was n't anything—but—" +</P> + +<P> +She laughed up at him. +</P> + +<P> +"It did look terrible, didn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it would n't have been so mysterious if you had n't hurried away +so quick. And then—" +</P> + +<P> +"You really did n't think I was the Smelter bandit, did you?" the laugh +still was on her lips. Fairchild scratched his head. +</P> + +<P> +"Darned if I know what I thought. And I don't know what I think yet." +</P> + +<P> +"But you 've managed to live through it." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—but—" +</P> + +<P> +She touched his arm and put on a scowl. +</P> + +<P> +"It's very, very awful!" came in a low, mock-awed voice. "But—" then +the laugh came again—"maybe if you 're good and—well, maybe I 'll +tell you after a while." +</P> + +<P> +"Honest?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I 'm honest! Is n't that the skip?" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild walked to the shaft. But the skip was not in sight. A long +ten minutes they waited, while the great steel carrier made the trip to +the surface with Harry and Sheriff Bardwell, then came lumbering down +again. Fairchild stepped in and lifted Anita to his side. +</P> + +<P> +The journey was made in darkness,—darkness which Fairchild longed to +turn to his advantage, darkness which seemed to call to him to throw +his arms about the girl at his side, to crush her to him, to seek out +with an instinct that needed no guiding light the laughing, pretty lips +which had caused him many a day of happiness, many a day of worried +wonderment. He strove to talk away the desire—but the grinding of the +wheels in the narrow shaft denied that. His fingers twitched, his arms +trembled as he sought to hold back the muscles, then, yielding to the +impulse, he started— +</P> + +<P> +"Da-a-a-g-gone it!" +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing." +</P> + +<P> +But Fairchild was n't telling the truth. They had reached the light +just at the wrong, wrong moment. Out of the skip he lifted her, then +inquired the way to the sheriff's office of this, a new county. The +direction was given, and they went there. They told their story. The +big-shouldered, heavily mustached man at the desk grinned cheerily. +</P> + +<P> +"That there's the best news I 've heard in forty moons," he announced. +"I always did hate that fellow. You say Bardwell and your partner went +out on the Ohadi road to head the young 'un off?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. They had about a fifteen-minute start on us. Do you think—?" +</P> + +<P> +"We 'll wait here. They 're hefty and strong. They can handle him +alone." +</P> + +<P> +But an hour passed without word from the two Searchers. Two more went +by. The sheriff rose from his chair, stamped about the room, and +looked out at the night, a driving, aimless thing in the clutch of a +blizzard. +</P> + +<P> +"Hope they ain't lost," came at last. +</P> + +<P> +"Had n't we better—?" +</P> + +<P> +But a noise from without cut off the conversation. Stamping feet +sounded on the steps, the knob turned, and Sheriff Bardwell, +snow-white, entered, shaking himself like a great dog, as he sought to +rid himself of the effects of the blizzard. +</P> + +<P> +"Hello, Mason," came curtly. +</P> + +<P> +"Hello, Bardwell, what 'd you find?" +</P> + +<P> +The sheriff of Clear Creek county glanced toward Anita Richmond and was +silent. The girl leaped to her feet. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be afraid to talk on my account," she begged. "Where's Harry? +Is he all right? Did he come back with you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—he's back." +</P> + +<P> +"And you found Maurice?" +</P> + +<P> +Bardwell was silent again, biting at the end of his mustache. Then he +squared himself. +</P> + +<P> +"No matter how much a person dislikes another one—it's, it's—always a +shock," came at last. Anita came closer. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean that he 's dead?" +</P> + +<P> +The sheriff nodded, and Fairchild came suddenly to his feet. Anita's +face had grown suddenly old,—the oldness that precedes the youth of +great relief. +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm sorry—for any one who must die," came finally. "But +perhaps—perhaps it was better. Where was he?" +</P> + +<P> +"About a mile out. He must have rushed his horse too hard. The sweat +was frozen all over it—nobody can push a beast like that through these +drifts and keep it alive." +</P> + +<P> +"He did n't know much about riding." +</P> + +<P> +"I should say not. Did n't know much of anything when we got to him. +He was just about gone—tried to stagger to his feet when we came up, +but could n't make it. Kind of acted like he 'd lost his senses +through fear or exposure or something. Asked me who I was, and I said +Bardwell. Seemed to be tickled to hear my name—but he called it +Barnham. Then he got up on his hands and knees and clutched at me and +asked me if I 'd drawn out all the money and had it safe. Just to +humor him, I said I had. He tried to say something after that, but it +was n't much use. The first thing we knew he 'd passed out. That's +where Harry is now—took him over to the mortuary. There isn't anybody +named Barnham, is there?" +</P> + +<P> +"Barnham?" The name had awakened recollections for Fairchild; "why +he's the fellow that—" +</P> + +<P> +But Anita cut in. +</P> + +<P> +"He 's a lawyer in Denver. They 've been sending all the income from +stock sales to him for deposit. If Maurice asked if he 'd gotten the +money out, it must mean that they meant to run with all the proceeds. +We 'll have to telephone Denver." +</P> + +<P> +"Providing the line's working." Bardwell stared at the other sheriff. +"Is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—to Denver." +</P> + +<P> +"Then let's get headquarters in a hurry. You know Captain Lee, don't +you? You do the talking. Tell him to get hold of this fellow Barnham +and pinch him, and then send him up to Ohadi in care of Pete Carr or +some other good officer. We 've got a lot of things to say to him." +</P> + +<P> +The message went through. Then the two sheriffs rose and looked at +their revolvers. +</P> + +<P> +"Now for the tough one." Bardwell made the remark, and Mason smiled +grimly. Fairchild rose and went to them. +</P> + +<P> +"May I go along?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but not the girl. Not this time." +</P> + +<P> +Anita did not demur. She moved to the big rocker beside the old base +burner and curled up in it. Fairchild walked to her side. +</P> + +<P> +"You won't run away," he begged. +</P> + +<P> +"I? Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh—I don't know. It—it just seems too good to be true!" +</P> + +<P> +She laughed and pulled her cap from her head, allowing her wavy, brown +hair to fall about her shoulders, and over her face. Through it she +smiled up at him, and there was something in that smile which made +Fairchild's heart beat faster than ever. +</P> + +<P> +"I 'll be right here," she answered, and with that assurance, he +followed the other two men out into the night. +</P> + +<P> +Far down the street, where the rather bleak outlines of the hotel +showed bleaker than ever in the frigid night, a light was gleaming in a +second-story window. Mason turned to his fellow sheriff. +</P> + +<P> +"He usually stays there. That must be him—waiting for the kid." +</P> + +<P> +"Then we 'd better hurry—before somebody springs the news." +</P> + +<P> +The three entered, to pass the drowsy night clerk, examine the register +and to find that their conjecture had been correct. Tiptoeing, they +went to the door and knocked. A high-pitched voice came from within. +</P> + +<P> +"That you, Maurice?" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild answered in the best imitation he could give. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I 've got Anita with me." +</P> + +<P> +Steps, then the door opened. For just a second, Squint Rodaine stared +at them in ghastly, sickly fashion. Then he moved back into the room, +still facing them. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the idea of this?" came his forced query. Fairchild stepped +forward. +</P> + +<P> +"Simply to tell you that everything 's blown up as far as you 're +concerned, Mr. Rodaine." +</P> + +<P> +"You needn't be so dramatic about it. You act like I 'd committed a +murder! What 've I done that you should—?" +</P> + +<P> +"Just a minute. I would n't try to act innocent. For one thing, I +happened to be in the same house with you one night when you showed +Crazy Laura, your wife, how to make people immortal. And we 'll +probably learn a few more things about your character when we 've +gotten back there and interviewed—" +</P> + +<P> +He stopped his accusations to leap forward, clutching wildly. But in +vain. With a lunge, Squint Rodaine had turned, then, springing high +from the floor, had seemed to double in the air as he crashed through +the big pane of the window and out to the twenty-foot plunge which +awaited him. +</P> + +<P> +Blocked by the form of Fairchild, the two sheriffs sought in vain to +use the guns which they had drawn from their holsters. Hurriedly they +gained the window, but already the form of Rodaine had unrolled itself +from the snow bank into which it had fallen, dived beneath the +protection of the low coping which ran above the first-floor windows of +the hotel, skirted the building in safety and whirled into the alley +that lay beyond. Squint Rodaine was gone. Frantically, Fairchild +turned for the door, but a big hand stopped him. +</P> + +<P> +"Let him go—let him think he 's gotten away," said grizzled Sheriff +Mason. "He ain't got a chance. There 's snow everywhere—and we can +trail him like a hound dawg trailing a rabbit. And I think I know +where he 's bound for. Whatever that was you said about Crazy Laura +hit awful close to home. It ain't going to be hard to find that +rattler!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap25"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXV +</H3> + + +<P> +Fairchild felt the logic of the remark and ceased his worriment. +Quietly, as though nothing had happened, the three men went down the +stairs, passed the sleeping night clerk and headed back to the +sheriff's office, where waited Anita and Harry, who had completed his +last duties in regard to the chalky-faced Maurice Rodaine. The +telephone jangled. It was Denver. Mason talked a moment over the +wire, then turned to his fellow officer. +</P> + +<P> +"They 've got Barnham. He was in his office, evidently waiting for a +call from here. What's more, he had close to a million dollars in +currency strapped around him. Pete Carr 's bringing him and the boodle +up to Ohadi on the morning train. Guess we 'd better stir up some +horses now and chase along, had n't we?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and get a gentle one for me," cautioned Harry. "It's been eight +years since I 've sit on the 'urricane deck of a 'orse!" +</P> + +<P> +"That goes for me too," laughed Fairchild. +</P> + +<P> +"And me—I like automobiles better," Anita was twisting her long hair +into a braid, to be once more shoved under her cap. Fairchild looked +at her with a new sense of proprietorship. +</P> + +<P> +"You 're not going to be warm enough!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, I will." +</P> + +<P> +"But—" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll end the argument," boomed old Sheriff Mason, dragging a heavy fur +coat from a closet. "If she gets cold in this—I 'm crazy." +</P> + +<P> +There was little chance. In fact, the only difficulty was to find the +girl herself, once she and the great coat were on the back of a saddle +horse. The start was made. Slowly the five figures circled the hotel +and into the alley, to follow the tracks in the snow to a barn far at +the edge of town. They looked within. A horse and saddle were +missing, and the tracks in the snow pointed the way they had gone. +There was nothing necessary but to follow. +</P> + +<P> +A detour, then the tracks led the way to the Ohadi road, and behind +them came the pursuers, heads down against the wind, horses snorting +and coughing as they forced their way through the big drifts, each +following one another for the protection it afforded. A long, silent, +cold-gripped two hours,—then finally the lights of Ohadi. +</P> + +<P> +But even then the trail was not difficult. The little town was asleep; +hardly a track showed in the streets beyond the hoofprints of a horse +leading up the principal thoroughfare and on out to the Georgeville +road. Onward, until before them was the bleak, rat-ridden old +roadhouse which formed Laura's home, and a light was gleaming within. +</P> + +<P> +Silently the pursuers dismounted and started forward, only to stop +short. A scream had come to them, faint in the bluster of the storm, +the racking scream of a woman in a tempest of anger. Suddenly the +light seemed to bob about in the old house; it showed first at one +window—then another—as though some one were running from room to +room. Once two gaunt shadows stood forth—of a crouching man and a +woman, one hand extended in the air, as she whirled the lamp before her +for an instant and brought herself between its rays and those who +watched. +</P> + +<P> +Again the chase and then the scream, louder than ever, accompanied by +streaking red flame which spread across the top floor like wind-blown +spray. Shadows weaved before the windows, while the flames seemed to +reach out and enwrap every portion of the upper floor. The staggering +figure of a man with the blaze all about him was visible; then a woman +who rushed past him. Groping as though blinded, the burning form of +the man weaved a moment before a window, clawing in a futile attempt to +open it, the flames, which seemed to leap from every portion of his +body, enwrapping him. Slowly, a torch-like, stricken thing, he sank +out of sight, and as the pursuers outside rushed forward, the figure of +a woman appeared on the old veranda, half naked, shrieking, carrying +something tightly locked in her arms, and plunged down the steps into +the snow. +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild, circling far to one side, caught her, and with all his +strength resisted her squirming efforts until Harry and Bardwell had +come to his assistance. It was Crazy Laura, the contents of her arms +now showing in the light of the flames as they licked every window of +the upper portion of the house,—five heavy, sheepskin-bound books of +the ledger type, wrapped tight in a grasp that not even Harry could +loosen. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't take them from me!" the insane woman screamed. "He tried it, +didn't he? And where 's he now—up there burning! He hit me—and I +threw the lamp at him! He wanted my books—he wanted to take them away +from me—but I would n't let him. And you can't have them—hear +me—let go of my arm—let go!" +</P> + +<P> +She bit at them. She twisted and butted them with her gray head. She +screamed and squirmed,—at last to weaken. Slowly Harry forced her +arms aside and took from them the precious contents,—whatever they +might be. Grimly old Sheriff Mason wrapped her in his coat and led her +to a horse, there to force her to mount and ride with him into town. +The house—with Squint Rodaine—was gone. Already the flame was +breaking through the roof in a dozen places. It would be ashes before +the antiquated fire department of the little town of Ohadi could reach +there. +</P> + +<P> +Back in the office of Sheriff Bardwell the books—were opened, and +Fairchild uttered an exclamation. +</P> + +<P> +"Harry! Did n't she talk about her books at the Coroner's inquest?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yeh. That's them. Them 's her dairy." +</P> + +<P> +"Diary," Anita corrected. "Everybody knows about that—she writes +everything down in there. And the funny part about it, they say, is +that when she's writing, her mind is straight and she knows what she's +done and tells about it. They 've tried her out." +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild was leaning forward. +</P> + +<P> +"See if there 's any entry along early in July—about the time of the +inquest." +</P> + +<P> +Bardwell turned the closely written pages, with their items set forth +with a slight margin and a double line dividing them from the events +tabulated above. At last he stopped. +</P> + +<P> +"Testified to-day at the inquest," he read. "I lied. Roady made me do +it. I never saw anybody quarreling. Besides, I did it myself." +</P> + +<P> +"What's she mean—did it herself?" the sheriff looked up. "Guess we +'ll have to go 'way back for that." +</P> + +<P> +"First let's see how accurate the thing is," Fairchild interrupted. +"See if there 's an item under November 9 of this year." +</P> + +<P> +The sheriff searched, then read: +</P> + +<P> +"I dug a grave to-night. It was not filled. The immortal thing left +me. I knew it would. Roady had come and told me to dig a grave and +put it in there. I did. We filled it with quicklime. Then we went +upstairs and it was gone. I do not understand it. If Roady wanted me +to kill him, why did n't he say so. I will kill if Roady will be good +to me. I 've killed before for him." +</P> + +<P> +"Still referring to somebody she 's killed," cut in Anita. "I wonder +if it could be possible—" +</P> + +<P> +"I 've just thought of the date!" Harry broke in excitedly. "It was +along about June 7, 1892. I 'm sure it was around there." +</P> + +<P> +The old books were mulled over, one after the other. At last Bardwell +leaned forward and pointed to a certain page. +</P> + +<P> +"Here's an item under May 28. It says: 'Roady has been at me again! +He wants me to fix things so that the three men in the Blue Poppy mine +will get caught in there by a cave-in.'" The sheriff looked up. "This +seems to read a little better than the other stuff. It's not so +jagged. Don't guess she was as much off her nut then as she is now. +Let's see. Where 's the place? Oh, yes: 'If I 'll help him, I can +have half, and we 'll live together again, and he 'll be good to me and +I can have the boy. I know what it's all about. He wants to get the +mine without Sissie Larsen having anything to do with it. Sissie has +cemented up the hole he drilled into the pay ore and has n't told +Fairchild about it, because he thinks Roady will go partnerships with +him and help him buy in. But Roady won't do it. He wants that extra +money for me. He told me so. Roady is good to me sometimes. He +kisses me and makes over me just like he did the night our boy was +born. But that's when he wants me to do something. If he 'll keep his +promise I 'll fix the mine so they won't get out. Then we can buy it +at public sale or from the heirs; and Roady and I will live together +again.'" +</P> + +<P> +"The poor old soul," there was aching sympathy in Anita Richmond's +voice. "I—I can't help it if she was willing to kill people. The +poor old thing was crazy." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and she 's 'ad us bloody near crazy too. Maybe there 's another +entry." +</P> + +<P> +"I 'm coming to it. It's along in June. The date 's blurred. Listen: +'I did what Roady wanted me to. I sneaked into the mine and planted +dynamite in the timbers. I wanted to wait until the third man was +there, but I could n't. Fairchild and Larsen were fussing. Fairchild +had learned about the hole and wanted to know what Larsen had found. +Finally Larsen pulled a gun and shot Fairchild. He fell, and I knew he +was dead. Then Larsen bent over him, and when he did I hit him—on the +head with a single-jack hammer. Then I set off the charge. Nobody +ever will know how it happened unless they find the bullet or the gun. +I don't care if they do. Roady wanted me to do it.'" +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild started to speak, but the sheriff stopped him. +</P> + +<P> +"Wait, here 's another item: +</P> + +<P> +"'I failed. I did n't kill either of them. They got out someway and +drove out of town to-night. Roady is mad at me. He won't come near +me. And I 'm so lonesome for him!'" +</P> + +<P> +"The explanation!" Fairchild almost shouted it as he seized the book +and read it again. "Sheriff, I 've got to make a confession. My +father always thought that he had killed a man. Not that he told +me—but I could guess it easily enough, from other things that +happened. When he came to, he found a single-jack hammer lying beside +him, and Larsen's body across him. Could n't he naturally believe that +he had killed him while in a daze? He was afraid of Rodaine—that +Rodaine would get up a lynching party and string him up. Harry here +and Mrs. Howard helped him out of town. And this is the explanation!" +</P> + +<P> +Bardwell smiled quizzically. +</P> + +<P> +"It looks like there 's going to be a lot of explanations. What time +was it when you were trapped in that mine, Harkins?" +</P> + +<P> +"Along about the first of November." +</P> + +<P> +The sheriff turned to the page. It was there,—the story of Crazy +Laura and her descent into the Blue Poppy mine, and again the charge of +dynamite which wrecked the tunnel. With a little sigh, Bardwell closed +the book and looked out at the dawn, forcing its way through the +blinding snow. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I guess we 'll find a lot of things in this old book," came at +last. "But I think right now that the best thing any of us can find is +a little sleep." +</P> + +<P> +Rest,—rest for five wearied persons, but the rest of contentment and +peace. And late in the afternoon, three of them were gathered in the +old-fashioned parlor of Mother Howard's boarding house, waiting for the +return of that dignitary from a sudden mission upon which Anita +Richmond had sent her, involving a trip to the old Richmond mansion. +Harry turned away from his place at the window. +</P> + +<P> +"The district attorney 'ad a long talk with Barnham," he announced, +"and 'e 's figured out a wye for all the stock'olders in the Silver +Queen to get what's coming to them. As it is, they's about a 'unnerd +thousand short some'eres." +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild looked up. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the scheme?" +</P> + +<P> +"To call a meeting of the stock'olders and transfer all that money over +to a special fund to buy Blue Poppy stock. We 'll 'ave to raise money +anyway to work the mine like we ought to. And it 'd cost something. +You always 'ave to underwrite that sort of thing. I sort of like it, +even if we 'd 'ave to sell stock a little below par. It 'd keep Ohadi +from getting a bad name and all that." +</P> + +<P> +"I think so too." Anita Richmond laughed, "It suits me fine." +</P> + +<P> +Fairchild looked down at her and smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"I guess that's the answer," he said. "Of course that does n't include +the Rodaine stock. In other words, we give a lot of disappointed +stockholders par value for about ninety cents on the dollar. But +Farrell can look after all that. He 's got to have something to keep +him busy as attorney for the company." +</P> + +<P> +A step on the veranda, and Mother Howard entered, a package under her +arm, which she placed in Anita's lap. The girl looked up at the man +who stood beside her. +</P> + +<P> +"I promised," she said, "that I 'd tell you about the Denver road." +</P> + +<P> +He leaned close. +</P> + +<P> +"That is n't all you promised—just before I left you this morning," +came his whispered voice, and Harry, at the window, doubled in laughter. +</P> + +<P> +"Why did n't you speak it all out?" he gurgled. "I 'eard every word." +</P> + +<P> +Anita's eyes snapped. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I don't guess that's any worse than me standing behind the +folding doors listening to you and Mother Howard gushing like a couple +of sick doves!" +</P> + +<P> +"That 'olds me," announced Harry. "That 'olds me. I ain't got a word +to sye!" +</P> + +<P> +Anita laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"Persons who live in glass houses, you know. But about this +explanation. I 'm going to ask a hypothetical question. Suppose you +and your family were in the clutches of persons who were always trying +to get you into a position where you 'd be more at their mercy. And +suppose an old friend of the family wanted to make the family a present +and called up from Denver for you to come on down and get it—not for +yourself, but just to have around in case of need. Then suppose you +went to Denver, got the valuable present and then, just when you were +getting up speed to make the first grade on Lookout, you heard a shot +behind you and looked around to see the sheriff coming. And if he +caught you, it 'd mean a lot of worry and the worst kind of gossip, and +maybe you 'd have to go to jail for breaking laws and everything like +that? In a case of that kind, what'd you do?" +</P> + +<P> +"Run to beat bloody 'ell!" blurted out Harry. +</P> + +<P> +"And that's just what she did," added Fairchild. "I know because I saw +her." +</P> + +<P> +Anita was unwrapping the package. +</P> + +<P> +"And seeing that I did run," she added with a laugh, "and got away with +it, who would like to share in what remains of one beautiful bottle of +Manhattan cocktails?" +</P> + +<P> +There was not one dissenting voice! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> +<hr class="full" noshade> + +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CROSS-CUT***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 20104-h.txt or 20104-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/0/1/0/20104">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/1/0/20104</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL">http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL</a> + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** +</pre> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/20104-h/images/img-front.jpg b/20104-h/images/img-front.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b2c6ca3 --- /dev/null +++ b/20104-h/images/img-front.jpg diff --git a/20104.txt b/20104.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bb7858c --- /dev/null +++ b/20104.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9658 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Cross-Cut, by Courtney Ryley Cooper, +Illustrated by George W. Gage + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Cross-Cut + + +Author: Courtney Ryley Cooper + + + +Release Date: December 13, 2006 [eBook #20104] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CROSS-CUT*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustration. + See 20104-h.htm or 20104-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/0/1/0/20104/20104-h/20104-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/0/1/0/20104/20104-h.zip) + + + + + +THE CROSS-CUT + +by + +COURTNEY RYLEY COOPER + +With Frontispiece by George W. Gage + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: Carbide pointing the way, he turned back, pushing the +tram before him.] + + + +Boston +Little, Brown, and Company +1921 +Copyright, 1921, +by Little, Brown, and Company. +All rights reserved +Published May, 1921 + + + + +TO + +G. F. C. + + +I'VE THREATENED YOU WITH A DEDICATION + +FOR A LONG TIME AND HERE IT IS! + + + + +THE CROSS-CUT + + +CHAPTER I + +It was over. The rambling house, with its rickety, old-fashioned +furniture--and its memories--was now deserted, except for Robert +Fairchild, and he was deserted within it, wandering from room to room, +staring at familiar objects with the unfamiliar gaze of one whose +vision suddenly has been warned by the visitation of death and the +sense of loneliness that it brings. + +Loneliness, rather than grief, for it had been Robert Fairchild's +promise that he would not suffer in heart for one who had longed to go +into a peace for which he had waited, seemingly in vain. Year after +year, Thornton Fairchild had sat in the big armchair by the windows, +watching the days grow old and fade into night, studying sunset after +sunset, voicing the vain hope that the gloaming might bring the +twilight of his own existence,--a silent man except for this, rarely +speaking of the past, never giving to the son who worked for him, cared +for him, worshiped him, the slightest inkling of what might have +happened in the dim days of the long ago to transform him into a beaten +thing, longing for the final surcease. And when the end came, it found +him in readiness, waiting in the big armchair by the windows. Even +now, a book lay on the frayed carpeting of the old room, where it had +fallen from relaxing fingers. Robert Fairchild picked it up, and with +a sigh restored it to the grim, fumed oak case. His days of petty +sacrifices that his father might while away the weary hours with +reading were over. + +Memories! They were all about him, in the grate with its blackened +coals, the old-fashioned pictures on the walls, the almost gloomy +rooms, the big chair by the window, and yet they told him nothing +except that a white-haired, patient, lovable old man was gone,--a man +whom he was wont to call "father." And in that going, the slow +procedure of an unnatural existence had snapped for Robert Fairchild. +As he roamed about in his loneliness, he wondered what he would do now, +where he could go; to whom he could talk. He had worked since sixteen, +and since sixteen there had been few times when he had not come home +regularly each night, to wait upon the white-haired man in the big +chair, to discern his wants instinctively, and to sit with him, often +in silence, until the old onyx clock on the mantel had clanged eleven; +it had been the same program, day, week, month and year. And now +Robert Fairchild was as a person lost. The ordinary pleasures of youth +had never been his; he could not turn to them with any sort of grace. +The years of servitude to a beloved master had inculcated within him +the feeling of self-impelled sacrifice; he had forgotten all thought of +personal pleasures for their sake alone. The big chair by the window +was vacant, and it created a void which Robert Fairchild could neither +combat nor overcome. + +What had been the past? Why the silence? Why the patient, yet +impatient wait for death? The son did not know. In all his memories +was only one faint picture, painted years before in babyhood: the +return of his father from some place, he knew not where, a long +conference with his mother behind closed doors, while he, in childlike +curiosity, waited without, seeking in vain to catch some explanation. +Then a sad-faced woman who cried at night when the house was still, who +faded and who died. That was all. The picture carried no explanation. + +And now Robert Fairchild stood on the threshold of something he almost +feared to learn. Once, on a black, stormy night, they had sat +together, father and son before the fire, silent for hours. Then the +hand of the white-haired man had reached outward and rested for a +moment on the young man's knee. + +"I wrote something to you, Boy, a day or so ago," he had said. "That +little illness I had prompted me to do it. I--I thought it was only +fair to you. After I 'm gone, look in the safe. You 'll find the +combination on a piece of paper hidden in a hole cut in that old +European history in the bookcase. I have your promise, I know--that +you 'll not do it until after I 'm gone." + +Now Thornton Fairchild was gone. But a message had remained behind; +one which the patient lips evidently had feared to utter during life. +The heart of the son began to pound, slow and hard, as, with the memory +of that conversation, he turned toward the bookcase and unlatched the +paneled door. A moment more and the hollowed history had given up its +trust, a bit of paper scratched with numbers. Robert Fairchild turned +toward the stairs and the small room on the second floor which had +served as his father's bedroom. + +There he hesitated before the little iron safe in the corner, summoning +the courage to unlock the doors of a dead man's past. At last he +forced himself to his knees and to the numerals of the combination. + +The safe had not been opened in years; that was evident from the +creaking of the plungers as they fell, the gummy resistance of the knob +as Fairchild turned it in accordance with the directions on the paper. +Finally, a great wrench, and the bolt was drawn grudgingly back; a +strong pull, and the safe opened. + +A few old books; ledgers in sheepskin binding. Fairchild disregarded +these for the more important things that might lie behind the little +inner door of the cabinet. His hand went forward, and he noticed, in a +hazy sort of way, that it was trembling. The door was unlocked; he +drew it open and crouched a moment, staring, before he reached for the +thinner of two envelopes which lay before him. A moment later he +straightened and turned toward the light. A crinkling of paper, a +quick-drawn sigh between clenched teeth; it was a letter; his strange, +quiet, hunted-appearing father was talking to him through the medium of +ink and paper, after death. + +Closely written, hurriedly, as though to finish an irksome task in as +short a space as possible, the missive was one of several pages,--pages +which Robert Fairchild hesitated to read. The secret--and he knew full +well that there was a secret--had been in the atmosphere about him ever +since he could remember. Whether or not this was the solution of it, +Robert Fairchild did not know, and the natural reticence with which he +had always approached anything regarding his father's life gave him an +instinctive fear, a sense of cringing retreat from anything that might +now open the doors of mystery. But it was before him, waiting in his +father's writing, and at last his gaze centered; he read: + + +My son: + +Before I begin this letter to you I must ask that you take no action +whatever until you have seen my attorney--he will be yours from now on. +I have never mentioned him to you before; it was not necessary and +would only have brought you curiosity which I could not have satisfied. +But now, I am afraid, the doors must be unlocked. I am gone. You are +young, you have been a faithful son and you are deserving of every good +fortune that may possibly come to you. I am praying that the years +have made a difference, and that Fortune may smile upon you as she +frowned on me. Certainly, she can injure me no longer. My race is +run; I am beyond earthly fortunes. + +Therefore, when you have finished with this, take the deeds inclosed in +the larger envelope and go to St. Louis. There, look up Henry F. +Beamish, attorney-at-law, in the Princess Building. He will explain +them to you. + +Beyond this, I fear, there is little that can aid you. I cannot find +the strength, now that I face it, to tell you what you may find if you +follow the lure that the other envelope holds forth to you. + +There is always the hope that Fortune may be kind to me at last, and +smile upon my memory by never letting you know why I have been the sort +of man you have known, and not the jovial, genial companion that a +father should be. But there are certain things, my son, which defeat a +man. It killed your mother--every day since her death I have been +haunted by that fact; my prayer is that it may not kill you, +spiritually, if not physically. Therefore is it not better that it +remain behind a cloud until such time as Fortune may reveal it--and +hope that such a time will never come? I think so--not for myself, for +when you read this, I shall be gone; but for you, that you may not be +handicapped by the knowledge of the thing which whitened my hair and +aged me, long before my time. + +If he lives, and I am sure he does, there is one who will hurry to your +aid as soon as he knows you need him. Accept his counsels, laugh at +his little eccentricities if you will, but follow his judgment +implicitly. Above all, ask him no questions that he does not care to +answer--there are things that he may not deem wise to tell. It is only +fair that he be given the right to choose his disclosures. + +There is little more to say. Beamish will attend to everything for +you--if you care to go. Sell everything that is here; the house, the +furniture, the belongings. It is my wish, and you will need the +capital--if you go. The ledgers in the safe are only old accounts +which would be so much Chinese to you now. Burn them. There is +nothing else to be afraid of--I hope you will never find anything to +fear. And if circumstances should arise to bring before you the story +of that which has caused me so much darkness, I have nothing to say in +self-extenuation. I made one mistake--that of fear--and in committing +one error, I shouldered every blame. It makes little difference now. +I am dead--and free. + +My love to you, my son. I hope that wealth and happiness await you. +Blood of my blood flows in your veins--and strange though it may sound +to you--it is the blood of an adventurer. I can almost see you smile +at that! An old man who sat by the window, staring out; afraid of +every knock at the door--and yet an adventurer! But they say, once in +the blood, it never dies. My wish is that you succeed where I +failed--and God be with you! + +Your father. + + +For a long moment Robert Fairchild stood staring at the letter, his +heart pounding with excitement, his hands grasping the foolscap paper +as though with a desire to tear through the shield which the written +words had formed about a mysterious past and disclose that which was so +effectively hidden. So much had the letter told--and yet so little! +Dark had been the hints of some mysterious, intangible thing, great +enough in its horror and its far-reaching consequences to cause death +for one who had known of it and a living panic for him who had +perpetrated it. As for the man who stood now with the letter clenched +before him, there was promise of wealth, and the threat of sorrow, the +hope of happiness, yet the foreboding omen of discoveries which might +ruin the life of the reader as the existence of the writer had been +blasted,--until death had brought relief. Of all this had the letter +told, but when Robert Fairchild read it again in the hope of something +tangible, something that might give even a clue to the reason for it +all, there was nothing. In that super-calmness which accompanies great +agitation, Fairchild folded the paper, placed it in its envelope, then +slipped it into an inside pocket. A few steps and he was before the +safe once more and reaching for the second envelope. + +Heavy and bulky was this, filled with tax receipts, with plats and +blueprints and the reports of surveyors. Here was an assay slip, +bearing figures and notations which Robert Fairchild could not +understand. Here a receipt for money received, here a vari-colored map +with lines and figures and conglomerate designs which Fairchild +believed must relate in some manner to the location of a mining camp; +all were aged and worn at the edges, giving evidence of having been +carried, at some far time of the past, in a wallet. More receipts, +more blueprints, then a legal document, sealed and stamped, and bearing +the words: + + + County of Clear Creek, ) ss. + State of Colorado. ) + +DEED PATENT. + +KNOW ALL MEN BY THESE PRESENTS: That on this day of our Lord, February +22, 1892, Thornton W. Fairchild, having presented the necessary +affidavits and statements of assessments accomplished in accordance +with-- + + +On it trailed in endless legal phraseology, telling in muddled, +attorney-like language, the fact that the law had been fulfilled in its +requirements, and that the claim for which Thornton Fairchild had +worked was rightfully his, forever. A longer statement full of +figures, of diagrams and surveyor's calculations which Fairchild could +neither decipher nor understand, gave the location, the town site and +the property included within the granted rights. It was something for +an attorney, such as Beamish, to interpret, and Fairchild reached for +the age-yellowed envelope to return the papers to their resting place. +But he checked his motion involuntarily and for a moment held the +envelope before him, staring at it with wide eyes. Then, as though to +free by the stronger light of the window the haunting thing which faced +him, he rose and hurried across the room, to better light, only to find +it had not been imagination; the words still were before him, a +sentence written in faint, faded ink proclaiming the contents to be +"Papers relating to the Blue Poppy Mine", and written across this a +word in the bolder, harsher strokes of a man under stress of emotion, a +word which held the eyes of Robert Fairchild fixed and staring, a word +which spelled books of the past and evil threats of the future, the +single, ominous word: + +"Accursed!" + + + + +CHAPTER II + +One works quickly when prodded by the pique of curiosity. And in spite +of all that omens could foretell, in spite of the dull, gloomy life +which had done its best to fashion a matter-of-fact brain for Robert +Fairchild, one sentence in that letter had found an echo, had started a +pulsating something within him that he never before had known: + +"--It is the blood of an adventurer." + +And it seemed that Robert Fairchild needed no more than the knowledge +to feel the tingle of it; the old house suddenly became stuffy and +prison-like as he wandered through it. Within his pocket were two +envelopes filled with threats of the future, defying him to advance and +fight it out,--whatever _it_ might be. Again and again pounded through +his head the fact that only a night of travel intervened between +Indianapolis and St. Louis; within twelve hours he could be in the +office of Henry Beamish. And then-- + +A hurried resolution. A hasty packing of a traveling bag and the +cashing of a check at the cigar store down on the corner. A wakeful +night while the train clattered along upon its journey. Then morning +and walking of streets until office hours. At last: + +"I 'm Robert Fairchild," he said, as he faced a white-haired, +Cupid-faced man in the rather dingy offices of the Princess Building. +A slow smile spread over the pudgy features of the genial appearing +attorney, and he waved a fat hand toward the office's extra chair. + +"Sit down, Son," came casually. "Need n't have announced yourself. I +'d have known you--just like your father, Boy. How is he?" Then his +face suddenly sobered. "I 'm afraid your presence is the answer. Am I +right?" + +Fairchild nodded gravely. The old attorney slowly placed his fat hands +together, peaking the fingers, and stared out of the window to the +grimy roof and signboards of the next building. + +"Perhaps it's better so," he said at last. "We had n't seen each other +in ten years--not since I went up to Indianapolis to have my last talk +with him. Did he get any cheerier before--he went?" + +"No." + +"Just the same, huh? Always waiting?" + +"Afraid of every step on the veranda, of every knock at the door." + +Again the attorney stared out of the window. + +"And you?" + +"I?" Fairchild leaned forward in his chair. "I don't understand." + +"Are you afraid?" + +"Of what?" + +The lawyer smiled. + +"I don't know. Only--" and he leaned forward--"it's just as though I +were living my younger days over this morning. It doesn't seem any +time at all since your father was sitting just about where you are now, +and gad, Boy, how much you look like he looked that morning! The same +gray-blue, earnest eyes, the same dark hair, the same strong shoulders, +and good, manly chin, the same build--and look of determination about +him. The call of adventure was in his blood, and he sat there all +enthusiastic, telling me what he intended doing and asking my +advice--although he would n't have followed it if I had given it. Back +home was a baby and the woman he loved, and out West was sudden wealth, +waiting for the right man to come along and find it. Gad!" +White-haired old Beamish chuckled with the memory of it. "He almost +made me throw over the law business that morning and go out adventuring +with him! Then four years later," the tone changed suddenly, "he came +back." + +"What then?" Fairchild was on the edge of his chair. But Beamish only +spread his hands. + +"Truthfully, Boy, I don't know. I have guessed--but I won't tell you +what. All I know is that your father found what he was looking for and +was on the point of achieving his every dream, when something happened. +Then three men simply disappeared from the mining camp, announcing that +they had failed and were going to hunt new diggings. That was all. +One of them was your father--" + +"But you said that he 'd found--" + +"Silver, running twenty ounces to the ton on an eight-inch vein which +gave evidences of being only the beginning of a bonanza! I know, +because he had written me that, a month before." + +"And he abandoned it?" + +"He 'd forgotten what he had written when I saw him again. I did n't +question him. I did n't want to--his face told me enough to guess that +I would n't learn. He went home then, after giving me enough money to +pay the taxes on the mine for the next twenty years, simply as his +attorney and without divulging his whereabouts. I did it. Eight years +or so later, I saw him in Indianapolis. He gave me more money--enough +for eleven or twelve years--" + +"And that was ten years ago?" Robert Fairchild's eyes were reminiscent. +"I remember--I was only a kid. He sold off everything he had, except +the house." + +Henry Beamish walked to his safe and fumbled there a moment, to return +at last with a few slips of paper. + +"Here 's the answer," he said quietly, "the taxes are paid until 1922." + +Robert Fairchild studied the receipts carefully--futilely. They told +him nothing. The lawyer stood looking down upon him; at last he laid a +hand on his shoulder. + +"Boy," came quietly, "I know just about what you 're thinking. I 've +spent a few hours at the same kind of a job myself, and I 've called +old Henry Beamish more kinds of a fool than you can think of for not +coming right out flat-footed and making Thornton tell me the whole +story. But some way, when I 'd look into those eyes with the fire all +dead and ashen within them, and see the lines of an old man in his +young face, I--well, I guess I 'm too soft-hearted to make folks +suffer. I just couldn't do it!" + +"So you can tell me nothing?" + +"I 'm afraid that's true--in one way. In another I 'm a fund of +information. To-night you and I will go to Indianapolis and probate +the will--it's simple enough; I 've had it in my safe for ten years. +After that, you become the owner of the Blue Poppy mine, to do with as +you choose." + +"But--" + +The old lawyer chuckled. + +"Don't ask my advice, Boy. I have n't any. Your father told me what +to do if you decided to try your luck--and silver 's at $1.29. It +means a lot of money for anybody who can produce pay ore--unless what +he said about the mine pinching out was true." + +Again the thrill of a new thing went through Robert Fairchild's veins, +something he never had felt until twelve hours before; again the urge +for strange places, new scenes, the fire of the hunt after the hidden +wealth of silver-seamed hills. Somewhere it lay awaiting him; nor did +he even know in what form. Robert Fairchild's life had been a plodding +thing of books and accounts, of high desks which as yet had failed to +stoop his shoulders, of stuffy offices which had been thwarted so far +in their grip at his lung power; the long walk in the morning and the +tired trudge homeward at night to save petty carfare for a silent man's +pettier luxuries had looked after that. But the recoil had not exerted +itself against an office-cramped brain, a dusty ledger-filled life that +suddenly felt itself crying out for the free, open country, without +hardly knowing what the term meant. Old Beamish caught the light in +the eyes, the quick contraction of the hands, and smiled. + +"You don't need to tell me, Son," he said slowly. "I can see the +symptoms. You 've got the fever--You 're going to work that mine. +Perhaps," and he shrugged his shoulders, "it's just as well. But there +are certain things to remember." + +"Name them." + +"Ohadi is thirty-eight miles from Denver. That's your goal. Out +there, they 'll tell you how the mine caved in, and how Thornton +Fairchild, who had worked it, together with his two men, Harry Harkins, +a Cornishman, and 'Sissie' Larsen, a Swede, left town late one night +for Cripple Creek--and that they never came back. That's the story +they 'll tell you. Agree with it. Tell them that Harkins, as far as +you know, went back to Cornwall, and that you have heard vaguely that +Larsen later followed the mining game farther out West." + +"Is it the truth?" + +"How do I know? It 's good enough--people should n't ask questions. +Tell nothing more than that--and be careful of your friends. There is +one man to watch--if he is still alive. They call him 'Squint' +Rodaine, and he may or may not still be there. I don't know--I 'm only +sure of the fact that your father hated him, fought him and feared him. +The mine tunnel is two miles up Kentucky Gulch and one hundred yards to +the right. A surveyor can lead you to the very spot. It's been +abandoned now for thirty years. What you 'll find there is more than I +can guess. But, Boy," and his hand clenched tight on Robert +Fairchild's shoulder, "whatever you do, whatever you run into, whatever +friends or enemies you find awaiting you, don't let that light die out +of your eyes and don't pull in that chin! If you find a fight on your +hands, whether it's man, beast or nature, sail into it! If you run +into things that cut your very heart out to learn--beat 'em down and +keep going! And win! There--that's all the advice I know. Meet me at +the 11:10 train for Indianapolis. Good-by." + +"Good-by--I 'll be there." Fairchild grasped the pudgy hand and left +the office. For a moment afterward, old Henry Beamish stood thinking +and looking out over the dingy roof adjacent. Then, somewhat absently, +he pressed the ancient electric button for his more ancient +stenographer. + +"Call a messenger, please," he ordered when she entered, "I want to +send a cablegram." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +Two weeks later, Robert Fairchild sat in the smoking compartment of the +Overland Limited, looking at the Rocky Mountains in the distance. In +his pocket were a few hundred dollars; in the bank in Indianapolis a +few thousand, representing the final proceeds of the sale of everything +that had connected him with a rather dreary past. Out before him-- + +The train had left Limon Junction on its last, clattering, rushing leg +of the journey across the plains, tearing on through a barren country +of tumbleweed, of sagebrush, of prairie-dog villages and jagged arroyos +toward the great, crumpled hills in the distance,--hills which meant +everything to Robert Fairchild. Two weeks had created a metamorphosis +in what had been a plodding, matter-of-fact man with dreams which did +not extend beyond his ledgers and his gloomy home--but now a man +leaning his head against the window of a rushing train, staring ahead +toward the Rockies and the rainbow they held for him. Back to the +place where his father had gone with dreams aglow was the son traveling +now,--back into the rumpled mountains where the blue haze hung low and +protecting as though over mysteries and treasures which awaited one man +and one alone. Robert Fairchild momentarily had forgotten the +foreboding omens which, like murky shadows, had been cast in his path +by a beaten, will-broken father. He only knew that he was young, that +he was strong, that he was free from the drudgery which had sought to +claim him forever; he felt only the surge of excitement that can come +with new surroundings, new country, new life. Out there before him, as +the train rattled over culverts spanning the dry arroyos, or puffed +gingerly up the grades toward the higher levels of the plains, were the +hills, gray and brown in the foreground, blue as the blue sea farther +on, then fringing into the sun-pinked radiance of the snowy range, +forming the last barrier against a turquoise sky. It thrilled +Fairchild, it caused his heart to tug and pull,--nor could he tell +exactly why. + +Still eighty miles away, the range was sharply outlined to Fairchild, +from the ragged hump of Pikes Peak far to the south, on up to where the +gradual lowering of the mighty upheaval slid away into Wyoming. Eighty +miles, yet they were clear with the clearness that only altitudinous +country can bring; alluring, fascinating, beckoning to him until his +being rebelled against the comparative slowness of the train, and the +minutes passed in a dragging, long-drawn-out sequence that was almost +an agony to Robert Fairchild. + +Hours! The hills came closer. Still closer; then, when it seemed that +the train must plunge straight into them, they drew away again, as +though through some optical illusion, and brooded in the background, as +the long, transcontinental train began to bang over the frogs and +switches as it made its entrance into Denver. Fairchild went through +the long chute and to a ticket window of the Union Station. + +"When can I get a train for Ohadi?" + +The ticket seller smiled. "You can't get one." + +"But the map shows that a railroad runs there--" + +"Ran there, you mean," chaffed the clerk. + +"The best you can do is get to Forks Creek and walk the rest of the +way. That's a narrow-gauge line, and Clear Creek 's been on a rampage. +It took out about two hundred feet of trestle, and there won't be a +train into Ohadi for a week." + +The disappointment on Fairchild's face was more than apparent, almost +boyish in its depression. The ticket seller leaned closer to the +wicket. + +"Stranger out here?" + +"Very much of one." + +"In a hurry to get to Ohadi?" + +"Yes." + +"Then you can go uptown and hire a taxi--they 've got big cars for +mountain work and there are good roads all the way. It 'll cost +fifteen or twenty dollars. Or--" + +Fairchild smiled. "Give me the other system if you 've got one. I 'm +not terribly long on cash--for taxis." + +"Certainly. I was just going to tell you about it. No use spending +that money if you 've got a little pep, and it is n't a matter of life +or death. Go up to the Central Loop--anybody can direct you--and catch +a street car for Golden. That eats up fifteen miles and leaves just +twenty-three miles more. Then ask somebody to point out the road over +Mount Lookout. Machines go along there every few minutes--no trouble +at all to catch a ride. You 'll be in Ohadi in no time." + +Fairchild obeyed the instructions, and in the baggage room rechecked +his trunk to follow him, lightening his traveling bag at the same time +until it carried only necessities. A luncheon, then the street car. +Three quarters of an hour later, he began the five-mile trudge up the +broad, smooth, carefully groomed automobile highway which masters Mount +Lookout. A rumbling sound behind him, then as he stepped to one side, +a grimy truck driver leaned out to shout as he passed: + +"Want a lift? Hop on! Can't stop--too much grade." + +A running leap, and Fairchild seated himself on the tailboard of the +truck, swinging his legs and looking out over the fading plains as the +truck roared and clattered upward along the twisting mountain road. + +Higher, higher, while the truck labored along the grade, and while the +buildings in Golden below shrank smaller and smaller. The reservoir +lake in the center of the town, a broad expanse of water only a short +time before, began to take on the appearance of some great, blue-white +diamond glistening in the sun. Gradually a stream outlined itself in +living topography upon a map which seemed as large as the world itself. +Denver, fifteen miles away, came into view, its streets showing like +seams in a well-sewn garment, the sun, even at this distance, striking +a sheen from the golden dome of the capitol building. Higher! The +chortling truck gasped at the curves and tugged on the straightaway, +but Robert Fairchild had ceased to hear. His every attention was +centered on the tremendous stage unfolded before him, the vast +stretches of the plains rolling away beneath, even into Kansas and +Wyoming and Nebraska, hundreds of miles away, plains where once the +buffalo had roamed in great, shaggy herds, where once the emigrant +trains had made their slow, rocking progress into a Land of Heart's +Desire; and he began to understand something of the vastness of life, +the great scope of ambition; new things to a man whose world, until two +weeks before, had been the four chalky walls of an office. + +Cool breezes from pine-fringed gulches brushed his cheek and smoothed +away the burning touch of a glaring sun; the truck turned into the +hairpin curves of the steep ascent, giving him a glimpse of deep +valleys, green from the touch of flowing streams, of great clefts with +their vari-hued splotches of granite, and on beyond, mound after mound +of pine-clothed hills, fringing the peaks of eternal snow, far away. +The blood suddenly grew hot in Fairchild's veins; he whistled, he +repressed a wild, spasmodic desire to shout. The spirit that had been +the spirit of the determined men of the emigrant trains was his now; he +remembered that he was traveling slowly toward a fight--against whom, +or what, he knew not--but he welcomed it just the same. The exaltation +of rarefied atmosphere was in his brain; dingy offices were gone +forever. He was free; and for the first time in his life, he +appreciated the meaning of the word. + +Upward, still upward! The town below became merely a checkerboard +thing, the lake a dot of gleaming silver, the stream a scintillating +ribbon stretching off into the foothills. A turn, and they skirted a +tremendous valley, its slopes falling away in sheer descents from the +roadway. A darkened, moist stretch of road, fringed by pines, then a +jogging journey over rolling table-land. At last came a voice from the +driver's seat, and Fairchild turned like a man suddenly awakened. + +"Turn off up here at Genesee Mountain. Which way do you go?" + +"Trying to get to Ohadi." Fairchild shouted it above the roar of the +engine. The driver waved a hand forward. + +"Keep to the main road. Drop off when I make the turn. You 'll pick +up another ride soon. Plenty of chances." + +"Thanks for the lift." + +"Aw, forget it." + +The truck wheeled from the main road and chugged away, leaving +Fairchild afoot, making as much progress as possible toward his goal +until good fortune should bring a swifter means of locomotion. A +half-mile he walked, studying the constant changes of the scenery +before him, the slopes and rises, the smooth valleys and jagged crags +above, the clouds as they drifted low upon the higher peaks, shielding +them from view for a moment, then disappearing. Then suddenly he +wheeled. Behind him sounded the swift droning of a motor, cut-out +open, as it rushed forward along the road,--and the noise told a story +of speed. + +Far at the brow of a steep hill it appeared, seeming to hang in space +for an instant before leaping downward. Rushing, plunging, once +skidding dangerously at a small curve, it made the descent, bumped over +a bridge, was lost for a second in the pines, then sped toward him, a +big touring car, with a small, resolute figure clinging to the wheel. +The quarter of a mile changed to a furlong, the furlong to a hundred +yards,--then, with a report like a revolver shot, the machine suddenly +slewed in drunken fashion far to one side of the road, hung dangerously +over the steep cliff an instant, righted itself, swayed forward and +stopped, barely twenty-five yards away. Staring, Robert Fairchild saw +that a small, trim figure had leaped forth and was waving excitedly to +him, and he ran forward. + +His first glance had proclaimed it a boy; the second had told a +different story. A girl--dressed in far different fashion from Robert +Fairchild's limited specifications of feminine garb--she caused him to +gasp in surprise, then to stop and stare. Again she waved a hand and +stamped a foot excitedly; a vehement little thing in a snug, whipcord +riding habit and a checkered cap pulled tight over closely braided +hair, she awaited him with all the impatience of impetuous womanhood. + +"For goodness' sake, come here!" she called, as he still stood gaping. +"I 'll give you five dollars. Hurry!" + +Fairchild managed to voice the fact that he would be willing to help +without remuneration, as he hurried forward, still staring at her, a +vibrant little thing with dark-brown wisps of hair which had been blown +from beneath her cap straying about equally dark-brown, snapping eyes +and caressing the corners of tightly pressed, momentarily impatient +lips. Only a second she hesitated, then dived for the tonneau, jerking +with all her strength at the heavy seat cushion, as he stepped to the +running board beside her. + +"Can't get this dinged thing up!" she panted. "Always sticks when you +'re in a hurry. That's it! Jerk it. Thanks! Here!" She reached +forward and a small, sun-tanned hand grasped a greasy jack, "Slide +under the back axle and put this jack in place, will you? And rush it! +I 've got to change a tire in nothing flat! Hurry!" + +Fairchild, almost before he knew it, found himself under the rear of +the car, fussing with a refractory lifting jack and trying to keep his +eyes from the view of trimly clad, brown-shod little feet, as they +pattered about at the side of the car, hurried to the running board, +then stopped as wrenches and a hammer clattered to the ground. Then +one shoe was raised, to press tight against a wheel; metal touched +metal, a feminine gasp sounded as strength was exerted in vain, then +eddying dust as the foot stamped, accompanied by an exasperated +ejaculation. + +"Ding these old lugs! They 're rusted! Got that jack in place yet?" + +"Yes! I'm raising the car now." + +"Oh, please hurry." There was pleading in the tone now. "Please!" + +The car creaked upward. Out came Fairchild, brushing the dust from his +clothes. But already the girl was pressing the lug wrench into his +hands. + +"Don't mind that dirt," came her exclamation. "I 'll--I 'll give you +some extra money to get your suit cleaned. Loosen those lugs, while I +get the spare tire off the back. And for goodness' sake, please hurry!" + +Astonishment had taken away speech for Fairchild. He could only +wonder--and obey. Swiftly he twirled the wrench while lug after lug +fell to the ground, and while the girl, struggling with a tire +seemingly almost as big as herself, trundled the spare into position to +await the transfer. As for Fairchild, he was in the midst of a task +which he had seen performed far more times than he had done it himself. +He strove to remove the blown-out shoe with the cap still screwed on +the valve stem; he fussed and swore under his breath, and panted, while +behind him a girl in whipcord riding habit and close-pulled cap +fidgeted first on one tan-clad foot, then on the other, anxiously +watching the road behind her and calling constantly for speed. + +At last the job was finished, the girl fastening the useless shoe +behind the machine while Fairchild tightened the last of the lugs. +Then as he straightened, a small figure shot to his side, took the +wrench from his hand and sent it, with the other tools, clattering into +the tonneau. A tiny hand went into a pocket, something that crinkled +was shoved into the man's grasp, and while he stood there gasping, she +leaped to the driver's seat, slammed the door, spun the starter until +it whined, and with open cutout roaring again, was off and away, +rocking down the mountain side, around a curve and out of sight--while +Fairchild merely stood there, staring wonderingly at a ten-dollar bill! + +A noise from the rear, growing louder, and the amazed man turned to see +a second machine, filled with men, careening toward him. Fifty feet +away the brakes creaked, and the big automobile came to a skidding, +dust-throwing stop. A sun-browned man in a Stetson hat, metal badge +gleaming from beneath his coat, leaned forth. + +"Which way did he go?" + +"He?" Robert Fairchild stared. + +"Yeh. Did n't a man just pass here in an automobile? Where'd he +go--straight on the main road or off on the circuit trail?" + +"It--it was n't a man." + +"Not a man?" The four occupants of the machine stared at him. "Don't +try to bull us that it was a woman." + +"Oh, no--no--of course not." Fairchild had found his senses. "But it +was n't a man. It--it was a boy, just about fifteen years old." + +"Sure?" + +"Oh, yes--" Fairchild was swimming in deep water now. "I got a good +look at him. He--he took that road off to the left." + +It was the opposite one to which the hurrying fugitive in whipcord had +taken. There was doubt in the interrogator's eyes. + +"Sure of that?" he queried. "I 'm the sheriff of Arapahoe County. +That's an auto bandit ahead of us. We--" + +"Well, I would n't swear to it. There was another machine ahead, and I +lost 'em both for a second down there by the turn. I did n't see the +other again, but I did get a glimpse of one off on that side road. It +looked like the car that passed me. That's all I know." + +"Probably him, all right." The voice came from the tonneau. "Maybe he +figured to give us the slip and get back to Denver. You did n't notice +the license number?" This to Fairchild. That bewildered person shook +his head. + +"No. Did n't you?" + +"Could n't--covered with dust when we first took the trail and never +got close enough afterward. But it was the same car--that's almost a +cinch." + +"Let's go!" The sheriff was pressing a foot on the accelerator. Down +the hill went the car, to skid, then to make a short turn on to the +road which led away from the scent, leaving behind a man standing in +the middle of the road, staring at a ten-dollar bill,--and wondering +why he had lied! + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +Wonderment which got nowhere. The sheriff's car returned before +Fairchild reached the bottom of the grade, and again stopped to survey +the scene of defeat, while Fairchild once more told his story, deleting +items which, to him, appeared unnecessary for consumption by officers +of the law. Carefully the sheriff surveyed the winding road before him +and scratched his head. + +"Don't guess it would have made much difference which way he went," +came ruefully at last, "I never saw a fellow turn loose with so much +speed on a mountain road. We never could have caught him!" + +"Dangerous character?" Fairchild hardly knew why he asked the +question. The sheriff smiled grimly. + +"If it was the fellow we were after, he was plenty dangerous. We were +trailing him on word from Denver--described the car and said he 'd +pulled a daylight hold-up on a pay-wagon for the Smelter Company--so +when the car went through Golden, we took up the trail a couple of +blocks behind. He kept the same speed for a little while until one of +my deputies got a little anxious and took a shot at a tire. Man, how +he turned on the juice! I thought that thing was a jack rabbit the way +it went up the hill! We never had a chance after that!" + +"And you 're sure it was the same person?" + +The sheriff toyed with the gear shift. + +"You never can be sure about nothing in this business," came finally. +"But there 's this to think about: if that fellow was n't guilty of +something, why did he run?" + +"It might have been a kid in a stolen machine," came from the back seat. + +"If it was, we 've got to wait until we get a report on it. I guess +it's us back to the office." + +The automobile went its way then, and Fairchild his, still wondering; +the sheriff's question, with a different gender, recurring again and +again: + +"If she was n't guilty of something, why did she run?" + +And why had she? More, why had she been willing to give ten dollars in +payment for the mere changing of a tire? And why had she not offered +some explanation of it all? It was a problem which almost wiped out +for Robert Fairchild the zest of the new life into which he was going, +the great gamble he was about to take. And so thoroughly did it +engross him that it was not until a truck had come to a full stop +behind him, and a driver mingled a shout with the tooting of his horn, +that he turned to allow its passage. + +"Did n't hear you, old man," he apologized. "Could you give a fellow a +lift?" + +"Guess so." It was friendly, even though a bit disgruntled; "hop on." + +And Fairchild hopped, once more to sit on the tailboard, swinging his +legs, but this time his eyes saw the ever-changing scenery without +noticing it. In spite of himself, Fairchild found himself constantly +staring at a vision of a pretty girl in a riding habit, with dark-brown +hair straying about equally dark-brown eyes, almost frenzied in her +efforts to change a tire in time to elude a pursuing sheriff. Some +way, it all did n't blend. Pretty girls, no doubt, could commit +infractions of the law just as easily as ones less gifted with good +looks. Yet if this particular pretty girl had held up a pay wagon, why +did n't the telephoned notice from Denver state the fact, instead of +referring to her as a man? And if she had n't committed some sort of +depredation against the law, why on earth was she willing to part with +ten dollars, merely to save a few moments in changing a tire and thus +elude a sheriff? If there had been nothing wrong, could not a moment +of explanation have satisfied any one of the fact? Anyway, were n't +the officers looking for a man instead of for a woman? And yet: + +"If she was n't guilty of something, why did she run?" + +It was too much for any one, and Fairchild knew it. Yet he clung +grimly to the mystery as the truck clattered on, mile after mile, while +the broad road led along the sides of the hills, finally to dip +downward and run beside the bubbling Clear Creek,--clear no longer in +the memory of the oldest inhabitant; but soiled by the silica from ore +deposits that, churned and rechurned, gave to the stream a whitish, +almost milk-like character, as it twisted in and out of the tortuous +canon on its turbulent journey to the sea. But Fairchild failed to +notice either that or the fact that ancient, age-whitened water wheels +had begun to appear here and there, where gulch miners, seekers after +gold in the silt of the creek's bed, had abandoned them years before; +that now and then upon the hills showed the gaunt scars of mine +openings,--reminders of dreams of a day long past; or even the more +important fact that in the distance, softened by the mellowing rays of +a dying sun, a small town gradually was coming into view. A mile more, +then the truck stopped with a jerk. + +"Where you bound for, pardner?" + +Fairchild turned absently, then grinned in embarrassment. + +"Ohadi." + +"That's it, straight ahead. I turn off here. Stranger?" + +"Yep." + +"Miner?" + +Fairchild shrugged his shoulders and nodded noncommittally. The truck +driver toyed with his wheel. + +"Just thought I 'd ask. Plenty of work around here for single and +double jackers. Things are beginning to look up a bit--at least in +silver. Gold mines ain't doing much yet--but there 's a good deal +happening with the white stuff." + +"Thanks. Do you know a good place to stop?" + +"Yeh. Mother Howard's Boarding House. Everybody goes there, sooner or +later. You 'll see it on the left-hand side of the street before you +get to the main block. Good old girl; knows how to treat anybody in +the mining game from operators on down. She was here when mining was +mining!" + +Which was enough recommendation for Mother Howard. Fairchild lifted +his bag from the rear of the vehicle, waved a farewell to the driver +and started into the village. And then--for once--the vision of the +girl departed, momentarily, to give place to other thoughts, other +pictures, of a day long gone. + +The sun was slanting low, throwing deep shadows from the hills into the +little valley with its chattering, milk-white stream, softening the +scars of the mountains with their great refuse dumps; reminders of +hopes of twenty years before and as bare of vegetation as in the days +when the pick and gad and drill of the prospector tore the rock loose +from its hiding place under the surface of the ground. Nature, in the +mountainous country, resents any outrage against her dignity; the scars +never heal; the mine dumps of a score of years ago remain the same, +without a single shrub or weed or blade of grass growing in the big +heaps of rocky refuse to shield them. + +But now it was all softened and aglow with sunset. The deep red +buildings of the Argonaut tunnel--a great, criss-crossing hole through +the hills that once connected with more than thirty mines and their +feverish activities--were denuded of their rust and lack of repair. +The steam from the air-compressing engine, furnishing the necessary +motive power for the drills that still worked in the hills, curled +upward in billowy, rainbow-like coloring. The scrub pines of the +almost barren mountains took on a fluffier, softer tone; the jutting +rocks melted away into their own shadows, it was a picture of peace and +of memories. + +And it had been here that Thornton Fairchild, back in the nineties, had +dreamed his dreams and fought his fight. It had been here--somewhere +in one of the innumerable canons that led away from the little town on +every side--that Thornton Fairchild had followed the direction of +"float ore" to its resting place, to pursue the vagrant vein through +the hills, to find it at last, to gloat over it in his letters to +Beamish and then to--what? + +A sudden cramping caught the son's heart, and it pounded with something +akin to fear. The old foreboding of his father's letter had come upon +him, the mysterious thread of that elusive, intangible Thing, great +enough to break the will and resistance of a strong man and turn him +into a weakling--silent, white-haired--sitting by a window, waiting for +death. What had it been? Why had it come upon his father? How could +it be fought? All so suddenly, Robert Fairchild had realized that he +was in the country of the invisible enemy, there to struggle against it +without the slightest knowledge of what it was or how it could be +combated. His forehead felt suddenly damp and cold. He brushed away +the beady perspiration with a gesture almost of anger, then with a look +of relief, turned in at a small white gate toward a big, rambling +building which proclaimed itself, by the sign on the door, to be Mother +Howard's Boarding House. + +A moment of waiting, then he faced a gray-haired, kindly faced woman, +who stared at him with wide-open eyes as she stood, hands on hips, +before him. + +"Don't you tell me I don't know you!" she burst forth at last. + +"I 'm afraid you don't." + +"Don't I?" Mother Howard cocked her head. "If you ain't a Fairchild, I +'ll never feed another miner corned beef and cabbage as long as I live. +Ain't you now?" she persisted, "ain't you a Fairchild?" + +The man laughed in spite of himself. "You guessed it." + +"You 're Thornton Fairchild's boy!" She had reached out for his +handbag, and then, bustling about him, drew him into the big "parlor" +with its old-fashioned, plush-covered chairs, its picture album, its +glass-covered statuary on the old, onyx mantel. "Did n't I know you +the minute I saw you? Land, you're the picture of your dad! Sakes +alive, how is he?" + +There was a moment of silence. Fairchild found himself suddenly +halting and boyish as he stood before her. + +"He 's--he 's gone, Mrs. Howard." + +"Dead?" She put up both hands. "It don't seem possible. And me +remembering him looking just like you, full of life and strong and--" + +"Our pictures of him are a good deal different. I--I guess you knew +him when everything was all right for him. Things were different after +he got home again." + +Mother Howard looked quickly about her, then with a swift motion closed +the door. + +"Son," she asked in a low voice, "did n't he ever get over it?" + +"It?" Fairchild felt that he stood on the threshold of discoveries. +"What do you mean?" + +"Didn't he ever tell you anything, Son?" + +"No. I--" + +"Well, there was n't any need to." But Mother Howard's sudden +embarrassment, her change of color, told Fairchild it was n't the +truth. "He just had a little bad luck out here, that was all. +His--his mine pinched out just when he thought he 'd struck it rich--or +something like that." + +"Are you sure that is the truth?" + +For a second they faced each other, Robert Fairchild serious and +intent, Mother Howard looking at him with eyes defiant, yet +compassionate. Suddenly they twinkled, the lips broke from their +straight line into a smile, and a kindly old hand reached out to take +him by the arm. + +"Don't you stand there and try to tell Mother Howard she don't know +what she 's talking about!" came in tones of mock severity. "Hear me? +Now, you get up them steps and wash up for dinner. Take the first room +on the right. It's a nice, cheery place. And get that dust and grime +off of you. The dinner bell will ring in about fifteen minutes, and +they 's always a rush for the food. So hurry!" + +In his room, Fairchild tried not to think. His brain was becoming too +crammed with queries, with strange happenings and with the aggravating +mysticisms of the life into which his father's death had thrown him to +permit clearness of vision. Even in Mother Howard, he had not been +able to escape it; she told all too plainly, both by her actions and +her words, that she knew something of the mystery of the past,--and had +falsified to keep the knowledge from him. + +It was too galling for thought. Robert Fairchild hastily made his +toilet, then answered the ringing of the dinner bell, to be introduced +to strong-shouldered men who gathered about the long tables; +Cornishmen, who talked an "h-less" language, ruddy-faced Americans, and +a sprinkling of English, all of whom conversed about things which were +to Fairchild as so much Greek,--of "levels" and "stopes" and "winzes", +of "skips" and "manways" and "raises", which meant nothing to the man +who yet must master them all, if he were to follow his ambition. Some +ate with their knives, meeting the food halfway from their plates; some +acted and spoke in a manner revealing a college education and the poise +that it gives. But all were as one, all talking together; the operator +no more enthusiastic than the man whose sole recompense was the five +dollars a day he received for drilling powder holes; all happy, all +optimistic, all engrossed in the hopes and dreams that only mining can +give. And among them Mother Howard moved, getting the latest gossip +from each, giving her views on every problem and incidentally seeing +that the plates were filled to the satisfaction of even the hungriest. + +As for Robert Fairchild, he spoke but seldom, except to acknowledge the +introductions as Mother Howard made him known to each of his table +mates. But it was not aloofness; it was the fact that these men were +talking of things which Fairchild longed to know, but failed, for the +moment, to master. From the first, the newcomer had liked the men +about him, liked the ruggedness, the mingling of culture with the lack +of it, liked the enthusiasm, the muscle and brawn, liked them all,--all +but two. + +Instinctively, from the first mention of his name, he felt they were +watching him, two men who sat far in the rear of the big dining room, +older than the other occupants, far less inviting in appearance. One +was small, though chunky in build, with sandy hair and eyebrows; with +weak, filmy blue eyes over which the lids blinked constantly. The +other, black-haired with streaks of gray, powerful in his build, and +with a walrus-like mustache drooping over hard lips, was the sort of +antithesis naturally to be found in the company of the smaller, sandy +complexioned man. Who they were, what they were, Fairchild did not +know, except from the general attributes which told that they too +followed the great gamble of mining. But one thing was certain; they +watched him throughout the meal; they talked about him in low tones and +ceased when Mother Howard came near; they seemed to recognize in him +some one who brought both curiosity and innate enmity to the surface. +And more; long before the rest had finished their meal, they rose and +left the room, intent, apparently, upon some important mission. + +After that, Fairchild ate with less of a relish. In his mind was the +certainty that these two men knew him--or at least knew about him--and +that they did not relish his presence. Nor were his suspicions long in +being fulfilled. Hardly had he reached the hall, when the beckoning +eyes of Mother Howard signaled to him. Instinctively he waited for the +other diners to pass him, then looked eagerly toward Mother Howard as +she once more approached. + +"I don't know what you 're doing here," came shortly, "but I want to." + +Fairchild straightened. "There is n't much to tell you," he answered +quietly. "My father left me the Blue Poppy mine in his will. I 'm +here to work it." + +"Know anything about mining?" + +"Not a thing." + +"Or the people you 're liable to have to buck up against?" + +"Very little." + +"Then, Son," and Mother Howard laid a kindly hand on his arm, "whatever +you do, keep your plans to yourself and don't talk too much. And +what's more, if you happen to get into communication with Blindeye +Bozeman and Taylor Bill, lie your head off. Maybe you saw 'em, a +sandy-haired fellow and a big man with a black mustache, sitting at the +back of the room?" Fairchild nodded. "Well, stay away from them. +They belong to 'Squint' Rodaine. Know him?" + +She shot the question sharply. Again Fairchild nodded. + +"I 've heard the name. Who is he?" + +A voice called to Mother Howard from the dining room. She turned away, +then leaned close to Robert Fairchild. "He 's a miner, and he 's +always been a miner. Right now, he 's mixed up with some of the +biggest people in town. He 's always been a man to be afraid of--and +he was your father's worst enemy!" + +Then, leaving Fairchild staring after her, she moved on to her duties +in the kitchen. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +Impatiently Fairchild awaited Mother Howard's return, and when at last +she came forth from the kitchen, he drew her into the old parlor, +shadowy now in the gathering dusk, and closed the doors. + +"Mrs. Howard," he began, "I--" + +"Mother Howard," she corrected. "I ain't used to being called much +else." + +"Mother, then--although I 'm not very accustomed to using the title. +My own mother died--shortly after my father came back from out here." + +She walked to his side then and put a hand on his shoulders. For a +moment it seemed that her lips were struggling to repress something +which strove to pass them, something locked behind them for years. +Then the old face, dim in the half light, calmed. + +"What do you want to know, Son?" + +"Everything!" + +"But there is n't much I can tell." + +He caught her hand. + +"There is! I know there is. I--" + +"Son--all I can do is to make matters worse. If I knew anything that +would help you--if I could give you any light on anything, Old Mother +Howard would do it! Lord, did n't I help out your father when he +needed it the worst way? Did n't I--" + +"But tell me what you know!" There was pleading in Fairchild's voice. +"Can't you understand what it all means to me? Anything--I 'm at sea, +Mother Howard! I 'm lost--you 've hinted to me about enemies, my +father hinted to me about them--but that's all. Is n't it fair that I +should know as much as possible if they still exist, and I 'm to make +any kind of a fight against them?" + +"You 're right, Son. But I 'm as much in the dark as you. In those +days, if you were a friend to a person, you didn't ask questions. All +that I ever knew was that your father came to this boarding house when +he was a young man, the very first day that he ever struck Ohadi. He +did n't have much money, but he was enthusiastic--and it was n't long +before he 'd told me about his wife and baby back in Indianapolis and +how he 'd like to win out for their sake. As for me--well, they always +called me Mother Howard, even when I was a young thing, sort of setting +my cap for every good-looking young man that came along. I guess +that's why I never caught one of 'em--I always insisted on darning +their socks and looking after all their troubles for 'em instead of +going out buggy-riding with some other fellow and making 'em jealous." +She sighed ever so slightly, then chuckled. "But that ain't getting to +the point, though, is it?" + +"If you could tell me about my father--" + +"I 'm going to--all I know. Things were a lot different out here then +from what they were later. Silver was wealth to anybody that could +find it; every month, the Secretary of the Treasury was required by law +to buy three or four million ounces for coining purposes, and it meant +a lot of money for us all. Everywhere around the hills and gulches you +could see prospectors, with their gads and little picks, fooling around +like life did n't mean anything in the world to 'em, except to grub +around in those rocks. That was the idea, you see, to fool around +until they 'd found a bit of ore or float, as they called it, and then +follow it up the gorge until they came to rock or indications that 'd +give 'em reason to think that the vein was around there somewhere. +Then they 'd start to make their tunnel--to drift in on the vein. I 'm +telling you all this, so you 'll understand." + +Fairchild was listening eagerly. A moment's pause and the old +lodging-house keeper went on. + +"Your father was one of these men. 'Squint' Rodaine was another--they +called him that because at some time in his life he 'd tried to shoot +faster than the other fellow--and did n't do it. The bullet hit right +between his eyes, but it must have had poor powder behind it--all it +did was to cut through the skin and go straight up his forehead. When +the wound healed, the scar drew his eyes close together, like a +Chinaman's. You never see Squint's eyes more than half open. + +"And he's crooked, just like his eyes--" Mother Howard's voice bore a +touch of resentment. "I never liked him from the minute I first saw +him, and I liked him less afterward. Then I got next to his game. + +"Your father had been prospecting just like everybody else. He 'd come +on float up Kentucky Gulch and was trying to follow it to the vein. +Squint saw him--and what's more, he saw that float. It looked good to +Squint--and late that night, I heard him and his two drinking partners, +Blindeye Bozeman and Taylor Bill--they just reverse his name for the +sound of it--talking in Blindeye's room. I 'm a woman--" Mother +Howard chuckled--"so I just leaned my head against the door and +listened. Then I flew downstairs to wait for your father when he came +in from sitting up half the night to get an assay on that float. And +you bet I told him--folks can't do sneaking things around me and get +away with it, and it was n't more 'n five minutes after he 'd got home +that your father knew what was going on--how Squint and them two others +was figuring on jumping his claim before he could file on it and all +that. + +"Well, there was a big Cornishman here that I was kind of sweet on--and +I guess I always will be. He 's been gone now though, ever since your +father left. I got him and asked him to help. And Harry was just the +kind of a fellow that would do it. Out in the dead of night they went +and staked out your father's claim--Harry was to get twenty-five per +cent--and early the next morning your dad was waiting to file on it, +while Harry was waiting for them three. And what a fight it must have +been--that Harry was a wildcat in those younger days." She laughed, +then her voice grew serious. "But all had its effect. Rodaine did n't +jump that claim, and a few of us around here filed dummy claims enough +in the vicinity to keep him off of getting too close--but there was one +way we couldn't stop him. He had power, and he 's always had it--and +he 's got it now. A lot of awful strange things happened to your +father after that--charges were filed against him for things he never +did. Men jumped on him in the dark, then went to the district +attorney's office and accused him of making the attack. And the funny +part was that the district attorney's office always believed them--and +not him. Once they had him just at the edge of the penitentiary, but +I--I happened to know a few things that--well, he did n't go." Again +Mother Howard chuckled, only to grow serious once more. "Those days +were a bit wild in Ohadi--everybody was crazy with the gold or silver +fever; out of their head most of the time. Men who went to work for +your father and Harry disappeared, or got hurt accidentally in the mine +or just quit through the bad name it was getting. Once Harry, coming +down from the tunnel at night, stepped on a little bridge that always +before had been as secure and safe as the hills themselves. It fell +with him--they went down together thirty feet, and there was nothing +but Nature to blame for it, in spite of what we three thought. Then, +at last, they got a fellow who was willing to work for them in spite of +what Rodaine's crowd--and it consisted of everybody in power--hinted +about your father's bad reputation back East and--" + +"My father never harmed a soul in his life!" Fairchild's voice was +hot, resentful. Mother Howard went on: + +"I know he did n't, Son. I 'm only telling the story. Miners are +superstitious as a general rule, and they 're childish at believing +things. It all worked in your father's case--with the exception of +Harry and 'Sissie' Larsen, a Swede with a high voice, just about like +mine. That's why they gave him the name. Your father offered him +wages and a ten per cent. bonus. He went to work. A few months later +they got into good ore. That paid fairly well, even if it was +irregular. It looked like the bad luck was over at last. Then--" + +Mother Howard hesitated at the brink of the very nubbin of it all, to +Robert Fairchild. A long moment followed, in which he repressed a +desire to seize her and wrest it from her, and at last-- + +"It was about dusk one night," she went on. "Harry came in and took me +with him into this very room. He kissed me and told me that he must go +away. He asked me if I would go with him--without knowing why. And, +Son, I trusted him, I would have done anything for him--but I was n't +as old then as I am now. I refused--and to this day, I don't know why. +It--it was just woman, I guess. Then he asked me if I would help him. +I said I would. + +"He did n't tell me much; except that he had been uptown spreading the +word that the ore had pinched out and that the hanging rock had caved +in and that he and 'Sissie' and your father were through, that they +were beaten and were going away that night. But--and Harry waited a +long time before he told me this--'Sissie' was not going with them. + +"'I'm putting a lot in your hands,' he told me, 'but you 've got to +help us. "Sissie" won't be there--and I can't tell you why. The town +must think that he is. Your voice is just like "Sissie's." You 've +got to help us out of town.' + +"And I promised. Late that night, the three of us drove up the main +street, your father on one side of the seat. Harry on the other, and +me, dressed in some of Sissie's clothes, half hidden between them. I +was singing; that was Sissie's habit,--to get roaring drunk and blow +off steam by yodelling song after song as he rolled along. Our voices +were about the same; nobody dreamed that I was any one else but the +Swede--my head was tipped forward, so they couldn't see my features. +And we went our way with the miners standing on the curb waving to us, +and not one of them knowing that the person who sat between your father +and Harry was any one except Larsen. We drove outside town and +stopped. Then we said good-by, and I put on an old dress that I had +brought with me and sneaked back home. Nobody knew the difference." + +"But Larsen--?" + +"You know as much as I do, Son." + +"But did n't they tell you?" + +"They told me nothing and I asked 'em nothing. They were my friends +and they needed help. I gave it to them--that's all I know and that's +all I 've wanted to know." + +"You never saw Larsen again?" + +"I never saw any of them. That was the end." + +"But Rodaine--?" + +"He 's still here. You 'll hear from him--plenty soon. I could see +that, the minute Blindeye Bozeman and Taylor Bill began taking your +measure. You noticed they left the table before the meal was over? It +was to tell Rodaine." + +"Then he'll fight me too?" + +Mother Howard laughed,--and her voice was harsh. + +"Rodaine's a rattlesnake. His son 's a rattlesnake. His wife 's +crazy--Old Crazy Laura. He drove her that way. She lives by herself, +in an old house on the Georgeville road. And she 'd kill for him, even +if he does beat her when she goes to his house and begs him to take her +back. That's the kind of a crowd it is. You can figure it out for +yourself. She goes around at night, gathering herbs in graveyards; she +thinks she 's a witch. The old man mutters to himself and hates any +one who doesn't do everything he asks,--and just about everybody does +it, simply through fear. And just to put a good finish on it all, the +young 'un moves in the best society in town and spends most of his time +trying to argue the former district judge's daughter into marrying him. +So there you are. That's all Mother Howard knows, Son." + +She reached for the door and then, turning, patted Fairchild on the +shoulder. + +"Boy," came quietly, "you 've got a broad back and a good head. +Rodaine beat your father--don't let him beat you. And always remember +one thing: Old Mother Howard 's played the game before, and she 'll +play it with you--against anybody. Good night. Go to bed--dark +streets are n't exactly the place for you." + +Robert Fairchild obeyed the instructions, a victim of many a +conjecture, many an attempt at reasoning as he sought sleep that was +far away. Again and again there rose before him the vision of two men +in an open buggy, with a singing, apparently maudlin person between +them whom Ohadi believed to be an effeminate-voiced Swede; in reality, +only a woman. And why had they adopted the expedient? Why had not +Larsen been with them in reality? Fairchild avoided the obvious +conclusion and turned to other thoughts, to Rodaine with his squint +eyes, to Crazy Laura, gathering herbs at midnight in the shadowy, +stone-sentineled stretches of graveyards, while the son, perhaps, +danced at some function of Ohadi's society and made love in the rest +periods. It was all grotesque; it was fantastic, almost +laughable,--had it not concerned him! For Rodaine had been his +father's enemy, and Mother Howard had told him enough to assure him +that Rodaine did not forget. The crazed woman of the graveyards was +Squint's lunatic wife, ready to kill, if necessary, for a husband who +beat her. And the young Rodaine was his son, blood of his blood; that +was enough. It was hours before Fairchild found sleep, and even then +it was a thing of troubled visions. + +Streaming sun awakened him, and he hurried to the dining room to find +himself the last lodger at the tables. He ate a rather hasty meal, +made more so by an impatient waitress, then with the necessary papers +in his pocket, Fairchild started toward the courthouse and the legal +procedure which must be undergone before he made his first trip to the +mine. + +A block or two, and then Fairchild suddenly halted. Crossing the +street at an angle just before him was a young woman whose features, +whose mannerisms he recognized. The whipcord riding habit had given +place now to a tailored suit which deprived her of the boyishness that +had been so apparent on their first meeting. The cap had disappeared +before a close-fitting, vari-colored turban. But the straying brown +hair still was there, the brown eyes, the piquant little nose and the +prettily formed lips. Fairchild's heart thumped,--nor did he stop to +consider why. A quickening of his pace, and he met her just as she +stepped to the curbing. + +"I 'm so glad of this opportunity," he exclaimed happily. "I want to +return that money to you. I--I was so fussed yesterday I did n't +realize--" + +"Aren't you mistaken?" She had looked at him with a slight smile. +Fairchild did not catch the inflection. + +"Oh, no. I 'm the man, you know, who helped you change that tire on +the Denver road yesterday." + +"Pardon me." This time one brown eye had wavered ever so slightly, +indicating some one behind Fairchild. "But I was n't on the Denver +road yesterday, and if you 'll excuse me for saying it, I don't +remember ever having seen you before." + +There was a little light in her eyes which took away the sting of the +denial, a light which seemed to urge caution, and at the same time to +tell Fairchild that she trusted him to do his part as a gentleman in a +thing she wished forgotten. More fussed than ever, he drew back and +bent low in apology, while she passed on. Half a block away, a young +man rounded a corner and, seeing her, hastened to join her. She +extended her hand; they chatted a moment, then strolled up the street +together. Fairchild watched blankly, then turned at a chuckle just +behind him emanating from the bearded lips of an old miner, loafing on +the stone coping in front of a small store. + +"Pick the wrong filly, pardner?" came the query. Fairchild managed to +smile. + +"Guess so." Then he lied quickly. "I thought she was a girl from +Denver." + +"Her?" The old miner stretched. "Nope. That's Anita Richmond, old +Judge Richmond's daughter. Guess she must have been expecting that +young fellow--or she would n't have cut you off so short. She ain't +usually that way." + +"Her fiance?" Fairchild asked the question with misgiving. The miner +finished his stretch and added a yawn to it. Then he looked +appraisingly up the street toward the retreating figures. "Well, some +say he is and some say he ain't. Guess it mostly depends on the girl, +and she ain't telling yet." + +"And the man--who is he?" + +"Him? Oh, he 's Maurice Rodaine. Son of a pretty famous character +around here, old Squint Rodaine. Owns the Silver Queen property up the +hill. Ever hear of him?" + +The eyes of Robert Fairchild narrowed, and a desire to fight--a longing +to grapple with Squint Rodaine and all that belonged to him--surged +into his heart. But his voice, when he spoke, was slow and suppressed. + +"Squint Rodaine? Yes, I think I have. The name sounds rather +familiar." + +Then, deliberately, he started up the street, following at a distance +the man and the girl who walked before him. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +There was no specific reason why Robert Fairchild should follow Maurice +Rodaine and the young woman who had been described to him as the +daughter of Judge Richmond, whoever he might be. And Fairchild sought +for none--within two weeks he had been transformed from a plodding, +methodical person into a creature of impulses, and more and more, as +time went on, he was allowing himself to be governed by the snap +judgment of his brain rather than by the carefully exacting mind of a +systematic machine, such as he had been for the greater part of his +adult life. All that he cared to know was that resentment was in his +heart,--resentment that the family of Rodaine should be connected in +some way with the piquant, mysterious little person he had helped out +of a predicament on the Denver road the day before. And, to his +chagrin, the very fact that there _was_ a connection added a more +sinister note to the escapade of the exploded tire and the pursuing +sheriff; as he walked along, his gaze far ahead, Fairchild found +himself wondering whether there could be more than mere coincidence in +it all, whether she was a part of the Rodaine schemes and the Rodaine +trickery, whether-- + +But he ceased his wondering to turn sharply into a near-by drug store, +there absently to give an order at the soda fountain and stand watching +the pair who had stopped just in front of him on the corner. She was +the same girl; there could be no doubt of that, and he raged inwardly +as she chatted and chaffed with the man who looked down upon her with a +smiling air of proprietorship which instilled instant rebellion in +Fairchild's heart. Nor did he know the reason for that, either. + +After a moment they parted, and Fairchild gulped at his fountain drink. +She had hesitated, then with a quick decision turned straight into the +drug store. + +"Buy a ticket, Mr. McCauley?" she asked of the man behind the counter. +"I 've sold twenty already, this morning. Only five more, and my work +'s over." + +"Going to be pretty much of a crowd, is n't there?" The druggist was +fishing in his pocket for money. Fairchild, dallying with his drink +now, glanced sharply toward the door and went back to his refreshment. +She was standing directly in the entrance, fingering the five remaining +tickets. + +"Oh, everybody in town. Please take the five, won't you? Then I 'll +be through." + +"I 'll be darned if I will, 'Nita!" McCauley backed against a shelf +case in mock self-defense. "Every time you 've got anything you want +to get rid of, you come in here and shove it off on me. I 'll be gosh +gim-swiggled if I will. There 's only four in my family and four 's +all I 'm going to take. Fork 'em over--I 've got a prescription to +fill." He tossed four silver dollars on the showcase and took the +tickets. The girl demurred. + +"But how about the fifth one? I 've got to sell that too--" + +"Well, sell it to him!" And Fairchild, looking into the soda-fountain +mirror, saw himself indicated as the druggist started toward the +prescription case. "I ain't going to let myself get stuck for another +solitary, single one!" + +There was a moment of awkward silence as Fairchild gazed intently into +his soda glass, then with a feeling of queer excitement, set it on the +marble counter and turned. Anita Richmond had accepted the druggist's +challenge. She was approaching--in a stranger-like manner--a ticket of +some sort held before her. + +"Pardon me," she began, "but would you care to buy a ticket?" + +"To--to what?" It was all Fairchild could think of to say. + +"To the Old Timers' Dance. It's a sort of municipal thing, gotten up +by the bureau of mines--to celebrate the return of silver mining." + +"But--but I 'm afraid I 'm not much on dancing." + +"You don't have to be. Nobody 'll dance much--except the old-fashioned +affairs. You see, everybody 's supposed to represent people of the +days when things were booming around here. There 'll be a fiddle +orchestra, and a dance caller and everything like that, and a bar--but +of course there 'll only be imitation liquor. But," she added with +quick emphasis, "there 'll be a lot of things really real--real keno +and roulette and everything like that, and everybody in the costume of +thirty or forty years ago. Don't you want to buy a ticket? It's the +last one I 've got!" she added prettily. But Robert Fairchild had been +listening with his eyes, rather than his ears. Jerkily he came to the +realization that the girl had ceased speaking. + +"When's it to be?" + +"A week from to-morrow night. Are you going to be here that long?" + +She realized the slip of her tongue and colored slightly. Fairchild, +recovered now, reached into a pocket and carefully fingered the bills +there. Then, with a quick motion, as he drew them forth, he covered a +ten-dollar bill with a one-dollar note and thrust them forward. + +"Yes, I 'll take the ticket." + +She handed it to him, thanked him, and reached for the money. As it +passed into her hand, a corner of the ten-dollar bill revealed itself, +and she hastily thrust it toward him as though to return money paid by +mistake. Just as quickly, she realized his purpose and withdrew her +hand. + +"Oh!" she exclaimed, almost in a whisper, "I understand." She flushed +and stood a second hesitant, flustered, her big eyes almost childish as +they looked up into his. "You--you must think I 'm a cad!" Then she +whirled and left the store, and a slight smile came to the lips of +Robert Fairchild as he watched her hurrying across the street. He had +won a tiny victory, at least. + +Not until she had rounded a corner and disappeared did Fairchild leave +his point of vantage. Then, with a new enthusiasm, a greater desire +than ever to win out in the fight which had brought him to Ohadi, he +hurried to the courthouse and the various technicalities which must be +coped with before he could really call the Blue Poppy mine his own. + +It was easier than he thought. A few signatures, and he was free to +wander through town to where idlers had pointed out Kentucky gulch and +to begin the steep ascent up the narrow road on a tour of prospecting +that would precede the more legal and more safe system of a surveyor. + +The ascent was almost sheer in places, for in Kentucky gulch the hills +huddled close to the little town and rose in precipitous inclines +almost before the city limits had been reached. Beside the road a +small stream chattered, milk-white from the silica deposits of the +mines, like the waters of Clear Creek, which it was hastening to join. +Along the gullies were the scars of prospect holes, staring like dark, +blind eyes out upon the gorge;--reminders of the lost hopes of a day +gone by. Here and there lay some discarded piece of mining machinery, +rust-eaten and battered now, washed down inch by inch from the higher +hill where it had been abandoned when the demonetization of silver +struck, like a rapier, into the hearts of grubbing men, years before. +It was a canon of decay, yet of life, for as he trudged along, the roar +of great motors came to Fairchild's ears; and a moment later he stepped +aside to allow the passage of ore-laden automobile trucks, loaded until +the springs had flattened and until the engines howled with their +compression as they sought to hold back their burdens on the steep +grade. And it was as he stood there, watching the big vehicles travel +down the mountain side, that Fairchild caught a glimpse of a human +figure which suddenly darted behind a clump of scrub pine and skirted +far to one side, taking advantage of every covering. A new beat came +into Fairchild's heart. He took to the road again, plodding upward +apparently without a thought of his pursuer, stopping to stare at the +bleak prospect holes, or to admire the pink-white beauties of the snowy +range in the far distance, seemingly a man entirely bereft of +suspicion. A quarter of a mile he went, a half. Once, as the road +turned beside a great rock, he sought its shelter and looked back. The +figure still was following, running carefully now along the bank of the +stream in an effort to gain as much ground as possible before the +return of the road to open territory should bring the necessity of +caution again. + +A mile more, then, again in the shelter of rocks, he swerved and sought +a hiding place, watching anxiously from his concealment for evidences +of discovery. There were none. The shadower came on, displaying more +and more caution as he approached the rocks, glancing hurriedly about +him as he moved swiftly from cover to cover. Closer--closer--then +Fairchild repressed a gasp. The man was old, almost white-haired, with +hard, knotted hands which seemed to stand out from his wrists; thin and +wiry with the resiliency that outdoor, hardened muscles often give to +age, and with a face that held Fairchild almost hypnotized. It was +like a hawk's; hook-beaked, colorless, toneless in all expressions save +that of a malicious tenacity; the eyes were slanted until they +resembled those of some fantastic Chinese image, while just above the +curving nose a blue-white scar ran straight up the forehead,--Squint +Rodaine! + +So he was on the trail already! Fairchild watched him pass, sneak +around the corner of the rocks, and stand a moment in apparent +bewilderment as he surveyed the ground before him. A mumbling curse +and he went on, his cautious gait discarded, walking briskly along the +rutty, boulder-strewn road toward a gaping hole in the hill, hardly a +furlong away. There he surveyed the ground carefully, bent and stared +hard at the earth, apparently for a trace of footprints, and finding +none, turned slowly and looked intently all about him. Carefully he +approached the mouth of the tunnel and stared within. Then he +straightened, and with another glance about him, hurried off up a gulch +leading away from the road, into the hills. Fairchild lay and watched +him until he was out of sight, and he knew instinctively that a +surveyor would only cover beaten territory now. Squint Rodaine, he +felt sure, had pointed out to him the Blue Poppy mine. + +But he did not follow the direction given by his pursuer. Squint +Rodaine was in the hills. Squint Rodaine might return, and the +consciousness of caution bade that Fairchild not be there when he came +back. Hurriedly he descended the rocks once more to turn toward town +and toward Mother Howard's boarding house. He wanted to tell her what +he had seen and to obtain her help and counsel. + +Quickly he made the return trip, crossing the little bridge over the +turbulent Clear Creek and heading toward the boarding house. Half a +block away he halted, as a woman on the veranda of the big, squarely +built "hotel" pointed him out, and the great figure of a man shot +through the gate, shouting, and hurried toward him. + +A tremendous creature he was, with red face and black hair which seemed +to scramble in all directions at once, and with a mustache which +appeared to scamper in even more directions than his hair. Fairchild +was a large man; suddenly he felt himself puny and inconsequential as +the mastodonic thing before him swooped forward, spread wide the big +arms and then caught him tight in them, causing the breath to puff over +his lips like the exhaust of a bellows. + +A release, then Fairchild felt himself lifted and set down again. He +pulled hard at his breath. + +"What's the matter with you?" he exclaimed testily. "You 've made a +mistake!" + +"I 'm blimed if I 'ave!" bellowed a tornado-like voice. "Blime! You +look just like 'im!" + +"But you 're mistaken, old man!" + +Fairchild was vaguely aware that the spray-like mustache was working +like a dust-broom, that snappy blue eyes were beaming upon him, that +the big red nose was growing redder, while a tremendous paw had seized +his own hand and was doing its best to crush it. + +"Blimed if I 'ave!" came again. "You're your Dad's own boy! You look +just like 'im! Don't you know me?" + +He stepped back then and stood grinning, his long, heavily muscled arms +hanging low at his sides, his mustache trying vainly to stick out in +more directions than ever. Fairchild rubbed a hand across his eyes. + +"You 've got me!" came at last. "I--" + +"You don't know me? 'Onest now, don't you? I 'm Arry! Don't you know +now? 'Arry from Cornwall!" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +It came to Fairchild then,--the sentence in his father's letter +regarding some one who would hurry to his aid when he needed him, the +references of Beamish, and the allusion of Mother Howard to a faithful +friend. He forgot the pain as the tremendous Cornishman banged him on +the back, he forgot the surprise of it all; he only knew that he was +laughing and welcoming a big man old enough in age to be his father, +yet young enough in spirit to want to come back and finish a fight he +had seen begun, and strong enough in physique to stand it. Again the +heavy voice boomed: + +"You know me now, eh?" + +"You bet! You 're Harry Harkins!" + +"'Arkins it is! I came just as soon as I got the cablegram!" + +"The cablegram?" + +"Yeh." Harry pawed at his wonderful mustache. "From Mr. Beamish, you +know. 'E sent it. Said you 'd started out 'ere all alone. And I +could n't stand by and let you do that. So 'ere I am!" + +"But the expense, the long trip across the ocean, the--" + +"'Ere I am!" said Harry again. "Ain't that enough?" + +They had reached the veranda now, to stand talking for a moment, then +to go within, where Mother Howard awaited, eyes glowing, in the parlor. +Harry flung out both arms. + +"And I still love you!" he boomed, as he caught the gray-haired, +laughing woman in his arms. "Even if you did run me off and would n't +go back to Cornwall!" + +Red-faced, she pushed him away and slapped his cheek playfully; it was +like the tap of a light breeze against granite. Then Harry turned. + +"'Ave you looked at the mine?" + +The question brought back to Fairchild the happenings of the morning +and the memory of the man who had trailed him. He told his story, +while Mother Howard listened, her arms crossed, her head bobbing, and +while Harry, his big grin still on his lips, took in the details with +avidity. Then for a moment a monstrous hand scrambled vaguely about in +the region of the Cornishman's face, grasping a hair of that radiating +mustache now and then and pulling hard at it, at last to drop,--and the +grin faded. + +"Le 's go up there," he said quietly. + +This time the trip to Kentucky gulch was made by skirting town; soon +they were on the rough, narrow roadway leading into the mountains. +Both were silent for the most part, and the expression on Harry's face +told that he was living again the days of the past, days when men were +making those pock-marks in the hills, when the prospector and his pack +jack could be seen on every trail, and when float ore in a gulley meant +riches waiting somewhere above. A long time they walked, at last to +stop in the shelter of the rocks where Fairchild had shadowed his +pursuer, and to glance carefully ahead. No one was in sight. Harry +jabbed out a big finger. + +"That's it," he announced, "straight a'ead!" + +They went on, Fairchild with a gripping at his throat that would not +down. This had been the hope of his father--and here his father had +met--what? He swerved quickly and stopped, facing the bigger man. + +"Harry," came sharply, "I know that I may be violating an unspoken +promise to my father. But I simply can't stand it any longer. What +happened here?" + +"We were mining--for silver." + +"I don't mean that--there was some sort of tragedy." + +Harry chuckled,--in concealment, Fairchild thought, of something he did +not want to tell him. + +"I should think so! The timbers gave way and the mine caved in!" + +"Not that! My father ran away from this town. You and Mother Howard +helped him. You didn't come back. Neither did my father. Eventually +it killed him." + +"So?" Harry looked seriously and studiously at the young man. "'E did +n't write me of'en." + +"He did n't need to write you. You were here with him--when it +happened." + +"No--" Harry shook his head. "I was in town." + +"But you knew--" + +"What's Mother Howard told you?" + +"A lot--and nothing." + +"I don't know any more than she does." + +"But--" + +"Friends did n't ask questions in those days," came quietly. "I might +'ave guessed if I 'd wanted to--but I did n't want to." + +"But if you had?" + +Harry looked at him with quiet, blue eyes. + +"What would you guess?" + +Slowly Robert Fairchild's gaze went to the ground. There was only one +possible conjecture: Sissie Larsen had been impersonated by a woman. +Sissie Larsen had never been seen again in Ohadi. + +"I--I would hate to put it into words," came finally. Harry slapped +him on the shoulder. + +"Then don't. It was nearly thirty years ago. Let sleeping dogs lie. +Take a look around before we go into the tunnel." + +They reconnoitered, first on one side, then on the other. No one was +in sight. Harry bent to the ground, and finding a pitchy pine knot, +lighted it. They started cautiously within, blinking against the +darkness. + +A detour and they avoided an ore car, rusty and half filled, standing +on the little track, now sagging on moldy ties. A moment more of +walking and Harry took the lead. + +"It's only a step to the shaft now," he cautioned. "Easy--easy--look +out for that 'anging wall--" he held the pitch torch against the roof +of the tunnel and displayed a loose, jagged section of rock, dripping +with seepage from the hills above. "Just a step now--'ere it is." + +The outlines of a rusty "hoist", with its cable leading down into a +slanting hole in the rock, showed dimly before them,--a massive, +chunky, deserted thing in the shadows. About it were clustered drills +that were eaten by age and the dampness of the seepage; farther on a +"skip", or shaft-car, lay on its side, half buried in mud and muck from +the walls of the tunnel. Here, too, the timbers were rotting; one +after another, they had cracked and caved beneath the weight of the +earth above, giving the tunnel an eerie aspect, uninviting, dangerous. +Harry peered ahead. + +"It ain't as bad as it looks," came after a moment's survey. "It's +only right 'ere at the beginning that it's caved. But that does n't do +us much good." + +"Why not?" Fairchild was staring with him, on toward the darkness of +the farther recesses. "If it is n't caved in farther back, we ought to +be able to repair this spot." + +But Harry shook his head. + +"We did n't go into the vein 'ere," he explained. "We figured we 'ad +to 'ave a shaft anyway, sooner or later. You can't do under'and +stoping in a mine--go down on a vein, you know. You 've always got to +go up--you can't get the metal out if you don't. That's why we dug +this shaft--and now look at it!" + +He drew the flickering torch to the edge of the shaft and held it +there, staring downward. Fairchild beside him. Twenty feet below +there came the glistening reflection of the flaring flame. Water! +Fairchild glanced toward his partner. + +"I don't know anything about it," he said at last. "But I should think +that would mean trouble." + +"Plenty!" agreed Harry lugubriously. "That shaft's two 'unnerd feet +deep and there 's a drift running off it for a couple o' 'unnerd feet +more before it 'its the vein. Four 'unnerd feet of water. 'Ow much +money 'ave you got?" + +"About twenty-five hundred dollars." + +Harry reached for his waving mustache, his haven in time of storm. +Thoughtfully he pulled at it, staring meanwhile downward. Then he +grunted. + +"And I ain't got more 'n five 'unnerd. It ain't enough. We 'll need +to repair this 'oist and put the skip in order. We 'll need to build +new track and do a lot of things. Three thousand dollars ain't enough." + +"But we 'll have to get that water out of there before we can do +anything." Fairchild interposed. "If we can't get at the vein up here, +we 'll have to get at it from below. And how 're we going to do that +without unwatering that shaft?" + +Again Harry pulled at his mustache. + +"That's just what 'Arry 's thinking about," came his answer finally. +"Le 's go back to town. I don't like to stand around this place and +just look at water in a 'ole." + +They turned for the mouth of the tunnel, sliding along in the greasy +muck, the torch extinguished now. A moment of watchfulness from the +cover of the darkness, then Harry pointed. On the opposite hill, the +figure of a man had been outlined for just a second. Then he had +faded. And with the disappearance of the watcher, Harry nudged his +partner in the ribs and went forth into the brighter light. An hour +more and they were back in town. Harry reached for his mustache again. + +"Go on down to Mother 'Oward's," he commanded. "I 've got to wander +around and say 'owdy to what's left of the fellows that was 'ere when I +was. It's been twenty years since I 've been away, you know," he +added, "and the shaft can wait." + +Fairchild obeyed the instructions, looking back over his shoulder as he +walked along toward the boarding house, to see the big figure of his +companion loitering up the street, on the beginning of his home-coming +tour. It was evident that Harry was popular. Forms rose from the +loitering places on the curbings in front of the stores, voices called +to him; even as the distance grew greater, Fairchild could hear the +shouts of greeting which were sounding to Harry as he announced his +return. + +The blocks passed. Fairchild turned through the gate of Mother +Howard's boarding house and went to his room to await the call for +dinner. The world did not look exceptionally good to him; his +brilliant dreams had not counted upon the decay of more than a quarter +of a century, the slow, but sure dripping of water which had seeped +through the hills and made the mine one vast well, instead of the free +open gateway to riches which he had planned upon. True, there had been +before him the certainty of a cave-in, but Fairchild was not a miner, +and the word to him had been a vague affair. Now, however, it was +taking on a new aspect; he was beginning to realize the full extent of +the fight which was before him if the Blue Poppy mine ever were to turn +forth the silver ore he hoped to gain from it, if the letter of his +father, full of threats though it might be, were to be realized in that +part of it which contained the promise of riches in abundance. + +Pitifully small his capital looked to Fairchild now. Inadequate--that +was certain--for the needs which now stood before it. And there was no +person to whom he could turn, no one to whom he could go, for more. To +borrow, one must have security; and with the exception of the faith of +the red-faced Harry, and the promise of a silent man, now dead, there +was nothing. It was useless; an hour of thought and Fairchild ceased +trying to look into the future, obeying, instead, the insistent +clanging of the dinner bell from downstairs. Slowly he opened the door +of his room, trudged down the staircase,--then stopped in bewilderment. +Harry stood before him, in all the splendor that a miner can know. + +He had bought a new suit, brilliant blue, almost electric in its +flashiness, nor had he been careful as to style. The cut of the +trousers was somewhat along the lines of fifteen years before, with +their peg tops and heavy cuffs. Beneath the vest, a glowing, +watermelon-pink shirt glared forth from the protection of a purple tie. +A wonderful creation was on his head, dented in four places, each +separated with almost mathematical precision. Below the cuffs of the +trousers were bright, tan, bump-toed shoes. Harry was a complete +picture of sartorial elegance, according to his own dreams. What was +more, to complete it all, upon the third finger of his right hand was a +diamond, bulbous and yellow and throwing off a dull radiance like the +glow of a burnt-out arclight; full of flaws, it is true, off color to a +great degree, but a diamond nevertheless. And Harry evidently realized +it. + +"Ain't I the cuckoo?" he boomed, as Fairchild stared at him. "Ain't I? +I 'ad to 'ave a outfit, and-- + +"It might as well be now!" he paraphrased, to the tune of the +age-whitened sextette from "Floradora." "And look at the sparkler! +Look at it!" + +Fairchild could do very little else but look. He knew the value, even +in spite of flaws and bad coloring. And he knew something else, that +Harry had confessed to having little more than five hundred dollars. + +"But--but how did you do it?" came gaspingly. "I thought--" + +"Installments!" the Cornishman burst out. "Ten per cent. down and the +rest when they catch me. Installments!" He jabbed forth a heavy +finger and punched Fairchild in the ribs. "Where's Mother 'Oward? +Won't I knock 'er eyes out?" + +Fairchild laughed--he couldn't help it--in spite of the fact that five +hundred dollars might have gone a long way toward unwatering that +shaft. Harry was Harry--he had done enough in crossing the seas to +help him. And already, in the eyes of Fairchild, Harry was swiftly +approaching that place where he could do no wrong. + +"You 're wonderful, Harry," came at last. The Cornishman puffed with +pride. + +"I'm a cuckoo!" he admitted. "Where's Mother 'Oward? Where's Mother +'Oward? Won't I knock 'er eyes out, now?" + +And he boomed forward toward the dining room, to find there men he had +known in other days, to shake hands with them and to bang them on the +back, to sight Blindeye Bozeman and Taylor Bill sitting hunched over +their meal in the corner and to go effusively toward them. "'Arry" was +playing no favorites in his "'ome-coming." "'Arry" was "'appy", and a +little thing like the fact that friends of his enemies were present +seemed to make little difference. + +Jovially he leaned over the table of Bozeman and Bill, after he had +displayed himself before Mother Howard and received her sanction of his +selections in dress. Happily he boomed forth the information that +Fairchild and he were back to work the Blue Poppy mine and that they +already had made a trip of inspection. + +"I 'm going back this afternoon," he told them. "There 's water in the +shaft. I 've got to figure a wye to get it out." + +Then he returned to his table and Fairchild leaned close to him. + +"Is n't that dangerous?" + +"What?" Harry allowed his eyes to become bulbous as he whispered the +question. "Telling them two about what we 're going to do? Won't they +find it out anyway?" + +"I guess that's true. What time are you going to the mine?" + +"I don't know that I 'm going. And then I may. I 've got to kind of +sye 'ello around town first." + +"Then I 'm not to go with you?" + +Harry beamed at him. + +"It's your day off, Robert," he announced, and they went on with their +meal. + +That is, Fairchild proceeded. Harry did little eating. Harry was too +busy. Around him were men he had known in other days, men who had +stayed on at the little silver camp, fighting against the inevitable +downward course of the price of the white metal, hoping for the time +when resuscitation would come, and now realizing that feeling of joy +for which they had waited a quarter of a century. There were a +thousand questions to be answered, all asked by Harry. There was +gossip to relate and the lives of various men who had come and gone to +be dilated upon. Fairchild finished his meal and waited. But Harry +talked on. Bozeman and Bill left the dining room again to make a +report to the narrow-faced Squint Rodaine. Harry did not even notice +them. And as long as a man stayed to answer his queries, just so long +did Harry remain, at last to rise, brush a few crumbs from his +lightning-like suit, press his new hat gently upon his head with both +hands and start forth once more on his rounds of saying hello. And +there was nothing for Fairchild to do but to wait as patiently as +possible for his return. + +The afternoon grew old. Harry did not come back. The sun set and +dinner was served. But Harry was not there to eat it. Dusk came, and +then, nervous over the continued absence of his eccentric partner, +Fairchild started uptown. + +The usual groups were in front of the stores, and before the largest of +them Fairchild stopped. + +"Do any of you happen to know a fellow named Harry Harkins?" he asked +somewhat anxiously. The answer was in the affirmative. A miner +stretched out a foot and surveyed it studiously. + +"Ain't seen him since about five o'clock," he said at last. "He was +just starting up to the mine then." + +"To the mine? That late? Are you sure?" + +"Well--I dunno. May have been going to Center City. Can't say. All I +know is he said somethin' about goin' to th' mine earlier in th' +afternoon, an' long about five I seen him starting up Kentucky Gulch." + +"Who 's that?" The interruption had come in a sharp, yet gruff voice. +Fairchild turned to see before him a man he recognized, a tall, thin, +wiry figure, with narrowed, slanting eyes, and a scar that went +straight up his forehead. He evidently had just rounded the corner in +time to hear the conversation. Fairchild straightened, and in spite of +himself his voice was strained and hard. + +"I was merely asking about my partner in the Blue Poppy mine." + +"The Blue Poppy?" the squint eyes narrowed more than ever. "You 're +Fairchild, ain't you? Well, I guess you 're going to have to get along +without a partner from now on." + +"Get along without--?" + +A crooked smile came to the other man's lips. + +"That is, unless you want to work with a dead man. Harry Harkins got +drowned, about an hour ago, in the Blue Poppy shaft!" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +The news caused Fairchild to recoil and stand gasping. And before he +could speak, a new voice had cut in, one full of excitement, tremulous, +anxious. + +"Drowned? Where 's his body?" + +"How do I know?" Squint Rodaine turned upon his questioner. "Guess +it's at the foot of the shaft. All I saw was his hat. What 're you so +interested for?" + +The questioner, small, goggle-eyed and given to rubbing his hands, +stared a moment speechlessly. Then he reached forward and grasped at +the lapels of Rodaine's coat. + +"He--he bought a diamond from me this morning--on the installment plan!" + +Rodaine smiled again in his crooked fashion. Then he pushed the +clawlike hands of the excited jeweler away from his lapels. + +"That's your own fault, Sam," he announced curtly. "If he 's at the +bottom of the shaft, your diamond 's there too. All I know about it is +that I was coming down from the Silver Queen when I saw this fellow go +into the tunnel of the Blue Poppy. He was all dressed up, else I don't +guess I would have paid much attention to him. But as it was, I kind +of stopped to look, and seen it was Harry Harkins, who used to work the +mine with this"--he pointed to Fairchild--"this fellow's father. About +a minute later, I heard a yell, like somebody was in trouble, then a +big splash. Naturally I ran in the tunnel and struck a match. About +twenty feet down, I could see the water was all riled up, and a new hat +was floating around on top of it. I yelled a couple of times and +struck a lot of matches--but he did n't come to the surface. That's +all I know. You can do as you please about your diamond. I 'm just +giving you the information." + +He turned sharply and went on then, while Sam the jeweler, the rest of +the loiterers clustered around him, looked appealingly toward Fairchild. + +"What 'll we do?" he wailed. + +Fairchild turned. "I don't know about you--but I 'm going to the mine." + +"It won't do any good--bodies don't float. It may never float--if it +gets caught down in the timbers somewheres." + +"Have to organize a bucket brigade." It was a suggestion from one of +the crowd. + +"Why not borry the Argonaut pump? They ain't using it." + +"Go get it! Go get it!" This time it was the wail of the little +jeweler. "Tell 'em Sam Herbenfelder sent you. They 'll let you have +it." + +"Can't carry the thing on my shoulder." + +"I 'll get the Sampler's truck"--a new volunteer had spoken--"there +won't be any kick about it." + +Another suggestion, still another. Soon men began to radiate, each on +a mission. The word passed down the street. More loiterers--a silver +miner spends a great part of his leisure time in simply watching the +crowd go by--hurried to join the excited throng. Groups, en route to +the picture show, decided otherwise and stopped to learn of the +excitement. The crowd thickened. Suddenly Fairchild looked up sharply +at the sound of a feminine voice. + +"What is the matter?" + +"Harry Harkins got drowned." All too willingly the news was dispersed. +Fairchild's eyes were searching now in the half-light from the faint +street bulbs. Then they centered. It was Anita Richmond, standing at +the edge of the crowd, questioning a miner, while beside her was a +thin, youthful counterpart of a hard-faced father, Maurice Rodaine. +Just a moment of queries, then the miner's hand pointed to Fairchild as +he turned toward her. + +"It's his partner." + +She moved forward then and Fairchild went to meet her. + +"I 'm sorry," she said, and extended her hand. Fairchild gripped it +eagerly. + +"Thank you. But it may not be as bad as the rumors." + +"I hope not." Then quickly she withdrew her hand, and somewhat +flustered, turned as her companion edged closer. "Maurice, this is Mr. +Fairchild," she announced, and Fairchild could do nothing but stare. +She knew his name! A second more and it was explained; "My father knew +his father very well." + +"I think my own father was acquainted too," was the rejoinder, and the +eyes of the two men met for an instant in conflict. The girl did not +seem to notice. + +"I sold him a ticket this morning to the dance, not knowing who he was. +Then father happened to see him pass the house and pointed him out to +me as the son of a former friend of his. Funny how those things +happen, is n't it?" + +"Decidedly funny!" was the caustic rejoinder of the younger Rodaine. +Fairchild laughed, to cover the air of intensity. He knew +instinctively that Anita Richmond was not talking to him simply because +she had sold him a ticket to a dance and because her father might have +pointed him out. He felt sure that there was something else behind +it,--the feeling of a debt which she owed him, a feeling of +companionship engendered upon a sunlit road, during the moments of +stress, and the continuance of that meeting in those few moments in the +drug store, when he had handed her back her ten-dollar bill. She had +called herself a cad then, and the feeling that she perhaps had been +abrupt toward a man who had helped her out of a disagreeable +predicament was prompting her action now; Fairchild felt sure of that. +And he was glad of the fact, very glad. Again he laughed, while +Rodaine eyed him narrowly. Fairchild shrugged his shoulders. + +"I 'm not going to believe this story until it's proven to me," came +calmly. "Rumors can be started too easily. I don't see how it was +possible for a man to fall into a mine shaft and not struggle there +long enough for a man who had heard his shout to see him." + +"Who brought the news?" Rodaine asked the question. + +Fairchild deliberately chose his words: + +"A tall, thin, ugly old man, with mean squint eyes and a scar straight +up his forehead." + +A flush appeared on the other man's face. Fairchild saw his hands +contract, then loosen. + +"You 're trying to insult my father!" + +"Your father?" Fairchild looked at him blankly. "Would n't that be a +rather difficult job--especially when I don't know him?" + +"You described him." + +"And you recognized the description." + +"Maurice! Stop it!" The girl was tugging at Rodaine's sleeve. "Don't +say anything more. I 'm sorry--" and she looked at Fairchild with a +glance he could not interpret--"that anything like this could have come +up." + +"I am equally so--if it has caused you embarrassment." + +"You 'll get a little embarrassment out of it yourself--before you get +through!" Rodaine was scowling at him. Again Anita Richmond caught +his arm. + +"Maurice! Stop it! How could the thing have been premeditated when he +did n't even know your father? Come--let's go on. The crowd's getting +thicker." + +The narrow-faced man obeyed her command, and together they turned out +into the street to avoid the constantly growing throng, and to veer +toward the picture show, Fairchild watching after them, wondering +whether to curse or luck himself. His temper, his natural enmity +toward the two men whom he knew to be his enemies, had leaped into +control, for a moment, of his tongue and his senses, and in that moment +what had it done to his place in the estimation of the woman whom he +had helped on the Denver road? Yet, who was she? What connection had +she with the Rodaines? And had she not herself done something which +had caused a fear of discovery should the pursuing sheriff overtake +her? Bewildered, Robert Fairchild turned back to the more apparent +thing which faced him: the probable death of Harry--the man upon whom +he had counted for the knowledge and the perspicacity to aid him in the +struggle against Nature and against mystery--who now, according to the +story of Squint Rodaine, lay dead in the black waters of the Blue Poppy +shaft. + +Carbide lights had begun to appear along the street, as miners, +summoned by hurrying gossip mongers, came forward to assist in the +search for the missing man. High above the general conglomeration of +voices could be heard the cries of the instigator of activities, Sam +Herbenfelder, bemoaning the loss of his diamond, ninety per cent. of +the cost of which remained to be paid. To Sam, the loss of Harry was a +small matter, but that loss entailed also the disappearance of a +yellow, carbon-filled diamond, as yet unpaid for. His lamentations +became more vociferous than ever. Fairchild went forward, and with an +outstretched hand grasped him by the collar. + +"Why don't you wait until we 've found out something before you get the +whole town excited?" he asked. "All we 've got is one man's word for +this." + +"Yes," Sam spread his hands, "but look who it was! Squint Rodaine! +Ach--will I ever get back that diamond?" + +"I 'm starting to the mine," Fairchild released him. "If you want to +go along and look for yourself, all right. But wait until you 're sure +about the thing before you go crazy over it." + +However, Sam had other thoughts. Hastily he shot through the crowd, +organizing the bucket brigade and searching for news of the Argonaut +pump, which had not yet arrived. Half-disgusted, Fairchild turned and +started up the hill, a few miners, their carbide lamps swinging beside +them, following him. Far in the rear sounded the wails of Sam +Herbenfelder, organizing his units of search. + +Fairchild turned at the entrance of the mine and waited for the first +of the miners and the accompanying gleam of his carbide. Then, they +went within and to the shaft, the light shining downward upon the oily, +black water below. Two objects floated there, a broken piece of +timber, torn from the side of the shaft, where some one evidently had +grasped hastily at it in an effort to stop a fall, and a new, +four-dented hat, gradually becoming water-soaked and sinking slowly +beneath the surface. And then, for the first time, fear clutched at +Fairchild's heart,--fear which hope could not ignore. + +"There 's his hat." It was a miner staring downward. + +Fairchild had seen it, but he strove to put aside the thought. + +"True," he answered, "but any one could lose a hat, simply by looking +over the edge of the shaft." Then, as if in proof of the forlorn hope +which he himself did not believe; "Harry 's a strong man. Certainly he +would know how to swim. And in any event he should have been able to +have kept afloat for at least a few minutes. Rodaine says that he +heard a shout and ran right in here; but all that he could see was +ruffled water and a floating hat. I--" Then he paused suddenly. It +had come to him that Rodaine might have helped in the demise of Harry! + +Shouts sounded from outside, and the roaring of a motor truck as it +made its slow, tortuous way up the boulder-strewn road with its gullies +and innumerable ruts. Voices came, rumbling and varied. Lights. +Gaining the mouth of the tunnel. Fairchild could see a mass of shadows +outlined by the carbides, all following the leadership of a small, +excited man, Sam Herbenfelder, still seeking his diamond. + +The big pump from the Argonaut tunnel was aboard the truck, which was +followed by two other auto vehicles, each loaded with gasoline engines +and smaller pumps. A hundred men were in the crowd, all equipped with +ropes and buckets. Sam Herbenfelder's pleas had been heard. The +search was about to begin for the body of Harry and the diamond that +circled one finger. And Fairchild hastened to do his part. + +Until far into the night they worked and strained to put the big pump +into position; while crews of men, four and five in a group, bailed +water as fast as possible, that the aggregate might be lessened to the +greatest possible extent before the pumps, with their hoses, were +attached. Then the gasoline engines began to snort, great lengths of +tubing were let down into the shaft, and spurting water started down +the mountain side as the task of unwatering the shaft began. + +But it was a slow job. Morning found the distance to the water +lengthened by twenty or thirty feet, and the bucket brigades nearly at +the end of their ropes. Men trudged down the hills to breakfast, +sending others in their places. Fairchild stayed on to meet Mother +Howard and assuage her nervousness as best he could, dividing his time +between her and the task before him. Noon found more water than ever +tumbling down the hills--the smaller pumps were working now in unison +with the larger one--for Sam Herbenfelder had not missed a single +possible outlet of aid in his campaign; every man in Ohadi with an +obligation to pay, with back interest due, or with a bill yet +unaccounted for was on his staff, to say nothing of those who had +volunteered simply to still the tearful remonstrances of the +hand-wringing, diamond-less, little jeweler. Afternoon--and most of +Ohadi was there. Fairchild could distinguish the form of Anita +Richmond in the hundreds of women and men clustered about the opening +of the tunnel, and for once she was not in the company of Maurice +Rodaine. He hurried to her and she smiled at his approach. + +"Have they found anything yet?" + +"Nothing--so far. Except that there is plenty of water in the shaft. +I 'm trying not to believe it." + +"I hope it is n't true." Her voice was low and serious. "Father was +talking to me--about you. And we hoped you two would succeed--this +time." + +Evidently her father had told her more than she cared to relate. +Fairchild caught the inflection in her voice but disregarded it. + +"I owe you an apology," he said bluntly. + +"For what?" + +"Last night. I could n't resist it--I forgot for a moment that you +were there. But I--I hope that you 'll believe me to be a gentleman, +in spite of it." + +She smiled up at him quickly. + +"I already have had proof of that. I--I am only hoping that you will +believe me--well, that you 'll forget something." + +"You mean--" + +"Yes," she countered quickly, as though to cut off his explanation. +"It seemed like a great deal. Yet it was nothing at all. I would feel +much happier if I were sure you had disregarded it." + +Fairchild looked at her for a long time, studying her with his serious, +blue eyes, wondering about many things, wishing that he knew more of +women and their ways. At last he said the thing that he felt, the +straightforward outburst of a straightforward man: + +"You 're not going to be offended if I tell you something?" + +"Certainly not." + +"The sheriff came along just after you had made the turn. He was +looking for an auto bandit." + +"A what?" She stared at him with wide-open, almost laughing eyes. +"But you don't believe--" + +"He was looking for a man," said Fairchild quietly. "I--I told him +that I had n't seen anything but--a boy. I was willing to do that +then--because I could n't believe that a girl like you would--" Then +he stumbled and halted. A moment he sought speech while she smiled up +at him. Then out it came: "I--I don't care what it was. I--I like +you. Honest, I do. I liked you so much when I was changing that tire +that I did n't even notice it when you put the money in my hand. +I--well, you 're not the kind of a girl who would do anything really +wrong. It might be a prank--or something like that--but it would n't +be wrong. So--so there 's an end to it." + +Again she laughed softly, in a way tantalizing to Robert Fairchild, as +though she were making game of him. + +"What do you know about women?" she asked finally, and Fairchild told +the truth: + +"Nothing." + +"Then--" the laugh grew heartier, finally, however, to die away. The +girl put forth her hand. "But I won't say what I was going to. It +would n't sound right. I hope that I--I live up to your estimation of +me. At least--I 'm thankful to you for being the man you are. And I +won't forget!" + +And once more her hand had rested in his,--a small, warm, caressing +thing in spite of the purely casual grasp of an impersonal action. +Again Robert Fairchild felt a thrill that was new to him, and he stood +watching her until she had reached the motor car which had brought her +to the big curve, and had faded down the hill. Then he went back to +assist the sweating workmen and the anxious-faced Sam Herbenfelder. +The water was down seventy feet. + +That night Robert Fairchild sought a few hours' sleep. Two days after, +the town still divided its attention between preparations for the Old +Times Dance and the progress in the dewatering of the Blue Poppy shaft. +Now and then the long hose was withdrawn, and dynamite lowered on +floats to the surface of the water, far below, a copper wire trailing +it. A push of the plunger, a detonation, and a wait of long moments; +it accomplished nothing, and the pumping went on. If the earthly +remains of Harry Harkins were below, they steadfastly refused to come +to the surface. + +The volunteers had thinned now to only a few men at the pumps and the +gasoline engine, and Sam Herbenfelder was taking turns with Fairchild +in overseeing the job. Spectators were not as frequent either; they +came and went,--all except Mother Howard, who was silently constant. +The water had fallen to the level of the drift, two hundred feet down; +the pumps now were working on the main flood which still lay below, +while outside the townspeople came and went, and twice daily the owner +and proprietor and general assignment reporter of the _Daily Bugle_ +called at the mouth of the tunnel for news of progress. But there was +no news, save that the water was lower. The excitement of it began to +dim. Besides, the night of the dance was approaching, and there were +other calls for volunteers, for men to set up the old-time bar in the +lodge rooms of the Elks Club; for others to dig out ancient roulette +wheels and oil them in preparation for a busy play at a ten-cent limit +instead of the sky-high boundaries of a day gone by; for some one to go +to Denver and raid the costume shops, to say nothing of buying the +innumerable paddles which must accompany any old-time game of keno. +But Sam stayed on--and Fairchild with him--and the loiterers, who would +refuse to work at anything else for less than six dollars a day, freely +giving their services at the pumps and the engines in return for a +share of Sam's good will and their names in the papers. + +A day more and a day after that. Through town a new interest spread. +The water was now only a few feet high in the shaft; it meant that the +whole great opening, together with the drift tunnel, soon would be +dewatered to an extent sufficient to permit of exploration. Again the +motor cars ground up the narrow roadway. Outside the tunnel the crowds +gathered. Fairchild saw Anita Richmond and gritted his teeth at the +fact that young Rodaine accompanied her. Farther in the background, +narrow eyes watching him closely, was Squint Rodaine. And still +farther-- + +Fairchild gasped as he noticed the figure plodding down the mountain +side. He put out a hand, then, seizing the nervous Herbenfelder by the +shoulder, whirled him around. + +"Look!" he exclaimed. "Look there! Did n't I tell you! Did n't I +have a hunch?" + +For, coming toward them jauntily, slowly, was a figure in beaming blue, +a Fedora on his head now, but with the rest of his wardrobe intact, +yellow, bump-toed shoes and all. Some one shouted. Everybody turned. +And as they did so, the figure hastened its pace. A moment later, a +booming voice sounded, the unmistakable voice of Harry Harkins: + +"I sye! What's the matter over there? Did somebody fall in?" + +The puffing of gasoline engines ceased. A moment more and the gurgling +cough of the pumps was stilled, while the shouting and laughter of a +great crowd sounded through the hills. A leaping form went forward, +Sam Herbenfelder, to seize Harry, to pat him and paw him, as though in +assurance that he really was alive, then to grasp wildly at the ring on +his finger. But Harry waved him aside. + +"Ain't I paid the installment on it?" he remonstrated. "What's the +rumpus?" + +Fairchild, with Mother Howard, both laughing happily, was just behind +Herbenfelder. And behind them was thronging half of Ohadi. + +"We thought you were drowned!" + +"Me?" Harry's laughter boomed again, in a way that was infectious. +"Me drowned, just because I let out a 'oller and dropped my 'at?" + +"You did it on purpose?" Sam Herbenfelder shook a scrawny fist under +Harry's nose. The big Cornishman waved it aside as one would brush +away an obnoxious fly. Then he grinned at the townspeople about him. + +"Well," he confessed, "there was an un'oly lot of water in there, and I +didn't 'ave any money. What else was I to do?" + +"You--!" A pumpman had picked up a piece of heavy timbering and thrown +it at him in mock ferocity. "Work us to death and then come back and +give us the laugh! Where you been at?" + +"Center City," confessed Harry cheerily. + +"And you knew all the time?" Mother Howard wagged a finger under his +nose. + +"Well," and the Cornishman chuckled, "I did n't 'ave any money. I 'ad +to get that shaft unwatered, did n't I?" + +"Get a rail!" Another irate--but laughing--pumpman had come forward. +"Think you can pull that on us? Get a rail!" + +Some one seized a small, dead pine which lay on the ground near by. +Others helped to strip it of the scraggly limbs which still clung to +it. Harry watched them and chuckled--for he knew that in none was +there malice. He had played his joke and won. It was their turn now. +Shouting in mock anger, calling for all dire things, from lynchings on +down to burnings at the stake, they dragged Harry to the pine tree, +threw him astraddle of it, then, with willing hands volunteering on +every side, hoisted the tree high above them and started down the +mountain side, Sam Herbenfelder trotting in the rear and forgetting his +anger in the joyful knowledge that his ring at last was safe. + +Behind the throng of men with their mock threats trailed the women and +children, some throwing pine cones at the booming Harry, juggling +himself on the narrow pole; and in the crowd, Fairchild found some one +he could watch with more than ordinary interest,--Anita Richmond, +trudging along with the rest, apparently remonstrating with the sullen, +mean-visaged young man at her side. Instinctively Fairchild knew that +young Rodaine was not pleased with the return of Harkins. As for the +father-- + +Fairchild whirled at a voice by his side and looked straight into the +crooked eyes of Thornton Fairchild's enemy. The blue-white scar had +turned almost black now, the eyes were red from swollen, blood-stained +veins, the evil, thin, crooked lips were working in sullen fury. They +were practically alone at the mouth of the mine, Fairchild with a laugh +dying on his lips, Rodaine with all the hate and anger and futile +malice that a human being can know typified in his scarred, hawklike +features. A thin, taloned hand came upward, to double, leaving one +bony, curved finger extending in emphasis of the words which streamed +from the slit of a mouth: + +"Funny, weren't you? Played your cheap jokes and got away with 'em. +But everybody ain't like them fools!" he pointed to the crowd just +rounding the rocks, Harry bobbing in the foreground. "There 's some +that remember--and I 'm one of 'em. You 've put over your fake; you +'ve had your laugh; you 've framed it so I 'll be the butt of every +numbskull in Ohadi. But just listen to this--just listen to this!" he +repeated, the harsh voice taking on a tone that was almost a screech. +"There's another time coming--and that time 's going to be mine!" + +And before Fairchild could retort, he had turned and was scrambling +down the mountain side. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +It was just as well. Fairchild could have said nothing that would have +helped matters. He could have done nothing that would have damaged +them. The cards were still the same; the deck still bore its markings, +and the deal was going on without ever a change, except that now the +matter of concealment of enmities had turned to an open, aboveboard +proposition. Whether Harry had so intended it or not, he had forced +Squint Rodaine to show his hand, and whether Squint realized it, that +amounted to something. Fairchild was almost grateful for the fact as +he went back into the tunnel, spun the flywheels of the gasoline +engines and started them revolving again, that the last of the water +might be drained from the shaft before the pumps must be returned to +their owners. + +Several hours passed, then Harry returned, minus his gorgeous clothing +and his diamond ring, dressed in mining costume now, with high leather +boots into which his trousers were tucked, and carrying a carbide +lantern. Dolefully he looked at the vacant finger where once a diamond +had sparkled. Then he chuckled. + +"Sam took it back," he announced. "And I took part of the money and +paid it out for rent on these pumps. We can keep 'em as long as we +want 'em. It's only costing about a fourth of what it might of. +Drowning 's worth something," he laughed again. Fairchild joined him, +then sobered. + +"It brought Rodaine out of the bushes," he said. "Squint threatened us +after they 'd hauled you down town on the rail." + +Harry winked jovially. + +"Ain't it just what I expected? It's better that wye than to 'ave 'im +snoopin' around. When I came up to the mine, 'e was right behind me. +I knew it. And I 'd figured on it. So I just gave 'im something to +get excited about. It was n't a minute after I 'd thrown a rock and my +'at in there and let out a yell that he came thumping in, looking +around. I was 'iding back of the timbers there. Out 'e went, +muttering to 'imself, and I--well, I went to Center City and read the +papers." + +They chuckled together then; it was something to know that they had not +only forced Squint Rodaine to show his enmity openly, but it was +something more to make him the instrument of helping them with their +work. The pumps were going steadily now, and a dirty stream of water +was flowing down the ditch that had been made at one side of the small +tram track. Harry looked down the hole, stared intently at nothing, +then turned to the rusty hoist. + +"'Ere 's the thing we 've got to fix up now. This 'ere chiv wheel's +all out of gear." + +"What makes your face so red?" Fairchild asked the question as the +be-mustached visage of Harry came nearer to the carbide. Harry looked +up. + +"Mother 'Oward almost slapped it off!" came his rueful answer. "For +not telling 'er what I was going to do, and letting 'er think I got +drownded. But 'ow was I to know?" + +He went to tinkering with the big chiv wheel then, supported on its +heavy timbers, and over which the cable must pass to allow the skip to +travel on its rails down the shaft. Fairchild absently examined the +engines and pumps, supplying water to the radiators and filling an oil +cup or two. Then he turned swiftly, voicing that which was uppermost +in his mind. + +"When you were here before, Harry, did you know a Judge Richmond?" + +"Yeh." Harry pawed his mustache and made a greasy, black mark on his +face. "But I don't think I want to know 'im now." + +"Why not?" + +"'E's mixed up with the Rodaines." + +"How much?" + +"They own 'im--that's all." + +There was silence for a moment. It had been something which Fairchild +had not expected. If the Rodaines owned Judge Richmond, how far did +that ownership extend? After a long time, he forced himself to a +statement. + +"I know his daughter." + +"You?" Harry straightened. "'Ow so?" + +"She sold me a ticket to a dance," Fairchild carefully forgot the +earlier meeting. "Then we 've happened to meet several times after +that. She said that her father had told her about me--it seems he used +to be a friend of my own father." + +Harry nodded. + +"So 'e was. And a good friend. But that was before things +'appened--like they 've 'appened in the last ten years. Not that I +know about it of my own knowledge. But Mother 'Oward--she knows a lot." + +"But what's caused the change? What--?" + +Harry's intent gaze stopped him. + +"'Ow many times 'ave you seen the girl when she was n't with young +Rodaine?" + +"Very few, that's true." + +"And 'ow many times 'ave you seen Judge Richmond?" + +"I have n't ever seen him." + +"You won't--if Mother 'Oward knows anything. 'E ain't able to get out. +'E's sick--apoplexy--a stroke. Rodaine's taken advantage of it." + +"How?" + +"'Ow does anybody take advantage of somebody that's sick? 'Ow does +anybody get a 'old on a person? Through money! Judge Richmond 'ad a +lot of it. Then 'e got sick. Rodaine, 'e got 'old of that money. Now +Judge Richmond 'as to ask 'im for every penny he gets--and 'e does what +Rodaine says." + +"But a judge--" + +"Judges is just like anybody else when they're bedridden and only 'arf +their faculties working. The girl, so Mother 'Oward tells me, is about +twenty now. That made 'er just a little kid, and motherless, when +Rodaine got in 'is work. She ain't got a thing to sye. And she loves +'er father. Suppose," Harry waved a hand, "that you loved somebody +awful strong, and suppose that person was under a influence? Suppose +it meant 'is 'appiness and 'is 'ealth for you to do like 'e wanted you? +Wouldn't you go with a man? What's more, if 'e don't die pretty soon, +you 'll see a wedding!" + +"You mean--?" + +"She 'll be Mrs. Maurice Rodaine. She loves 'er father enough to do +it--after 'er will's broken. And I don't care 'oo it is; there ain't a +woman in the world that's got the strength to keep on saying no to a +sick father!" + +Again Robert Fairchild filled an oil cup, again he tinkered about the +pumps. Then he straightened. + +"How are we going to work this mine?" he asked shortly. Harry stared +at him. + +"'Ow should I know? You own it!" + +"I don't mean that way. We were fifty-fifty from the minute you showed +up. There never has been any other thought in my mind--" + +"Fifty-fifty? You're making me a bloated capitalist!" + +"I hope I will. Or rather, I hope that you 'll make such a thing +possible for both of us. But I was talking about something else; are +we going to work hard and fight it out day and night for awhile until +we can get things going, or are we just going at it by easy stages?" + +"Suppose," answered Harry after a communication with his magic +mustache, "that we go dye and night 'til we get the water out? It +won't be long. Then we 'll 'ave to work together. You 'll need my +vast store of learning and enlightenment!" he grinned. + +"Good. But the pumping will last through tomorrow night. Can you take +the night trick?" + +"Sure. But why?" + +"I want to go to that dance!" + +Harry whistled. Harry's big lips spread into a grin. + +"And she 's got brown eyes!" he chortled to himself. "And she 's got +brown 'air, and she 's a wye about 'er. Oh! She's got a wye about +'er! And I 'll bet she 's going with Maurice Rodaine! Oh! She's got +a wye about'er!" + +"Oh, shut up!" growled Fairchild, but he grinned in schoolboy fashion +as he said it. Harry poured half a can of oil upon the bearings of the +chiv wheel with almost loving tenderness. + +"She 's got a wye about 'er!" he echoed. Fairchild suddenly frowned. + +"Just what do you mean? That she 's in love with Rodaine and just--" + +"'Ow should I know? But she 's got a wye about 'er!" + +"Well," the firm chin of the other man grew firmer, "it won't be hard +to find out!" + +And the next night he started upon his investigations. Nor did he stop +to consider that social events had been few and far between for him, +that his dancing had progressed little farther than the simple ability +to move his feet in unison to music. Years of office and home, home +and office, had not allowed Robert Fairchild the natural advantages of +the usual young man. But he put that aside now; he was going to that +dance, and he was going to stay there as long as the music sounded, or +rather as long as the brown eyes, brown hair and laughing lips of Anita +Richmond were apparent to him. What's more, he carried out his +resolution. + +The clock turned back with the entrance to that dance hall. Men were +there in the rough mining costumes of other days, with unlighted +candles stuck through patent holders into their hats, and women were +there also, dressed as women could dress only in other days of sudden +riches, in costumes brought from Denver, bespangled affairs with the +gorgeousness piled on until the things became fantastic instead of the +intensely beautiful creations that the original wearers had believed +them to be. There was only one idea in the olden mining days, to buy +as much as possible and to put it all on at once. High, Spanish combs +surmounted ancient styles of hairdressing. Rhinestones glittered in +lieu of the real diamonds that once were worn by the queens of the +mining camps. Dancing girls, newly rich cooks, poverty-stricken +prospectors' wives suddenly beaming with wealth, nineteenth-century +vamps, gambling hall habitues,--all were represented among the +femininity of Ohadi as they laughed and giggled at the outlandish +costumes they wore and thoroughly enjoyed themselves. + +Far at one side, making a brave effort with the "near" beer and "almost +there" concoctions of a prohibition buried country, was the +"old-fashioned bar" with its old-fashioned bartender behind it, roaring +out his orders and serving drinks with one hand while he waved and +pulled the trigger of a blank-cartridged revolver with the other. +Farther on was the roulette wheel, and Fairchild strolled to it, +watching the others to catch the drift of the game before he essayed +it, playing with pennies where, in the old days, men had gambled away +fortunes; surrounded by a crowd that laughed and chattered and forgot +its bets, around a place where once a "sleeper" might have meant a +fortune. The spirit of the old times was abroad. The noise and +clatter of a dance caller bellowed forth as he shouted for everybody to +grab their "podners one an' all, do-se-do, promenade th' hall!" and +Fairchild, as he watched, saw that his lack of dancing ability would +not be a serious handicap. There were many others who did not know the +old numbers. And those who did had worn their hobnailed boots, +sufficient to take the spring out of any one's feet. The women were +doing most of the leading, the men clattered along somewhere in the +rear, laughing and shouting and inadvertently kicking one another on +the shins. The old times had come back, boisterously, happily,--and +every one was living in those days when the hills gushed wealth, and +when poverty to-day might mean riches tomorrow. + +Again and again Fairchild's eyes searched the crowds, the multicolored, +overdressed costumes of the women, the old-fashioned affairs with which +many of the men had arrayed themselves, ranging all the way from high +leather boots to frock suits and stovepipe beaver hats. From one face +to another his gaze went; then he turned abstractedly to the long line +of tables, with their devotees of keno, and bought a paddle. + +From far away the drone of the caller sounded in a voice familiar, and +Fairchild looked up to see the narrow-eyed, scarred face of Squint +Rodaine, who was officiating at the wheel. He lost interest in the +game; lackadaisically he placed the buttons on their squares as the +numbers were shouted, finally to brush them all aside and desert the +game. His hatred of the Rodaines had grown to a point where he could +enjoy nothing with which they were connected, where he despised +everything with which they had the remotest affiliation,--excepting, of +course, one person. And as he rose, Fairchild saw that she was just +entering the dance hall. + +Quaint in an old-fashioned costume which represented more the Civil War +days than it did those of the boom times of silver mining, she seemed +prettier than ever to Robert Fairchild, more girlish, more entrancing. +The big eyes appeared bigger now, peeping from the confines of a poke +bonnet; the little hands seemed smaller with their half-length gloves +and shielded by the enormous peacock feather fan they carried. Only a +moment Fairchild hesitated. Maurice Rodaine, attired in a mauve frock +suit and the inevitable accompanying beaver, had stopped to talk to +some one at the door. She stood alone, looking about the hall, +laughing and nodding,--and then she looked at him! Fairchild did not +wait. + +From the platform at the end of the big room the fiddles had begun to +squeak, and the caller was shouting his announcements. Couples began +to line up on the floor. The caller's voice grew louder: + +"Two more couples--two more couples! Grab yo' podners!" + +Fairchild was elbowing his way swiftly forward, apologizing as he went. +A couple took its place beside the others. Once more the plea of the +caller sounded: + +"One more couple--then the dance starts. One more couple, lady an' a +gent! One more--" + +"Please!" Robert Fairchild had reached her and was holding forth his +hand. She looked up in half surprise, then demurred. + +"But I don't know these old dances." + +"Neither do I--or any other, for that matter," he confessed with sudden +boldness. "But does that make any difference? Please!" + +She glanced quickly toward the door. Maurice Rodaine was still +talking, and Fairchild saw a little gleam come into her eyes,--the +gleam that shows when a woman decides to make some one pay for +rudeness. Again he begged: + +"Won't you--and then we 'll forget. I--I could n't take my payment in +money!" + +She eyed him quickly and saw the smile on his lips. From the platform +the caller voiced another entreaty: + +"One more cou-ple! Ain't there no lady an' gent that's goin' to fill +out this here dance? One more couple--one more couple!" + +Fairchild's hand was still extended. Again Anita Richmond glanced +toward the door, chuckled to herself while Fairchild watched the +dimples that the merriment caused, and then--Fairchild forgot the fact +that he was wearing hobnailed shoes and that his clothes were worn and +old. He was going forward to take his place on the dance floor, and +she was beside him! + +Some way, as through a haze, he saw her. Some way he realized that now +and then his hand touched hers, and that once, as they whirled about +the room, in obedience to the monarch on the fiddler's rostrum, his arm +was about her waist, and her head touching his shoulder. It made +little difference whether the dance calls were obeyed after that. +Fairchild was making up for all the years he had plodded, all the years +in which he had known nothing but a slow, grubbing life, living them +all again and rightly, in the few swift moments of a dance. + +The music ended, and laughing they returned to the side of the hall. +Out of the haze he heard words, and knew indistinctly that they were +his own: + +"Will--will you dance with me again tonight?" + +"Selfish!" she chided. + +"But will you?" + +For just a moment her eyes grew serious. + +"Did you ever realize that we 've never been introduced?" + +Fairchild was finding more conversation than he ever had believed +possible. + +"No--but I realize that I don't care--if you 'll forgive it. +I--believe that I 'm a gentleman." + +"So do I--or I would n't have danced with you." + +"Then please--" + +"Pardon me." She had laid a hand on his arm for just a moment, then +hurried away. Fairchild saw that she was approaching young Rodaine, +scowling in the background. That person shot an angry remark at her as +she approached and followed it with streaming sentences. Fairchild +knew the reason. Jealousy! Couples returning from the dance floor +jostled against him, but he did not move. He was waiting--waiting for +the outcome of the quarrel--and in a moment it came. Anita Richmond +turned swiftly, her dark eyes ablaze, her pretty lips set and firm. +She looked anxiously about her, sighted Fairchild, and then started +toward him, while he advanced to meet her. + +"I 've reconsidered," was her brief announcement. "I 'll dance the +next one with you." + +"And the next after that?" + +Again: "Selfish!" + +But Fairchild did not appear to hear. + +"And the next and the next and the next!" he urged as the caller issued +his inevitable invitations for couples. Anita smiled. + +"Maybe--I 'll think about it." + +"I 'll never know how to dance, unless you teach me." Fairchild +pleaded, as they made their way to the center of the floor. "I 'll--" + +"Don't work on my sympathies!" + +"But it's the truth. I never will." + +"S'lute yo' podners!" The dance was on. And while the music squealed +from the rostrum, while the swaying forms some way made the rounds +according to the caller's viewpoint of an old-time dance, Anita +Richmond evidently "thought about it." When the next dance came, they +went again on the floor together, Robert Fairchild and the brown-eyed +girl whom he suddenly realized he loved, without reasoning the past or +the future, without caring whom she might be or what her plans might +contain; a man out of prison lives by impulse, and Fairchild was but +lately released. + +A third dance and a fourth, while in the intervals Fairchild's eyes +sought out the sulky, sullen form of Maurice Rodaine, flattened against +the wall, eyes evil, mouth a straight line, and the blackness of hate +discoloring his face. It was as so much wine to Fairchild; he felt +himself really young for the first time in his life. And as the music +started again, he once more turned to his companion. + +Only, however, to halt and whirl and stare in surprise. There had come +a shout from the doorway, booming, commanding: + +"'Ands up, everybody! And quick about it!" + +Some one laughed and jabbed his hands into the air. Another, quickly +sensing a staged surprise, followed the example. It was just the +finishing touch necessary,--the old-time hold-up of the old-time dance. +The "bandit" strode forward. + +"Out from be'ind that bar! Drop that gun!" he commanded of the +white-aproned attendant. "Out from that roulette wheel. Everybody +line up! Quick--and there ain't no time for foolin'." + +Chattering and laughing, they obeyed, the sheriff, his star gleaming, +standing out in front of them all, shivering in mock fright, his hands +higher than any one's. The bandit, both revolvers leveled, stepped +forward a foot or so, and again ordered speed. Fairchild, standing +with his hands in the air, looked down toward Anita, standing beside +him. + +"Is n't it exciting," she exclaimed. "Just like a regular hold-up! I +wonder who the bandit is. He certainly looks the part, does n't he?" + +And Fairchild agreed that he did. A bandanna handkerchief was wrapped +about his head, concealing his hair and ears. A mask was over his +eyes, supplemented by another bandanna, which, beginning at the bridge +of his nose, flowed over his chin, cutting off all possible chance of +recognition. Only a second more he waited, then with a wave of the +guns, shouted his command: + +"All right, everybody! I'm a decent fellow. Don't want much, but I +want it quick! This 'ere 's for the relief of widders and orphans. +Make it sudden. Each one of you gents step out to the center of the +room and leave five dollars. And step back when you 've put it there. +Ladies stay where you 're at!" + +Again a laugh. Fairchild turned to his companion, as she nudged him. +"There, it's your turn." + +Out to the center of the floor went Fairchild, the rest of the victims +laughing and chiding him. Back he came in mock fear, his hands in the +air. On down the line went the contributing men. Then the bandit +rushed forward, gathered up the bills and gold pieces, shoved them in +his pockets, and whirled toward the door. + +"The purpose of this 'ere will be in the paper to-morrow," he +announced. "And don't you follow me to find out! Back there!" + +Two or three laughing men had started forward, among them a fiddler, +who had joined the line, and who now rushed out in flaunting bravery, +brandishing his violin as though to brain the intruder. Again the +command: + +"Back there--get back!" + +Then the crowd recoiled. Flashes had come from the masked man's guns, +the popping of electric light globes above and the showering of glass +testifying to the fact that they had contained something more than mere +wadding. Somewhat dazed, the fiddler continued his rush, suddenly to +crumple and fall, while men milled and women screamed. A door slammed, +the lock clicked, and the crowd rushed for the windows. The hold-up +had been real after all,--instead of a planned, joking affair. On the +floor the fiddler lay gasping--and bleeding. And the bandit was gone. + +All in a moment the dance hall seemed to have gone mad. Men were +rushing about and shouting; panic-stricken women clawed at one another +and fought their way toward a freedom they could not gain. Windows +crashed as forms hurtled against them; screams sounded. Hurriedly, as +the crowd massed thicker, Fairchild raised the small form of Anita in +his arms and carried her to a chair, far at one side. + +"It's all right now," he said, calming her. "Everything 's over--look, +they 're helping the fiddler to his feet. Maybe he 's not badly hurt. +Everything 's all right--" + +And then he straightened. A man had unlocked the door from the outside +and had rushed into the dance hall, excited, shouting. It was Maurice +Rodaine. + +"I know who it was," he almost screamed. "I got a good look at +him--jumped out of the window and almost headed him off. He took off +his mask outside--and I saw him." + +"You saw him--?" A hundred voices shouted the question at once. + +"Yes." Then Maurice Rodaine nodded straight toward Robert Fairchild. +"The light was good, and I got a straight look at him. He was that +fellow's partner--a Cornishman they call Harry!" + + + + +CHAPTER X + +"I don't believe it!" Anita Richmond exclaimed with conviction and +clutched at Fairchild's arm. "I don't believe it!" + +"I can't!" Robert answered. Then he turned to the accuser. "How could +it be possible for Harry to be down here robbing a dance hall when he +'s out working the mine?" + +"Working the mine?" This time it was the sheriff. "What's the +necessity for a day and night shift?" + +The question was pertinent--and Fairchild knew it. But he did not +hesitate. + +"I know it sounds peculiar--but it's the truth. We agreed upon it +yesterday afternoon." + +"At whose suggestion?" + +"I 'm not sure--but I think it was mine." + +"Young fellow," the sheriff had approached him now, "you 'd better be +certain about that. It looks to me like that might be a pretty good +excuse to give when a man can't produce an alibi. Anyway, the +identification seems pretty complete. Everybody in this room heard +that man talk with a Cousin Jack accent. And Mr. Rodaine says that he +saw his face. That seems conclusive." + +"If Mr. Rodaine's word counts for anything." + +The sheriff looked at him sharply. + +"Evidently you have n't been around here long." Then he turned to the +crowd. "I want a couple of good men to go along with me as deputies." + +"I have a right to go." Fairchild had stepped forward. + +"Certainly. But not as a deputy. Who wants to volunteer?" + +Half a dozen men came forward, and from them the sheriff chose two. +Fairchild turned to say good-by to Anita. In vain. Already Maurice +Rodaine had escorted her, apparently against her will, to a far end of +the dance hall, and there was quarreling with her. Fairchild hurried +to join the sheriff and his two deputies, just starting out of the +dance hall. Five minutes later they were in a motor car, chugging up +Kentucky Gulch. + +The trip was made silently. There was nothing for Fairchild to say; he +had told all he knew. Slowly, the motor car fighting against the +grade, the trip was accomplished. Then the four men leaped from the +machine at the last rise before the tunnel was reached and three of +them went forward afoot toward where a slight gleam of light came from +the mouth of the Blue Poppy. + +A consultation and then the creeping forms made the last fifty feet. +The sheriff took the lead, at last to stop behind a boulder and to +shout a command: + +"Hey you, in there." + +"'Ey yourself!" It was Harry's voice. + +"Come out--and be quick about it. Hold your light in front of your +face with both hands." + +"The 'ell I will! And 'oo 's talking?" + +"Sheriff Adams of Clear Creek County. You 've got one minute to come +out--or I 'll shoot." + +"I 'm coming on the run!" + +And almost instantly the form of Harry, his acetylene lamp lighting up +his bulbous, surprised countenance with its spraylike mustache, +appeared at the mouth of the tunnel. + +"What the bloody 'ell?" he gasped, as he looked into the muzzle of the +revolver. From down the mountain side came the shout of one of the +deputies: + +"Sheriff! Looks like it's him, all right. I 've found a horse down +here--all sweated up from running." + +"That's about the answer." Sheriff Adams went forward and with a +motion of his revolver sent Harry's hands into the air. "Let's see +what you 've got on you." + +A light gleamed below as an electric flash in the hands of one of the +deputies began an investigation of the surroundings. The sheriff, +finishing his search of 'Arry's pockets, stepped back. + +"Well," he demanded, "what did you do with the proceeds?" + +"The proceeds?" Harry stared blankly. "Of what?" + +"Quit your kidding now. They 've found your horse down there." + +"Would n't it be a good idea--" Fairchild had cut in acridly--"to save +your accusations on this thing until you're a little surer of it? +Harry has n't any horse. If he 's rented one, you ought to be able to +find that out pretty shortly." + +As if in answer, the sheriff turned and shouted a question down the +mountain side. And back came the answer: + +"It's Doc Mason's. Must have been stolen. Doc was at the dance." + +"I guess that settles it." The officer reached for his hip pocket. +"Stick out your hands, Harry, while I put the cuffs on them." + +"But 'ow in bloody 'ell 'ave I been doing anything when I 've been up +'ere working on this chiv wheel? 'Ow--?" + +"They say you held up the dance to-night and robbed us," Fairchild cut +in. Harry's face lost its surprised look, to give way to a glance of +keen questioning. + +"And do you say it?" + +"I most certainly do not. The identification was given by that +honorable person known as Mr. Maurice Rodaine." + +"Oh! One thief identifying another--" + +"Just cut your remarks along those lines." + +"Sheriff!" Again the voice from below. + +"Yeh!" + +"We 've found a cache down here. Must have been made in a hurry--two +new revolvers, bullets, a mask, a couple of new handkerchiefs and the +money." + +Harry's eyes grew wide. Then he stuck out his hands. + +"The evidence certainly is piling up!" he grunted. "I might as well +save my talking for later." + +"That's a good idea." The sheriff snapped the handcuffs into place. +Then Fairchild shut off the pumps and they started toward the machine. +Back in Ohadi more news awaited them. Harry, if Harry had been the +highwayman, had gone to no expense for his outfit. The combined +general store and hardware emporium of Gregg Brothers had been robbed +of the articles necessary for a disguise,--also the revolvers and their +bullets. Robert Fairchild watched Harry placed in the solitary cell of +the county jail with a spirit that could not respond to the +Cornishman's grin and his assurances that morning would bring a +righting of affairs. Four charges hung heavy above him: that of +horse-stealing, of burglary, of highway robbery, and worse, the final +one of assault with attempt to kill. Fairchild turned wearily away; he +could not find the optimism to join Harry's cheerful announcement that +it would be "all right." The appearances were otherwise. Besides, up +in the little hospital on the hill, Fairchild had seen lights gleaming +as he entered the jail, and he knew that doctors were working there +over the wounded body of the fiddler. Tired, heavy at heart, his +earlier conquest of the night sodden and overshadowed now, he turned +away from the cell and its optimistic occupant,--out into the night. + +It was only a short walk to the hospital and Fairchild went there, to +leave with at least a ray of hope. The probing operation had been +completed; the fiddler would live, and at least the charge against +Harry would not be one of murder. That was a thing for which to be +thankful; but there was plenty to cause consternation, as Fairchild +walked slowly down the dark, winding street toward the main +thoroughfare. Without Harry, Fairchild now felt himself lost. Before +the big, genial, eccentric Cornishman had come into his life, he had +believed, with some sort of divine ignorance, that he could carry out +his ambitions by himself, with no knowledge of the technical details +necessary to mining, with no previous history of the Blue Poppy to +guide him, and with no help against the enemies who seemed everywhere. +Now he saw that it was impossible. More, the incidents of the night +showed how swiftly those enemies were working, how sharp and +stiletto-like their weapons. + +That Harry was innocent was certain,--to Robert Fairchild. There was +quite a difference between a joke which a whole town recognized as such +and a deliberate robbery which threatened the life of at least one man. +Fairchild knew in his heart that Harry was not built along those lines. + +Looking back over it now, Fairchild could see how easily Fate had +played into the hands of the Rodaines, if the Rodaines had not +possessed a deeper concern than merely to seize upon a happening and +turn it to their own account. The highwayman was big. The highwayman +talked with a "Cousin-Jack" accent,--for all Cornishmen are "Cousin +Jacks" in the mining country. Those two features in themselves, +Fairchild thought, as he stumbled along in the darkness, were +sufficient to start the scheming plot in the brain of Maurice Rodaine, +already ugly and evil through the trick played by Harry on his father +and the rebuke that had come from Anita Richmond. It was an easy +matter for him to get the inspiration, leap out of the window, and then +wait until the robber had gone, that he might flare forth with his +accusation. And after that--. + +Either Chance, or something stronger, had done the rest. The finding +of the stolen horse and the carelessly made cache near the mouth of the +Blue Poppy mine would be sufficient in the eyes of any jury. The +evidence was both direct and circumstantial. To Fairchild's mind, +there was small chance for escape by Harry, once his case went to +trial. Nor did the pounding insistence of intuitive knowledge that the +whole thing had been a deliberately staged plot on the part of the +Rodaines, father and son, make the slightest difference in Fairchild's +estimation. How could he prove it? By personal animosity? There was +the whole town of Ohadi to testify that the highwayman was a big man, +of the build of Harry, and that he spoke with a Cornish accent. There +were the sworn members of the posse to show that they, without +guidance, had discovered the horse and the cache,--and the Rodaines +were nowhere about to help them. And experience already had told +Fairchild that the Rodaines, by a deliberately constructed system, held +a ruling power; that against their word, his would be as nothing. +Besides, where would be Harry's alibi? He had none; he had been at the +mine, alone. There was no one to testify for him, not even Fairchild. + +The world was far from bright. Down the dark street the man wandered, +his hands sunk deep in his pockets, his head low between his +shoulders,--only to suddenly galvanize into intensity, and to stop +short that he might hear again the voice which had come to him. At one +side was a big house,--a house whose occupants he knew instinctively, +for he had seen the shadow of a woman, hands outstretched, as she +passed the light-strewn shade of a window on the second floor. More, +he had heard her voice, supplemented by gruffer tones. And then it +came again. + +It was pleading, and at the same time angered with the passion of a +person approaching hysteria. A barking sentence answered her, +something that Fairchild could not understand. He left the old board +sidewalk and crept to the porch that he might hear the better. Then +every nerve within him jangled, and the black of the darkness changed +to red. The Rodaines were within; he had heard first the cold voice of +the father, then the rasping tones of the son, in upbraiding. More, +there had come the sobbing of a woman; instinctively Fairchild knew +that it was Anita Richmond. And then: + +It was her voice, high, screaming. Hysteria had come,--the wild, +racking hysteria of a person driven to the breaking point: + +"Leave this house--hear me! Leave this house! Can't you see that +you're killing him? Don't you dare touch me--leave this house! No--I +won't be quiet--I won't--you 're killing him, I tell you--!" + +And Fairchild waited for nothing more. A lunge, and he was on the +veranda. One more spring and he had reached the door, to find it +unlocked, to throw it wide and to leap into the hall. Great steps, and +he had cleared the stairs to the second floor. + +A scream came from a doorway before him; dimly, as through a red +screen, Fairchild saw the frightened face of Anita Richmond, and on the +landing, fronting him angrily, stood the two Rodaines. For a moment, +Fairchild disregarded them and turned to the sobbing, disheveled little +being in the doorway. + +"What's happened?" + +"They were threatening me--and father!" she moaned. "But you shouldn't +have come in--you should n't have--" + +"I heard you scream. I could n't help it. I heard you say they were +killing your father--" + +The girl looked anxiously toward an inner room, where Fairchild could +see faintly the still figure of a man outlined under the covers of an +old-fashioned four-poster. + +"They--they--got him excited. He had another stroke. I--I could n't +stand it any longer." + +"You 'd better get out," said Fairchild curtly to the Rodaines, with a +suggestive motion toward the stairs. They hesitated a moment and +Maurice seemed about to launch himself at Robert, but his father laid a +restraining hand on his arm. A step and the elder Rodaine hesitated. + +"I 'm only going because of your father," he said gruffly, with a +glance toward Anita. + +Fairchild knew differently, but he said nothing. The gray of Rodaine's +countenance told where his courage lay; it was yellow gray, the dirty +gray of a man who fights from cover, and from cover only. + +"Oh, I know," Anita said. "It's--it's all right. I--I 'm sorry. +I--did n't realize that I was screaming--please forgive me--and go, +won't you? It means my father's life now." + +"That's the only reason I am going; I 'm not going because--" + +"Oh, I know. Mr. Fairchild should n't have come in here. He should +n't have done it. I 'm sorry--please go." + +Down the steps they went, the older man with his hand still on his +son's arm; while, white-faced, Fairchild awaited Anita, who had +suddenly sped past him into the sick room, then was wearily returning. + +"Can I help you?" he asked at last. + +"Yes," came her rather cold answer, only to be followed by a quickly +whispered "Forgive me." And then the tones became louder--so that they +could be heard at the bottom of the stairs: "You can help me +greatly--simply by going and not creating any more of a disturbance." + +"But--" + +"Please go," came the direct answer. "And please do not vent your +spite on Mr. Rodaine and his son. I 'm sure that they will act like +gentlemen if you will. You should n't have rushed in here." + +"I heard you screaming, Miss Richmond." + +"I know," came her answer, as icily as ever. Then the door downstairs +closed and the sound of steps came on the veranda. She leaned close to +him. "I had to say that," came her whispered words. "Please don't try +to understand anything I do in the future. Just go--please!" + +And Fairchild obeyed. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +The Rodaines were on the sidewalk when Fairchild came forth from the +Richmond home, and true to his instructions from the frightened girl, +he brushed past them swiftly and went on down the street, not turning +at the muttered invectives which came from the crooked lips of the +older man, not seeming even to notice their presence as he hurried on +toward Mother Howard's boarding house. Whether Fate had played with +him or against him, he did not know,--nor could he summon the brain +power to think. Happenings had come too thickly in the last few hours +for him to differentiate calmly; everything depended upon what course +the Rodaines might care to pursue. If theirs was to be a campaign of +destruction, without a care whom it might involve, Fairchild could see +easily that he too might soon be juggled into occupying the cell with +Harry in the county jail. Wearily he turned the corner to the main +street and made his plodding way, along it, his shoulders drooping, his +brain fagged from the flaring heat of anger and the strain that the +events of the night had put upon it. In his creaky bed in the old +boarding house, he again sought to think, but in vain. He could only +lie awake and stare into the darkness about him, while through his mind +ran a muddled conglomeration of foreboding, waking dreams, revamps of +the happenings of the last three weeks, memories which brought him +nothing save sleeplessness and the knowledge that, so far, he fought a +losing fight. + +After hours, daylight began to streak the sky. Fairchild, dull, worn +by excitement and fatigue, strove to rise, then laid his head on the +pillow for just a moment of rest. And with that perversity which +extreme weariness so often exerts, his eyes closed, and he slept,--to +wake at last with the realization that it was late morning, and that +some one was pounding on the door. Fairchild raised his head. + +"Is that you, Mother Howard? I'm getting up, right away." + +A slight chuckle answered him. + +"But this is n't Mother Howard. May I see you a moment?" + +"Who is it?" + +"No one you know--yet. I 've come to talk to you about your partner. +May I come in?" + +"Yes." Fairchild was fully alive now to the activities that the day +held before him. The door opened, and a young man, alert, almost cocky +in manner, with black, snappy eyes showing behind horn-rimmed glasses, +entered and reached for the sole chair that the room contained. + +"My name 's Farrell," he announced. "Randolph P. Farrell. And to make +a long story short, I 'm your lawyer." + +"My lawyer?" Fairchild stared. "I haven't any lawyer in Ohadi. The +only--" + +"That does n't alter the fact. I 'm your lawyer, and I 'm at your +service. And I don't mind telling you that it's just about my first +case. Otherwise, I don't guess I 'd have gotten it." + +"Why not?" The frankness had driven other queries from Fairchild's +mind. Farrell, the attorney, grinned cheerily. + +"Because I understand it concerns the Rodaines. Nobody but a fool out +of college cares to buck up against them. Besides, nearly everybody +has a little money stuck into their enterprises. And seeing I have no +money at all, I 'm not financially interested. And not being +interested, I 'm wholly just, fair and willing to fight 'em to a +standstill. Now what's the trouble? Your partner 's in jail, as I +understand it. Guilty or not guilty?" + +"Wa--wait a minute!" The breeziness of the man had brought Fairchild +to more wakefulness and to a certain amount of cheer. "Who hired you?" +Then with a sudden inspiration: "Mother Howard did n't go and do this?" + +"Mother Howard? You mean the woman who runs the boarding house? Not +at all." + +"But--" + +"I 'm not exactly at liberty to state." + +Suspicion began to assert itself. The smile of comradeship that the +other man's manner instilled faded suddenly. + +"Under those conditions, I don't believe--" + +"Don't say it! Don't get started along those lines. I know what you +'re thinking. Knew that was what would happen from the start. And +against the wishes of the person who hired me for this work, I--well, I +brought the evidence. I might as well show it now as try to put over +this secret stuff and lose a lot of time doing it. Here, take a +glimpse and then throw it away, tear it up, swallow it, or do anything +you want to with it, just so nobody else sees it. Ready? Look." + +He drew forth a small visiting card. Fairchild glanced. Then he +looked--and then he sat up straight in bed. For before him were the +engraved words: + + Miss Anita Natalie Richmond. + + +While across the card was hastily written, in a hand distinctively +feminine: + + +Mr. Fairchild: This is my good friend. He will help you. There is no +fee attached. Please destroy. + +Anita Richmond. + + +"Bu--but I don't understand." + +"You know Miss--er--the writer of this card, don't you?" + +"But why should she--?" + +Mr. Farrell, barrister-at-law, grinned broadly. + +"I see you don't know Miss--the writer of this card at all. That's her +nature. Besides--well, I have a habit of making long stories short. +All she 's got to do with me is crook her finger and I 'll jump +through. I 'm--none of your business. But, anyway, here I am--" + +Fairchild could not restrain a laugh. There was something about the +man, about his nervous, yet boyish way of speaking, about his +enthusiasm, that wiped out suspicion and invited confidence. The owner +of the Blue Poppy mine leaned forward. + +"But you did n't finish your sentence about--the writer of that card." + +"You mean--oh--well, there 's nothing to that. I 'm in love with her. +Been in love with her since I 've been knee-high to a duck. So 're +you. So 's every other human being that thinks he's a regular man. +So's Maurice Rodaine. Don't know about the rest of you--but I have n't +got a chance. Don't even think of it any more--look on it as a +necessary affliction, like wearing winter woolens and that sort of +thing. Don't let it bother you. The problem right now is to get your +partner out of jail. How much money have you got?" + +"Only a little more than two thousand." + +"Not enough. There 'll be bonds on four charges. At the least, they +'ll be around a thousand dollars apiece. Probabilities are that they +'ll run around ten thousand for the bunch. How about the Blue Poppy?" + +Fairchild shrugged his shoulders. + +"I don't know what it's worth." + +"Neither do I. Neither does the judge. Neither does any one else. +Therefore, it's worth at least ten thousand dollars. That 'll do the +trick. Get out your deeds and that sort of thing--we 'll have to file +them with the bond as security." + +"But that will ruin us!" + +"How so? A bond 's nothing more than a mortgage. It doesn't stop you +from working on the mine. All it does is give evidence that your +friend and partner will be on the job when the bailiff yells oyez, +oyez, oyez. Otherwise, they 'll take the mine away from you and sell +it at public sale for the price of the bond. But that's a happen-so of +the future. And there 's no danger if our client--you will notice that +I call him our client--is clothed with the dignity and the protecting +mantle of innocence and stays here to see his trial out." + +"He 'll do that, all right." + +"Then we 're merely using the large and ample safe of the court of this +judicial district as a deposit vault for some very valuable papers. I +'d suggest now that you get up, seize your deeds and accompany me to +the palace of justice. Otherwise, that partner of yours will have to +eat dinner in a place called in undignified language the hoosegow!" + +It was like warm sunshine on a cold day, the chatter of this young man +in horn-rimmed glasses. Soon Fairchild was dressed and walking +hurriedly up the street with the voluble attorney. A half-hour more +and they were before the court. Fairchild, the lawyer and the +jail-worn Harry, his mustache fluttering in more directions than ever. + +"Not guilty, Your Honor," said Randolph P. Farrell. "May I ask the +extent of the bond?" + +The judge adjusted his glasses and studied the information which the +district attorney had laid before him. + +"In view of the number of charges and the seriousness of each, I must +fix an aggregate bond of five thousand dollars, or twelve hundred fifty +dollars for each case." + +"Thank you; we had come prepared for more. Mr. Fairchild, who is Mr. +Harkins' partner, is here to appear as bondsman. The deeds are in his +name alone, the partnership existing, as I understand it, upon their +word of honor between them. I refer, Your Honor, to the deeds of the +Blue Poppy mine. Would Your Honor care to examine them?" + +His Honor would. His Honor did. For a long moment he studied them, +and Fairchild, in looking about the courtroom, saw the bailiff in +conversation with a tall, thin man, with squint eyes and a scar-marked +forehead. A moment later, the judge looked over his glasses. + +"Bailiff!" + +"Yes, Your Honor." + +"Have you any information regarding the value of the Blue Poppy mining +claims?" + +"Sir, I have just been talking to Mr. Rodaine. He says they 're well +worth the value of the bond." + +"How about that, Rodaine?" The judge peered down the court room. +Squint Rodaine scratched his hawklike nose with his thumb and nodded. + +"They 'll do," was his answer, and the judge passed the papers to the +clerk of the court. + +"Bond accepted. I 'll set this trial for--" + +"If Your Honor please, I should like it at the very, very earliest +possible moment," Randolph P. Farrell had cut in. "This is working a +very great hardship upon an innocent man and--" + +"Can't be done." The judge was scrawling on his docket. "Everything +'s too crowded. Can't be reached before the November term. Set it for +November 11th." + +"Very well, Your Honor." Then he turned with a wide grin to his +clients. "That's all until November." + +Out they filed through the narrow aisle of the court room, Fairchild's +knee brushing the trouser leg of Squint Rodaine as they passed. At the +door, the attorney turned toward them, then put forth a hand. + +"Drop in any day this week and we 'll go over things," he announced +cheerfully. "We put one over on his royal joblots that time, anyway. +Hates me from the ground up. Worst we can hope for is a conviction and +then a Supreme Court reversal. I 'll get him so mad he 'll fill the +case with errors. He used to be an instructor down at Boulder, and I +stuck the pages of a lecture together on him one day. That's why I +asked for an early trial. Knew he 'd give me a late one. That 'll let +us have time to stir up a little favorable evidence, which right now we +don't possess. Understand--all money that comes from the mine is held +in escrow until this case is decided. But I 'll explain that. Going +to stick around here and bask in the effulgence of really possessing a +case. S'long!" + +And he turned back into the court room, while Fairchild, the dazed +Harry stalking beside him, started down the street. + +"'Ow do you figure it?" asked the Cornishman at last. + +"What?" + +"Rodaine. 'E 'elped us out!" + +Fairchild stopped. It had not occurred to him before. But now he saw +it: that if Rodaine, as an expert on mining, had condemned the Blue +Poppy, it could have meant only one thing, the denial of bond by the +judge and the lack of freedom for Harry. Fairchild rubbed a hand +across his brow. + +"I can't figure it," came at last. "And especially since his son is +the accuser and since I got the best of them both last night!" + +"Got the best of 'em? You?" + +The story was brief in its telling. And it brought no explanation of +the sudden amiability displayed by the crooked-faced Rodaine. They +went on, striving vainly for a reason, at last to stop in front of the +post-office, as the postmaster leaned out of the door. + +"Your name's Fairchild, isn't it?" asked the person of letters, as he +fastened a pair of gimlet eyes on the owner of the Blue Poppy. + +"Yes." + +"Thought so. Some of the fellows said you was. Better drop in here +for your mail once in a while. There 's been a letter for you here for +two days!" + +"For me?" Vaguely Fairchild went within and received the missive, a +plain, bond envelope without a return address. He turned it over and +over in his hand before he opened it--then looked at the +postmark,--Denver. At last: + +"Open it, why don't you?" + +Harry's mustache was tickling his ear, as the big miner stared over his +shoulder. Fairchild obeyed. They gasped together. Before them were +figures and sentences which blurred for a moment, finally to resolve +into: + + +Mr. Robert Fairchild, + Ohadi, Colorado. + +Dear Sir; + +I am empowered by a client whose name I am not at liberty to state, to +make you an offer of $50,000. for your property in Clear Creek County, +known as the Blue Poppy mine. In replying, kindly address your letter +to + +Box 180, Denver, Colo. + + +Harry whistled long and thoughtfully. + +"That's a 'ole lot of money!" + +"An awful lot, Harry. But why was the offer made? There 's nothing to +base it on. There 's--" + +Then for a moment, as they stepped out of the post-office, he gave up +the thought, even of comparative riches. Twenty feet away, a man and a +girl were approaching, talking as though there never had been the +slightest trouble between them. They crossed the slight alleyway, and +she laid her hand on his arm, almost caressingly, Fairchild thought, +and he stared hard as though in unbelief of their identity. But it was +certain. It was Maurice Rodaine and Anita Richmond; they came closer, +her eyes turned toward Fairchild, and then-- + +She went on, without speaking, without taking the trouble to notice, +apparently, that he had been standing there. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +After this, there was little conversation until Harry and Fairchild had +reached the boarding house. Then, with Mother Howard for an adviser, +the three gathered in the old parlor, and Fairchild related the events +of the night before, adding what had happened at the post-office, when +Anita had passed him without speaking. Mother Howard, her arms folded +as usual, bobbed her gray head. + +"It's like her, Son," she announced at last. "She 's a good girl. I +'ve known her ever since she was a little tad not big enough to walk. +And she loves her father." + +"But--" + +"She loves her father. Is n't that enough? The Rodaines have the +money--and they have almost everything that Judge Richmond owns. It's +easy enough to guess what they 've done with it--tied it up so that he +can't touch it until they 're ready for him to do it. And they 're not +going to do that until they 've gotten what they want." + +"Which is--?" + +"Anita! Any fool ought to be able to know that. Of course," she added +with an acrid smile, "persons that are so head over heels in love +themselves that they can't see ten feet in front of them would n't be +able to understand it--but other people can. The Rodaines know they +can't do anything directly with Anita. She would n't stand for it. +She 's not that kind of a girl. They know that money does n't mean +anything to her--and what's more, they 've been forced to see that +Anita ain't going to turn handsprings just for the back-action honor of +marrying a Rodaine. Anita could marry a lot richer fellows than +Maurice Rodaine ever dreamed of being, if she wanted to--and there +wouldn't be any scoundrel of a father, or any graveyard wandering, +crazy mother to go into the bargain. And they realize it. But they +realize too, that there ain't a chance of them losing out as long as +her father's happiness depends on doing what they want her to do. So, +after all, ain't it easy to see the whole thing?" + +"To you, possibly. But not to me." + +Mother Howard pressed her lips in exasperation. + +"Just go back over it," she recapitulated. "She got mad at him at the +dance last night, did n't she? He 'd done something rude--from the way +you tell it. Then you sashayed up and asked her to dance every dance +with you. You don't suppose that was because you were so tall and +handsome, do you?" + +"Well--" Fairchild smiled ruefully--"I was hoping that it was because +she rather liked me." + +"Suppose it was? But she rather likes a lot of people. You understand +women just like a pig understands Sunday--you don't know anything about +'em. She was mad at Maurice Rodaine and she wanted to give him a +lesson. She never thought about the consequences. After the dance was +over, just like the sniveling little coward he is, he got his father +and went to the Richmond house. There they began laying out the old +man because he had permitted his daughter to do such a disgraceful +thing as to dance with a man she wanted to dance with instead of +kowtowing and butting her head against the floor every time Maurice +Rodaine crooked his finger. And they were n't gentle about it. What +was the result? Poor old Judge Richmond got excited and had another +stroke. And what did Anita do naturally--just like a woman? She got +the high-strikes and then you came rushing in. After that, she calmed +down and had a minute to think of what might be before her. That +stroke last night was the second one for the Judge. There usually +ain't any more after the third one. Now, can't you see why Anita is +willing to do anything on earth just to keep peace and just to give her +father a little rest and comfort and happiness in the last days of his +life? You 've got to remember that he ain't like an ordinary father +that you can go to and tell all your troubles. He 's laying next door +to death, and Anita, just like any woman that's got a great, big, good +heart in her, is willing to face worse than death to help him. It's as +plain to me as the nose on Harry's face." + +"Which is quite plain," agreed Fairchild ruefully. Harry rubbed the +libeled proboscis, pawed at his mustache and fidgeted in his chair. + +"I understand that, all right," he announced at last. "But why should +anybody want to buy the mine?" + +It brought Fairchild to the realization of a new development, and he +brought forth the letter, once more to stare at it. + +"Fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money," came at last. "It would +pretty near pay us for coming out here, Harry." + +"That it would." + +"And what then?" Mother Howard, still looking through uncolored +glasses, took the letter and scanned it. "You two ain't quitters, are +you?" + +"'Oo, us?" Harry bristled. + +"Yes, you. If you are, get yourselves a piece of paper and write to +Denver and take the offer. If you ain't--keep on fighting." + +"I believe you 're right, Mother Howard." + +Fairchild had reached for the letter again and was staring at it as +though for inspiration. "That amount of money seems to be a great +deal. Still, if a person will offer that much for a mine when there 's +nothing in sight to show its value, it ought to mean that there's +something dark in the woodpile and that the thing 's worth fighting +out. And personally speaking, I 'm willing to fight!" + +"I never quit in my life!" Harry straightened in his chair and his +mustache stuck forth pugnaciously. Mother Howard looked down at him, +pressed her lips, then smiled. + +"No," she announced, "except to run away like a whipped pup after you +'d gotten a poor lonely boarding-house keeper in love with you!" + +"Mother 'Oward, I 'll--" + +But the laughing, gray-haired woman had scrambled through the doorway +and slammed the door behind her, only to open it a second later and +poke her head within. + +"Need n't think because you can hold up a dance hall and get away with +it, you can use cave-man stuff on me!" she admonished. And in that one +sentence was all the conversation necessary regarding the charges +against Harry, as far as Mother Howard was concerned. She did n't +believe them, and Harry's face showed that the world had become bright +and serene again. He swung his great arms as though to loosen the big +muscles of his shoulders. He pecked at his mustache. Then he turned +to Fairchild. + +"Well," he asked, "what do we do? Go up to the mine--just like nothing +'ad ever 'appened?" + +"Exactly. Wait until I change my clothes. Then we 'll be ready to +start. I 'm not even going to dignify this letter by replying to it. +And for one principal reason--" he added--"that I think the Rodaines +have something to do with it." + +'"Ow so?" + +"I don't know. It's only a conjecture; I guess the connection comes +from the fact that Squint put a good valuation on the mine this morning +in court. And if it is any of his doings--then the best thing in the +world is to forget it. I 'll be ready in a moment." + +An hour later they entered the mouth of the Blue Poppy tunnel, once +more to start the engines and to resume the pumping, meanwhile +struggling back and forth with timbers from the mountain side, as they +began the task of rehabilitating the tunnel where it had caved in just +beyond the shaft. It was the beginning of a long task; well enough +they knew that far below there would be much more of this to do, many +days of back-breaking labor in which they must be the main +participants, before they ever could hope to begin their real efforts +in search of ore. + +And so, while the iron-colored water gushed from the pump tubes. Harry +and Fairchild made their trips, scrambling ones as they went outward, +struggling ones as they came back, dragging the "stulls" or heavy +timbers which would form the main supports, the mill-stakes, or lighter +props, the laggs and spreaders, all found in the broken, well-seasoned +timber of the mountain side, all necessary for the work which was +before them. The timbering of a mine is not an easy task. One by one +the heavy props must be put into place, each to its station, every one +in a position which will furnish the greatest resistance against the +tremendous weight from above, the constant inclination of the earth to +sink and fill the man-made excavations. For the earth is a jealous +thing; its own caverns it makes and preserves judiciously. Those made +by the hand of humanity call forth the resistance of gravity and of +disintegration, and it takes measures of strength and power to combat +them. That day, Harry and Fairchild worked with all their strength at +the beginning of a stint that would last--they did not, could not know +how long. And they worked together. Their plan of a day and night +shift had been abandoned; the trouble engendered by their first attempt +had been enough to shelve that sort of program. + +Hour after hour they toiled, until the gray mists hung low over the +mountain tops, until the shadows lengthened and twilight fell. The +engines ceased their chugging, the coughing swirl of the dirty water as +it came from the drift, far below, stopped. Slowly two weary men +jogged down the rutty road to the narrow, winding highway which led +through Kentucky Gulch and into town. But they were happy with a new +realization: that they were actively at work, that something had been +accomplished by their labors, and progress made in spite of the +machinations of malignant men, in spite of the malicious influences of +the past and of the present, and in spite of the powers of Nature. + +It was a new, a grateful life to Fairchild. It gave him something else +to think about than the ponderings upon the mysterious events which +seemed to whirl, like a maelstrom, about him. And more, it gave him +little time to think at all, for that night he did not lie awake to +stare about him in the darkness. Muscles were aching in spite of their +inherent strength. His head pounded from the pressure of intensified +heart action. His eyes closed wearily, yet with a wholesome fatigue. +Nor did he wake until Harry was pounding on the door in the dawn of the +morning. + +Their meal came before the dining room was regularly open. Mother +Howard herself flipping the flapjacks and frying the eggs which formed +their breakfast, meanwhile finding the time to pack their lunch +buckets. Then out into the crisp air of morning they went, and back to +their labors. + +Once more the pumps; once more the struggle against the heavy timbers; +once more the "clunk" of the axe as it bit deep into wood, or the +pounding of hammers as great spikes were driven into place. Late that +afternoon they turned to a new duty,--that of mucking away the dirt and +rotted logs from a place that once had been impassable. The timbering +of the broken-down portion of the tunnel just behind the shaft had been +repaired, and Harry flipped the sweat away from his broad forehead with +an action of relief. + +"Not that it does us any particular good," he announced. "There ain't +nothing back there that we can get at. But it's room we 'll need when +we start working down below, and we might as well 'ave it fixed up--" + +He ceased suddenly and ran to the pumps. A peculiar gurgling sound had +come from the ends of the hose, and the flow depreciated greatly; +instead of the steady gush of water, a slimy silt was coming out now, +spraying and splattering about on the sides of the drainage ditch. +Wildly Harry waved a monstrous paw. + +"Shut 'em off!" he yelled to Fairchild in the dimness of the tunnel. +"It's sucking the muck out of the sump!" + +"Out of the what?" Fairchild had killed the engines and run forward to +where Harry, one big hand behind the carbide flare, was peering down +the shaft. + +"The sump--it's a little 'ole at the bottom of the shaft to 'old any +water that 'appens to seep in. That means the 'ole drift is unwatered." + +"Then the pumping job 's over?" + +"Yeh." Harry rose. "You stay 'ere and dismantle the pumps, so we can +send 'em back. I 'll go to town. We 've got to buy some stuff." + +Then he started off down the trail, while Fairchild went to his work. +And he sang as he dragged at the heavy hose, pulling it out of the +shaft and coiling it at the entrance to the tunnel, as he put skids +under the engines, and moved them, inch by inch, to the outer air. +Work was before him, work which was progressing toward a goal that he +had determined to seek, in spite of all obstacles. The mysterious +offer which he had received gave evidence that something awaited him, +that some one knew the real value of the Blue Poppy mine, and that if +he could simply stick to his task, if he could hold to the unwavering +purpose to win in spite of all the blocking pitfalls that were put in +his path, some day, some time, the reward would be worth its price. + +More, the conversation with Mother Howard on the previous morning had +been comforting; it had given a woman's viewpoint upon another woman's +actions. And Fairchild intuitively believed she was correct. True, +she had talked of others who might have hopes in regard to Anita +Richmond; in fact, Fairchild had met one of those persons in the +lawyer, Randolph Farrell. But just the same it all was cheering. It +is man's supreme privilege to hope. + +And so Fairchild was happy and somewhat at ease for the first time in +weeks. Out at the edge of the mine, as he made his trips, he stopped +now and then to look at something he had disregarded previously,--the +valley stretching out beneath him, the three hummocks of the far-away +range, named Father, Mother and Child by some romantic mountaineer; the +blue-gray of the hills as they stretched on, farther and farther into +the distance, gradually whitening until they resolved themselves into +the snowy range, with the gaunt, high-peaked summit of Mount Evans +scratching the sky in the distance. + +There was a shimmer in the air, through which the trees were turned +into a bluer green, and the crags of the mountains made softer, the +gaping scars of prospect holes less lonely and less mournful with their +ever-present story of lost hopes. On a great boulder far at one side a +chipmunk chattered. Far down the road an ore train clattered along on +the way to the Sampler,--that great middleman institution which is a +part of every mining camp, and which, like the creamery station at the +cross roads, receives the products of the mines, assays them by its +technically correct system of four samples and four assayers to every +shipment, and buys them, with its allowances for freight, smelting +charges and the innumerable expenditures which must be made before +money can become money in reality. Fairchild sang louder than ever, a +wordless tune, an old tune, engendered in his brain upon a +paradoxically happy and unhappy night,--that of the dance when he had +held Anita Richmond in his arms, and she had laughed up at him as, by +her companionship, she had paid the debt of the Denver road. Fairchild +had almost forgotten that. Now, with memory, his brow puckered, and +his song died slowly away. + +"What the dickens was she doing?" he asked himself at last. "And why +should she have wanted so terribly to get away from that sheriff?" + +There was no answer. Besides, he had promised to ask for none. And +further, a shout from the road, accompanied by the roaring of a motor +truck, announced the fact that Harry was making his return. + +Five men were with him, to help him carry in ropes, heavy pulleys, +weights and a large metal shaft bucket, then to move out the smaller of +the pumps and trundle away with them, leaving the larger one and the +larger engine for a single load. At last Harry turned to his +paraphernalia and rolled up his sleeves. + +"'Ere 's where we work!" he announced. "It's us for a pulley and +bucket arrangement until we can get the 'oist to working and the skip +to running. 'Elp me 'eave a few timbers." + +It was the beginning of a three-days' job, the building of a heavy +staging over the top of the shaft, the affixing of the great pulley and +then the attachment of the bucket at one end, and the skip, loaded with +pig iron, on the other. Altogether, it formed a sort of crude, +counterbalanced elevator, by which they might lower themselves into the +shaft, with various bumpings and delays,--but which worked +successfully, nevertheless. Together they piled into the big, iron +bucket. Harry lugging along spikes and timbers and sledges and ropes. +Then, pulling away at the cable which held the weights, they furnished +the necessary gravity to travel downward. + +An eerie journey, faced on one side by the crawling rope of the skip as +it traveled along the rusty old track on its watersoaked ties, on the +others by the still dripping timbers of the aged shaft and its broken, +rotting ladder, while the carbide lanterns cast shadows about, while +the pulley above creaked and the eroded wheels of the skip squeaked and +protested! Downward--a hundred feet--and they collided with the +upward-bound skip, to fend off from it and start on again. The air +grew colder, more moist. The carbides spluttered and flared. Then a +slight bump, and they were at the bottom. Fairchild started to crawl +out from the bucket, only to resume his old position as Harry yelled +with fright. + +"Don't do it!" gulped the Cornishman. "Do you want me to go up like a +skyrocket? Them weights is all at the top. We 've got to fix a plug +down 'ere to 'old this blooming bucket or it 'll go up and we 'll stay +down!" + +Working from the side of the bucket, still held down by the weight of +the two men, they fashioned a catch, or lock, out of a loop of rope +attached to heavy spikes, and fastened it taut. + +"That 'll 'old," announced the big Cornishman. "Out we go!" + +Fairchild obeyed with alacrity. He felt now that he was really coming +to something, that he was at the true beginning of his labors. Before +him the drift tunnel, damp and dripping and dark, awaited, seeming to +throw back the flare of the carbides as though to shield the treasures +which might lie beyond. Harry started forward a step, then pausing, +shifted his carbide and laid a hand on his companion's shoulder. + +"Boy," he said slowly, "we 're starting at something now--and I don't +know where it's going to lead us. There's a cave-in up 'ere, and if we +'re ever going to get anywhere in this mine, we 'll 'ave to go past it. +And I 'm afraid of what we 're going to find when we cut our wye +through!" + +Clouds of the past seemed to rise and float past Fairchild. Clouds +which carried visions of a white, broken old man sitting by a window, +waiting for death, visions of an old safe and a letter it contained. +For a long, long moment, there was silence. Then came Harry's voice +again. + +"I 'm afraid it ain't going to be good news, Boy. But there ain't no +wye to get around it. It's got to come out sometime--things like that +won't stay 'idden forever. And your father 's gone now--gone where it +can't 'urt 'im." + +"I know," answered Fairchild in a queer, husky voice. "He must have +known, Harry--he must have been willing that it come, now that he is +gone. He wrote me as much." + +"It's that or nothing. If we sell the mine, some one else will find +it. And we can't 'it the vein without following the drift to the +stope. But you're the one to make the decision." + +Again, a long moment; again, in memory, Fairchild was standing in a +gloomy, old-fashioned room, reading a letter he had taken from a dusty +safe. Finally his answer came: + +"He told me to go ahead, if necessary. And we 'll go, Harry." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +They started forward then, making their way through the slime and silt +of the drift flooring, slippery and wet from years of flooding. From +above them the water dripped from the seep-soaked hanging-wall, which +showed rough and splotchy in the gleam of the carbides and seemed to +absorb the light until they could see only a few feet before them as +they clambered over water-soaked timbers, disjointed rails of the +little tram track which once had existed there, and floundered in and +out of the greasy pockets of mud which the floating ties of the track +had left behind. On--on--they stopped. + +Progress had become impossible. Before them, twisted and torn and +piled about in muddy confusion, the timbers of the mine suddenly showed +in a perfect barricade, supplanted from behind by piles of muck and +rocky refuse which left no opening to the chamber of the stope beyond. +Harry's carbide went high in the air, and he slid forward, to stand a +moment in thought before the obstacle. At place after place he +surveyed it, finally to turn with a shrug of his shoulders. + +"It's going to mean more 'n a month of the 'ardest kind of work, Boy," +came his final announcement. "'Ow it could 'ave caved in like that is +more than I know. I 'm sure we timbered it good." + +"And look--" Fairchild was beside him now, with his carbide--"how +everything's torn, as though from an explosion." + +"It seems that wye. But you can't tell. Rock 'as an awful way of +churning up things when it decides to turn loose. All I know is we 've +got a job cut out for us." + +There was only one thing to do,--turn back. Fifteen minutes more and +they were on the surface, making their plans; projects which entailed +work from morning until night for many a day to come. There was a +track to lay, an extra skip to be lowered, that they might haul the +muck and broken timbers from the cave-in to the shaft and on out to the +dump. There were stulls and mill-stakes and laggs to cut and to be +taken into the shaft. And there was good, hard work of muscle and +brawn and pick and shovel, that muck might be torn away from the +cave-in, and good timbers put in place, to hold the hanging wall from +repeating its escapade of eighteen years before. Harry reached for a +new axe and indicated another. + +"We 'll cut ties first," he announced. + +And thus began the weeks of effort, weeks in which they worked with +crude appliances; weeks in which they dragged the heavy stulls and +other timbers into the tunnel and then lowered them down the shaft to +the drift, two hundred feet below, only to follow them in their +counter-balanced bucket and laboriously pile them along the sides of +the drift, there to await use later on. Weeks in which they worked in +mud and slime, as they shoveled out the muck and with their gad hooks +tore down loose portions of the hanging wall to form a roadbed for +their new tram. Weeks in which they cut ties, in which they crawled +from their beds even before dawn, nor returned to Mother Howard's +boarding house until long after dark; weeks in which they seemed to +lose all touch with the outside world. Their whole universe had turned +into a tunnel far beneath the surface of the earth, a drift leading to +a cave-in, which they had not yet begun to even indent with excavations. + +It was a slow, galling progress, but they kept at it. Gradually the +tram line began to take shape, pieced together from old portions of the +track which still lay in the drift and supplemented by others bought +cheaply at that graveyard of miner's hopes,--the junk yard in Ohadi. +At last it was finished; the work of moving the heavy timbers became +easier now as they were shunted on to the small tram truck from which +the body had been dismantled and trundled along the rails to the +cave-in, there to be piled in readiness for their use. And finally-- + +A pick swung in the air, to give forth a chunky, smacking sound, as it +struck water-softened, spongy wood. The attack against the cave-in had +begun, to progress with seeming rapidity for a few hours, then to +cease, until the two men could remove the debris which they had dug out +and haul it by slow, laborious effort to the surface. But it was a +beginning, and they kept at it. + +A foot at a time they tore away the old, broken, splintered timbers and +the rocky refuse which lay piled behind each shivered beam; only to +stop, carry away the muck, and then rebuild. And it was +effort,--effort which strained every muscle of two strong men, as with +pulleys and handmade, crude cranes, they raised the big logs and +propped them in place against further encroachment of the hanging wall. +Cold and damp, in the moist air of the tunnel they labored, but there +was a joy in it all. Down here they could forget Squint Rodaine and +his chalky-faced son; down here they could feel that they were working +toward a goal and lay aside the handicap which humans might put in +their path. + +Day after day of labor and the indentation upon the cave-in grew from a +matter of feet to one of yards. A week. Two. Then, as Harry swung +his pick, he lurched forward and went to his knees. "I 've gone +through!" he announced in happy surprise. "I 've gone through. We 're +at the end of it!" + +Up went Fairchild's carbide. Where the pick still hung in the rocky +mass, a tiny hole showed, darker than the surrounding refuse. He put +forth a hand and clawed at the earth about the tool; it gave way +beneath his touch, and there was only vacancy beyond. Again Harry +raised his pick and swung it with force. Fairchild joined him. A +moment more and they were staring at a hole which led to darkness, and +there was joy in Harry's voice as he made a momentary survey. + +"It's fairly dry be'ind there," he announced. "Otherwise we 'd have +been scrambling around in water up to our necks. We 're lucky there, +any'ow." + +Again the attack and again the hole widened. At last Harry +straightened. + +"We can go in now," came finally. "Are you willing to go with me?" + +"Of course. Why not?" + +The Cornishman's hand went to his mustache. + +"I ain't tickled about what we 're liable to find." + +"You mean--?" + +But Harry stopped him. + +"Let's don't talk about it till we 'ave to. Come on." + +Silently they crawled through the opening, the silt and fine rock +rattling about them as they did so, to come upon fairly dry earth on +the other side, and to start forward. Under the rays of the carbides, +they could see that the track here was in fairly good condition; the +only moisture being that of a natural seepage which counted for little. +The timbers still stood dry and firm, except where dripping water in a +few cases had caused the blocks to become spongy and great holes to be +pressed in them by the larger timbers which held back the tremendous +weight from above. Suddenly, as they walked along. Harry took the +lead, holding his lantern far ahead of him, with one big hand behind +it, as though for a reflector. Then, just as suddenly, he turned. + +"Let's go out," came shortly. + +"Why?" + +"It's there!" In the light of the lantern, + +Harry's face was white, his big lips livid. "Let's go--" + +But Fairchild stopped him. + +"Harry," he said, and there was determination in his voice, "if it's +there--we 've got to face it. I 'll be the one who will suffer. My +father is gone. There are no accusations where he rests now; I 'm sure +of that. If--if he ever did anything in his life that wasn't right, he +paid for it. We don't know what happened, Harry--all we are sure of is +that if it's what we 're--we 're afraid of, we 've gone too far now to +turn back. Don't you think that certain people would make an +investigation if we should happen to quit the mine now?" + +"The Rodaines!" + +"Exactly. They would scent something, and within an hour they 'd be +down in here, snooping around. And how much worse would it be for them +to tell the news--than for us!" + +"Nobody 'as to tell it--" Harry was staring at his carbide +flare--"there 's a wye." + +"But we can't take it, Harry. In my father's letter was the statement +that he made only one mistake--that of fear. I 'm going to believe +him--and in spite of what I find here, I 'm going to hold him innocent, +and I 'm going to be fair and square and aboveboard about it all. The +world can think what it pleases--about him and about me. There 's +nothing on my conscience--and I know that if my father had not made the +mistake of running away when he did, there would have been nothing on +his." + +Harry shook his head. + +"'E could n't do much else, Boy. Rodaine was stronger in some ways +then than he is now. That was in different days. That was in times +when Squint Rodaine could 'ave gotten a 'undred men together quicker 'n +a cat's wink and lynched a man without 'im 'aving a trial or anything. +And if I 'd been your father, I 'd 'ave done the same as 'e did. I 'd +'ave run too--'e 'd 'ave paid for it with 'is life if 'e didn't, guilty +or not guilty. And--" he looked sharply toward the younger man--"you +say to go on?" + +"Go on," said Fairchild, and he spoke the words between tightly +clenched teeth. Harry turned his light before him, and once more +shielded it with his big hand. A step--two, then: + +"Look--there--over by the footwall!" + +Fairchild forced his eyes in the direction designated and stared +intently. At first it appeared only like a succession of disjointed, +broken stones, lying in straggly fashion along the footwall of the +drift where it widened into the stope, or upward slant on the vein. +Then, it came forth clearer, the thin outlines of something which +clutched at the heart of Robert Fairchild, which sickened him, which +caused him to fight down a sudden, panicky desire to shield his eyes +and to run,--a heap of age-denuded bones, the scraps of a miner's +costume still clinging to them, the heavy shoes protruding in comically +tragic fashion over bony feet; a huddled, cramped skeleton of a human +being! + +They could only stand and stare at it,--this reminder of a tragedy of a +quarter of a century agone. Their lips refused to utter the words that +strove to travel past them; they were two men dumb, dumb through a +discovery which they had forced themselves to face, through a fact +which they had hoped against, each more or less silently, yet felt sure +must, sooner or later, come before them. And now it was here. + +And this was the reason that twenty years before Thornton Fairchild, +white, grim, had sought the aid of Harry and of Mother Howard. This +was the reason that a woman had played the part of a man, singing in +maudlin fashion as they traveled down the center of the street at +night, to all appearances only three disappointed miners seeking a new +field. And yet-- + +"I know what you 're thinking." It was Harry's voice, strangely hoarse +and weak. "I 'm thinking the same thing. But it must n't be. Dead +men don't alwyes mean they 've died--in a wye to cast reflections on +the man that was with 'em. Do you get what I mean? You've said--" and +he looked hard into the cramped, suffering face of Robert +Fairchild--"that you were going to 'old your father innocent. So 'm I. +We don't know, Boy, what went on 'ere. And we 've got to 'ope for the +best." + +Then, while Fairchild stood motionless and silent, the big Cornishman +forced himself forward, to stoop by the side of the heap of bones which +once had represented a man, to touch gingerly the clothing, and then to +bend nearer and hold his carbide close to some object which Fairchild +could not see. At last he rose and with old, white features, +approached his partner. + +"The appearances are against us," came quietly. "There 's a 'ole in +'is skull that a jury 'll say was made by a single jack. It 'll seem +like some one 'ad killed 'im, and then caved in the mine with a box of +powder. But 'e 's gone, Boy--your father--I mean. 'E can't defend +'imself. We 've got to take 'is part." + +"Maybe--" Fairchild was grasping at the final straw--"maybe it's not +the person we believe it to be at all. It might be somebody else--who +had come in here and set off a charge of powder by accident and--" + +But the shaking of Harry's head stifled the momentary ray of hope. + +"No. I looked. There was a watch--all covered with mold and mildewed. +I pried it open. It's got Larsen's name inside!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +Again there was a long moment of silence, while Harry stood pawing at +his mustache and while Robert Fairchild sought to summon the strength +to do the thing which was before him. It had been comparatively easy +to make resolutions while there still was hope. It was a far different +matter now. All the soddenness of the old days had come back to him, +ghosts which would not be driven away; memories of a time when he was +the grubbing, though willing slave of a victim of fear,--of a man whose +life had been wrecked through terror of the day when intruders would +break their way through the debris, and when the discovery would be +made. And it had remained for Robert Fairchild, the son, to find the +hidden secret, for him to come upon the thing which had caused the +agony of nearly thirty years of suffering, for him to face the +alternative of again placing that gruesome find into hiding, or to +square his shoulders before the world and take the consequences. +Murder is not an easy word to hear, whether it rests upon one's own +shoulders, or upon the memory of a person beloved. And right now +Robert Fairchild felt himself sagging beneath the weight of the +accusation. + +But there was no time to lose in making his decision. Beside him stood +Harry, silent, morose. Before him,--Fairchild closed his eyes in an +attempt to shut out the sight of it. But still it was there, the +crumpled heap of tattered clothing and human remains, the awry, heavy +shoes still shielding the fleshless bones of the feet. He turned +blindly, his hands groping before him. + +"Harry," he called, "Harry! Get me out of here--I--can't stand it!" + +Wordlessly the big man came to his side. Wordlessly they made the trip +back to the hole in the cave-in and then followed the trail of new-laid +track to the shaft. Up--up--the trip seemed endless as they jerked and +pulled on the weighted rope, that their shaft bucket might travel to +the surface. Then, at the mouth of the tunnel, Robert Fairchild stood +for a long time staring out over the soft hills and the radiance of the +snowy range, far away. It gave him a new strength, a new +determination. The light, the sunshine, the soft outlines of the scrub +pines in the distance, the freedom and openness of the mountains seemed +to instill into him a courage he could not feel down there in the +dampness and darkness of the tunnel. His shoulders surged, as though +to shake off a great weight. His eyes brightened with resolution. +Then he turned to the faithful Harry, waiting in the background. + +"There's no use trying to evade anything, Harry. We 've got to face +the music. Will you go with me to notify the coroner--or would you +rather stay here?" + +"I 'll go." + +Silently they trudged into town and to the little undertaking shop +which also served as the office of the coroner. They made their +report, then accompanied the officer, together with the sheriff, back +to the mine and into the drift. There once more they clambered through +the hole in the cave-in and on toward the beginning of the stope. And +there they pointed out their discovery. + +A wait for the remainder of that day,--a day that seemed ages long, a +day in which Robert Fairchild found himself facing the editor of the +_Bugle_, and telling his story, Harry beside him. But he told only +what he had found, nothing of the past, nothing of the white-haired man +who had waited by the window, cringing at the slightest sound on the +old, vine-clad veranda, nothing of the letter which he had found in the +dusty safe. Nothing was asked regarding that; nothing could be gained +by telling it. In the heart of Robert Fairchild was the conviction +that somehow, some way, his father was innocent, and in his brain was a +determination to fight for that innocence as long as it was humanly +possible. But gossip told what he did not. + +There were those who remembered the departure of Thornton Fairchild +from Ohadi. There were others who recollected perfectly that in the +center of the rig was a singing, maudlin man, apparently "Sissie" +Larsen. And they asked questions. They cornered Harry, they shot +their queries at him one after another. But Harry was adamant. + +"I ain't got anything to sye! And there's an end to it!" + +Then, forcing his way past them, he crossed the street and went up the +worn steps to the little office of Randolph P. Farrell, with his +grinning smile and his horn-rimmed glasses, there to tell what he +knew,--and to ask advice. And with the information the happy-go-lucky +look faded, while Fairchild, entering behind Harry, heard a verdict +which momentarily seemed to stop his heart. + +"It means, Harry, that you were accessory to a crime--if this was a +murder. You knew that something had happened. You helped without +asking questions. And if it can be proved a murder--well," and he +drummed on his desk with the end of his pencil--"there 's no statute of +limitations when the end of a human life is concerned!" + +Only a moment Harry hesitated. Then: + +"I 'll tell the truth--if they ask me." + +"When?" The lawyer was bending forward. + +"At the inquest. Ain't that what you call it?" + +"You'll tell nothing. Understand? You'll tell nothing, other than +that you, with Robert Fairchild, found that skeleton. An inquest is +n't a trial. And that can't come without knowledge and evidence that +this man was murdered. So, remember--you tell the coroner's jury that +you found this body and nothing more!" + +"But--" + +"It's a case for the grand jury after that, to study the findings of +the coroner's jury and to sift out what evidence comes to it." + +"You mean--" This time it was Fairchild cutting in--"that if the +coroner's jury cannot find evidence that this man was murdered, or +something more than mere supposition to base a charge on--there 'll be +no trouble for Harry?" + +"It's very improbable. So tell what happened on this day of this year +of our Lord and nothing more! You people almost had me scared myself +for a minute. Now, get out of here and let a legal light shine without +any more clouds for a few minutes." + +They departed then and traveled down the stairs with far more spring in +their step than when they had entered. Late that night, as they were +engaged at their usual occupation of relating the varied happenings of +the day to Mother Howard, there came a knock at the door. +Instinctively, Fairchild bent toward her: + +"Your name 's out of this--as long as possible." + +She smiled in her mothering, knowing way. Then she opened the door, +there to find a deputy from the sheriff's office. + +"They 've impaneled a jury up at the courthouse," he announced. "The +coroner wants Mr. Fairchild and Mr. Harkins to come up there and tell +what they know about this here skeleton they found." + +It was the expected. The two men went forth, to find the street about +the courthouse thronged, for already the news of the finding of the +skeleton had traveled far, even into the little mining camps which +skirted the town. It was a mystery of years long agone, and as such it +fascinated and lured, in far greater measure perhaps, than some murder +of a present day. Everywhere were black crowds under the faint street +lamps. The basement of the courthouse was illuminated; and there were +clusters of curious persons about the stairways. Through the throngs +started Harry and Fairchild, only to be drawn aside by Farrell, the +attorney. + +"I 'm not going to take a part in this unless I have to," he told them. +"It will look better for you if it is n't necessary for me to make an +appearance. Whatever you do," and he addressed Harry, "say nothing +about what you were telling me this afternoon. In the first place, you +yourself have no actual knowledge of what happened. How do you know +but what Thornton Fairchild was attacked by this man and forced to kill +in self-defense? It's a penitentiary offense for a man to strike +another, without sufficient justification, beneath ground. And had +Sissie Larsen even so much as slapped Thornton Fairchild, that man +would have been perfectly justified in killing him to protect himself. +I 'm simply telling you that so that you will have no qualms in keeping +concealed facts which, at this time, have no bearing. Guide yourselves +accordingly--and as I say, I will be there only as a spectator, unless +events should necessitate something else." + +They promised and went on, somewhat calmer in mind, to edge their way +to the steps and to enter the basement of the courthouse. The coroner +and his jury, composed of six miners picked up haphazard along the +street--according to the custom of coroners in general--were already +present. So was every person who possibly could cram through the doors +of the big room. To them all Fairchild paid little attention,--all but +three. + +They were on a back seat in the long courtroom,--Squint Rodaine and his +son, chalkier, yet blacker than ever, while between them sat an old +woman with white hair which straggled about her cheeks, a woman with +deep-set eyes, whose hands wandered now and then vaguely before her; a +wrinkled woman, fidgeting about on her seat, watching with craned neck +those who stuffed their way within the already crammed room, her eyes +never still, her lips moving constantly, as though mumbling some +never-ending rote. Fairchild stared at her, then turned to Harry. + +"Who 's that with the Rodaines?" + +Harry looked furtively. "Crazy Laura--his wife." + +"But--" + +"And she ain't 'ere for anything good!" + +Harry's voice bore a tone of nervousness. "Squint Rodaine don't even +recognize 'er on the street--much less appear in company with 'er. +Something's 'appening!" + +"But what could she testify to?" + +"'Ow should I know?" Harry said it almost petulantly. "I did n't even +know she--" + +"Oyez, oyez, oyez!" It was the bailiff, using a regular district-court +introduction of the fact that an inquest was about to be held. The +crowded room sighed and settled. The windows became frames for human +faces, staring from without. The coroner stepped forward. + +"We are gathered here to-night to inquire into the death of a man +supposed to be L. A. Larsen, commonly called 'Sissie', whose skeleton +was found to-day in the Blue Poppy mine. What this inquest will bring +forth, I do not know, but as sworn and true members of the coroner's +jury, I charge and command you in the great name of the sovereign State +of Colorado, to do your full duty in arriving at your verdict." + +The jury, half risen from its chair, some with their left hands held +high above them, some with their right, swore in mumbling tones to do +their duty, whatever that might be. The coroner surveyed the +assemblage. + +"First witness," he called out; "Harry Harkins!" + +Harry went forward, clumsily seeking the witness chair. A moment later +he had been sworn, and in five minutes more, he was back beside +Fairchild, staring in a relieved manner about him. He had been +questioned regarding nothing more than the mere finding of the body, +the identification by means of the watch, and the notification of the +coroner. Fairchild was called, to suffer no more from the queries of +the investigator than Harry. There was a pause. It seemed that the +inquest was over. A few people began to move toward the door--only to +halt. The coroner's voice had sounded again: + +"Mrs. Laura Rodaine!" + +Prodded to her feet by the squint-eyed man beside her, she rose, and +laughing in silly fashion, stumbled to the aisle, her straying hair, +her ragged clothing, her big shoes and shuffling gait all blending with +the wild, eerie look of her eyes, the constant munching of the almost +toothless mouth. Again she laughed, in a vacant, embarrassed manner, +as she reached the stand and held up her hand for the administration of +the oath. Fairchild leaned close to his partner. + +"At least she knows enough for that." + +Harry nodded. + +"She knows a lot, that ole girl. They say she writes down in a book +everything she does every day. But what can she be 'ere to testify to?" + +The answer seemed to come in the questioning voice of the coroner. + +"Your name, please?" + +"Laura Rodaine. Least, that's the name I go by. My real maiden name +is Laura Masterson, and--" + +"Rodaine will be sufficient. Your age?" + +"I think it's sixty-four. If I had my book I could tell. I--" + +"Your book?" + +"Yes, I keep everything in a book. But it is n't here. I could n't +bring it." + +"The guess will be sufficient in this case. You 've lived here a good +many years, Mrs. Rodaine?" + +"Yes. Around thirty-five. Let's see--yes, I 'm sure it's thirty-five. +My boy was born here--he 's about thirty and we came here five years +before that." + +"I believe you told me to-night that you have a habit of wandering +around the hills?" + +"Yes, I 've done that--I do it right along--I 've done it ever since my +husband and I split up--that was just a little while after the boy was +born--" + +"Sufficient. I merely wanted to establish that fact. In wandering +about, did you ever see anything, twenty-three or four years ago or so, +that would lead you to believe you know something about the death of +this man whose demise we are inquiring?" + +The big hand of Harry caught at Fairchild's arm. The old woman had +raised her head, craning her neck and allowing her mouth to fall open, +as she strove for words. At last: + +"I know something. I know a lot. But I 've never figured it was +anybody's business but my own. So I have n't told it. But I +remember--" + +"What, Mrs. Rodaine?" + +"The day Sissie Larsen was supposed to leave town--that was the day he +got killed." + +"Do you remember the date?" + +"No--I don't remember that." + +"Would it be in your book?" + +She seemed to become suddenly excited. She half rose in her chair and +looked down the line of benches to where her husband sat, the scar +showing plainly in the rather brilliant light, his eyes narrowed until +they were nearly closed. Again the question, and again a moment of +nervousness before she answered: + +"No--no--it would n't be in my book. I looked." + +"But you remember?" + +"Just like as if it was yesterday." + +"And what you saw--did it give you any idea--" + +"I know what I saw." + +"And did it lead to any conclusion?" + +"Yes." + +"What, may I ask?" + +"That somebody had been murdered!" + +"Who--and by whom?" + +Crazy Laura munched at her toothless gums for a moment and looked again +toward her husband. Then, her watery, almost colorless eyes searching, +she began a survey of the big room, looking intently from one figure to +another. On and on--finally to reach the spot where stood Robert +Fairchild and Harry, and there they stopped. A lean finger, knotted by +rheumatism, darkened by sun and wind, stretched out. + +"Yes, I know who did it, and I know who got killed. It was 'Sissie' +Larsen--he was murdered. The man who did it was a fellow named +Thornton Fairchild who owned the mine--if I ain't mistaken, he was the +father of this young man--" + +"I object!" Farrell, the attorney, was on his feet and struggling +forward, jamming his horn-rimmed glasses into a pocket as he did so. +"This has ceased to be an inquest; it has resolved itself into some +sort of an inquisition!" + +"I fail to see why." The coroner had stepped down and was facing him. + +"Why? Why--you 're inquiring into a death that happened more than +twenty years ago--and you 're basing that inquiry upon the word of a +woman who is not legally able to give testimony in any kind of a court +or on any kind of a case! It's not judicial, it's not within the +confines of a legitimate, honorable practice, and it certainly is not +just to stain the name of any man with the crime of murder upon the +word of an insane person, especially when that man is dead and unable +to defend himself!" + +"Are n't you presuming?" + +"I certainly am not. Have you any further evidence upon the lines that +she is going to give?" + +"Not directly." + +"Then I demand that all the testimony which this woman has given be +stricken out and the jury instructed to disregard it." + +The official smiled. + +"I think otherwise. Besides, this is merely a coroner's inquest and +not a court action. The jury is entitled to all the evidence that has +any bearing on the case." + +"But this woman is crazy!" + +"Has she ever been adjudged so, or committed to any asylum for the +insane?" + +"No--but nevertheless, there are a hundred persons in this court room +who will testify to the fact that she is mentally unbalanced and not a +fit person to fasten a crime upon any man's head by her testimony. And +referring even to yourself, Coroner, have you within the last +twenty-five years, in fact, since a short time after the birth of her +son, called her anything else but Crazy Laura? Has any one else in +this town called her any other name? Man, I appeal to your--" + +"What you say may be true. It may not. I don't know. I only am sure +of one thing--that a person is sane in the eyes of the law until +adjudged otherwise. Therefore, her evidence at this time is perfectly +legal and proper." + +"It won't be as soon as I can bring an action before a lunacy court and +cause her examination by a board of alienists." + +"That's something for the future. In that case, things might be +different. But I can only follow the law, with the members of the jury +instructed, of course, to accept the evidence for what they deem it is +worth. You will proceed, Mrs. Rodaine. What did you see that caused +you to come to this conclusion?" + +"Can't you even stick to the rules and ethics of testimony?" It was +the final plea of the defeated Farrell. The coroner eyed him slowly. + +"Mr. Farrell," came his answer, "I must confess to a deviation from +regular court procedure in this inquiry. It is customary in an inquest +of this character; certain departures from the usual rules must be made +that the truth and the whole truth be learned. Proceed, Mrs. Rodaine, +what was it you saw?" + +Transfixed, horrified, Fairchild watched the mumbling, munching mouth, +the staring eyes and straying white hair, the bony, crooked hands as +they weaved before her. From those toothless jaws a story was about to +come, true or untrue, a story that would stain the name of his father +with murder! And that story now was at its beginning. + +"I saw them together that afternoon early," the old woman was saying. +"I came up the road just behind them, and they were fussing. Both of +'em acted like they were mad at each other, but Fairchild seemed to be +the maddest. + +"I did n't pay much attention to them because I just thought they were +fighting about some little thing and that it wouldn't amount to much. +I went on up the gulch--I was gathering flowers. After awhile, the +earth shook and I heard a big explosion, from way down underneath +me--like thunder when it's far away. Then, pretty soon, I saw +Fairchild come rushing out of the mine, and his hands were all bloody. +He ran to the creek and washed them, looking around to see if anybody +was watching him--but he did n't notice me. Then when he 'd washed the +blood from his hands, he got up on the road and went down into town. +Later on, I thought I saw all three of 'em leave town, Fairchild, +Sissie and a fellow named Harkins. So I never paid any more attention +to it until to-day. That's all I know." + +She stepped down then and went back to her seat with Squint Rodaine and +the son, fidgeting there again, craning her neck as before, while +Fairchild, son of a man just accused of murder, watched her with eyes +fascinated from horror. The coroner looked at a slip of paper in his +hand. + +"William Barton," he called. A miner came forward, to go through the +usual formalities, and then to be asked the question: + +"Did you see Thornton Fairchild on the night he left Ohadi?" + +"Yes, a lot of us saw him. He drove out of town with Harry Harkins, +and a fellow who we all thought was Sissie Larsen. The person we +believed to be Sissie was singing like the Swede did when he was drunk." + +"That's all. Mr. Harkins, will you please take the stand again?" + +"I object!" again it was Farrell. "In the first place, if this crazy +woman's story is the result of a distorted imagination, then Mr. +Harkins can add nothing to it. If it is not, Mr. Harkins is cloaked by +the protection of the law which fully applies to such cases and which, +Mr. Coroner, you cannot deny." + +The coroner nodded. + +"I agree with you this time, Mr. Farrell. I wish to work no hardship +on any one. If Mrs. Rodaine's story is true, this is a matter for a +special session of the grand jury. If it is not true--well, then there +has been a miscarriage of justice and it is a matter to be rectified in +the future. But at the present, there is no way of determining that +matter. Gentlemen of the jury," he turned his back on the crowded room +and faced the small, worried appearing group on the row of kitchen +chairs, "you have heard the evidence. You will find a room at the +right in which to conduct your deliberations. Your first official act +will be to select a foreman and then to attempt to determine from the +evidence as submitted the cause of death of the corpse over whom this +inquest has been held. You will now retire." + +Shuffling forms faded through the door at the right. Then followed +long moments of waiting, in which Robert Fairchild's eyes went to the +floor, in which he strove to avoid the gaze of every one in the crowded +court room. He knew what they were thinking, that his father had been +a murderer, and that he--well, that he was blood of his father's blood. +He could hear the buzzing of tongues, the shifting of the court room on +the unstable chairs, and he knew fingers were pointing at him. For +once in his life he had not the strength to face his fellow men. A +quarter of an hour--a knock on the door--then the six men clattered +forth again, to hand a piece of paper to the coroner. And he, +adjusting his glasses, turned to the court room and read: + +"We, the jury, find that the deceased came to his death from injuries +sustained at the hands of Thornton Fairchild, in or about the month of +June, 1892." + +That was all, but it was enough. The stain had been placed; the thing +which the white-haired man who had sat by a window back in Indianapolis +had feared all his life had come after death. And it was as though he +were living again in the body of his son, his son who now stood beside +the big form of Harry, striving to force his eyes upward and finally +succeeding,--standing there facing the morbid, staring crowd as they +turned and jostled that they might look at him, the son of a murderer! + +How long it lasted he did not, could not know. The moments were dazed, +bleared things which consisted to him only of a succession of eyes, of +persons who pointed him out, who seemed to edge away from him as they +passed him. It seemed hours before the court room cleared. Then, the +attorney at one side, Harry at the other, he started out of the court +room. + +The crowd still was on the street, milling, circling, dividing into +little groups to discuss the verdict. Through them shot scrambling +forms of newsboys, seeking, in imitation of metropolitan methods, to +enhance the circulation of the _Bugle_ with an edition of a paper +already hours old. Dazedly, simply for the sake of something to take +his mind from the throngs and the gossip about him, Fairchild bought a +paper and stepped to the light to glance over the first page. There, +emblazoned under the "Extra" heading, was the story of the finding of +the skeleton in the Blue Poppy mine, while beside it was something +which caused Robert Fairchild to almost forget, for the moment, the +horrors of the ordeal which he was undergoing. It was a paragraph +leading the "personal" column of the small, amateurish sheet, +announcing the engagement of Miss Anita Natalie Richmond to Mr. Maurice +Rodaine, the wedding to come "probably in the late fall!" + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +Fairchild did not show the item to Harry. There was little that it +could accomplish, and besides, he felt that his comrade had enough to +think about. The unexpected turn of the coroner's inquest had added to +the heavy weight of Harry's troubles; it meant the probability in the +future of a grand jury investigation and the possible indictment as +accessory after the fact in the murder of "Sissie" Larsen. Not that +Fairchild had been influenced in the slightest by the testimony of +Crazy Laura; the presence of Squint Rodaine and his son had shown too +plainly that they were connected in some way with it, that, in fact, +they were responsible. An opportunity had arisen for them, and they +had seized upon it. More, there came the shrewd opinion of old Mother +Howard, once Fairchild and Harry had reached the boarding house and +gathered in the parlor for their consultation: + +"Ain't it what I said right in the beginning?" the gray-haired woman +asked. "She 'll kill for that man, if necessary. It was n't as hard +as you think--all Squint Rodaine had to do was to act nice to her and +promise her a few things that he 'll squirm out of later on, and she +went on the stand and lied her head off." + +"But for a crazy woman--" + +"Laura's crazy--and she ain't crazy. I 've seen that woman as sensible +and as shrewd as any sane woman who ever drew breath. Then again, I +'ve seen her when I would n't get within fifty miles of her. Sometimes +she 's pitiful to me; and then again I 've got to remember the fact +that she 's a dangerous woman. Goodness only knows what would happen +to a person who fell into her clutches when she 's got one of those +immortality streaks on." + +"One of those what?" Harry looked up in surprise. + +"Immortality. That's why you 'll find her sneaking around graveyards +at night, gathering herbs and taking them to that old house on the +Georgeville Road, where she lives, and brewing them into some sort of +concoction that she sprinkles on the graves. She believes that it's a +sure system of bringing immortality to a person. Poison--that's about +what it is." + +Harry shrugged his shoulders. + +"Poison 's what she is!" he exclaimed. "Ain't it enough that I 'm +accused of every crime in the calendar without 'er getting me mixed up +in a murder? And--" this time he looked at Fairchild with dolorous +eyes--"'ow 're we going to furnish bond this time, if the grand jury +indicts me?" + +"I 'm afraid there won't be any." + +Mother Howard set her lips for a minute, then straightened proudly. + +"Well, I guess there will! They can't charge you a million dollars on +a thing like that. It's bondable--and I guess I 've got a few things +that are worth something--and a few friends that I can go to. I don't +see why I should be left out of everything, just because I 'm a woman!" + +"Lor' love you!" Harry grinned, his eyes showing plainly that the +world was again good for him and that his troubles, as far as a few +slight charges of penitentiary offenses were concerned, amounted to +very little in his estimation. Harry had a habit of living just for +the day. And the support of Mother Howard had wiped out all future +difficulties for him. The fact that convictions might await him and +that the heavy doors at Canon City might yawn for him made little +difference right now. Behind the great bulwark of his mustache, his +big lips spread in a happy announcement of joy, and the world was good. + +Silently, Robert Fairchild rose and left the parlor for his own room. +Some way he could not force himself to shed his difficulties in the +same light, airy way as Harry. He wanted to be alone, alone where he +could take stock of the obstacles which had arisen in his path, of the +unexplainable difficulties and tribulations which had come upon him, +one trailing the other, ever since he had read the letter left for him +by his father. And it was a stock-taking of disappointing proportions. + +Looking back, Fairchild could see now that his dreams had led only to +catastrophes. The bright vista which had been his that day he sat +swinging his legs over the tailboard of the truck as it ground up Mount +Lookout had changed to a thing of gloomy clouds and of ominous futures. +Nothing had gone right. From the very beginning, there had been only +trouble, only fighting, fighting, fighting against insurmountable odds, +which seemed to throw him ever deeper into the mire of defeat, with +every onslaught. He had met a girl whom he had instinctively liked, +only to find a mystery about her which could not be fathomed. He had +furthered his acquaintance with her, only to bring about a condition +where now she passed him on the street without speaking and which, he +felt, had instigated that tiny notice in the _Bugle_, telling of her +probable marriage in the late autumn to a man he detested as a cad and +as an enemy. He had tried his best to follow the lure of silver; if +silver existed in the Blue Poppy mine, he had labored against the +powers of Nature, only to be the unwilling cause of a charge of murder +against his father. And more, it was clear, cruelly clear, that if it +had not been for his own efforts and those of a man who had come to +help him, the skeleton of Sissie Larsen never would have been +discovered, and the name of Thornton Fairchild might have gone on in +the peace which the white-haired, frightened man had sought. + +But now there was no choosing. Robert was the son of a murderer. Six +men had stamped that upon him in the basement of the courthouse that +night. His funds were low, growing lower every day, and there was +little possibility of rehabilitating them until the trial of Harry +should come, and Fate should be kind enough to order an acquittal, +releasing the products from escrow. In case of a conviction, Fairchild +could see only disaster. True, the optimistic Farrell had spoken of a +Supreme Court reversal of any verdict against his partner, but that +would avail little as far as the mine was concerned. It must still +remain in escrow as the bond of Harry until the case was decided, and +that might mean years. And one cannot borrow money upon a thing that +is mortgaged in its entirety to a commonwealth. In the aggregate, the +outlook was far from pleasant. The Rodaines had played with stacked +cards, and so far every hand had been theirs. Fairchild's credit, and +his standing, was ruined. He had been stamped by the coroner's jury as +the son of a murderer, and that mark must remain upon him until it +could be cleared by forces now imperceptible to Fairchild. His partner +was under bond, accused of four crimes. The Rodaines had won a +victory, perhaps greater than they knew. They had succeeded in soiling +the reputations of the two men they called enemies, damaging them to +such an extent that they must henceforth fight at a disadvantage, +without the benefit of a solid ground of character upon which to stand. +Fairchild suddenly realized that he was all but whipped, that the +psychological advantage was all on the side of Squint Rodaine, his son, +and the crazy woman who did their bidding. More, another hope had gone +glimmering; even had the announcement not come forth that Anita +Richmond had given her promise to marry Maurice Rodaine, the action of +a coroner's jury that night had removed her from hope forever. A son +of a man who has been called a slayer has little right to love a woman, +even if that woman has a bit of mystery about her. All things can be +explained--but murder! + +It was growing late, but Fairchild did not seek bed. Instead he sat by +the window, staring out at the shadows of the mountains, out at the +free, pure night, and yet at nothing. After a long time, the door +opened, and a big form entered--Harry--to stand silent a moment, then +to come forward and lay a hand on the other man's shoulder. + +"Don't let it get you, Boy," he said softly--for him. "It's going to +come out all right. Everything comes out all right--if you ain't wrong +yourself." + +"I know, Harry. But it's an awful tangle right now." + +"Sure it is. But it ain't as if a sane person 'ad said it against you. +There 'll never be anything more to that; Farrell 'll 'ave 'er adjudged +insane if it ever comes to anything like that. She 'll never give no +more testimony. I 've been talking with 'im--'e stopped in just after +you came upstairs. It's only a crazy woman." + +"But they took her word for it, Harry. They believed her. And they +gave the verdict--against my father!" + +"I know. I was there, right beside you. I 'eard it. But it 'll come +out right, some way." + +There was a moment of silence, then a gripping fear at the heart of +Fairchild. + +"Just how crazy is she, Harry?" + +"'Er? Plumb daft! Of course, as Mother 'Oward says, there 's times +when she 's straight--but they don't last long. And, if she 'd given +'er testimony in writing, Mother 'Oward says it all might 'ave been +different, and we 'd not 'ave 'ad anything to worry about." + +"In writing?" + +"Yes, she 's 'arfway sane then. It seems 'er mind 's disconnected, +some wye. I don't know 'ow--Mother 'Oward 's got the 'ole lingo, and +everybody in town knows about it. Whenever anybody wants to get +anything real straight from Crazy Laura, they make 'er write it. That +part of 'er brain seems all right. She remembers everything she does +then and 'ow crazy it is, and tells you all about it." + +"But why did n't Farrell insist upon that tonight?" + +"'E could n't have gotten 'er to do it. And nobody can get 'er to do +it as long has Squint's around--so Mother 'Oward says. 'E 's got a +influence about 'im. And she does exactly what 'e 'll sye--all 'e 's +got to do is to look at 'er. Notice 'ow flustered up she got when the +coroner asked 'er about that book?" + +"I wonder what it would really tell?" + +Harry chuckled. + +"Nobody knows. Nobody 's ever seen it. Not even Squint Rodaine. +That's the one thing she 's got the strength to keep from 'im--I guess +it's a part of 'er right brain that tells 'er to keep it a secret! I +'m going to bed now. So 're you. And you 're going to sleep. Good +night." + +He went out of the room then, and Fairchild, obedient to the big +Cornishman's command, sought rest. But it was a hard struggle. +Morning came, and he joined Harry at breakfast, facing the curious +glances of the other boarders, staving off their inquiries and their +illy couched consolations. For, in spite of the fact that it was not +voiced in so many words, the conviction was present that Crazy Laura +had told at least a semblance of the truth, and that the dovetailing +incidents of the past fitted into a well-connected story for which +there must be some foundation. Moreover, in the corner were Blindeye +Bozeman and Taylor Bill, hurrying through their breakfast that they +might go to their work in the Silver Queen, Squint Rodaine's mine, less +than a furlong from the ill-boding Blue Poppy. Fairchild could see +that they were talking about him, their eyes turned often in his +direction; once Taylor Bill nodded and sneered as he answered some +remark of his companion. The blood went hot in Fairchild's brain. He +rose from the table, hands clenched, muscles tensed, only to find +himself drawn back by the strong grasp of Harry. The big Cornishman +whispered to him as he took his seat again: + +"It 'll only make more trouble. I know 'ow you feel--but 'old in. +'Old in!" + +It was an admonition which Fairchild was forced to repeat to himself +more than once that morning as he walked uptown with Harry, to face the +gaze of the street loafers, to be plied with questions, and to strive +his best to fence away from them. There were those who were plainly +curious; there were others who professed not to believe the testimony +and who talked loudly of action against the coroner for having +introduced the evidence of a woman known by every one to be lacking in +balanced mentality. There were others who, by their remarks, showed +that they were concealing the real truth of their thoughts and only +using a cloak of interest to guide them to other food for the carrion +proclivities of their minds. To all of them Fairchild and Harry made +the same reply: that they had nothing to say, that they had given all +the information possible on the witness stand during the inquest, and +that there was nothing further forthcoming. + +And it was while he made this statement for the hundredth time that +Fairchild saw Anita Richmond going to the post-office with the rest of +the usual crowd, following the arrival of the morning train. Again she +passed him without speaking, but her glance did not seem so cold as it +had been on the morning that he had seen her with Rodaine, nor did the +lack of recognition appear as easily simulated. That she knew what had +happened and the charge that had been made against his father, +Fairchild did not doubt. That she knew he had read the "personal" in +the _Bugle_ was as easily determined. Between them was a gulf--caused +by what Fairchild could only guess--a gulf which he could not essay to +cross, and which she, for some reason, would not. But there was +nothing that could stop him from watching her, with hungry eyes which +followed her until she had disappeared in the doorway of the +post-office, eyes which believed they detected a listlessness in her +walk and a slight droop to the usually erect little shoulders, eyes +which were sure of one thing: that the smile was gone from the lips, +that upon her features were the lines and hollows of sleeplessness, and +the unmistakable lack of luster and color which told him that she was +not happy. Even the masculine mentality of Fairchild could discern +that. But it could not answer the question which the decision brought. +She had become engaged to a man whom she had given evidence of hating. +She had refused to recognize Fairchild, whom she had appeared to like. +She had cast her lot with the Rodaines--and she was unhappy. Beyond +that, everything was blank to Fairchild. + +An hour later Harry, wandering by the younger man's side, strove for +words and at last uttered them. + +"I know it's disagreeable," came finally. "But it's necessary. You +'ave n't quit?" + +"Quit what?" + +"The mine. You 're going to keep on, ain't you?" + +Fairchild gritted his teeth and was silent. The answer needed +strength. Finally it came. + +"Harry, are you with me?" + +"I ain't stopped yet!" + +"Then that's the answer. As long as there 's a bit of fight left in +us, we 'll keep at that mine. I don't know where it's going to lead +us--but from appearances as they stand now, the only outlook seems to +be ruin. But if you 're willing, I 'm willing, and we 'll make the +scrap together." + +Harry hitched at his trousers. + +"They 've got that blooming skeleton out by this time. I 'm willing to +start--any time you say." + +The breath went over Fairchild's teeth in a long, slow intake. He +clenched his hands and held them trembling before him for a lengthy +moment. Then he turned to his partner. + +"Give me an hour," he begged. "I 'll go then--but it takes a little +grit to--" + +"Who's Fairchild here?" A messenger boy was making his way along the +curb with a telegram. Robert stretched forth a hand in surprise. + +"I am. Why?" + +The answer came as the boy shoved forth the yellow envelope and the +delivery sheet. Fairchild signed, then somewhat dazedly ran a finger +under the slit of the envelope. Then, wondering, he read: + + +Please come to Denver at once. Have most important information for you. + +R. V. Barnham, + H & R Building. + + +A moment of staring, then Fairchild passed the telegram over to Harry +for his opinion. There was none. Together they went across the street +and to the office of Farrell, their attorney. He studied the telegram +long. Then: + +"I can't see what on earth it means, unless there is some information +about this skeleton or the inquest. If I were you, I 'd go." + +"But supposing it's some sort of a trap?" + +"No matter what it is, go and let the other fellow do all the talking. +Listen to what he has to say and tell him nothing. That's the only +safe system. I 'd go down on the noon train--that 'll get you there +about two. You can be back by 10:30 to-morrow." + +"No 'e can't," it was Harry's interruption as he grasped a pencil and +paper. "I 've got a list of things a mile long for 'im to get. We're +going after this mine 'ammer and tongs now!" + +When noon came, Robert Fairchild, with his mysterious telegram, boarded +the train for Denver, while in his pocket was a list demanding the +outlay of nearly a thousand dollars: supplies of fuses, of dynamite, of +drills, of a forge, of single and double jack sledges, of fulminate +caps,--a little of everything that would be needed in the months to +come, if he and 'Arry were to work the mine. It was only a beginning, +a small quantity of each article needed, part of which could be picked +up in the junk yards at a reasonable figure, other things that would +eat quickly into the estimate placed upon the total. And with a +capital already dwindling, it meant an expenditure which hurt, but +which was necessary, nevertheless. + +Slow, puffing and wheezing, the train made its way along Clear Creek +canon, crawled across the newly built trestle which had been erected to +take the place of that which had gone out with the spring flood of the +milky creek, then jangled into Denver. Fairchild hurried uptown, found +the old building to which he had been directed by the telegram, and +made the upward trip in the ancient elevator, at last to knock upon a +door. A half-whining voice answered him, and he went within. + +A greasy man was there, greasy in his fat, uninviting features, in his +seemingly well-oiled hands as they circled in constant kneading, in his +long, straggling hair, in his old, spotted Prince Albert--and in his +manners. Fairchild turned to peer at the glass panel of the door. It +bore the name he sought. Then he looked again at the oily being who +awaited him. + +"Mr. Barnham?" + +"That's what I 'm called." He wheezed with the self-implied humor of +his remark and motioned toward a chair. "May I ask what you 've come +to see me about?" + +"I have n't the slightest idea. You sent for me." Fairchild produced +the telegram, and the greasy person who had taken a position on the +other side of a worn, walnut table became immediately obsequious. + +"Of course! Of course! Mr. Fairchild! Why did n't you say so when +you came in? Of course--I 've been looking for you all day. May I +offer you a cigar?" + +He dragged a box of domestic perfectos from a drawer of the table and +struck a match to light one for Fairchild. He hastily summoned an ash +tray from the little room which adjoined the main, more barren office. +Then with a bustling air of urgent business he hurried to both doors +and locked them. + +"So that we may not be disturbed," he confided in that high, whining +voice. "I am hoping that this is very important." + +"I also." Fairchild puffed dubiously upon the more dubious cigar. The +greasy individual returned to his table, dragged the chair nearer it, +then, seating himself, leaned toward Fairchild. + +"If I 'm not mistaken, you 're the owner of the Blue Poppy mine." + +"I 'm supposed to be." + +"Of course--of course. One never knows in these days what he owns or +when he owns it. Very good, I 'd say, Mr. Fairchild, very good. Could +you possibly do me the favor of telling me how you 're getting along?" + +Fairchild's eyes narrowed. + +"I thought you had information--for me!" + +"Very good again." Mr. Barnham raised a fat hand and wheezed in an +effort at intense enjoyment of the reply. "So I have--so I have. I +merely asked that to be asking. Now, to be serious, have n't you some +enemies, Mr. Fairchild?" + +"Have I?" + +"I was merely asking." + +"And I judged from your question that you seemed to know." + +"So I do. And one friend." Barnham pursed his heavy lips and nodded +in an authoritative manner. "One, very, very good friend." + +"I was hoping that I had more than that." + +"Ah, perhaps so. But I speak only from what I know. There is one +person who is very anxious about your welfare." + +"So?" + +Mr. Barnham leaned forward in an exceedingly friendly manner. + +"Well, is n't there?" + +Fairchild squared away from the table. + +"Mr. Barnham," came coldly; the inherent distrust for the greasy, +uninviting individual having swerved to the surface. "You wired me +that you had some very important news for me. I came down here +expressly because of that wire. Now that I 'm here, your mission seems +to be wholly taken up in drawing from me any information that I happen +to possess about myself. Plainly and frankly, I don't like it, and I +don't like you--and unless you can produce a great deal more than you +have already, I 'll have to chalk up the expense to a piece of bad +judgment and go on about my business." + +He started to rise, and Barnham scrambled to his feet. + +"Please don't," he begged, thrusting forth a fat hand, "please, please +don't. This is a very important matter. One--one has to be careful in +going about a thing as important as this is. The person is in a very +peculiar position." + +"But I 'm tired of the way you beat around the bush. You tell me some +meager scrap of filmy news and then ask me a dozen questions. As I +told you before, I don't like it--and I 'm just about at the point +where I don't care what information you have!" + +"But just be patient a moment--I 'm coming to it. Suppose--" then he +cupped his hands and stared hard at the ceiling, "Suppose that I told +you that there was some one who was willing to see you through all your +troubles, who had arranged everything for you, and all you had to do +would be to say the word to find yourself in the midst of comfort and +riches?" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +Fairchild blinked in surprise at this and sank back into his chair. +Finally he laughed uneasily and puffed again on the dubious cigar. + +"I 'd say," came finally, "that there is n't any such animal." + +"But there is. She has--" Then he stopped, as though to cover the +slip. Fairchild leaned forward. + +"She?" + +Mr. Barnham gave the appearance of a very flustered man. + +"My tongue got away from me; I should n't have said it. I really +should n't have said it. If she ever finds it out, it will mean +trouble for me. But truly," and he beamed, "you are such a tough +customer to deal with and so suspicious--no offense meant, of +course--that I really was forced to it. I--feel sure she will forgive +me." + +"Whom do you mean by 'she'?" + +Mr. Barnham smiled in a knowing manner. + +"You and I both know," came his cryptic answer. "She is your one +great, good friend. She thinks a great deal of you, and you have done +several things to cause that admiration. Now, Mr. Fairchild, coming to +the point, suppose she should point a way out of your troubles?" + +"How?" + +"In the first place, you and your partner are in very great +difficulties." + +"Are we?" Fairchild said it sarcastically. + +"Indeed you are, and there is no need of attempting to conceal the +fact. Your friend, whose name must remain a secret, does not love +you--don't ever think that--but--" + +Then he hesitated as though to watch the effect on Fairchild's face. +There was none; Robert had masked it. In time the words went on: "But +she does think enough of you to want to make you happy. She has +recently done a thing which gives her a great deal of power in one +direction. In another, she has connections who possess vast money +powers and who are looking for an opening here in the west. Now,--" he +made a church steeple out of his fingers and leaned back in his chair, +staring vacuously at the ceiling, "if you will say the word and do a +thing which will relieve her of a great deal of embarrassment, I am +sure that she can so arrange things that life will be very easy for you +henceforth." + +"I 'm becoming interested." + +"In the first place, she is engaged to be married to a very fine young +man. You, of course, may say differently, and I do not know--I am only +taking her word for it. But--if I understand it, your presence in +Ohadi has caused a few disagreements between them and--well, you know +how willful and headstrong girls will be. I believe she has committed +a few--er--indiscretions with you." + +"That's a lie!" Fairchild's temper got away from him and his fist +banged on the table. "That's a lie and you know it!" + +"Pardon me--er--pardon me! I made use of a word that can have many +meanings, and I am sure that in using it, I did n't place the same +construction that you did in hearing it. But let that pass. I +apologize. What I should have said was that, if you will pardon me, +she used you, as young women will do, as a foil against her fiance in a +time of petty quarreling between them. Is that plainer?" + +It was too plain to Fairchild. It hurt. But he nodded his head and +the other man went on. + +"Now the thing has progressed to a place where you may be--well--what +one might call the thorn in the side of their happiness. You are the +'other man', as it were, to cause quarrels and that sort of thing. And +she feels that she has not done rightly by you, and, through her +friendship and a desire to see peace all around, believes she can +arrange matters to suit all concerned. To be plain and blunt, Mr. +Fairchild, you are not in an enviable position. I said that I had +information for you, and I 'm going to give it. You are trying to work +a mine. That demands capital. You have n't got it and there is no way +for you to procure it. To get capital, one must have standing--and you +must admit that you are lacking to a great extent in that very +necessary ingredient. In the first place, your mine is in escrow, +being held in court in lieu of five thousand dollars bond on--" + +"You seem to have been making a few inquiries?" + +"Not at all. I never heard of the proposition before she brought it to +me. As I say, the deeds to your mine are held in escrow. Your partner +now is accused of four crimes and will go to trial on them in the fall. +It is almost certain that he will be convicted on at least one of the +charges. That would mean that the deeds to the mine must remain in +jurisdiction of the court in lieu of a cash bond while the case goes to +the Supreme Court. Otherwise, you must yield over your partner to go +to jail. In either event, the result would not be satisfactory. For +yourself, I dare say that a person whose father is supposed to have +committed a murder--not that I say he did it, understand--hardly could +establish sufficient standing to borrow the money to proceed on an +undertaking which requires capital. Therefore, I should say that you +were in somewhat of a predicament. Now--" a long wait and then, +"please take this as only coming from a spokesman: My client is in a +position to use her good offices to change the viewpoint of the man who +is the chief witness against your partner. She also is in a position +to use those same good offices in another direction, so that there +might never be a grand jury investigation of the finding of a certain +body or skeleton, or something of the kind, in your mine--which, if you +will remember, brought about a very disagreeable situation. And +through her very good connections in another way, she is able to +relieve you of all your financial embarrassment and procure for you +from a certain eastern syndicate, the members of which I am not at +liberty to name, an offer of $200,000 for your mine. All that is +necessary for you to do is to say the word." + +Fairchild leaned forward. + +"And of course," he said caustically, "the name of this mysterious +feminine friend must be a secret?" + +"Certainly. No mention of this transaction must be made to her +directly, or indirectly. Those are my specific instructions. Now, Mr. +Fairchild, that seems to me to be a wonderful offer. And it--" + +"Do you want my answer now?" + +"At any time when you have given the matter sufficient thought." + +"That's been accomplished already. And there 's no need of waiting. I +want to thank you exceedingly for your offer, and to tell you--that you +can go straight to hell!" + +And without looking back to see the result of his ultimatum, Fairchild +rose, strode to the door, unlocked it, and stamped down the hall. He +had taken snap judgment, but in his heart, he felt that he was right. +What was more, he was as sure as he was sure of life itself that Anita +Richmond had not arranged the interview and did not even know of it. +One streaking name was flitting through Fairchild's brain and causing +it to seethe with anger. Cleverly concealed though the plan might have +been, nicely arranged and carefully planted, to Robert Fairchild it all +stood out plainly and clearly--the Rodaines! + +And yet why? That one little word halted Fairchild as he left the +elevator. Why should the Rodaines be willing to free him from all the +troubles into which his mining ventures had taken him, start him out +into the world and give him a fortune with which to make his way +forward? Why? What did they know about the Blue Poppy mine, when +neither he nor Harry had any idea of what the future might hold for +them there? Certainly they could not have investigated in the years +that were gone; the cave-in precluded that. There was no other tunnel, +no other means of determining the riches which might be hidden within +the confines of the Blue Poppy claims, yet it was evident. That day in +court Rodaine had said that the Blue Poppy was a good property and that +it was worth every cent of the value which had been placed on it. How +did he know? And why--? + +At least one answer to Rodaine's action came to him. It was simple now +to see why the scar-faced man had put a good valuation on the mine +during the court procedure and apparently helped Fairchild out in a +difficulty. In fact, there were several reasons for it. In the first +place, the tying up of the mine by placing it in the care of a court +would mean just that many more difficulties for Fairchild, and it would +mean that the mine would be placed in a position where work could be +hampered for years if a first conviction could be obtained. Further, +Rodaine could see that if by any chance the bond should be forfeited, +it would be an easy matter for the claims to be purchased cheap at a +public sale by any one who desired them and who had the inside +information of what they were worth. And evidently Rodaine and Rodaine +alone possessed that knowledge. + +It was late now. Fairchild went to a junk yard or two, searching for +the materials which Harry had ordered, and failed to find them. Then +he sought a hotel, once more to struggle with the problems which the +interview with Barnham had created and to cringe at a thought which +arose like a ghost before him: + +Suppose that it had been Anita Richmond after all who had arranged +this? It was logical in a way. Maurice Rodaine was the one man who +could give direct evidence against Harry as the man who had held up the +Old Times Dance, and Anita now was engaged to marry him. Judge +Richmond had been a friend of Thornton Fairchild; could it have been +possible that this friendship might have entailed the telling of +secrets which had not been related to any one else? The matter of the +finding of the skeleton could be handled easily, Fairchild saw, through +Maurice Rodaine. One word from him to his father could change the +story of Crazy Laura and make it, on the second telling, only the +maundering tale of an insane, herb-gathering woman. Anita could have +arranged it, and Anita might have arranged it. Fairchild wished now +that he could recall his words, that he could have held his temper and +by some sort of strategy arranged matters so that the offer might have +come more directly--from Anita herself. + +Yet, why should she have gone through this procedure to reach him? Why +had she not gone to Farrell with the proposition--to a man whom she +knew Fairchild trusted, instead of to a greasy, hand rubbing shyster? +And besides-- + +But the question was past answering now. Fairchild had made his +decision, and he had told the lawyer where to go. If, at the same +time, he had relegated the woman who had awakened affection in his +heart, only to have circumstances do their best to stamp it out again, +to the same place,--well, that had been done, too, and there was no +recalling of it now. But one thing was certain: the Blue Poppy mine +was worth money. Somewhere in that beetling hill awaited wealth, and +if determination counted for anything, if force of will and force of +muscle were worth only a part of their accepted value, Fairchild meant +to find it. Once before an offer had come, and now that he thought of +it, Fairchild felt almost certain that it had been from the same +source. That was for fifty thousand dollars. Why should the value +have now jumped to four times its original figures? It was more than +the adventurer could encompass; he sought to dismiss it all, went to a +picture show, then trudged back to his hotel and to sleep. + +The next day found him still striving to put the problem away from him +as he went about the various errands outlined by Harry. A day after +that, then the puffing, snorting, narrow-gauged train took him again +through Clear Creek canon and back to Ohadi. The station was strangely +deserted. + +None of the usual loungers were there. None of the loiterers who, +watch in hand, awaited the arrival and departure of the puffing train +as though it were a matter of personal concern. Only the bawling 'bus +man for the hotel, the station agent wrestling with a trunk or +two,--that was all. Fairchild looked about him in surprise, then +approached the agent. + +"What's happened? Where 's everybody?" + +"Up on the hill." + +"Something happened?" + +"A lot. From what I hear it's a strike that's going to put Ohadi on +the map again." + +"Who made it?" + +"Don't know. Some fellow came running down here an hour or so ago and +said there 'd been a tremendous strike made on the hill, and everybody +beat it up there." + +Fairchild went on, to turn into a deserted street,--a street where the +doors of the stores had been left open and the owners gone. Everywhere +it was the same; it was as if Ohadi suddenly had been struck by some +catastrophe which had wiped out the whole population. Only now and +then a human being appeared, a few persons left behind at the banks, +but that was about all. Then from far away, up the street leading from +Kentucky Gulch, came the sound of cheering and shouting. Soon a crowd +appeared, led by gesticulating, vociferous men, who veered suddenly +into the Ohadi Bank at the corner, leaving the multitude without for a +moment, only to return, their hands full of gold certificates, which +they stuck into their hats, punched through their buttonholes, stuffed +into their pockets, allowing them to hang half out, and even jammed +down the collars of their rough shirts, making outstanding decorations +of currency about their necks. On they came, closer--closer, and then +Fairchild gritted his teeth. There were four of them leading the +parade, displaying the wealth that stood for the bonanza of the silver +strike they had just made, four men whose names were gall and wormwood +to Robert Fairchild. + +Blindeye Bozeman and Taylor Bill were two of them. The others were +Squint and Maurice Rodaine! + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +Had it been any one else, Fairchild would have shouted for happiness +and joined the parade. As it was, he stood far at one side, a silent, +grim figure, watching the miners and townspeople passing before him, +leaping about in their happiness, calling to him the news that he did +not want to hear: + +The Silver Queen had "hit." The faith of Squint Rodaine, maintained +through the years, had shown his perspicacity. It was there; he always +had said it was there, and now the strike had been made at last, +lead-silver ore, running as high as two hundred dollars a ton. And +just like Squint--so some one informed Fairchild--he had kept it a +secret until the assays all had been made and the first shipments +started to Denver. It meant everything for Ohadi; it meant that mining +would boom now, that soon the hills would be clustered with +prospectors, and that the little town would blossom as a result of +possessing one of the rich silver mines of the State. Some one tossed +to Fairchild a small piece of ore which had been taken from a car at +the mouth of the mine; and even to his uninitiated eyes it was +apparent,--the heavy lead, bearing in spots the thin filagree of white +metal--and silver ore must be more than rich to make a showing in any +kind of sample. + +He felt cheap. He felt defeated. He felt small and mean not to be +able to join the celebration. Squint and Maurice Rodaine possessed the +Silver Queen; that they, of all persons, should be the fortunate ones +was bitter and hard to accept. Why should they, of every one in Ohadi, +be the lucky men to find a silver bonanza, that they might flaunt it +before him, that they might increase their standing in the community, +that they might raise themselves to a pedestal in the eyes of every one +and thereby rally about them the whole town in any difficulty which +might arise in the future? It hurt Fairchild, it sickened him. He saw +now that his enemies were more powerful than ever. And for a moment he +almost wished that he had yielded down there in Denver, that he had not +given the ultimatum to the greasy Barnham, that he had accepted the +offer made him,--and gone on, out of the fight forever. + +Anita! What would it mean to her? Already engaged, already having +given her answer to Maurice Rodaine, this now would be an added +incentive for her to follow her promise. It would mean a possibility +of further argument with her father, already too weak from illness to +find the means of evading the insidious pleas of the two men who had +taken his money and made him virtually their slave. Could they not +demonstrate to him now that they always had worked for his best +interests? And could not that plea go even farther--to Anita +herself--to persuade her that they were always laboring for her, that +they had striven for this thing that it might mean happiness for her +and for her father? And then, could they not content themselves with +promises, holding before her a rainbow of the far-away, to lead her +into their power, just as they had led the stricken, bedridden man she +called "father"? The future looked black for Robert Fairchild. Slowly +he walked past the happy, shouting crowd and turned up Kentucky Gulch +toward the ill-fated Blue Poppy. + +The tunnel opening looked more forlorn than ever when he sighted it, a +bleak, staring, single eye which seemed to brood over its own +misfortunes, a dead, hopeless thing which never had brought anything +but disappointment. A choking came into Fairchild's throat. He +entered the tunnel slowly, ploddingly; with lagging muscles he hauled +up the bucket which told of Harry's presence below, then slowly lowered +himself into the recesses of the shaft and to the drift leading to the +stope, where only a few days before they had found that gaunt, +whitened, haunting thing which had brought with it a new misfortune. + +A light gleamed ahead, and the sound of a single jack hammering on the +end of a drill could be heard. Fairchild called and went forward, to +find Harry, grimy and sweating, pounding away at a narrow streak of +black formation which centered in the top of the stope. + +"It's the vein," he announced, after he had greeted Fairchild, "and it +don't look like it's going to amount to much!" + +"No?" + +Harry withdrew the drill from the hole he was making and mopped his +forehead. + +"It ain't a world-beater," came disconsolately. "I doubt whether it +'ll run more 'n twenty dollars to the ton, the wye smelting prices 'ave +gone up! And there ain't much money in that. What 'appened in Denver?" + +"Another frame-up by the Rodaines to get the mine away from us. It was +a lawyer. He stalled that the offer had been made to us by Miss +Richmond." + +"How much?" + +"Two hundred thousand dollars and us to get out of all the troubles we +are in." + +"And you took it, of course?" + +"I did not!" + +"No?" Harry mopped his forehead again. "Well, maybe you 're right. +Maybe you 're wrong. But whatever you did--well, that's just the thing +I would 'ave done." + +"Thanks, Harry." + +"Only--" and Harry was staring lugubriously at the vein above him, +"it's going to take us a long time to get two hundred thousand dollars +out of things the wye they stand now." + +"But--" + +"I know what you're thinking--that there's silver 'ere and that we 're +going to find it. Maybe so. I know your father wrote some pretty +glowing accounts back to Beamish in St. Louis. It looked awful good +then. Then it started to pinch out, and now--well, it don't look so +good." + +"But this is the same vein, is n't it?" + +"I don't know. I guess it is. But it's pinching fast. It was about +this wye when we first started on it. It was n't worth much and it was +n't very wide. Then, all of a sudden, it broadened out, and there was +a lot more silver in it. We thought we 'd found a bonanza. But it +narrowed down again, and the old standard came back. I don't know what +it's going to do now--it may quit altogether." + +"But we 're going to keep at it, Harry, sink or swim." + +"You know it!" + +"The Rodaines have hit--maybe we can have some good luck too." + +"The Rodaines?" Harry stared. "'It what?" + +"Two hundred dollar a ton ore!" + +A long whistle. Then Harry, who had been balancing a single jack, +preparatory to going back to his work, threw it aside and began to roll +down his sleeves. + +"We 're going to 'ave a look at it." + +"A look? What good would it--?" + +"A cat can look at a king," said Harry. "They can't arrest us for +going up there like everybody else." + +"But to go there and ask them to look at their riches--" + +"There ain't no law against it!" + +He reached for his carbide lamp, hooked to a small chink of the hanging +wall, and then pulled his hat over his bulging forehead. Carefully he +attempted to smooth his straying mustache, and failing, as always, gave +up the job. + +"I 'd be 'appy, just to look at it," he announced. "Come on. Let's +forget 'oo they are and just be lookers-on." + +Fairchild agreed against his will. Out of the shaft they went and on +up the hill to where the townspeople again were gathering about the +opening of the Silver Queen. A few were going in. Fairchild and 'Arry +joined them. + +A long walk, stooping most of the way, as the progress was made through +the narrow, low-roofed tunnel; then a slight raise which traveled for a +fair distance at an easy grade--at last to stop; and there before them, +jammed between the rock, was the strike, a great, heavy streaking vein, +nearly six feet wide, in which the ore stuck forth in tremendous +chunks, embedded in a black background. Harry eyed it studiously. + +"You can see the silver sticking out!" he announced at last. "It's +wonderful--even if the Rodaines did do it." + +A form brushed past them, Blindeye Bozeman, returning from the +celebration. Picking up a drill, he studied it with care, finally to +lay it aside and reach for a gad, a sort of sharp, pointed prod, with +which to tear away the loose matter that he might prepare the way for +the biting drive of the drill beneath the five-pound hammer, or single +jack. His weak, watery eyes centered on Harry, and he grinned. + +"Didn't believe it, huh?" came his query. + +Harry pawed his mustache. + +"I believed it, all right, but anybody likes to look at the United +States Mint!" + +"You 've said it. She 's going to be more than that when we get a few +portable air compressors in here and start at this thing in earnest +with pneumatic drills. What's more, the old man has declared Taylor +Bill and me in on it--for a ten per cent. bonus. How's that sound to +you?" + +"Like 'eaven," answered Harry truthfully. "Come on, Boy, let's us get +out of 'ere. I 'll be getting the blind staggers if I stay much +longer." + +Fairchild accompanied him wordlessly. It was as though Fate had played +a deliberate trick, that it might laugh at him. And as he walked +along, he wondered more than ever about the mysterious telegram and the +mysterious conversation of the greasy Barnham in Denver. That--as he +saw it now--had been only an attempt at another trick. Suppose that he +had accepted; suppose that he had signified his willingness to sell his +mine and accept the good offices of the "secret friend" to end his +difficulties. What would have been the result? + +For once a ray of cheer came to him. The Rodaines had known of this +strike long before he ever went to that office in Denver. They had +waited long enough to have their assays made and had completed their +first shipment to the smelter. There was no necessity that they buy +the Blue Poppy mine. Therefore, was it simply another trick to break +him, to lead him up to a point of high expectations, then, with a laugh +at his disappointment, throw him down again? His shoulders +straightened as they reached the outside air, and he moved close to +Harry as he told him his conjectures. The Cornishman bobbed his head. + +"I never thought of it that way!" he agreed. "But it could explain a +lot of things. They 're working on our--what-you-call-it?" + +"Psychological resistance." + +"That's it. Psych--that's it. They want to beat us and they don't +care 'ow. It 'urts a person to be disappointed. That's it. I alwyes +said you 'ad a good 'ead on you! That's it. Let's go back to the Blue +Poppy." + +Back they went, once more to descend the shaft, once more to follow the +trail along the drift toward the opening of the stope. And there, +where loose earth covered the place where a skeleton once had rested, +Fairchild took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. + +"Harry," he said, with a new determination, "this vein does n't look +like much, and the mine looks worse. From the viewpoint we 've got now +of the Rodaine plans, there may not be a cent in it. But if you're +game, I'm game, and we'll work the thing until it breaks us." + +"You 've said it. If we 'it anything, fine and well--if we can turn +out five thousand dollars' worth of stuff before the trial comes up, +then we can sell hit under the direction of the court, turn over that +money for a cash bond, and get the deeds back. If we can't, and if the +mine peters out, then we ain't lost anything but a lot of 'opes and +time. But 'ere goes. We 'll double-jack. I 've got a big 'ammer +'ere. You 'old the drill for awhile and turn it, while I sling th' +sledge. Then you take th' 'ammer and Lor' 'ave mercy on my 'ands if +you miss." + +Fairchild obeyed. They began the drilling of the first indentation +into the six-inch vein which lay before them. Hour after hour they +worked, changing positions, sending hole after hole into the narrow +discoloration which showed their only prospect of returns for the +investments which they had put into the mine. Then, as the afternoon +grew late, Harry disappeared far down the drift to return with a +handful of greasy, candle-like things, wrapped in waxed paper. + +"I knew that dynamite of yours could n't be shipped in time, so I +bought a little up 'ere," he explained, as he cut one of the sticks in +two with a pocketknife and laid the pieces to one side. Then out came +a coil of fuse, to be cut to its regular lengths and inserted in the +copper-covered caps of fulminate of mercury, Harry showing his contempt +for the dangerous things by crimping them about the fuse with his +teeth, while Fairchild, sitting on a small pile of muck near by, begged +for caution. But Harry only grinned behind his big mustache and went +on. + +Out came his pocketknife again as he slit the waxed paper of the +gelatinous sticks, then inserted the cap in the dynamite. One after +another the charges were shoved into the holes, Harry tamping them into +place with a steel rod, instead of with the usual wooden affair, his +mustache brushing his shoulder as he turned to explain the virtues of +dynamite when handled by an expert. + +"It's all in the wye you do it," he announced. "If you don't strike +fire with a steel rod, it's fine." + +"But if you do?" + +"Oh, then!" Harry laughed. "Then it's flowers and a funeral--after +they 've finished picking you up." + +One after another he pressed the dynamite charges tight into the drill +holes and tamped them with muck wrapped in a newspaper that he dragged +from his hip pocket. Then he lit the fuses from his lamp and stood a +second in assurance that they all were spluttering. + +"Now we run!" he announced, and they hurried, side by side, down the +drift tunnel until they reached the shaft. "Far enough," said Harry. + +A long moment of waiting. Then the earth quivered and a muffled, +booming roar came from the distance. Harry stared at his carbide lamp. + +"One," he announced. Then, "Two." + +Three, four and five followed, all counted seriously, carefully by +Harry. Finally they turned back along the drift toward the stope, the +acrid odor of dynamite smoke-cutting at their nostrils as they +approached the spot where the explosions had occurred. There Harry +stood in silent contemplation for a long time, holding his carbide over +the pile of ore that had been torn from the vein above. + +"It ain't much," came at last. "Not more 'n 'arf a ton. We won't get +rich at that rate. And besides--" he looked upward--"we ain't even +going to be getting that pretty soon. It's pinching out." + +Fairchild followed his gaze, to see in the torn rock above him only a +narrow streak now, fully an inch and a half narrower than the vein had +been before the powder holes had been drilled. It could mean only one +thing: that the bet had been played and lost, that the vein had been +one of those freak affairs that start out with much promise, seem to +give hope of eternal riches, and then gradually dwindle to nothing. +Harry shook his head. + +"It won't last." + +"Not more than two or three more shots," Fairchild agreed. + +"You can't tell about that. It may run that way all through the +mountain--but what's a four-inch vein? You can go up 'ere in the +Argonaut tunnel and find 'arf a dozen of them things that they don't +even take the trouble to mine. That is, unless they run 'igh in +silver--" he picked up a chunk of the ore from the muck pile where it +had been deposited and studied it intently--"but I don't see any pure +silver sticking out in this stuff." + +"But it must be here somewhere. I don't know anything about +mining--but don't veins sometimes pinch off and then show up later on?" + +"Sure they do--sometimes. But it's a gamble." + +"That's all we 've had from the beginning, Harry." + +"And it's about all we 're going to 'ave any time unless something bobs +up sudden like." + +Then, by common consent, they laid away their working clothes and left +the mine, to wander dejectedly down the gulch and to the boarding +house. After dinner they chatted a moment with Mother Howard, +neglecting to tell her, however, of the downfall of their hopes, then +went upstairs, each to his room. An hour later Harry knocked at +Fairchild's door, and entered, the evening paper in his hand. + +"'Ere 's something more that's nice," he announced, pointing to an item +on the front page. It was the announcement that a general grand jury +was to be convened late in the summer and that one of its tasks +probably would be to seek to unravel the mystery of the murder of +Sissie Larsen! + +Fairchild read it with morbidity. Trouble seemed to have become more +than occasional, and further than that, it appeared to descend upon him +at just the times when he could least resist it. He made no comment; +there was little that he could say. Again he read the item and again, +finally to turn the page and breathe sharply. Before him was a +six-column advertisement, announcing the strike in the Silver Queen +mine and also spreading the word that a two-million-dollar company +would be formed, one million in stock to represent the mine itself, the +other to be subscribed to exploit this new find as it should be +exploited. Glowing words told of the possibilities of the Silver +Queen, the assayer's report was reproduced on a special cut which +evidently had been made in Denver and sent to Ohadi by rush delivery. +Offices had been opened; everything had been planned in advance and the +advertisement written before the town was aware of the big discovery up +Kentucky Gulch. All of it Fairchild read with a feeling he could not +down,--a feeling that Fate, somehow, was dealing the cards from the +bottom, and that trickery and treachery and a venomous nature were the +necessary ingredients, after all, to success. The advertisement seemed +to sneer at him, to jibe at him, calling as it did for every upstanding +citizen of Ohadi to join in on the stock-buying bonanza that would make +the Silver Queen one of the biggest mines in the district and Ohadi the +big silver center of Colorado. The words appeared to be just so many +daggers thrust into his very vitals. But Fairchild read them all, in +spite of the pain they caused. He finished the last line, looked at +the list of officers, and gasped. + +For there, following one another, were three names, two of which +Fairchild had expected. But the other-- + +They were, president and general manager, R. B. (Squint) Rodaine; +secretary-treasurer, Maurice Rodaine; and first vice-president--Miss +Anita Natalie Richmond! + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +After that, Fairchild heard little that Harry said as he rambled on +about the plans for the future. He answered the big Cornishman's +questions with monosyllables, volunteering no information. He did not +even show him the advertisement--he knew that it would be as galling to +Harry as it was to him. And so he sat and stared, until finally his +partner said good night and left the room. + +That name could mean only one thing: that she had consented to become a +partner with them, that they had won her over, after all. Now, even a +different light came upon the meeting with Barnham in Denver and a +different view to Fairchild. What if she had been playing their game +all along? What if she had been merely a tool for them; what if she +had sent Farrell at their direction, to learn everything he and Harry +knew? What--? + +Fairchild sought to put the thought from him and failed. Now that he +looked at it in retrospect, everything seemed to have a sinister +meaning. He had met the girl under circumstances which never had been +explained. The first time she ever had seen him after that she +pretended not to recognize him. Yet, following a conversation with +Maurice Rodaine, she took advantage of an opportunity to talk to him +and freely admitted to him that she had been the person he believed her +to be. True, Fairchild was looking now at his idol through blue +glasses, and they gave to her a dark, mysterious tone that he could not +fathom. There were too many things to explain; too many things which +seemed to connect her directly with the Rodaines; too many things which +appeared to show that her sympathies were there and that she might only +be a trickster in their hands, a trickster to trap him! Even the +episode of the lawyer could be turned to this account. Had not another +lawyer played the friendship racket, in an effort to buy the Blue Poppy +mine? + +And here Fairchild smiled grimly. From the present prospects, it would +seem that the gain would have been all on his side, for certainly there +was little to show now toward a possibility of the Blue Poppy ever +being worth anything near the figure which he had been offered for it. +And yet, if that offer had not been made as some sort of stiletto jest, +why had it been made at all? Was it because Rodaine knew that wealth +did lie concealed there? Was it because Squint Rodaine had better +information even than the faithful, hard-working, unfortunate Harry? +Fairchild suddenly took hope. He clenched his hands and he spoke, to +himself, to the darkness and to the spirits of discouragement that were +all about him: + +"If it's there, we 'll find it--if we have to work our fingers to the +bone, if we have to starve and die there--we'll find it!" + +With that determination, he went to bed, to awake in the morning filled +with a desire to reach the mine, to claw at its vitals with the +sharp-edged drills, to swing the heavy sledge until his shoulders and +back ached, to send the roaring charges of dynamite digging deeper and +deeper into that thinning vein. And Harry was beside him every step of +the way. + +A day's work, the booming charges, and they returned to the stope to +find that the vein had neither lessened nor grown greater. Another +day--and one after that. The vein remained the same, and the two men +turned to mucking that they might fill their ore car with the proceeds +of the various blasts, haul it to the surface by the laborious, slow +process of the man-power elevator, then return once more to their +drilling, begrudging every minute that they were forced to give to the +other work of tearing away the muck and refuse that they might gain the +necessary room to follow the vein. + +The days grew to a week, and a week to a fortnight. Once a truck made +its slow way up the tortuous road, chortled away with a load of ore, +returned again and took the remainder from the old, half-rotted ore +bins, to the Sampler, there to be laid aside while more valuable ore +was crushed and sifted for its assays, and readier money taken in. The +Blue Poppy had nothing in its favor. Ten or twenty dollar ore looked +small beside the occasional shipments from the Silver Queen, where +Blindeye Bozeman and Taylor Bill formed the entire working staff until +the much-sought million dollars should flow in and a shaft-house, +portable air pumps, machine drills and all the other attributes of +modern mining methods should be put into operation. + +And it appeared that the million dollars would not be slow in coming. +Squint Rodaine had established his office in a small, vacant store +building on the main street, and Fairchild could see, as he went to and +from his work, a constant stream of townspeople as they made that their +goal--there to give their money into the keeping of the be-scarred man +and to trust to the future for wealth. It galled Fairchild, it made +his hate stronger than ever; yet within him there could not live the +hope that the Silver Queen might share the fate of the Blue Poppy. +Other persons besides the Rodaines were interested now, persons who +were putting their entire savings into the investment; and Fairchild +could only grit his teeth and hope--for them--that it would be an +everlasting bonanza. As for the girl who was named as vice-president-- + +He saw her, day after day, riding through town in the same automobile +that he had helped re-tire on the Denver road. But now she did not +look at him; now she pretended that she did not see him. +Before,--well, before, her eyes had at least met his, and there had +been some light of recognition, even though her carefully masked face +had belied it. Now it was different. She had gone over to the +Rodaines, she was engaged to marry the chalky-faced, hook-nosed son and +she was vice-president of their two-million-dollar mining corporation. +Fairchild did not even strive to find a meaning for it all; women are +women, and men do well sometimes if they diagnose themselves. + +The summer began to grow old, and Fairchild felt that he was aging with +it. The long days beneath the ground had taught him many things about +mining now, all to no advantage. Soon they would be worth nothing, +save as five-dollar-a-day single-jackers, working for some one else. +The bank deposits were thinning, and the vein was thinning with it. +Slowly but surely, as they fought, the strip of pay ore in the rocks +was pinching out. Soon would come the time when they could work it no +longer. And then,--but Fairchild did not like to think about that. + +September came, and with it the grand jury. But here for once was a +slight ray of hope. The inquisitorial body dragged through its various +functionings, while Farrell stood ready with his appeal to the court +for a lunacy board at the first hint of an investigation into Crazy +Laura's story. Three weeks of prying into "vice conditions", gambling, +profiteering and the usual petty nonsense with which so many grand +juries have managed to fritter away time under the misapprehension of +applying some weighty sort of superhuman reasoning to ordinary things, +and then good news. The body of twelve good men and true had worn +themselves out with other matters and adjourned without even taking up +the mystery of the Blue Poppy mine. But the joy of Fairchild and Harry +was short-lived. In the long, legal phraseology of the jury's report +was the recommendation that this important subject be the first for +inquiry by the next grand inquisitorial body to be convened,--and the +threat still remained. + +But before the two men were now realities which were worse even than +threats, and Harry turned from his staging late one afternoon to voice +the most important. + +"We 'll start single-jacking to-morrow," he announced with a little +sigh. "In the 'anging wall." + +"You mean--?" + +"We can't do much more up 'ere. It ain't worth it. The vein 's +pinched down until we ain't even getting day laborer's wages out of +it--and it's October now." + +October! October--and winter on the way. October--and only a month +until the time when Harry must face a jury on four separate charges, +any one of which might send him to Canon City for the rest of his days; +Harry was young no longer. October--and in the dreamy days of summer, +Fairchild had believed that October would see him rich. But now the +hills were brown with the killing touch of frost; the white of the +snowy range was creeping farther and farther over the mountains; the +air was crisp with the hint of zero soon to come; the summer was dead, +and Fairchild's hopes lay inert beside it. He was only working now +because he had determined to work. He was only laboring because a +great, strong, big-shouldered man had come from Cornwall to help him +and was willing to fight it out to the end. October--and the +announcement had said that a certain girl would be married in the late +fall, a girl who never looked in his direction any more, who had +allowed her name to become affiliated with that of the Rodaines, now +nearing the task of completing their two million. October--month of +falling leaves and dying dreams, month of fragrant beauties gone to +dust, the month of the last, failing fight against the clutch of grim, +all-destroying winter. And Fairchild was sagging in defeat just as the +leaves were falling from the shaking aspens, as the moss tendrils were +curling into brittle, brown things of death. October! + +For a long moment, Fairchild said nothing, then as Harry came from the +staging, he moved to the older man's side. + +"I--I did n't quite catch the idea," came at last. Harry pointed with +his sledge. + +"I 've been noticing the vein. It keeps turning to the left. It +struck me that it might 'ave branched off from the main body and that +there 's a bigger vein over there some'eres. We 'll just 'ave to make +a try for it. It's our only chance." + +"And if we fail to find it there?" + +"We 'll put a couple of 'oles in the foot wall and see what we strike. +And then--" + +"Yes--?" + +"If it ain't there--we 're whipped!" + +It was the first time that Harry had said the word seriously. +Fairchild pretended not to hear. Instead, he picked up a drill, looked +at its point, then started toward the small forge which they had +erected just at the foot of the little raise leading to the stope. +There Harry joined him; together they heated the long pieces of steel +and pounded their biting faces to the sharpness necessary to drilling +in the hard rock of the hanging wall, tempering them in the bucket of +water near by, working silently, slowly,--hampered by the weight of +defeat. They were being whipped; they felt it in every atom of their +beings. But they had not given up their fight. Two blows were left in +the struggle, and two blows they meant to strike before the end came. +The next morning they started at their new task, each drilling holes at +points five feet apart in the hanging wall, to send them in as far as +possible, then at the end of the day to blast them out, tearing away +the rock and stopping their work at drilling that they might muck away +the refuse. The stope began to take on the appearance of a vast +chamber, as day after day, banging away at their drill holes, stopping +only to sharpen the bits or to rest their aching muscles, they pursued +into the entrails of the hills the vagrant vein which had escaped them. +And day after day, each, without mentioning it to the other, was +tortured by the thought of that offer of riches, that mysterious +proffer of wealth for the Blue Poppy mine,--tortured like men who are +chained in the sight of gold and cannot reach it. For the offer +carried always the hint that wealth was there, somewhere, that Squint +Rodaine knew it, but that they could not find it. Either that--or flat +failure. Either wealth that would yield Squint a hundredfold for his +purchase, or a sneer that would answer their offer to sell. And each +man gritted his teeth and said nothing. But they worked on. + +October gave up its fight. The first day of November came, to find the +chamber a wide, vacuous thing now, sheltering stone and refuse and two +struggling men,--nothing more. Fairchild ceased his labors and mopped +his forehead, dripping from the heat engendered by frenzied labor; +without the tunnel opening, the snow lay deep upon the mountain sides, +for it had been more than a week since the first of the white blasts +had scurried over the hills to begin the placid, cold enwrapment of the +winter. A long moment, then: + +"Harry." + +"Aye." + +"I 'm going after the other side. We 've been playing a half-horsed +game here." + +"I 've been thinking that, Boy." + +"Then I 'm going to tackle the foot wall. You stay where you are, for +a few more shots; it can't do much good, the way things are going, and +it can't do much harm. I was at the bank to-day." + +"Yeh." + +"My balance is just two hundred." + +"Counting what we borrowed from Mother 'Oward?" + +"Yes." + +Harry clawed at his mustache. His nose, already red from the pressure +of blood, turned purplish. + +"We 're nearing the end, Boy. Tackle the foot wall." + +They said no more. Fairchild withdrew his drill from the "swimmer" or +straightforward powder hole and turned far to the other side of the +chamber, where the sloping foot wall showed for a few feet before it +dived under the muck and refuse. There, gad in hand, he pecked about +the surface, seeking a spot where the rock had splintered, thereby +affording a softer entrance for the biting surface of the drill. Spot +after spot he prospected, suddenly to stop and bend forward. At last +came an exclamation, surprised, wondering: + +"Harry!" + +"Yeh." + +"Come here." + +The Cornishman left his work and walked to Fairchild's side. The +younger man pointed. + +"Do you ever fill up drill holes with cement?" he asked. + +"Not as I know of. Why?" + +"There 's one." Fairchild raised his gad and chipped away the softer +surface of the rock, leaving a tubular protuberance of cement +extending. Harry stared. + +"What the bloody 'ell?" he conjectured. "D' you suppose--" Then, with +a sudden resolution: "Drill there! Gad a 'ole off to one side a bit +and drill there. It seems to me Sissie Larsen put a 'ole there or +something--I can't remember. But drill. It can't do any 'arm." + +The gad chipped away the rock. Soon the drill was biting into the +surface of the foot wall. Quitting time came; the drill was in two +feet, and in the morning, Fairchild went at his task again. Harry +watched him over a shoulder. + +"If it don't bring out anything in six feet--it ain't there," he +announced. Fairchild found the humor to smile. + +"You 're almost as cheerful as I am." Noon came and they stopped for +lunch. Fairchild finished the remark begun hours before. "I 'm in +four feet now--and all I get is rock." + +"Sure now?" + +"Look." + +They went to the foot wall and with a scraper brought out some of the +muggy mass caused by the pouring of water into the "down-hole" to make +the sittings capable of removal. Harry rubbed it with a thumb and +forefinger. + +"That's all," he announced, as he went back to his dinner pail. +Together, silently, they finished their luncheon. Once more Fairchild +took up his work, dully, almost lackadaisically, pounding away at the +long, six-foot drill with strokes that had behind them only muscles, +not the intense driving power of hope. A foot he progressed into the +foot wall and changed drills. Three inches more. Then-- + +"Harry!" + +"What's 'appened?" The tone of Fairchild's voice had caused the +Cornishman to lean from his staging and run to Fairchild's side. That +person had cupped his hand and was holding it beneath the drill hole, +while into it he was pulling the muck with the scraper and staring at +it. + +"This stuff's changed color!" he exclaimed. "It looks like--" + +"Let me see!" The older man took a portion of the blackish, gritty +mass and held it close to his carbide. "It looks like something--it +looks like something!" His voice was high, excited. "I 'll finish the +'ole and jam enough dynamite in there to tear the insides out of it. I +'ll give 'er 'ell. But in the meantime, you take that down to the +assayer!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +Fairchild did not hesitate. Scraping the watery conglomeration into a +tobacco can, he threw on his coat and ran for the shaft. Then he +pulled himself up, singing, and dived into the fresh-made drifts of a +new storm as he started toward town; nor did he stop to investigate the +fast fading footprints of some one who evidently had passed the mine a +short time before. Fairchild was too happy to notice such things just +now; in a tin can in his side pocket was a blackish, muggy mixture +which might mean worlds to him; he was hurrying to receive the verdict, +which could come only from the retorts and tests of one man, the +assayer. + +Into town and through it to the scrambling buildings of the Sampler, +where the main products of the mines of Ohadi found their way before +going to the smelter. There he swung wide the door and turned to the +little room on the left, the sanctum of a white-haired, almost +tottering old man who wandered about among his test tubes and "buttons" +as he figured out the various weights and values of the ores as the +samples were brought to him from the dirty, dusty, bin-filled rooms of +the Sampler proper. A queer light came into the old fellow's eyes as +he looked into those of Robert Fairchild. + +"Don't get 'em too high!" he admonished. + +Fairchild stared. + +"What?" + +"Hopes. I 've seen many a fellow come in just like you. I 've been +here thirty year. They call me Old Undertaker Chastine!" + +Fairchild laughed. + +"But I'm hoping--" + +"Yep, Son." Undertaker Chastine looked over his glasses. "You 're +just like all the rest. You 're hoping. That's what they all do; they +come in here with their eyes blazing like a grate fire and their faces +all lighted up as bright as an Italian cathedral. And they tell me +they 've got the world by the tail. Then I take their specimens and I +put 'em over the hurdles,--and half the time they go out wishing there +was n't any such person in the world as an assayer. Boy," and he +pursed his lips, "I 've buried more fortunes than you could shake a +stick at. I 've seen men come in here millionaires and go out +paupers--just because I 've had to tell 'em the truth. And I 'm +soft-hearted. I would n't kill a flea--not even if it was eatin' up +the best bird dog that ever set a pa'tridge. And just because o' that, +I 've adopted the system of taking all hope out of a fellow right in +the beginning. Then if you 've really got something, it's a joyful +surprise. If you ain't, the disappointment don't hurt so much. So +trot 'er out and let the old Undertaker have a look at 'er. But I 'm +telling you right at the start that it won't amount to much." + +Sobered now, Fairchild reached for his tobacco can, which had been +stuffed full of every scrap of slime that he and 'Arry had been able to +drag from the powder hole. Evidently, his drill had been in the ore, +whatever it was, for some time before he realized it; the can was +heavy, exceedingly heavy, giving evidence of purity of something at +least. But Undertaker Chastine shook his head. + +"Can't tell," he announced. "Feels heavy, looks black and all that. +But it might not be anything but straight lead with a sprinkling of +silver. I 've seen stuff that looked a lot better than this not run +more 'n fifteen dollars to the ton. And then again--" + +He began to tinker about with his pottery. He dragged out a scoop from +somewhere and prepared various white powders. Then he turned to the +furnace, with its high-chimneyed draft, and filled a container with the +contents of the tobacco can. + +"Let 'er roast, Son," he announced. "That's the only way. Let 'er +roast--and while it's getting hot, well, you just cool your heels." + +Long waiting--while the eccentric old assayer told doleful tales of +other days, tales of other men who had rushed in, just like Fairchild, +with their sample of ore, only to depart with the knowledge that they +were no richer than before, days when the news of the demonetization of +silver swooped down upon the little town like some black tornado, +closing down the mines, shutting up the gambling halls and great +saloons, nailing up the doors, even of the Sampler, for years to come. + +"Them was the times when there was a lot of undertakers around here +besides me," Chastine went on. "Everybody was an undertaker then. +Lor', Boy, how that thing hit. We 'd been getting along pretty well at +ninety-five cents and a dollar an ounce for silver, and there was men +around here wearing hats that was the biggest in the shop, but that did +n't come anywhere near fittin' 'em. And then, all of a sudden, it hit! +We used to get in all our quotations in those days over the telephone, +and every morning I 'd phone down to Old Man Saxby that owned the +Sampler then to find out how the New York market stood. The treasury, +you know, had been buying up three or four million ounces of silver a +month for minting. Then some high-falutin' Congressman got the idea +they didn't want to do that any more, and he began to talk. Well, one +morning, I telephoned down, and silver 'd dropped to eighty-five. The +next morning it went to seventy. The House or the Senate, I 've +forgotten which, had passed the demonetization bill. After that, +things dragged along and then--I telephoned down again. + +"'What's the quotation on silver?' I asked him." + +"'Hell,' says Old Man Saxby, 'there ain't any quotation! Close 'er +up--close up everything. They 've passed the demonetization bill, the +president 's going to sign it, and you ain't got a job.' + +"And young feller--" Old Undertaker Chastine looked over his glasses +again, "that was some real disappointment. And it's a lot worse than +you 're liable to get in a minute." + +He turned to the furnace and took out the pottery dish in which the +sample had been smelting, white-hot now. He cooled it and tinkered +with his chemicals. He fussed with his scales, he adjusted his +glasses, he coughed once or twice in an embarrassed manner; finally to +turn to Fairchild. + +"Young man," he queried, "it ain't any of my business, but where 'd you +get this ore?" + +"Out of my mine, the Blue Poppy!" + +"Sure you ain't been visiting?" + +"What do you mean?" Fairchild was staring at him in wonderment. + +Old Undertaker Chastine rubbed his hands on his big apron and continued +to look over his glasses. + +"What 'll you take for the Blue Poppy mine, Son?" + +"Why--it's not for sale." + +"Sure it ain't going to be--soon?" + +"Absolutely not." Then Fairchild caught the queer look in the man's +eyes. "What do you mean by all these questions? Is that good ore--or +is n't it?" + +"Son, just one more question--and I hope you won't get mad at me. I 'm +a funny old fellow, and I do a lot of things that don't seem right at +the beginning. But I 've saved a few young bloods like you from +trouble more than once. You ain't been high-grading?" + +"You mean--" + +"Just exactly what I said--wandering around somebody else's property +and picking up a few samples, as it were, to mix in with your own +product? Or planting them where they can be found easily by a +prospective buyer?" + +Fairchild's chin set, and his arms moved slowly. Then he +laughed--laughed at the small, white-haired, eccentric old man who +through his very weakness had the strength to ask insulting questions. + +"No--I 'll give you my word I have n't been high-grading," he said at +last. "My partner and I drilled a hole in the foot wall of the stope +where we were working, hoping to find the rest of a vein that was +pinching out on us. And we got this stuff. Is it any good?" + +"Is it good?" Again Old Undertaker Chastine looked over his glasses. +"That's just the trouble. It's too good--it's so good that it seems +there's something funny about it. Son, that stuff assays within a +gram, almost, of the ore they 're taking out of the Silver Queen!" + +"What's that?" Fairchild had leaped forward and grasped the other man +by the shoulders, his eyes agleam, his whole being trembling with +excitement. "You're not kidding me about it? You're sure--you 're +sure?" + +"Absolutely! That's why I was so careful for a minute. I thought +maybe you had been doing a little high-grading or had been up there and +sneaked away some of the ore for a salting proposition. Boy, you 've +got a bonanza, if this holds out." + +"And it really--" + +"It's almost identical. I never saw two samples of ore that were more +alike. Let's see, the Blue Poppy's right up Kentucky Gulch, not so +very far away from the Silver Queen, is n't it? Then there must be a +tremendous big vein concealed around there somewhere that splits, one +half of it running through the mountain in one direction and the other +cutting through on the opposite side. It looks like peaches and cream +for you, Son. How thick is it?" + +"I don't know. We just happened to put a drill in there and this is +some of the scrapings." + +"You have n't cut into it at all, then?" + +"Not unless Harry, my partner, has put in a shot since I 've been gone. +As soon as we saw that we were into ore, I hurried away to come down +here to get an assay." + +"Well, Son, now you can hurry back and begin cutting into a fortune. +If that vein's only four inches wide, you 've got plenty to keep you +for the rest of your life." + +"It must be more than that--the drill must have been into it several +inches before I ever noticed it. I 'd been scraping the muck out of +there without paying much attention. It looked so hopeless." + +Undertaker Chastine turned to his work. + +"Then hurry along, Son. I suppose," he asked, as he looked over his +glasses for the last time, "that you don't want me to say anything +about it?" + +"Not until--" + +"You 're sure. I know. Well, good news is awful hard to keep--but I +'ll do my best. Run along." + +And Fairchild "ran." Whistling and happy, he turned out of the office +of the Sampler and into the street, his coat open, his big cap high on +his head, regardless of the sweep of the cold wind and the fine snow +that it carried on its icy breath. Through town he went, bumping into +pedestrians now and then, and apologizing in a vacant, absent manner. +The waiting of months was over, and Fairchild at last was beginning to +see his dreams come true. Like a boy, he turned up Kentucky Gulch, +bucking the big drifts and kicking the snow before him in flying, +splattering spray, stopping his whistling now and then to +sing,--foolish songs without words or rhyme or rhythm, the songs of a +heart too much engrossed with the joy of living to take cognizance of +mere rules of melody! + +So this was the reason that Rodaine had acknowledged the value of the +mine that day in court! This was the reason for the mysterious offer +of fifty thousand dollars and for the later one of nearly a quarter of +a million! Rodaine had known; Rodaine had information, and Rodaine had +been willing to pay to gain possession of what now appeared to be a +bonanza. But Rodaine had failed. And Fairchild had won! + +Won! But suddenly he realized that there was a blankness about it all. +He had won money, it is true. But all the money in the world could not +free him from the taint that had been left upon him by a coroner's +investigation, from the hint that still remained in the recommendation +of the grand jury that the murder of Sissie Larsen be looked into +further. Nor could it remove the stigma of the four charges against +Harry, which soon were to come to trial, and without a bit of evidence +to combat them. Riches could do much--but they could not aid in that +particular, and somewhat sobered by the knowledge, Fairchild turned +from the main road and on up through the high-piled snow to the mouth +of the Blue Poppy mine. + +A faint acrid odor struck his nostrils as he started to descend the +shaft, the "perfume" of exploded dynamite, and it sent anew into +Fairchild's heart the excitement and intensity of the strike. +Evidently Harry had shot the deep hole, and now, there in the chamber, +was examining the result, which must, by this time, give some idea of +the extent of the ore and the width of the vein. Fairchild pulled on +the rope with enthusiastic strength, while the bucket bumped and +swirled about the shaft in descent. A moment more and he had reached +the bottom, to leap from the carrier, light his carbide lamp which hung +where he had left it on the timbers, and start forward. + +The odor grew heavier. Fairchild held his light before him and looked +far ahead, wondering why he could not see the gleam from Harry's lamp. +He shouted. There was no answer, and he went on. + +Fifty feet! Seventy-five! Then he stopped short with a gasp. Twisted +and torn before him were the timbers of the tunnel, while muck and +refuse lay everywhere. A cave-in--another cave-in--at almost the exact +spot where the one had occurred years before, shutting off the chamber +from communication with the shaft, tearing and rending the new timbers +which had been placed there and imprisoning Harry behind them! + +Fairchild shouted again and again, only gaining for his answer the +ghostlike echoes of his own voice as they traveled to the shaft and +were thrown back again. He tore off his coat and cap, and attacked the +timbers like the fear-maddened man he was, dragging them by superhuman +force out of the way and clearing a path to the refuse. Then, running +along the little track, he searched first on one side, then the other, +until, nearly at the shaft, he came upon a miner's pick and a shovel. +With these, he returned to the task before him. + +Hours passed, while the sweat poured from his forehead and while his +muscles seemed to tear themselves loose from their fastenings with the +exertion that was placed upon them. Foot after foot, the muck was torn +away, as Fairchild, with pick and shovel, forced a tunnel through the +great mass of rocky debris which choked the drift. Onward--onward--at +last to make a small opening in the barricade, and to lean close to it +that he might shout again. But still there was no answer. + +Feverish now, Fairchild worked with all the reserve strength that was +in him. He seized great chunks of rock that he could not even have +budged at an ordinary time and threw them far behind him. His pick +struck again and again with a vicious, clanging reverberation; the hole +widened. Once more Fairchild leaned toward it. + +"Harry!" he called. "Harry!" + +But there was no answer. Again he shouted, then he returned to his +work, his heart aching in unison with his muscles. Behind that broken +mass, Fairchild felt sure, was his partner, torn, bleeding through the +effects of some accident, he did not know what, past answering his +calls, perhaps dead. Greater became the hole in the cave-in; soon it +was large enough to admit his body. Seizing his carbide lamp, +Fairchild made for the opening and crawled through, hurrying onward +toward the chamber where the stope began, calling Harry's name at every +step, in vain. The shadows before him lengthened, as the chamber gave +greater play to the range of light. Fairchild rushed within, held high +his carbide and looked about him. But no crumpled form of a man lay +there, no bruised, torn human being. The place was empty, except for +the pile of stone and refuse which had been torn away by dynamite +explosions in the hanging wall, where Harry evidently had shot away the +remaining refuse in a last effort to see what lay in that +direction,--stones and muck which told nothing. On the other side-- + +Fairchild stared blankly. The hole that he had made into the foot wall +had been filled with dynamite and tamped, as though ready for shooting. +But the charge had not been exploded. Instead--on the ground lay the +remainder of the tamping paper and a short foot and a half of fuse, +with its fulminate of mercury cap attached, where it had been pulled +from its berth by some great force and hastily stamped out. And Harry-- + +Harry was gone! + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +It was as though the shades of the past had come to life again, to +repeat in the twentieth century a happening of the nineteenth. There +was only one difference--no form of a dead man now lay against the foot +wall, to rest there more than a score of years until it should come to +light, a pile of bones in time-shredded clothing. And as he thought of +it, Fairchild remembered that the earthly remains of "Sissie" Larsen +had lain within almost a few feet of the spot where he had drilled the +prospect hole into the foot wall, there to discover the ore that +promised bonanza. + +But this time there was nothing and no clue to the mystery of Harry's +disappearance. Fairchild suddenly strengthened with an idea. Perhaps, +after all, he had been on the other side of the cave-in and had hurried +on out of the mine. But in that event, would he not have waited for +his return, to tell him of the accident? Or would he not have +proceeded down to the Sampler to bring the news if he had not cared to +remain at the tunnel opening? However, it was a chance, and Fairchild +took it. Once more he crawled through the hole that he had made in the +cave-in and sought the outward world. Then he hurried down Kentucky +Gulch and to the Sampler. But Harry had not been there. He went +through town, asking questions, striving his best to shield his +anxiety, cloaking his queries under the cover of cursory remarks. +Harry had not been seen. At last, with the coming of night, he turned +toward the boarding house, and on his arrival. Mother Howard, sighting +his white face, hurried to him. + +"Have you seen Harry?" he asked. + +"No--he has n't been here." + +It was the last chance. Clutching fear at his heart, he told Mother +Howard of the happenings at the mine, quickly, as plainly as possible. +Then once more he went forth, to retrace his steps to the Blue Poppy, +to buck the wind and the fine snow and the high, piled drifts, and to +go below. But the surroundings were the same: still the cave-in, with +its small hole where he had torn through it, still the ragged hanging +wall where Harry had fired the last shots of dynamite in his +investigations, still the trampled bit of fuse with its cap attached. +Nothing more. Gingerly Fairchild picked up the cap and placed it where +a chance kick could not explode it. Then he returned to the shaft. + +Back into the black night, with the winds whistling through the pines. +Back to wandering about through the hills, hurrying forward at the +sight of every faint, dark object against the snow, in the hope that +Harry, crippled by the cave-in, might have some way gotten out of the +shaft. But they were only boulders or logs or stumps of trees. At +midnight, Fairchild turned once more toward town and to the boarding +house. But Harry had not appeared. There was only one thing left to +do. + +This time, when Fairchild left Mother Howard's, his steps did not lead +him toward Kentucky Gulch. Instead he kept straight on up the street, +past the little line of store buildings and to the courthouse, where he +sought out the sole remaining light in the bleak, black +building,--Sheriff Bardwell's office. That personage was nodding in +his chair, but removed his feet from the desk and turned drowsily as +Fairchild entered. + +"Well?" he questioned, "what's up?" + +"My partner has disappeared. I want to report to you--and see if I can +get some help." + +"Disappeared? Who?" + +"Harry Harkins. He 's a big Cornishman, with a large mustache, very +red face, about sixty years old, I should judge--" + +"Wait a minute," Bardwell's eyes narrowed. "Ain't he the fellow I +arrested in the Blue Poppy mine the night of the Old Times dance?" + +"Yes." + +"And you say he 's disappeared?" + +"I think you heard me!" Fairchild spoke with some asperity. "I said +that he had disappeared, and I want some help in hunting for him. He +may be injured, for all I know, and if he 's out here in the mountains +anywhere, it's almost sure death for him unless he can get some aid +soon. I--" + +But the sheriff's eyes still remained suspiciously narrow. + +"When does his trial come up?" + +"A week from to-morrow." + +"And he 's disappeared." A slow smile came over the other man's lips. +"I don't think it will help much to start any relief expedition for +him. The thing to do is to get a picture and a general description and +send it around to the police in the various parts of the country! That +'ll be the best way to find him!" + +Fairchild's teeth gritted, but he could not escape the force of the +argument, from the sheriff's standpoint. For a moment there was +silence, then the miner came closer to the desk. + +"Sheriff," he said as calmly as possible, "you have a perfect right to +give that sort of view. That's your business--to suspect people. +However, I happen to feel sure that my partner would stand trial, no +matter what the charge, and that he would not seek to evade it in any +way. Some sort of an accident happened at the mine this afternoon--a +cave-in or an explosion that tore out the roof of the tunnel--and I am +sure that my partner is injured, has made his way out of the mine, and +is wandering among the hills. Will you help me to find him?" + +The sheriff wheeled about in his chair and studied a moment. Then he +rose. + +"Guess I will," he announced. "It can't do any harm to look for him, +anyway." + +Half an hour later, aided by two deputies who had been summoned from +their homes, Fairchild and the sheriff left for the hills to begin the +search for the missing Harry. Late the next afternoon, they returned +to town, tired, their horses almost crawling in their dragging pace +after sixteen hours of travel through the drifts of the hills and +gullies. Harry had not been found, and so Fairchild reported when, +with drooping shoulders, he returned to the boarding house and to the +waiting Mother Howard. And both knew that this time Harry's +disappearance was no joke, as it had been before. They realized that +back of it all was some sinister reason, some mystery which they could +not solve,--for the present at least. That night, Fairchild faced the +future and made his resolve. + +There was only a week now until Harry's case should come to trial. +Only a week until the failure of the defendant to appear should throw +the deeds of the Blue Poppy mine into the hands of the court, to be +sold for the amount of the bail. And in spite of the fact that +Fairchild now felt his mine to be a bonanza, unless some sort of a +miracle could happen before that time, the mine was the same as lost. +True, it would go to the highest bidder at a public sale and any money +brought in above the amount of bail would be returned to him. But who +would be that bidder? Who would get the mine--perhaps for twenty or +twenty-five thousand dollars, when it now was worth millions? +Certainly not he. Already he and Harry had borrowed from Mother Howard +all that she could lend them. True she had friends; but none could +produce from twenty to two hundred thousand dollars for a mine, simply +on his word. And unless something should happen to intervene, unless +Harry should return, or in some way Fairchild could raise the necessary +five thousand dollars to furnish a cash bond and again recover the +deeds of the Blue Poppy, he was no better off than before the strike +was made. Long he thought, finally to come to his conclusion, and +then, with the air of a gambler who has placed his last bet to win or +lose, he went to bed. + +But morning found him awake long before the rest of the house was +stirring. Downtown he hurried, to eat a hasty breakfast in the +all-night restaurant, then to start on a search for men. The first +workers on the street that morning found Fairchild offering them six +dollars a day. And by eight o'clock, ten of them were at work in the +drift of the Blue Poppy mine, working against time that they might +repair the damage which had been caused by the cave-in. + +It was not an easy task. That day and the next and the next after +that, they labored. Then Fairchild glanced at the progress that was +being made and sought out the pseudo-foreman. + +"Will it be finished by night?" he asked. + +"Easily." + +"Very well. I may need these men to work on a day and night shift, I +'m not sure. I 'll be back in an hour." + +Away he went and up the shaft, to travel as swiftly as possible through +the drift-piled road down Kentucky Gulch and to the Sampler. There he +sought out old Undertaker Chastine, and with him went to the proprietor. + +"My name is Fairchild, and I 'm in trouble," he said candidly. "I 've +brought Mr. Chastine in with me because he assayed some of my ore a few +days ago and believes he knows what it's worth. I 'm working against +time to get five thousand dollars. If I can produce ore that runs two +hundred dollars to the ton, and if I 'll sell it to you for one hundred +seventy-five dollars a ton until I can get the money I need, provided I +can get the permission of the court,--will you put it through for me?" + +The Sampler owner smiled. + +"If you 'll let me see where you 're getting the ore." Then he figured +a moment. "That 'd be thirty or forty ton," came at last. "We could +handle that as fast as you could bring it in here." + +But a new thought had struck Fairchild,--a new necessity for money. + +"I 'll give it to you for one hundred fifty dollars a ton, providing +you do the hauling and lend me enough after the first day or so to pay +my men." + +"But why all the excitement--and the rush?" + +"My partner 's Harry Harkins. He 's due for trial Friday, and he 's +disappeared. The mine is up as security. You can see what will happen +unless I can substitute a cash bond for the amount due before that +time. Is n't that sufficient?" + +"It ought to be. But as I said, I want to see where the ore comes +from." + +"You 'll see in the morning--if I 've got it," answered Fairchild with +a new hope thrilling in his voice. "All that I have so far is an assay +of some drill scrapings. I don't know how thick the vein is or whether +it's going to pinch out in ten minutes after we strike it. But I 'll +know mighty soon." + +Every cent that Robert Fairchild possessed in the world was in his +pockets,--two hundred dollars. After he had paid his men for their +three days of labor, there would be exactly twenty dollars left. But +Fairchild did not hesitate. To Farrell's office he went and with him +to an interview, in chambers, with the judge. Then, the necessary +permission having been granted, he hurried back to the mine and into +the drift, there to find the last of the muck being scraped away from +beneath the site of the cave-in. Fairchild paid off. Then he turned +to the foreman. + +"How many of these men are game to take a chance?" + +"Pretty near all of 'em--if there 's any kind of a gamble to it." + +"There 's a lot of gamble. I 've got just twenty dollars in my +pocket--enough to pay each man one dollar apiece for a night's work if +my hunch doesn't pan out. If it does pan, the wages are twenty dollars +a day for three days, with everybody, including myself, working like +hell! Who's game?" + +The answer came in unison. Fairchild led the way to the chamber, +seized a hammer and took his place. + +"There 's two-hundred-dollar ore back of this foot wall if we can break +in and start a new stope," he announced. "It takes a six-foot hole to +reach it, and we can have the whole story by morning. Let's go!" + +Along the great length of the foot wall, extending all the distance of +the big chamber, the men began their work, five men to the drills and +as many to the sledges, as they started their double-jacking. Hour +after hour the clanging of steel against steel sounded in the big +underground room, as the drills bit deeper and deeper into the hard +formation of the foot wall, driving steadily forward until their +contact should have a different sound, and the muggy scrapings bear a +darker hue than that of mere wall-rock. Hour after hour passed, while +the drill-turners took their places with the sledges, and the sledgers +went to the drills--the turnabout system of "double-jacking"--with +Fairchild, the eleventh man, filling in along the line as an extra +sledger, that the miners might be the more relieved in their strenuous, +frenzied work. Midnight came. The first of the six-foot drills sank +to its ultimate depth. Then the second and third and fourth: finally +the fifth. They moved on. Hours more of work, and the operation had +been repeated. The workmen hurried for the powder house, far down the +drift, by the shaft, lugging back in their pockets the yellow, +candle-like sticks of dynamite, with their waxy wrappers and their +gelatinous contents together with fuses and caps. Crimping +nippers--the inevitable accompaniment of a miner--came forth from the +pockets of the men. Careful tamping, then the men took their places at +the fuses. + +"Give the word!" one of them announced crisply as he turned to +Fairchild. "Each of us 'll light one of these things, and then I say +we 'll run! Because this is going to be some explosion!" + +Fairchild smiled the smile of a man whose heart is thumping at its +maximum speed. Before him in the long line of the foot wall were ten +holes, "up-holes", "downs" and "swimmers", attacking the hidden ore in +every direction. Ten holes drilled six feet into the rock and tamped +with double charges of dynamite. He straightened. + +"All right, men! Ready?" + +"Ready!" + +"Touch 'em off!" + +The carbide lamps were held close to the fuses for a second. Soon they +were all going, spitting like so many venomous, angry serpents--but +neither Fairchild nor the miners had stopped to watch. They were +running as hard as possible for the shaft and for the protection that +distance might give. A wait that seemed ages. Then: + +"One!" + +"And two--and three!" + +"There goes four and five--they went together!" + +"Six--seven--eight--nine--" + +Again a wait, while they looked at one another with vacuous eyes. A +long interval until the tenth. + +"Two went together then! I thought we 'd counted nine?" The foreman +stared, and Fairchild studied. Then his face lighted. + +"Eleven 's right. One of them must have set off the charge that Harry +left in there. All the better--it gives us just that much more of a +chance." + +Back they went along the drift tunnel now, coughing slightly as the +sharp smoke of the dynamite cut their lungs. A long journey that +seemed as many miles instead of feet. Then with a shout, Fairchild +sprang forward, and went to his hands and knees. + +It was there before him--all about him--the black, heavy masses of +lead-silver ore, a great, heaping, five-ton pile of it where it had +been thrown out by the tremendous force of the explosion. It seemed +that the whole great floor of the cavern was covered with it, and the +workmen shouted with Fairchild as they seized bits of the precious +black stuff and held it to the light for closer examination. + +"Look!" The voice of one of them was high and excited. "You can see +the fine streaks of silver sticking out! It's high-grade and plenty of +it!" + +But Fairchild paid little attention. He was playing in the stuff, +throwing it in the air and letting it fall to the floor of the cavern +again, like a boy with a new sack of marbles, or a child with its +building blocks. Five tons and the night was not yet over! Five tons, +and the vein had not yet shown its other side! + +Back to work they went now, six of the men drilling, Fairchild and the +other four mucking out the refuse, hauling it up the shaft, and then +turning to the ore that they might get it to the old, rotting bins and +into position for loading as soon as the owner of the Sampler could be +notified in the morning and the trucks could fight their way through +the snowdrifts of Kentucky Gulch to the mine for loading. Again +through the hours the drills bit into the rock walls, while the ore car +clattered along the tram line and while the creaking of the block and +tackle at the shaft seemed endless. In three days, approximately forty +tons of ore must come out of that mine,--and work must not cease. + +Morning, and in spite of the sleep-laden eyes, the heavy aching in his +head, the tired drooping of the shoulders, Fairchild tramped to the +boarding house to notify Mother Howard and ask for news of Harry. +There had been none. Then he went on, to wait by the door of the +Sampler until Bittson, the owner, should appear, and drag him away up +the hill, even before he could open up for the morning. + +"There it is!" he exclaimed, as he led him to the entrance of the +chamber. "There it is; take all you want of it and assay it!" + +Bittson went forward into the cross-cut, where the men were drilling +even at new holes, and examined the vein. Already it was three feet +thick, and there was still ore ahead. One of the miners looked up. + +"Just finishing up on the cross-cut," he announced, as he nodded toward +his drill. "I 've just bitten into the foot wall on the other side. +Looks to me like the vein 's about five feet thick--as near as I can +measure it." + +"And--" Bittson picked up a few samples, examined them by the light of +the carbides and tossed them away--"you can see the silver sticking +out. I caught sight of a couple of pencil threads of it in one or two +of those samples. All right, Boy!" he turned to Fairchild. "What was +that bargain we made?" + +"It was based on two hundred dollars a ton ore. This may run above--or +below. But whatever it is, I 'll sell you all you can handle for the +next three days at fifty dollars a ton under the assay price." + +"You 've said the word. The trucks will be here in an hour if we have +to shovel a path all the way up Kentucky Gulch." + +He hurried away then, while Fairchild and the men followed him into +town and to their breakfast. Then, recruiting a new gang on the +promise of payment at the end of their three-day shift, Fairchild went +back to the mine. But the word had spread, and others were there +before him. + +Already a wide path showed up Kentucky Gulch. Already fifteen or +twenty miners were assembled about the opening of the Blue Poppy +tunnel, awaiting permission to enter, the usual rush upon a lucky mine +to view its riches. Behind him, Fairchild could see others coming from +Ohadi to take a look at the new strike, and his heart bounded with +happiness tinged with sorrow. Harry was not there to enjoy it all; +Harry was gone, and in spite of his every effort, Fairchild had failed +to find him. + +All that morning they thronged down the shaft of the Blue Poppy. The +old method of locomotion grew too slow; willing hands repaired the +hoist and sent volunteers for a gasoline engine to run it, while in the +meantime officials of curiosity labored on the broken old ladder that +once had encompassed the distance from the bottom of the shaft to the +top, rehabilitating it to such an extent that it might be used again. +The drift was crowded with persons bearing candles and carbides. The +big chamber was filled, leaving barely room for the men to work with +their drills at the final holes that would be needed to clear the vein +to the foot wall on the other side and enable the miners to start +upward on their new stope. Fairchild looked about him proudly, +happily; it was his, his and Harry's--if Harry ever should come back +again--the thing he had worked for, the thing he had dreamed of, +planned for. + +Some one brushed against him, and there came a slight tug at his coat. +Fairchild looked downward to see passing the form of Anita Richmond. A +moment later she looked toward him, but in her eyes there was no light +of recognition, nothing to indicate that she had just given him a +signal of greeting and congratulation. And yet Fairchild felt that she +had. Uneasily he walked away, following her with his eyes as she made +her way into the blackness of the tunnel and toward the shaft. Then, +absently, he put his hand into his pocket. + +Something there caused his heart to halt momentarily,--a piece of +paper. He crumpled it in his hand, he rubbed his fingers over it +wonderingly; it had not been in his pocket before she had passed him. +Hurriedly he walked to the far side of the chamber and there, +pretending to examine a bit of ore, brought the missive from its place +of secretion, to unfold it with trembling fingers, then to stare at the +words which showed before him: + + +"Squint Rodaine is terribly worried about something. Has been on an +awful rampage all morning. Something critical is brewing, but I don't +know what. Suggest you keep watch on him. Please destroy this." + + +That was all. There was no signature. But Robert Fairchild had seen +the writing of Anita Richmond once before! + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +So she was his friend! So all these days of waiting had not been in +vain; all the cutting hopelessness of seeing her, only to have her turn +away her head and fail to recognize him, had been for their purpose +after all. And yet Fairchild remembered that she was engaged to +Maurice Rodaine, and that the time of the wedding must be fast +approaching. Perhaps there had been a quarrel, perhaps-- Then he +smiled. There was no perhaps about it! Anita Richmond was his friend; +she had been forced into the promise of marriage to Maurice Rodaine, +but she had not been forced into a relinquishment of her desire to +reward him somehow, some way, for the attention that he had shown her +and the liking that she knew existed in his heart. + +Hastily Fairchild folded the paper and stuffed it into an inside +pocket. Then, seeking out one of the workmen, he appointed him foreman +of the gang, to take charge in his absence. Following which, he made +his way out of the mine and into town, there to hire men of Mother +Howard's suggestion and send them to the Blue Poppy, to take their +stations every few feet along the tunnel, to appear mere spectators, +but in reality to be guards who were constantly on the watch for +anything untoward that might occur. Fairchild was taking no chances +now. An hour more found him at the Sampler, watching the ore as it ran +through the great crusher hoppers, to come forth finely crumbled powder +and be sampled, ton by ton, for the assays by old Undertaker Chastine +and the three other men of his type, without which no sampler pays for +ore. Bittson approached, grinning. + +"You guessed just about right," he announced. "That stuff 's running +right around two hundred dollars a ton. Need any money now?" + +"All you can let me have!" + +"Four or five hundred? We 've gotten in eight tons of that stuff +already; don't guess I 'd be taking any risk on that!" he chuckled. +Fairchild reached for the currency eagerly. All but a hundred dollars +of it would go to Mother Howard,--for that debt must be paid off first. +And, that accomplished, denying himself the invitation of rest that his +bed held forth for him, he started out into town, apparently to loiter +about the streets and receive the congratulations of the towns-people, +but in reality to watch for one person and one alone,--Squint Rodaine! + +He saw him late in the afternoon, shambling along, his eyes glaring, +his lips moving wordlessly, and he took up the trail. But it led only +to the office of the Silver Queen Development Company, where the +scar-faced man doubled at his desk, and, stuffing a cigar into his +mouth, chewed on it angrily. Instinctively Fairchild knew that the +greatest part of his mean temper was due to the strike in the Blue +Poppy; instinctively also he felt that Squint Rodaine had known of the +value all along, that now he was cursing himself for the failure of his +schemes to obtain possession of what had appeared until only a day +before to be nothing more than a disappointing, unlucky, ill-omened +hole in the ground. Fairchild resumed his loitering, but evening found +him near the Silver Queen office. + +Squint Rodaine did not leave for dinner. The light burned long in the +little room, far past the usual closing time and until after the +picture-show crowds had come and gone, while the man of the blue-white +scar remained at his desk, staring at papers, making row after row of +figures, and while outside, facing the chill and the cold of winter, +Fairchild trod the opposite side of the street, careful that no one +caught the import of his steady, sentry-like pace, yet equally careful +that he did not get beyond a range of vision where he could watch the +gleam of light from the office of the Silver Queen. Anita's note had +told him little, yet had implied much. Something was fermenting in the +seething brain of Squint Rodaine, and if the past counted for anything, +it was something that concerned him. + +An hour more, then Fairchild suddenly slunk into the shadows of a +doorway. Squint had snapped out the light and was locking the door. A +moment later he had passed him, his form bent, his shoulders hunched +forward, his lips muttering some unintelligible jargon. Fifty feet +more, then Fairchild stepped from the doorway and took up the trail. + +It was not a hard one to follow. The night wind had brought more snow +with it, to make a silent pad upon the sidewalks and to outline to +Fairchild more easily the figure which slouched before him. Gradually +Robert dropped farther and farther in the rear; it gave him that much +more protection, that much more surety in trailing his quarry to +wherever he might be bound. + +And it was a certainty that the destination was not home. Squint +Rodaine passed the street leading to his house without even looking up. +Two blocks more, and they reached the city limits. But Squint kept on, +and far in the rear, watching carefully every move, Fairchild followed +his quarry's shadow. + +A mile, and they were in the open country, crossing and recrossing the +ice-dotted Clear Creek. A furlong more, then Fairchild went to his +knees that he might use the snow for a better background. Squint +Rodaine had turned up the lane which led to a great, shambling, old, +white building that, in the rosy days of the mining game, had been a +roadhouse with its roulette wheels, its bar, its dining tables and its +champagne, but which now, barely furnished in only a few of its rooms, +inhabited by mountain rats and fluttering bats and general decay for +the most part, formed the uncomfortable abode of Crazy Laura! + +And Fairchild followed. It could mean only one thing when Rodaine +sought the white-haired, mumbling old hag whom once he had called his +wife. It could mean but one outcome, and that of disaster for some +one. Mother Howard had said that Crazy Laura would kill for Squint. +Fairchild felt sure that once, at least, she had lied for him, so that +the name of Thornton Fairchild might be branded as that of a murderer +and that his son might be set down in the community as a person of +ill-intent and one not to be trusted. And now that Squint Rodaine was +seeking her once more, Fairchild meant to follow, and to hear--if such +a thing were within the range of human possibility--the evil drippings +of his crooked lips. + +He crossed to the side of the road where ran the inevitable gully and +taking advantage of the shelter, hurried forward, smiling grimly in the +darkness at the memory of the fact that things were now reversed; that +he was following Squint Rodaine as Rodaine once had followed him. +Swiftly he moved, closer--closer; the scar-faced man went through the +tumble-down gate and approached the house, not knowing that his pursuer +was less than fifty yards away! + +A moment of cautious waiting then, in which Fairchild did not move. +Finally a light showed in an upstairs room of the house, and Fairchild, +masking his own footprints in those made by Rodaine, crept to the +porch. Swiftly, silently, protected by the pad of snow on the soles of +his shoes, he made the doorway and softly tried the lock. It gave +beneath his pressure, and he glided within the dark hallway, musty and +dusty in its odor, forbidding, evil and dark. A mountain rat, already +disturbed by the entrance of Rodaine, scampered across his feet, and +Fairchild shrunk into a corner, hiding himself as best he could in case +the noise should cause an investigation from above. But it did not. +Now Fairchild could hear voices, and in a moment more they became +louder, as a door opened. + +"It don't make any difference! I ain't going to stand for it! I tell +you to do something and you go and make a mess of it! Why did n't you +wait until they were both there?" + +"I--I thought they were, Roady!" The woman's voice was whining, +pleading. "Ain't you going to kiss me?" + +"No, I ain't going to kiss you. You went and made a mess of things." + +"You kissed me the night our boy was born. Remember that, Roady? +Don't you remember how you kissed me then?" + +"That was a long time ago, and you were a different woman then. You 'd +do what I 'd tell you." + +"But I do now, Roady. Honest, I do. I 'll do anything you tell me +to--if you 'll just be good to me. Why don't you hold me in your arms +any more--?" + +A scuffling sound came from above. Fairchild knew that she had made an +effort to clasp him to her, and that he had thrust her away. The +voices came closer. + +"You know what you got us into, don't you? They made a strike there +to-day--same value as in the Silver Queen. If it had n't been for +you--" + +"But they get out someway--they always get out." The voice was high +and weird now. "They 're immortal. That's what they are--they 're +immortal. They have the gift--they can get out--" + +"Bosh! Course they get out when you wait until after they 're gone. +Why, one of 'em was downtown at the assayer's, so I understand, when +you went in there." + +"But the other--he 's immortal. He got out--" + +"You're crazy!" + +"Yes, crazy!" She suddenly shrieked at the word. "That's what they +all call me--Crazy Laura. And you call me Crazy Laura too, when my +back 's turned. But I ain't--hear me--I ain't! I know--they're +immortal, just like the others were immortal! I can't hold 'em when +they 've got the spirit that rises above--I 've tried, ain't I--and I +'ve only got one!" + +"One?" Squint's voice became suddenly excited. "One--what one?" + +"I 'm not going to tell. But I know--Crazy Laura--that's what they +call me--and they give me a sulphur pillow to sleep on. But I know--I +know!" + +There was silence then for a moment, and Fairchild, huddled in the +darkness below, felt the creeping, crawling chill of horror pass over +him as he listened. Above were a rogue and a lunatic, discussing +between them what, at times, seemed to concern him and his partner; +more, it seemed to go back to other days, when other men had worked the +Blue Poppy and met misfortunes. A bat fluttered about, just passing +his face, its vermin-covered wings sending the musty air close against +his cringing flesh. Far at the other side of the big hall a mountain +rat resumed its gnawing. Then it ceased. Squint Rodaine was talking +again. + +"So you 're not going to tell me about 'the one', eh? What have you +got this door shut for?" + +"No door 's shut." + +"It is--don't you think I can see? This door leading into the front +room." + +The sound of heavy shoes, followed by a lighter tread. Then a scream +above which could be heard the jangling of a rusty lock and the bumping +of a shoulder against wood. High and strident came Crazy Laura's voice: + +"Stay out of there--I tell you, Roady! Stay out of there! It's +something that mortals should n't see--it's something--stay out--stay +out!" + +"I won't--unlock this door!" + +"I can't do it--the time has n't come yet--I must n't--" + +"You won't--well, there 's another way." A crash, the sudden, +stumbling feet of a man, then the scratching of a match and an +exclamation: "So this is your immortal, eh?" + +Only a moaning answered, moaning intermingled with some vague form of a +weird chant, the words of which Fairchild in the musty, dark hall below +could not distinguish. At last came Squint's voice again, this time in +softened tones: + +"Laura--Laura, honey." + +"Yes, Squint." + +"Why did n't you tell your sweetheart about this?" + +"I must n't--you 've spoiled it now, Roady." + +"No--Honey. I can show you the way. He 's nearly gone. What were you +going to do when he went--?" + +"He 'd have dissolved in air, Roady--I know. The spirits have told me." + +"Perhaps so." The voice of the scar-faced, mean-visaged Squint Rodaine +was still honeyed, still cajoling. "Perhaps so--but not at once. Is +n't there a barrel of lime in the basement?" + +"Yes." + +"Come downstairs with me." + +They started downward then, and Fairchild, creeping as swiftly as he +could, hurried under the protection of the rotten casing, where the +wainscoting had dropped away with the decay of years. There he watched +them pass, Rodaine in the lead, carrying a smoking lamp with its +half-broken chimney careening on the base. Crazy Laura, mumbling her +toothless gums, her hag-like hands extended before her, shuffling along +in the rear. He heard them go far to the rear of the house, then +descend more stairs. And he went flat to his stomach on the floor, +with his ear against a tiny chink that he might hear the better. +Squint still was talking in his loving tones. + +"See, Honey," he was saying. "I 've--I 've broken the spell by going +in upstairs. You should have told me. I did n't know--I just +thought--well, I thought there was some one in there you liked, and I +got jealous." + +"Did you, Roady?" She cackled. "Did you?" + +"Yes--I did n't know you had _him_ there. And you were making him +immortal?" + +"I found him, Roady. His eyes were shut, and he was bleeding. It was +at dusk, and nobody saw him when I carried him in here. Then I started +giving him the herbs--" + +"That you 've gathered around at night?" + +"Yes--where the dead sleep. I get the red berries most. That's the +blood of the dead, come to life again." + +The quaking, crazy voice from below caused Fairchild to shiver with a +sudden cold that no warmth could eradicate. Still, however, he lay +there listening, fearful that every move from below might bring a +cessation of their conversation. But Rodaine talked on. + +"Of course, I know. But I 've spoiled that now. There's another way, +Laura. Get that spade. See, the dirt's soft here. Dig a hole about +four feet deep and six or seven feet long. Then put half that lime +from the barrel in there. Understand?" + +"What for?" + +"It's the only way now; we 'll have to do that. It's the other way to +immortality. You 've given him the herbs?" + +"Yes." + +"Then this is the end. See? Now do that, won't you, Honey?" + +"You'll kiss me, Roady?" + +"There!" The faint sound of a kiss came from below. "And there's +another one. And another!" + +"Just like the night our boy was born. Don't you remember how you bent +over and kissed me then and held me in your arms?" + +"I 'm holding you that way now, Honey--just the same way that I held +you the night our boy was born. And I 'll help you with this. You dig +the hole and put half the lime in there--don't put it all. We 'll need +the rest to put on top of him. You 'll have it done in about two +hours. There 's something else needed--some acid that I 've got to +get. It 'll make it all the quicker. I 'll be back, Honey. Kiss me." + +Fairchild, seeking to still the horror-laden quiver of his body, heard +the sound of a kiss and then the clatter of a man's heavy shoes on the +stairs, accompanied by a slight clink from below. He knew that +sound,--the scraping of the steel of a spade against the earth as it +was dragged into use. A moment more and Rodaine, mumbling to himself, +passed out the door. But the woman did not come upstairs. Fairchild +knew why: her crazed mind was following the instructions of the man who +knew how to lead the lunatic intellect into the channels he desired; +she was digging, digging a grave for some one, a grave to be lined with +quicklime! + +Now she was talking again and chanting, but Fairchild did not attempt +to determine the meaning of it all. Upstairs was some one who had been +found by this woman in an unconscious state and evidently kept in that +condition through the potations of the ugly poison-laden drugs she +brewed,--some one who now was doomed to die and to lie in a quicklime +grave! Carefully Fairchild gained his feet; then, as silently as +possible, he made for the rickety stairs, stopping now and again to +listen for discovery from below. But it did not come; the insane woman +was chanting louder than ever now. Fairchild went on. + +He felt his way up the remaining stairs, a rat scampering before him; +he sneaked along the wall, hands extended, groping for that broken +door, finally to find it. Cautiously he peered within, striving in +vain to pierce the darkness. At last, listening intently for the +singing from below, he drew a match from his pocket and scratched it +noiselessly on his trousers. Then, holding it high above his head, he +looked toward the bed--and stared in horror! + +A blood-encrusted face showed on the slipless pillow, while across the +forehead was a jagged, red, untended wound. The mouth was open, the +breathing was heavy and labored. The form was quite still, the eyes +closed. And the face was that of Harry! + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +So this explained, after a fashion, Harry's disappearance. This +revealed why the search through the mountains had failed. This-- + +But Fairchild suddenly realized that now was not a time for +conjecturing upon the past. The man on the bed was unconscious, +incapable of helping himself. Far below, a white-haired woman, her +toothless jaws uttering one weird chant after another, was digging for +him a quicklime grave, in the insane belief that she was aiding in +accomplishing some miracle of immortality. In time--and Fairchild did +not know how long--an evil-visaged, scar-faced man would return to help +her carry the inert frame of the unconscious man below and bury it. +Nor could Fairchild tell from the conversation whether he even intended +to perform the merciful act of killing the poor, broken being before he +covered it with acids and quick-eating lime in a grave that soon would +remove all vestige of human identity forever. Certainly now was not a +time for thought; it was one for action! + +And for caution. Instinct told Fairchild that for the present, at +least, Rodaine must believe that Harry had escaped unaided. There were +too many other things in which Robert felt sure Rodaine had played a +part, too many other mysterious happenings which must be met and coped +with, before the man of the blue-white scar could know that finally the +underling was beginning to show fight, that at last the crushed had +begun to rise. Fairchild bent and unlaced his shoes, taking off also +the heavy woolen socks which protected his feet from the biting cold. +Steeling himself to the ordeal which he must undergo, he tied the laces +together and slung the footgear over a shoulder. Then he went to the +bed. + +As carefully as possible, he wrapped Harry in the blankets, seeking to +protect him in every way against the cold. With a great effort, he +lifted him, the sick man's frame huddled in his arms like some gigantic +baby, and started out of the eerie, darkened house. + +The stairs--the landing--the hall! Then a query from below: + +"Is that you, Roady?" + +The breath pulled sharp into Fairchild's lungs. He answered in the +best imitation he could give of the voice of Squint Rodaine: + +"Yes. Go on with your digging, Honey. I 'll be there soon." + +"And you'll kiss me?" + +"Yes. Just like I kissed you the night our boy was born." + +It was sufficient. The chanting began again, accompanied by the swish +of the spade as it sank into the earth and the cludding roll of the +clods as they were thrown to one side. Fairchild gained the door. A +moment more and he staggered with his burden into the protecting +darkness of the night. + +The snow crept about his ankles, seeming to freeze them at every touch, +but Fairchild did not desist. His original purpose must be carried out +if Rodaine were not to know,--the appearance that Harry had aroused +himself sufficiently to wrap the blankets about him and wander off by +himself. And this could be accomplished only by the pain and cold and +torture of a barefoot trip. + +Some way, by shifting the big frame of his unconscious partner now and +then, Fairchild made the trip to the main road and veered toward the +pumphouse of the Diamond J. mine, running as it often did without +attendance while the engineer made a trip with the electric motor into +the hill. Cautiously he peered through the windows. No one was there. +Beyond lay warmth and comfort--and a telephone. Fairchild went within +and placed Harry on the floor. Then he reached for the 'phone and +called the hospital. + +"Hello!" he announced in a husky, disguised voice. "This is Jeb +Gresham of Georgeville. I 've just found a man lying by the side of +the Diamond J. pumphouse, unconscious, with a big cut in his head. I +'ve brought him inside. You 'll find him there; I 've got to go on. +Looks like he 's liable to die unless you can send the ambulance for +him." + +"We 'll make it a rush trip," came the answer, and Fairchild hung up +the 'phone, to rub his half-frozen, aching feet a moment, then to +reclothe them in the socks and shoes, watching the entrance of the +Diamond J. tunnel as he did so. A long minute--then he left the +pumphouse, made a few tracks in the snow around the entrance, and +walked swiftly down the road. Fifteen minutes later, from a hiding +place at the side of the Clear Creek bridge, he saw the lights of the +ambulance as it swerved to the pumphouse. Out came the stretcher. The +attendants went in search of the injured man. When they came forth +again, they bore the form of Harry Harkins, and the heart of Fairchild +began to beat once more with something resembling regularity. His +partner--at least such was his hope and his prayer--was on the way to +aid and to recovery, while Squint Rodaine would know nothing other than +that he had wandered away! Grateful, lighter in heart than he had been +for days. Fairchild plodded along the road in the tracks of the +ambulance, as it headed back for town. + +The news already had spread by the time he reached there; news travels +fast in a small mining camp. Fairchild went to the hospital, and to +the side of the cot where Harry had been taken, to find the doctor +there before him, already bandaging the wound on Harry's head and +looking with concern now and then at the pupils of the unconscious +man's eyes. + +"Are you going to stay here with him?" the physician asked, after he +had finished the dressing of the laceration. + +"Yes," Fairchild said, in spite of aching fatigue and heavy eyes. The +doctor nodded. + +"Good. I don't know whether he 's going to pull through or not. Of +course, I can't say--but it looks to me from his breathing and his +heart action that he 's not suffering as much from this wound as he is +from some sort of poisoning. + +"We 've given him apomorphine and it should begin to take effect soon. +We 're using the batteries too. You say that you 're going to be here? +That's a help. They 're shy a nurse on this floor to-night, and I 'm +having a pretty busy time of it. I 'm very much afraid that poor old +Judge Richmond 's going to lay down his cross before morning." + +"He 's dying?" Fairchild said it with a clutching sensation at his +throat. The physician nodded. + +"There 's hardly a chance for him." + +"You 're going there?" + +"Yes." + +"Will you please give--?" + +The physician waited. Finally Fairchild shook his head. + +"Never mind," he finished. "I thought I would ask you something--but +it would be too much of a favor. Thank you just the same. Is there +anything I can do here?" + +"Nothing except to keep watch on his general condition. If he seems to +be getting worse, call the interne. I 've left instructions with him." + +"Very good." + +The physician went on, and Fairchild took his place beside the bed of +the unconscious Harry, his mind divided between concern for his +faithful partner and the girl who, some time in the night, must say +good-by forever to the father she loved. It had been on Fairchild's +tongue to send her some sort of message by the physician, some word +that would show her he was thinking of her and hoping for her. But he +had reconsidered. Among those in the house of death might be Maurice +Rodaine, and Fairchild did not care again to be the cause of such a +scene as had happened on the night of the Old Times dance. + +Judge Richmond was dying. What would that mean? What effect would it +have upon the engagement of Anita and the man Fairchild hoped that she +detested? What--then he turned at the entrance of the interne with the +batteries. + +"If you 're going to be here all night," said the white-coated +individual, "it 'll help me out a lot if you 'll use these batteries +for me. Put them on at their full force and apply them to his cheeks, +his hands, his wrists and the soles of his feet alternately. From the +way he acts, there 's some sort of morphinic poisoning. We can't tell +what it is--except that it acts like a narcotic. And about the only +way we can pull him out is with these applications." + +The interne turned over the batteries and went on about his work, while +Fairchild, hoping within his heart that he had not placed an impediment +in the way of Harry's recovery by not telling what he knew of Crazy +Laura and her concoctions, began his task. Yet he was relieved by the +knowledge that such information could aid but little. Nothing but a +chemical analysis could show the contents of the strange brews which +the insane woman made from her graveyard herbiage, and long before that +could come, Harry might be dead. And so he pressed the batteries +against the unconscious man's cheeks, holding them there tightly, that +the full shock of the electricity might permeate the skin and arouse +the sluggish blood once more to action. Then to the hands, the wrists, +the feet and back again; it was the beginning of a routine that was to +last for hours. + +Midnight came and early morning. With dawn, the figure on the bed +stirred slightly and groaned. Fairchild looked up, to see the doctor +just entering. + +"I think he 's regaining consciousness." + +"Good." The physician brought forth his hypodermic. "That means a bit +of rest for me. A little shot in the arm, and he ought to be out of +danger in a few hours." + +Fairchild watched him as he boiled the needle over the little gas jet +at the head of the cot, then dissolved a white pellet preparatory to +sending a resuscitory fluid into Harry's arm. + +"You 've been to Judge Richmond's?" he asked at last. + +"Yes." Then the doctor stepped close to the bed. "I 've just closed +his eyes--forever." + +Ten minutes later, after another examination of Harry's pupils, he was +gone, a weary, tired figure, stumbling home to his rest--rest that +might be disturbed at any moment--the reward of the physician. As for +Fairchild, he sat a long time in thought, striving to find some way to +send consolation to the girl who was grieving now, struggling to figure +a means of telling her that he cared, that he was sorry, and that his +heart hurt too. But there was none. + +Again a moan from the man on the bed, and at last a slight resistance +to the sting of the batteries. An hour passed, two; gradually Harry +came to himself, to stare about him in a wondering, vacant manner and +then to fasten his eyes upon Fairchild. He seemed to be struggling for +speech, for cooerdination of ideas. Finally, after many minutes-- + +"That's you, Boy?" + +"Yes, Harry." + +"But where are we?" + +Fairchild laughed softly. + +"We 're in a hospital, and you 're knocked out. Don't you know where +you 've been?" + +"I don't know anything, since I slid down the wall." + +"Since you what?" + +But Harry had lapsed back into semi-consciousness again, to lie for +hours a mumbling, dazed thing, incapable of thought or action. And it +was not until late in the night after the rescue, following a few hours +of rest forced upon him by the interne, that Fairchild once more could +converse with his stricken partner. + +"It's something I 'll 'ave to show you to explain," said Harry. "I +can't tell you about it. You know where that little fissure is in the +'anging wall, away back in the stope?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, that's it. That's where I got out." + +"But what happened before that?" + +"What didn't 'appen?" asked Harry, with a painful grin. "Everything in +the world 'appened. I--but what did the assay show?" + +Fairchild reached forth and laid a hand on the brawny one of his +partner. + +"We 're rich, Harry," he said, "richer than I ever dreamed we could be. +The ore's as good as that of the Silver Queen!" + +"The bloody 'ell it is!" Then Harry dropped back on his pillow for a +long time and simply grinned at the ceiling. Somewhat anxious. +Fairchild leaned forward, but his partner's eyes were open and smiling. +"I 'm just letting it sink in!" he announced, and Fairchild was silent, +saving his questions until "it" had sunk. Then: + +"You were saying something about that fissure?" + +"But there is other things first. After you went to the assayers, I +fooled around there in the chamber, and I thought I 'd just take a +flyer and blow up them 'oles that I 'd drilled in the 'anging wall at +the same time that I shot the other. So I put in the powder and fuses, +tamped 'em down and then I thinks thinks I, that there's somebody +moving around in the drift. But I did n't pay any attention to it--you +know. I was busy and all that, and you often 'ear noises that sound +funny. So I set 'em off--that is, I lit the fuses and I started to +run. Well, I 'ad n't any more 'n started when bloeyy-y-y-y, right in +front of me, the whole world turned upside down, and I felt myself +knocked back into the chamber. And there was them fuses. All of 'em +burning. Well, I managed to pull out the one from the foot wall and +stamp it out, but I didn't 'ave time to get at the others. And the +only place where there was a chance for me was clear at the end of the +chamber. Already I was bleeding like a stuck hog where a whole 'arf +the mountain 'ad 'it me on the 'ead, and I did n't know much what I was +doing. I just wanted to get be'ind something--that's all I could think +of. So I shied for that fissure in the rocks and crawled back in +there, trying to squeeze as far along as I could. And 'ere 's the +funny part of it--I kept on going!" + +"You what?" + +"Kept on going. I 'd always thought it was just a place where the +'anging wall 'ad slipped, and that it stopped a few feet back. But it +don't--it goes on. I crawled along it as fast as I could--I was about +woozy, anyway--and by and by I 'eard the shots go off be'ind me. But +there was n't any use in going back--the tunnel was caved in. So I +kept on. + +"I don't know 'ow long I went or where I went at. It was all dark--and +I was about knocked out. After while, I ran into a stream of water +that came out of the inside of the 'ill somewhere, and I took a drink. +It gave me a bit of strength. And then I kept on some more--until all +of a sudden, I slipped and fell, just when I was beginning to see +dyelight. And that's all I know. 'Ow long 'ave I been gone?" + +"Long enough to make me gray-headed," Fairchild answered with a little +laugh. Then his brow furrowed. "You say you slipped and fell just as +you were beginning to see daylight?" + +"Yes. It looked like it was reflected from below, somewyes." + +Fairchild nodded. + +"Is n't there quite a spring right by Crazy Laura's house?" + +"Yes; it keeps going all year; there 's a current and it don't freeze +up. It comes out like it was a waterfall--and there 's a roaring noise +be'ind it." + +"Then that's the explanation. You followed the fissure until it joined +the natural tunnel that the spring has made through the hills. And +when you reached the waterfall--well, you fell with it." + +"But 'ow did I get 'ere?" + +Briefly Fairchild told him, while Harry pawed at his still magnificent +mustache. Robert continued: + +"But the time 's not ripe yet, Harry, to spring it. We 've got to find +out more about Rodaine first and what other tricks he 's been up to. +And we 've got to get other evidence than merely our own word. For +instance, in this case, you can't remember anything. All the testimony +I could give would be unsupported. They 'd run me out of town if I +even tried to start any such accusation. But one thing 's certain: We +'re on the open road at last, we know who we 're fighting and the +weapons he fights with. And if we 're only given enough time, we 'll +whip him. I 'm going home to bed now; I 've got to be up early in the +morning and get hold of Farrell. Your case comes up at court." + +"And I 'm up in a 'ospital!" + +Which fact the court the next morning recognized, on the testimony of +the interne, the physician and the day nurses of the hospital, to the +extent of a continuance until the January term in the trial of the +case. A thing which the court further recognized was the substitution +of five thousand dollars in cash for the deeds of the Blue Poppy mine +as security for the bailee. And with this done, the deeds to his mine +safe in his pocket, Fairchild went to the bank, placed the papers +behind the great steel gates of the safety deposit vault, and then +crossed the street to the telegraph office. A long message was the +result, and a money order to Denver that ran beyond a hundred dollars. +The instructions that went with it to the biggest florist in town were +for the most elaborate floral design possible to be sent by express for +Judge Richmond's funeral--minus a card denoting the sender. Following +this, Fairchild returned to the hospital, only to find Mother Howard +taking his place beside the bed of Harry. One more place called for +his attention,--the mine. + +The feverish work was over now. The day and night shifts no longer +were needed until Harry and Fairchild could actively assume control of +operations and themselves dig out the wealth to put in the improvements +necessary to procure the compressed air and machine drills, and +organize the working of the mine upon the scale which its value +demanded. But there was one thing essential, and Fairchild procured +it,--guards. Then he turned his attention to his giant partner. + +Health returned slowly to the big Cornishman. The effects of nearly a +week of slow poisoning left his system grudgingly; it would be a matter +of weeks before he could be the genial, strong giant that he once had +represented. And in those weeks Fairchild was constantly beside him. + +Not that there were no other things which were represented in Robert's +desires,--far from it. Stronger than ever was Anita Richmond in +Fairchild's thoughts now, and it was with avidity that he learned every +scrap of news regarding her, as brought to him by Mother Howard. +Hungrily he listened for the details of how she had weathered the shock +of her father's death; anxiously he inquired for her return in the days +following the information--via Mother Howard--that she had gone on a +short trip to Denver to look after matters pertaining to her father's +estate. Dully he heard that she had come back, and that Maurice +Rodaine had told friends that the passing of the Judge had caused only +a slight postponement in their marital plans. And perhaps it was this +which held Fairchild in check, which caused him to wonder at the +vagaries of the girl--a girl who had thwarted the murderous plans of a +future father-in-law--and to cause him to fight down a desire to see +her, an attempt to talk to her and to learn directly from her lips her +position toward him,--and toward the Rodaines. + +Finally, back to his normal strength once more, Harry rose from the +armchair by the window of the boarding house and turned to Fairchild. + +"We 're going to work to-night," he announced calmly. + +"When?" Fairchild did not believe he understood. Harry grinned. +"To-night. I 've taken a notion. Rodaine 'll expect us to work in the +daytime. We 'll fool 'im. We 'll leave the guards on in the daytime +and work at night. And what's more, we 'll keep a guard on at the +mouth of the shaft while we 're inside, not to let nobody down. See?" + +Fairchild agreed. He knew Squint Rodaine was not through. And he knew +also that the fight against the man with the blue-white scar had only +begun. The cross-cut had brought wealth and the promise of riches to +Fairchild and Harry for the rest of their lives. But it had not freed +them from the danger of one man,--a man who was willing to kill, +willing to maim, willing to do anything in the world, it seemed, to +achieve his purpose. Harry's suggestion was a good one. + +Together, when night came, they bundled their greatcoats about them and +pulled their caps low over their ears. Winter had come in earnest, +winter with a blizzard raging through the town on the breast of a +fifty-mile gale. Out into it the two men went, to fight their way +though the swirling, frigid fleece to Kentucky Gulch and upward. At +last they passed the guard, huddled just within the tunnel, and +clambered down the ladder which had been put in place by the +sight-seers on the day of the strike. Then-- + +Well, then Harry ran, to do much as Fairchild had done, to chuckle and +laugh and toss the heavy bits of ore about, to stare at them in the +light of his carbide torch, and finally to hurry into the new stope +which had been fashioned by the hired miners in Fairchild's employ and +stare upward at the heavy vein of riches above him. + +"Wouldn't it knock your eyes out?" he exclaimed, beaming. "That vein +'s certainly five feet wide." + +"And two hundred dollars to the ton," added Fairchild, laughing. "No +wonder Rodaine wanted it." + +"I 'll sye so!" exclaimed Harry, again to stand and stare, his mouth +open, his mustache spraying about on his upper lip in more directions +than ever. A long time of congratulatory celebration, then Harry led +the way to the far end of the great cavern. "'Ere it is!" he +announced, as he pointed to what had seemed to both of them never to be +anything more than a fissure in the rocks. "It's the thing that saved +my life." + +Fairchild stared into the darkness of the hole in the earth, a narrow +crack in the rocks barely large enough to allow a human form to squeeze +within. He laughed. + +"You must have made yourself pretty small, Harry." + +"What? When I went through there? Sye, I could 'ave gone through the +eye of a needle. There were six charges of dynamite just about to go +off be'ind me!" + +Again the men chuckled as they looked at the fissure, a natural, usual +thing in a mine, and often leading, as this one did, by subterranean +breaks and slips to the underground bed of some tumbling spring. +Suddenly, however, Fairchild whirled with a thought. + +"Harry! I wonder--couldn't it have been possible for my father to have +escaped from this mine in the same way?" + +"'E must 'ave." + +"And that there might not have been any killing connected with Larsen +at all? Why couldn't Larsen have been knocked out by a flying +stone--just like you were? And why--?" + +"'E might of, Boy." But Harry's voice was negative. "The only thing +about it was the fact that your father 'ad a bullet 'ole in 'is 'ead." +Harry leaned forward and pointed to his own scar. "It 'it right about +'ere, and glanced. It did n't 'urt 'im much, and I bandaged it and +then covered it with 'is 'at, so nobody could see." + +"But the gun? We did n't find any." + +"'E 'ad it with 'im. It was Sissie Larsen's. No, Boy, there must 'ave +been a fight--but don't think that I mean your father murdered anybody. +If Sissie Larsen attacked 'im with a gun, then 'e 'ad a right to kill. +But as I 've told you before--there would n't 'ave been a chance for +'im to prove 'is story with Squint working against 'im. And that's one +reason why I did n't ask any questions. And neither did Mother 'Oward. +We were willing to take your father's word that 'e 'ad n't done +anything wrong--and we were willing to 'elp 'im to the limit." + +"You did it, Harry." + +"We tried to--" He ceased and perked his head toward the bottom of the +shaft, listening intently. "Did n't you 'ear something?" + +"I thought so. Like a woman's voice." + +"Listen--there it is again!" + +They were both silent, waiting for a repetition of the sound. Faintly +it came, for the third time: + +"Mr. Fairchild!" + +They ran to the foot of the shaft, and Fairchild stared upward. But he +could see no one. He cupped his hands and called: + +"Who wants me?" + +"It's me." The voice was plainer now--a voice that Fairchild +recognized immediately. + +"I 'm--I 'm under arrest or something up here," was added with a laugh. +"The guard won't let me come down." + +"Wait, and I 'll raise the bucket for you. All right, guard!" Then, +blinking with surprise, he turned to the staring Harry. "It's Anita +Richmond," he whispered. Harry pawed for his mustache. + +"On a night like this? And what the bloody 'ell is she doing 'ere, +any'ow?" + +"Search me!" The bucket was at the top now. + +A signal from above, and Fairchild lowered it, to extend a hand and to +aid the girl to the ground, looking at her with wondering, eager eyes. +In the light of the carbide torch, she was the same boyish appearing +little person he had met on the Denver road, except that snow had taken +the place of dust now upon the whipcord riding habit, and the brown +hair which caressed the corners of her eyes was moist with the breath +of the blizzard. Some way Fairchild found his voice, lost for a moment. + +"Are--are you in trouble?" + +"No." She smiled at him. + +"But out on a night like this--in a blizzard. How did you get up here?" + +She shrugged her shoulders. + +"I walked. Oh," she added, with a smile, "it did n't hurt me any. The +wind was pretty stiff--but then I 'm fairly strong. I rather enjoyed +it." + +"But what's happened--what's gone wrong? Can I help you with +anything--or--" + +Then it was that Harry, with a roll of his blue eyes and a funny waggle +of his big shoulders, moved down the drift toward the stope, leaving +them alone together. Anita Richmond watched after him with a smile, +waiting until he was out of hearing distance. Then she turned +seriously. + +"Mother Howard told me where you were," came quietly. "It was the only +chance I had to see you. I--I--maybe I was a little lonely or--or +something. But, anyway, I wanted to see you and thank you and--" + +"Thank me? For what?" + +"For everything. For that day on the Denver road, and for the night +after the Old Times dance when you came to help me. I--I have n't had +an easy time. And I 've been in rather an unusual position. Most of +the people I know are afraid and--some of them are n't to be trusted. +I--I could n't go to them and confide in them. And--you--well, I knew +the Rodaines were your enemies--and I 've rather liked you for it." + +"Thank you. But--" and Fairchild's voice became a bit frigid--"I have +n't been able to understand everything. You are engaged to Maurice +Rodaine." + +"I was, you mean." + +"Then--" + +"My engagement ended with my father's death," came slowly--and there +was a catch in her voice. "He wanted it--it was the one thing that +held the Rodaines off him. And he was dying slowly--it was all I could +do to help him, and I promised. But--when he went--I felt that my--my +duty was over. I don't consider myself bound to him any longer." + +"You 've told Rodaine so?" + +"Not yet. I--I think that maybe that was one reason I wanted to see +some one whom I believed to be a friend. He 's coming after me at +midnight. We 're to go away somewhere." + +"Rodaine? Impossible!" + +"They 've made all their plans. I--I wondered if you--if you 'd be +somewhere around the house--if you 'd--" + +"I 'll be there. I understand." Fairchild had reached out and touched +her arm. "I--want to thank you for the opportunity. I--yes, I 'll be +there," came with a short laugh. "And Harry too. There'll be no +trouble--from the Rodaines!" + +She came a little closer to him then and looked up at him with trustful +eyes, all the brighter in the spluttering light of the carbide. + +"Thank you--it seems that I 'm always thanking you. I was afraid--I +did n't know where to go--to whom to turn. I thought of you. I knew +you 'd help me--women can guess those things." + +"Can they?" Fairchild asked it eagerly. "Then you 've guessed all +along that--" + +But she smiled and cut in. + +"I want to thank you for those flowers. They were beautiful." + +"You knew that too? I didn't send a card." + +"They told me at the telegraph office that you had wired for them. +They--meant a great deal to me." + +"It meant more to me to be able to send them." Then Fairchild stared +with a sudden idea. "Maurice 's coming for you at midnight. Why is it +necessary that you be there?" + +"Why--" the idea had struck her too--"it is n't. I--I just had n't +thought of it. I was too badly scared, I guess. Everything 's been +happening so swiftly since--since you made the strike up here." + +"With them?" + +"Yes, they 've been simply crazy about something. You got my note?" + +"Yes." + +"That was the beginning. The minute Squint Rodaine heard of the +strike, I thought he would go out of his head. I was in the office--I +'m vice-president of the firm, you know," she added with a sarcastic +laugh. "They had to do something to make up for the fact that every +cent of father's money was in it." + +"How much?" Fairchild asked the question with no thought of being +rude--and she answered in the same vein. + +"A quarter of a million. They 'd been getting their hands on it more +and more ever since father became ill. But they could n't entirely get +it into their own power until the Silver Queen strike--and then they +persuaded him to sign it all over in my name into the company. That's +why I 'm vice-president." + +"And is that why you arranged things to buy this mine?" Fairchild knew +the answer before it was given. + +"I? I arrange--I never thought of such a thing." + +"I felt that from the beginning. An effort was made through a lawyer +in Denver who hinted you were behind it. Some way, I felt differently. +I refused. But you said they were going away?" + +"Yes. They 've been holding conferences--father and son--one after +another. I 've had more peace since the strike here than at any time +in months. They 're both excited about something. Last night Maurice +came to me and told me that it was necessary for them all to go to +Chicago where the head offices would be established, and that I must go +with him. I did n't have the strength to fight him then--there was n't +anybody near by who could help me. So I--I told him I 'd go. Then I +lay awake all night, trying to think out a plan--and I thought of you." + +"I 'm glad." Fairchild touched her small gloved hand then, and she did +not draw it away. His fingers moved slowly under hers. There was no +resistance. At last his hand closed with a tender pressure,--only to +release her again. For there had come a laugh--shy, embarrassed, +almost fearful--and the plea: + +"Can we go back where Harry is? Can I see the strike again?" + +Obediently Fairchild led the way, beyond the big cavern, through the +cross-cut and into the new stope, where Harry was picking about with a +gad, striving to find a soft spot in which to sink a drill. He looked +over his shoulder as they entered and grinned broadly. + +"Oh," he exclaimed, "a new miner!" + +"I wish I were," she answered. "I wish I could help you." + +"You 've done that, all right, all right." Harry waved his gad. "'E +told me--about the note!" + +"Did it do any good?" she asked the question eagerly. Harry chuckled. + +"I 'd 'ave been a dead mackerel if it 'ad n't," came his hearty +explanation. "Where you going at all dressed up like that?" + +"I 'm supposed," she answered with a smile toward Fairchild, "to go to +Center City at midnight. Squint Rodaine 's there and Maurice and I are +supposed to join him. But--but Mr. Fairchild 's promised that you and +he will arrange it otherwise." + +"Center City? What's Squint doing there?" + +"He does n't want to take the train from Ohadi for some reason. We 're +all going East and--" + +But Harry had turned and was staring upward, apparently oblivious of +their presence. His eyes had become wide, his head had shot forward, +his whole being had become one of strained attention. Once he cocked +his head, then, with a sudden exclamation, he leaped backward. + +"Look out!" he exclaimed. "'Urry, look out!" + +"But what is it?" + +"It's coming down! I 'eard it!" Excitedly he pointed above, toward +the black vein of lead and silver. "'Urry for that 'ole in the +wall--'urry, I tell you!" He ran past them toward the fissure, yelling +at Fairchild. "Pick 'er up and come on! I tell you I 'eard the wall +moving--it's coming down, and if it does, it 'll bust in the 'ole +tunnel!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +Hardly realizing what he was doing or why he was doing it, Fairchild +seized Anita in his arms, and raising her to his breast as though she +were a child, rushed out through the cross-cut and along the cavern to +the fissure, there to find Harry awaiting them. + +"Put 'er in first!" said the Cornishman anxiously. "The farther the +safer. Did you 'ear anything more?" + +Fairchild obeyed, shaking his head in a negative to Harry's question, +then squeezed into the fissure, edging along beside Anita, while Harry +followed. + +"What is it?" she asked anxiously. + +"Harry heard some sort of noise from above, as if the earth was +crumbling. He 's afraid the whole mine 's going to cave in again." + +"But if it does?" + +"We can get out this way--somehow. This connects up with a +spring-hole; it leads out by Crazy Laura's house." + +"Ugh!" Anita shivered. "She gives me the creeps!" + +"And every one else; what's doing, Harry?" + +"Nothing. That's the funny part of it!" + +The big Cornishman had crept to the edge of the fissure and had stared +for a moment toward the cross-cut leading to the stope. "If it was +coming, it ought to 'ave showed up by now. I 'm going back. You stay +'ere." + +"But--" + +"Stay 'ere, I said. And," he grinned in the darkness, "don't let 'im +'old your 'and, Miss Richmond." + +"Oh, you go on!" But she laughed. And Harry laughed with her. + +"I know 'im. 'E 's got a wye about 'im." + +"That's what you said about Miss Richmond once!" + +"Have you two been talking about me?" + +"Often." Then there was silence--for Harry had left the fissure to go +into the stope and make an investigation. A long moment and he was +back, almost creeping, and whispering as he reached the end of the +fissure. + +"Come 'ere--both of you! Come 'ere!" + +"What is it?" + +"Sh-h-h-h-h-h. Don't talk too loud. We 've been blessed with luck +already. Come 'ere." + +He led the way, the man and woman following him. In the stope the +Cornishman crawled carefully to the staging, and standing on tiptoes, +pressed his ear against the vein above him. Then he withdrew and +nodded sagely. + +"That's what it is!" came his announcement at last. "You can 'ear it!" + +"But what?" + +"Get up there and lay your ear against that vein. See if you 'ear +anything. And be quiet about it. I 'm scared to make a move, for fear +somebody 'll 'ear me." + +Fairchild obeyed. From far away, carried by the telegraphy of the +earth--and there are few conductors that are better--was the steady +pound, pound, pound of shock after shock as it traveled along the +hanging wall. Now and then a rumble intervened, as of falling rock, +and scrambling sounds, like a heavy wagon passing over a bridge. + +Fairchild turned, wondering, then reached for Anita. + +"You listen," he ordered, as he lifted her to where she could hear. +"Do you get anything?" + +The girl's eyes shone. + +"I know what that is," she said quickly. "I 've heard that same sort +of thing before--when you 're on another level and somebody 's working +above. Is n't that it, Mr. Harkins?" + +Harry nodded. + +"That's it," came tersely. Then bending, he reached for a pick, and +muffling the sound as best he could between his knees, knocked the head +from the handle. Following this, he lifted the piece of hickory +thoughtfully and turned to Fairchild. "Get yourself one," he ordered. +"Miss Richmond, I guess you 'll 'ave to stay 'ere. I don't see 'ow we +can do much else with you." + +"But can't I go along--wherever you 're going?" + +"There's going to be a fight," said Harry quietly. "And I 'm going to +knock somebody's block off!" + +"But--I 'd rather be there than here. I--I don't have to get in it. +And--I 'd want to see how it comes out. Please--!" she turned to +Fairchild--"won't you let me go?" + +"If you 'll stay out of danger." + +"It's less danger for me there than--than home. And I 'd be scared to +death here. I wouldn't if I was along with you two, because I know--" +and she said it with almost childish conviction--"that you can whip +'em." + +Harry chuckled. + +"Come along, then. I 've got a 'unch, and I can't sye it now. But it +'ll come out in the wash. Come along." + +He led the way out through the shaft and into the blizzard, giving the +guard instructions to let no one pass in their absence. Then he +suddenly kneeled. + +"Up, Miss Richmond. Up on my back. I 'm 'efty--and we 've got +snowdrifts to buck." + +She laughed, looked at Fairchild as though for his consent, then +crawled to the broad back of Harry, sitting on his shoulders like a +child "playing horse." + +They started up the mountain side, skirting the big gullies and edging +about the highest drifts, taking advantage of the cover of the pines, +and bending against the force of the blizzard, which seemed to threaten +to blow them back, step for step. No one spoke; instinctively +Fairchild and Anita had guessed Harry's conclusions. The nearest mine +to the Blue Poppy was the Silver Queen, situated several hundred feet +above it in altitude and less than a furlong away. And the metal of +the Silver Queen and the Blue Poppy, now that the strike had been made, +had assayed almost identically the same. It was easy to make +conclusions. + +They reached the mouth of the Silver Queen. Harry relieved Anita from +her position on his shoulders, and then reconnoitered a moment before +he gave the signal to proceed. Within the tunnel they went, to follow +along its regular, rising course to the stope where, on that garish day +when Taylor Bill and Blindeye Bozeman had led the enthusiastic parade +through the streets, the vein had shown. It was dark there--no one was +at work. Harry unhooked his carbide from his belt, lit it and looked +around. The stope was deeper now than on the first day, but not enough +to make up for the vast amount of ore which had been taken out of the +mine in the meanwhile. On the floor were tons of the metal, ready for +tramming. Harry looked at them, then at the stope again. + +"It ain't coming from 'ere!" he announced. "It's--" then his voice +dropped to a whisper--"what's that?" + +Again a rumbling had come from the distance, as of an ore car traveling +over the tram tracks. Harry extinguished his light, and drawing Anita +and Fairchild far to the end of the stope, flattened them and himself +on the ground. A long wait, while the rumbling came closer, still +closer; then, in the distance, a light appeared, shining from a side of +the tunnel. A clanging noise, followed by clattering sounds, as though +of steel rails hitting against each other. Finally the tramming once +more,--and the light approached. + +Into view came an ore car, and behind it loomed the great form of +Taylor Bill as he pushed it along. Straight to the pile of ore he +came, unhooked the front of the tram, tripped it and piled the contents +of the car on top of the dump which already rested there. With that, +carbide pointing the way, he turned back, pushing the tram before him. +Harry crept to his feet. + +"We 've got to follow!" he whispered. "It's a blind entrance to the +tunnel som'eres." + +They rose and trailed the light along the tracks, flattening themselves +against the timbers of the tunnel as the form of Taylor Bill, faintly +outlined in the distance, turned from the regular track, opened a great +door in the side of the tunnel, which, to all appearances, was nothing +more than the ordinary heavy timbering of a weak spot in the rocks, +pulled it far back, then swerved the tram within. Then, he stopped and +raised a portable switch, throwing it into the opening. A second later +the door closed behind him, and the sound of the tram began to fade in +the distance. Harry went forward, creeping along the side of the +tunnel, feeling his way, stopping to listen now and then for the sound +of the fading ore car. Behind him were Fairchild and Anita, following +the same procedure. And all three stopped at once. + +The hollow sound was coming directly to them now. Harry once more +brought out his carbide to light it for a moment and to examine the +timbering. + +"It's a good job!" he commented. "You could n't tell it five feet off!" + +"They 've made a cross-cut!" This time it was Anita's voice, plainly +angry in spite of its whispering tones. "No wonder they had such a +wonderful strike," came scathingly. "That other stope down there--" + +"Ain't nothing but a salted proposition," said Harry. "They 've +cemented up the top of it with the real stuff and every once in a while +they blow a lot of it out and cement it up again to make it look like +that's the real vein." + +"And they 're working our mine!" Red spots of anger were flashing +before Fairchild's eyes. + +"You 've said it! That's why they were so anxious to buy us out. And +that's why they started this two-million-dollar stock proposition, when +they found they could n't do it. They knew if we ever 'it that vein +that it would n't be any time until they 'd be caught on the job. +That's why they 're ready to pull out--with somebody else 's million. +They 're getting at the end of their rope. Another thing; that +explains them working at night." + +Anita gritted her teeth. + +"I see it now--I can get the reason. They 've been telephoning Denver +and holding conferences and all that sort of thing. And they planned +to leave these two men behind here to take all the blame." + +"They'll get enough of it!" added Harry grimly. "They 're miners. +They could see that they were making a straight cross-cut tunnel on to +our vein. They ain't no children, Blindeye and Taylor Bill. And 'ere +'s where they start getting their trouble." + +He pulled at the door and it yielded grudgingly. The three slipped +past, following along the line of the tram track in the darkness, +Harry's pick handle swinging beside him as they sneaked along. Rods +that seemed miles; at last lights appeared in the distance. Harry +stopped to peer ahead. Then he tossed aside his weapon. + +"There 's only two of 'em--Blindeye and Taylor Bill. I could whip 'em +both myself but I 'll take the big 'un. You--" he turned to +Fairchild--"you get Blindeye." + +"I 'll get him." + +Anita stopped and groped about for a stone. + +"I 'll be ready with something in case of accident," came with +determination. "I 've got a quarter of a million in this myself!" + +They went on, fifty yards, a hundred. Creeping now, they already were +within the zone of light, but before them the two men, double-jacking +at a "swimmer", had their backs turned. Onward--until Harry and +Fairchild were within ten feet of the "high-jackers", while Anita +waited, stone in hand, in the background. Came a yell, high-pitched, +fiendish, racking, as Harry leaped forward. And before the two +"high-jackers" could concentrate enough to use their sledge and drill +as weapons, they were whirled about, battered against the hanging wall, +and swirling in a daze of blows which seemed to come from everywhere at +once. Wildly Harry yelled as he shot blow after blow into the face of +an ancient enemy. High went Fairchild's voice as he knocked Blindeye +Bozeman staggering for the third time against the hanging wall, only to +see him rise and to knock him down once more. And from the edge of the +zone of light came a feminine voice, almost hysterical with the +excitement of it all, the voice of a girl who, in her tensity, had +dropped the piece of stone she had carried, to stand there, hands +clenched, figure doubled forward, eyes blazing, and crying: + +"Hit him again! Hit him again! Hit him again--for me!" + +And Fairchild hit, with the force of a sledge hammer. Dizzily the +sandy-haired man swung about in his tracks, sagged, then fell, +unconscious. Fairchild leaped upon him, calling at the same time to +the girl: + +"Find me a rope! I 'll truss his hands while he 's knocked out!" + +Anita leaped into action, to kneel at Fairchild's side a moment later +with a hempen strand, as he tied the man's hands behind his back. +There was no need to worry about Harry. The yells which were coming +from farther along the stope, the crackling blows, all told that Harry +was getting along exceedingly well. Glancing out of a corner of his +eye, Fairchild saw now that the big Cornishman had Taylor Bill flat on +his back and was putting on the finishing touches. And then suddenly +the exultant yells changed to ones of command. + +"Talk English! Talk English, you bloody blighter! 'Ear me, talk +English!" + +"What's he mean?" Anita bent close to Fairchild. + +"I don't know--I don't think Taylor Bill can talk anything else. Put +your finger on this knot while I tighten it. Thanks." + +Again the command had come from farther on: + +"Talk English! 'Ear me--I'll knock the bloody 'ell out of you if you +don't. Talk English--like this: 'Throw up your 'ands!' 'Ear me?" + +Anita swerved swiftly and went to her feet. Harry looked up at her +wildly, his mustache bristling like the spines of a porcupine. + +"Did you 'ear 'im sye it?" he asked. "No? Sye it again!" + +"Throw up your 'ands!" came the answer of the beaten man on the ground. +Anita ran forward. + +"It's a good deal like it," she answered. "But the tone was higher." + +"Raise your tone!" commanded Harry, while Fairchild, finishing his job +of tying his defeated opponent, rose, staring in wonderment. Then the +answer came: + +"That's it--that's it. It sounded just like it!" + +And Fairchild remembered too,--the English accent of the highwayman on +the night of the Old Times Dance. Harry seemed to bounce on the +prostrate form of his ancient enemy. + +"Bill," he shouted, "I 've got you on your back. And I 've got a right +to kill you. 'Onest I 'ave. And I 'll do it too--unless you start +talking. I might as well kill you as not.--It's a penitentiary offense +to 'it a man underground unless there 's a good reason. So I 'm ready +to go the 'ole route. So tell it--tell it and be quick about it. Tell +it--was n't you him?" + +"Him--who?" the voice was weak, frightened. + +"You know 'oo--the night of the Old Times dance! Didn't you pull that +'old-up?" + +There was a long silence. Finally: + +"Where's Rodaine?" + +"In Center City." It was Anita who spoke. "He 's getting ready to run +away and leave you two to stand the brunt of all this trouble." + +Again a silence. And again Harry's voice: + +"Tell it. Was n't you the man?" + +Once more a long wait. Finally: + +"What do I get out of it?" + +Fairchild moved to the man's side. + +"My promise and my partner's promise that if you tell the whole truth, +we 'll do what we can to get you leniency. And you might as well do +it; there 's little chance of you getting away otherwise. As soon as +we can get to the sheriff's office, we 'll have Rodaine under arrest, +anyway. And I don't think that he 's going to hurt himself to help +you. So tell the truth; weren't you the man who held up the Old Times +dance?" + +Taylor Bill's breath traveled slowly past his bruised lips. + +"Rodaine gave me a hundred dollars to pull it," came finally. + +"And you stole the horse and everything--" + +"And cached the stuff by the Blue Poppy, so 's I 'd get the blame?" +Harry wiggled his mustache fiercely. "Tell it or I 'll pound your 'ead +into a jelly!" + +"That's about the size of it." + +But Fairchild was fishing in his pockets for pencil and paper, finally +to bring them forth. + +"Not that we doubt your sincerity, Bill," he said sarcastically, "but I +think things would be a bit easier if you'd just write it out. Let him +up, Harry." + +The big Cornishman obeyed grudgingly. But as he did so, he shook a +fist at his bruised, battered enemy. + +"It ain't against the law to 'it a man when 'e 's a criminal," came at +last. The thing was weighing on Harry's mind. "I don't care anyway if +it is--" + +"Oh, there 's nothing to that," Anita cut in. "I know all about the +law--father has explained it to me lots of times when there 've been +cases before him. In a thing of this kind, you 've got a right to take +any kind of steps necessary. Stop worrying about it." + +"Well," and Harry stood watching a moment as Taylor Bill began the +writing of his confession, "it's such a relief to get four charges off +my mind, that I did n't want to worry about any more. Make hit +fulsome, Bill--tell just 'ow you did it!" + +And Taylor Bill, bloody, eyes black, lips bruised, obeyed. Fairchild +took the bescrawled paper and wrote his name as a witness, then handed +it to Harry and Anita for their signatures. At last, he placed it in +his pocket and faced the dolorous high-jacker. + +"What else do you know, Bill?" + +"About what? Rodaine? Nothing---except that we were in cahoots on +this cross-cut. There is n't any use denying it"--there had come to +the surface the inherent honor that is in every metal miner, a +stalwartness that may lie dormant, but that, sooner or later, must +rise. There is something about taking wealth from the earth that is +clean. There is something about it which seems honest in its very +nature, something that builds big men in stature and in ruggedness, and +it builds an honor which fights against any attempt to thwart it. +Taylor Bill was finding that honor now. He seemed to straighten. His +teeth bit at his swollen, bruised lips. He turned and faced the three +persons before him. + +"Take me down to the sheriff's office," he commanded. "I 'll tell +everything. I don't know so awful much--because I ain't tried to learn +anything more than I could help. But I 'll give up everything I 've +got." + +"And how about him?" Fairchild pointed to Blindeye, just regaining +consciousness. Taylor Bill nodded. + +"He 'll tell--he 'll have to." + +They trussed the big miner then, and dragging Bozeman to his feet, +started out of the cross-cut with them. Harry's carbide pointing the +way through the blind door and into the main tunnel. Then they halted +to bundle themselves tighter against the cold blast that was coming +from without. On--to the mouth of the mine. Then they stopped--short. + +A figure showed in the darkness, on horseback. An electric flashlight +suddenly flared against the gleam of the carbide. An exclamation, an +excited command to the horse, and the rider wheeled, rushing down the +mountain side, urging his mount to dangerous leaps, sending him +plunging through drifts where a misstep might mean death, fleeing for +the main road again. Anita Richmond screamed: + +"That's Maurice! I got a glimpse of his face! He 's gotten away--go +after him somebody--go after him!" + +But it was useless. The horseman had made the road and was speeding +down it. Rushing ahead of the others, Fairchild gained a point of +vantage where he could watch the fading black smudge of the horse and +rider as it went on and on along the rocky road, finally to reach the +main thoroughfare and turn swiftly. Then he went back to join the +others. + +"He 's taken the Center City road!" came his announcement. "Is there a +turn-off on it anywhere?" + +"No." Anita gave the answer. "It goes straight through--but he 'll +have a hard time making it there in this blizzard. If we only had +horses!" + +"They would n't do us much good now! Climb on my back as you did on +Harry's. You can handle these two men alone?" This to his partner. +The Cornishman grunted. + +"Yes. They won't start anything. Why?" + +"I 'm going to take Miss Richmond and hurry ahead to the sheriff's +office. He might not believe me. But he 'll take her word--and that +'ll be sufficient until you get there with the prisoners. I 've got to +persuade him to telephone to Center City and head off the Rodaines!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +He stooped and Anita, laughing at her posture, clambered upon his back, +her arms about his neck, arms which seemed to shut out the biting blast +of the blizzard as he staggered through the high-piled snow and +downward to the road. There he continued to carry her; Fairchild found +himself wishing that he could carry her forever, and that the road to +the sheriff's office were twenty miles away instead of two. But her +voice cut in on his wishes. + +"I can walk now." + +"But the drifts--" + +"We can get along so much faster!" came her plea. "I 'll hold on to +you--and you can help me along." + +Fairchild released her and she seized his arm. For a quarter of a mile +they hurried along, skirting the places where the snow had collected in +breast-high drifts, now and then being forced nearly down to the bank +of the stream to avoid the mountainous piles of fleecy white. Once, as +they floundered through a knee-high mass, Fairchild's arm went quickly +about her waist and he lifted her against him as he literally carried +her through. When they reached the other side, the arm still held its +place,--and she did not resist. Fairchild wanted to whistle, or sing, +or shout. But breath was too valuable--and besides, what little +remained had momentarily been taken from him. A small hand had found +his, where it encircled her. It had rested there, calm and warm and +enthralling, and it told Fairchild more than all the words in the world +could have told just then--that she realized that his arm was about +her--and that she wanted it there. Some way, after that, the stretch +of road faded swiftly. Almost before he realized it, they were at the +outskirts of the city. + +Grudgingly he gave up his hold upon her, as they hurried for the +sidewalks and for the sheriff's office. There Fairchild did not +attempt to talk--he left it all to Anita, and Bardwell, the sheriff, +listened. Taylor Bill had confessed to the robbery at the Old Times +dance and to his attempt to so arrange the evidence that the blame +would fall on Harry. Taylor Bill and Blindeye Bozeman had been caught +at work in a cross-cut tunnel which led to the property of the Blue +Poppy mine, and one of them, at least, had admitted that the sole +output of the Silver Queen had come from this thieving encroachment. +Then Anita completed the recital,--of the plans of the Rodaines to +leave and of their departure for Center City. At last, Fairchild +spoke, and he told the happenings which he had encountered in the +ramshackle house occupied by Crazy Laura. It was sufficient. The +sheriff reached for the telephone. + +"No need for hurry," he announced. "Young Rodaine can't possibly make +that trip in less than two hours. How long did it take you to come +down here?" + +"About an hour, I should judge." + +"Then we 've got plenty of time--hello--Central? Long distance, +please. What's that? Yeh--Long Distance. Want to put in a call for +Center City." A long wait, while a metallic voice streamed over the +wire into the sheriff's ear. He hung up the receiver. "Blocked," he +said shortly. "The wire 's down. Three or four poles fell from the +force of the storm. Can't get in there before morning." + +"But there 's the telegraph!" + +"It 'd take half an hour to get the operator out of bed--office is +closed. Nope. We 'll take the short cut. And we 'll beat him there +by a half-hour!" + +Anita started. + +"You mean the Argonaut tunnel?" + +"Yes. Call up there and tell them to get a motor ready for us to shoot +straight through. We can make it at thirty miles an hour, and the skip +in the Reunion Mine will get us to the surface in five minutes. The +tunnel ends sixteen hundred feet underground, about a thousand feet +from Center City," he explained, as he noted Fairchild's wondering +gaze. "You stay here. We 've got to wait for those prisoners--and +lock 'em up. I 'll be getting my car warmed up to take us to the +tunnel." + +Anita already was at the 'phone, and Fairchild sank into a chair, +watching her with luminous eyes. The world was becoming brighter; it +might be night, with a blizzard blowing, to every one else,--but to +Fairchild the sun was shining as it never had shone before. A thumping +sound came from without. Harry entered with his two charges, followed +shortly by Bardwell, the sheriff, while just beneath the office window +a motor roared in the process of "warming up." The sheriff looked from +one to the other of the two men. + +"These people have made charges against you," he said shortly. "I want +to know a little more about them before I go any farther. They say you +'ve been high-jacking." + +Taylor Bill nodded in the affirmative. + +"And that you robbed the Old Times dance and framed the evidence +against this big Cornishman?" + +Taylor Bill scraped a foot on the floor. + +"It's true. Squint Rodaine wanted me to do it. He 'd been trying for +thirty years to get that Blue Poppy mine. There was some kind of a +mix-up away back there that I did n't know much about--fact is, I did +n't know anything. The Silver Queen didn't amount to much and when +demonetization set in, I quit--you 'll remember, Sheriff--and went +away. I 'd worked for Squint before, and when I came back a couple of +years ago, I naturally went to him for a job again. Then he put this +proposition up to me at ten dollars a day and ten per cent. It looked +too good to be turned down." + +"How about you?" Bardwell faced Blindeye. The sandy lashes blinked +and the weak eyes turned toward the floor. + +"I--was in on it." + +That was enough. The sheriff reached for his keys. A moment more and +a steel door clanged upon the two men while the officer led the way to +his motor car. There he looked quizzically at Anita Richmond, piling +without hesitation into the front seat. + +"You going too?" + +"I certainly am," and she covered her intensity with a laugh, "there +are a number of things that I want to say to Mr. Maurice Rodaine--and I +have n't the patience to wait!" + +Bardwell chuckled. The doors of the car slammed and the engine roared +louder than ever. Soon they were churning along through the driving +snow toward the great buildings of the Argonaut Tunnel Company, far at +the other end of town. There men awaited them, and a tram motor, +together with its operator,--happy in the expectation of a departure +from the usual routine of hauling out the long strings of ore and +refuse cars from the great tunnel which, driving straight through the +mountains, had been built in the boom days to cut the workings of mine +after mine, relieving the owners of those holdings of the necessity of +taking their product by the slow method of burro packs to the +railroads, and gaining for the company a freight business as enriching +as a bonanza itself. The four pursuers took their places on the +benches of the car behind the motor. The trolley was attached. A +great door was opened, allowing the cold blast of the blizzard to whine +within the tunnel. Then, clattering over the frogs, green lights +flashing from the trolley wire, the speeding journey was begun. + +It was all new to Fairchild, engrossing, exciting. Close above them +were the ragged rocks of the tunnel roof, seeming to reach down as if +to seize them as they roared and clattered beneath. Seepage dripped at +intervals, flying into their faces like spray as they dashed through +it. Side tracks appeared momentarily when they passed the opening of +some mine where the ore cars stood in long lines, awaiting their turn +to be filled. The air grew warmer. The minutes were passing, and they +were nearing the center of the tunnel. Great gateways sped past them; +the motor smashed over sidetracks and spurs and switches as they +clattered by the various mine openings, the operator reaching above him +to hold the trolley steady as they went under narrow, low places where +the timbers had been placed, thick and heavy, to hold back the sagging +earth above. + +Three miles, four, five, while Anita Richmond held close to Fairchild +as the speed became greater and the sparks from the wire above threw +their green, vicious light over the yawning stretch before them. A +last spurt, slightly down-grade, with the motor pushing the wheels at +their greatest velocity; then the crackling of electricity suddenly +ceased, the motor slowed in its progress, finally to stop. The driver +pointed to the right. + +"Over there, sheriff--about fifty feet; that's the Reunion opening." + +"Thanks!" They ran across the spur tracks in the faint light of a +dirty incandescent, gleaming from above. A greasy being faced them and +Bardwell, the sheriff, shouted his mission. + +"Got to catch some people that are making a get-away through Center +City. Can you send us up in the skip?" + +"Yes, two at a time." + +"All right!" The sheriff turned to Harry. "You and I 'll go on the +first trip and hurry for the Ohadi road. Fairchild and Miss Richmond +will wait for the second and go to Sheriff Mason's office and tell him +what's up. Meet us there," he said to Fairchild, as he went forward. +Already the hoist was working; from far above came the grinding of +wheels on rails as the skip was lowered. A wave of the hand, then +Bardwell and Harry entered the big, steel receptacle. At the wall the +greasy workman pulled three times on the electric signal; a moment more +and the skip with its two occupants had passed out of sight. + +A long wait followed while Fairchild strove to talk of many +things,--and failed in all of them. Things were happening too swiftly +for them to be put into crisp sentences by a man whose thoughts were +muddled by the fact that beside him waited a girl in a whipcord riding +suit--the same girl who had leaped from an automobile on the Denver +highway and-- + +It crystallized things for him momentarily. + +"I 'm going to ask you something after a while--something that I 've +wondered and wondered about. I know it was n't anything--but--" + +She laughed up at him. + +"It did look terrible, didn't it?" + +"Well, it would n't have been so mysterious if you had n't hurried away +so quick. And then--" + +"You really did n't think I was the Smelter bandit, did you?" the laugh +still was on her lips. Fairchild scratched his head. + +"Darned if I know what I thought. And I don't know what I think yet." + +"But you 've managed to live through it." + +"Yes--but--" + +She touched his arm and put on a scowl. + +"It's very, very awful!" came in a low, mock-awed voice. "But--" then +the laugh came again--"maybe if you 're good and--well, maybe I 'll +tell you after a while." + +"Honest?" + +"Of course I 'm honest! Is n't that the skip?" + +Fairchild walked to the shaft. But the skip was not in sight. A long +ten minutes they waited, while the great steel carrier made the trip to +the surface with Harry and Sheriff Bardwell, then came lumbering down +again. Fairchild stepped in and lifted Anita to his side. + +The journey was made in darkness,--darkness which Fairchild longed to +turn to his advantage, darkness which seemed to call to him to throw +his arms about the girl at his side, to crush her to him, to seek out +with an instinct that needed no guiding light the laughing, pretty lips +which had caused him many a day of happiness, many a day of worried +wonderment. He strove to talk away the desire--but the grinding of the +wheels in the narrow shaft denied that. His fingers twitched, his arms +trembled as he sought to hold back the muscles, then, yielding to the +impulse, he started-- + +"Da-a-a-g-gone it!" + +"What's the matter?" + +"Nothing." + +But Fairchild was n't telling the truth. They had reached the light +just at the wrong, wrong moment. Out of the skip he lifted her, then +inquired the way to the sheriff's office of this, a new county. The +direction was given, and they went there. They told their story. The +big-shouldered, heavily mustached man at the desk grinned cheerily. + +"That there's the best news I 've heard in forty moons," he announced. +"I always did hate that fellow. You say Bardwell and your partner went +out on the Ohadi road to head the young 'un off?" + +"Yes. They had about a fifteen-minute start on us. Do you think--?" + +"We 'll wait here. They 're hefty and strong. They can handle him +alone." + +But an hour passed without word from the two Searchers. Two more went +by. The sheriff rose from his chair, stamped about the room, and +looked out at the night, a driving, aimless thing in the clutch of a +blizzard. + +"Hope they ain't lost," came at last. + +"Had n't we better--?" + +But a noise from without cut off the conversation. Stamping feet +sounded on the steps, the knob turned, and Sheriff Bardwell, +snow-white, entered, shaking himself like a great dog, as he sought to +rid himself of the effects of the blizzard. + +"Hello, Mason," came curtly. + +"Hello, Bardwell, what 'd you find?" + +The sheriff of Clear Creek county glanced toward Anita Richmond and was +silent. The girl leaped to her feet. + +"Don't be afraid to talk on my account," she begged. "Where's Harry? +Is he all right? Did he come back with you?" + +"Yes--he's back." + +"And you found Maurice?" + +Bardwell was silent again, biting at the end of his mustache. Then he +squared himself. + +"No matter how much a person dislikes another one--it's, it's--always a +shock," came at last. Anita came closer. + +"You mean that he 's dead?" + +The sheriff nodded, and Fairchild came suddenly to his feet. Anita's +face had grown suddenly old,--the oldness that precedes the youth of +great relief. + +"I 'm sorry--for any one who must die," came finally. "But +perhaps--perhaps it was better. Where was he?" + +"About a mile out. He must have rushed his horse too hard. The sweat +was frozen all over it--nobody can push a beast like that through these +drifts and keep it alive." + +"He did n't know much about riding." + +"I should say not. Did n't know much of anything when we got to him. +He was just about gone--tried to stagger to his feet when we came up, +but could n't make it. Kind of acted like he 'd lost his senses +through fear or exposure or something. Asked me who I was, and I said +Bardwell. Seemed to be tickled to hear my name--but he called it +Barnham. Then he got up on his hands and knees and clutched at me and +asked me if I 'd drawn out all the money and had it safe. Just to +humor him, I said I had. He tried to say something after that, but it +was n't much use. The first thing we knew he 'd passed out. That's +where Harry is now--took him over to the mortuary. There isn't anybody +named Barnham, is there?" + +"Barnham?" The name had awakened recollections for Fairchild; "why +he's the fellow that--" + +But Anita cut in. + +"He 's a lawyer in Denver. They 've been sending all the income from +stock sales to him for deposit. If Maurice asked if he 'd gotten the +money out, it must mean that they meant to run with all the proceeds. +We 'll have to telephone Denver." + +"Providing the line's working." Bardwell stared at the other sheriff. +"Is it?" + +"Yes--to Denver." + +"Then let's get headquarters in a hurry. You know Captain Lee, don't +you? You do the talking. Tell him to get hold of this fellow Barnham +and pinch him, and then send him up to Ohadi in care of Pete Carr or +some other good officer. We 've got a lot of things to say to him." + +The message went through. Then the two sheriffs rose and looked at +their revolvers. + +"Now for the tough one." Bardwell made the remark, and Mason smiled +grimly. Fairchild rose and went to them. + +"May I go along?" + +"Yes, but not the girl. Not this time." + +Anita did not demur. She moved to the big rocker beside the old base +burner and curled up in it. Fairchild walked to her side. + +"You won't run away," he begged. + +"I? Why?" + +"Oh--I don't know. It--it just seems too good to be true!" + +She laughed and pulled her cap from her head, allowing her wavy, brown +hair to fall about her shoulders, and over her face. Through it she +smiled up at him, and there was something in that smile which made +Fairchild's heart beat faster than ever. + +"I 'll be right here," she answered, and with that assurance, he +followed the other two men out into the night. + +Far down the street, where the rather bleak outlines of the hotel +showed bleaker than ever in the frigid night, a light was gleaming in a +second-story window. Mason turned to his fellow sheriff. + +"He usually stays there. That must be him--waiting for the kid." + +"Then we 'd better hurry--before somebody springs the news." + +The three entered, to pass the drowsy night clerk, examine the register +and to find that their conjecture had been correct. Tiptoeing, they +went to the door and knocked. A high-pitched voice came from within. + +"That you, Maurice?" + +Fairchild answered in the best imitation he could give. + +"Yes. I 've got Anita with me." + +Steps, then the door opened. For just a second, Squint Rodaine stared +at them in ghastly, sickly fashion. Then he moved back into the room, +still facing them. + +"What's the idea of this?" came his forced query. Fairchild stepped +forward. + +"Simply to tell you that everything 's blown up as far as you 're +concerned, Mr. Rodaine." + +"You needn't be so dramatic about it. You act like I 'd committed a +murder! What 've I done that you should--?" + +"Just a minute. I would n't try to act innocent. For one thing, I +happened to be in the same house with you one night when you showed +Crazy Laura, your wife, how to make people immortal. And we 'll +probably learn a few more things about your character when we 've +gotten back there and interviewed--" + +He stopped his accusations to leap forward, clutching wildly. But in +vain. With a lunge, Squint Rodaine had turned, then, springing high +from the floor, had seemed to double in the air as he crashed through +the big pane of the window and out to the twenty-foot plunge which +awaited him. + +Blocked by the form of Fairchild, the two sheriffs sought in vain to +use the guns which they had drawn from their holsters. Hurriedly they +gained the window, but already the form of Rodaine had unrolled itself +from the snow bank into which it had fallen, dived beneath the +protection of the low coping which ran above the first-floor windows of +the hotel, skirted the building in safety and whirled into the alley +that lay beyond. Squint Rodaine was gone. Frantically, Fairchild +turned for the door, but a big hand stopped him. + +"Let him go--let him think he 's gotten away," said grizzled Sheriff +Mason. "He ain't got a chance. There 's snow everywhere--and we can +trail him like a hound dawg trailing a rabbit. And I think I know +where he 's bound for. Whatever that was you said about Crazy Laura +hit awful close to home. It ain't going to be hard to find that +rattler!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +Fairchild felt the logic of the remark and ceased his worriment. +Quietly, as though nothing had happened, the three men went down the +stairs, passed the sleeping night clerk and headed back to the +sheriff's office, where waited Anita and Harry, who had completed his +last duties in regard to the chalky-faced Maurice Rodaine. The +telephone jangled. It was Denver. Mason talked a moment over the +wire, then turned to his fellow officer. + +"They 've got Barnham. He was in his office, evidently waiting for a +call from here. What's more, he had close to a million dollars in +currency strapped around him. Pete Carr 's bringing him and the boodle +up to Ohadi on the morning train. Guess we 'd better stir up some +horses now and chase along, had n't we?" + +"Yes, and get a gentle one for me," cautioned Harry. "It's been eight +years since I 've sit on the 'urricane deck of a 'orse!" + +"That goes for me too," laughed Fairchild. + +"And me--I like automobiles better," Anita was twisting her long hair +into a braid, to be once more shoved under her cap. Fairchild looked +at her with a new sense of proprietorship. + +"You 're not going to be warm enough!" + +"Oh, yes, I will." + +"But--" + +"I'll end the argument," boomed old Sheriff Mason, dragging a heavy fur +coat from a closet. "If she gets cold in this--I 'm crazy." + +There was little chance. In fact, the only difficulty was to find the +girl herself, once she and the great coat were on the back of a saddle +horse. The start was made. Slowly the five figures circled the hotel +and into the alley, to follow the tracks in the snow to a barn far at +the edge of town. They looked within. A horse and saddle were +missing, and the tracks in the snow pointed the way they had gone. +There was nothing necessary but to follow. + +A detour, then the tracks led the way to the Ohadi road, and behind +them came the pursuers, heads down against the wind, horses snorting +and coughing as they forced their way through the big drifts, each +following one another for the protection it afforded. A long, silent, +cold-gripped two hours,--then finally the lights of Ohadi. + +But even then the trail was not difficult. The little town was asleep; +hardly a track showed in the streets beyond the hoofprints of a horse +leading up the principal thoroughfare and on out to the Georgeville +road. Onward, until before them was the bleak, rat-ridden old +roadhouse which formed Laura's home, and a light was gleaming within. + +Silently the pursuers dismounted and started forward, only to stop +short. A scream had come to them, faint in the bluster of the storm, +the racking scream of a woman in a tempest of anger. Suddenly the +light seemed to bob about in the old house; it showed first at one +window--then another--as though some one were running from room to +room. Once two gaunt shadows stood forth--of a crouching man and a +woman, one hand extended in the air, as she whirled the lamp before her +for an instant and brought herself between its rays and those who +watched. + +Again the chase and then the scream, louder than ever, accompanied by +streaking red flame which spread across the top floor like wind-blown +spray. Shadows weaved before the windows, while the flames seemed to +reach out and enwrap every portion of the upper floor. The staggering +figure of a man with the blaze all about him was visible; then a woman +who rushed past him. Groping as though blinded, the burning form of +the man weaved a moment before a window, clawing in a futile attempt to +open it, the flames, which seemed to leap from every portion of his +body, enwrapping him. Slowly, a torch-like, stricken thing, he sank +out of sight, and as the pursuers outside rushed forward, the figure of +a woman appeared on the old veranda, half naked, shrieking, carrying +something tightly locked in her arms, and plunged down the steps into +the snow. + +Fairchild, circling far to one side, caught her, and with all his +strength resisted her squirming efforts until Harry and Bardwell had +come to his assistance. It was Crazy Laura, the contents of her arms +now showing in the light of the flames as they licked every window of +the upper portion of the house,--five heavy, sheepskin-bound books of +the ledger type, wrapped tight in a grasp that not even Harry could +loosen. + +"Don't take them from me!" the insane woman screamed. "He tried it, +didn't he? And where 's he now--up there burning! He hit me--and I +threw the lamp at him! He wanted my books--he wanted to take them away +from me--but I would n't let him. And you can't have them--hear +me--let go of my arm--let go!" + +She bit at them. She twisted and butted them with her gray head. She +screamed and squirmed,--at last to weaken. Slowly Harry forced her +arms aside and took from them the precious contents,--whatever they +might be. Grimly old Sheriff Mason wrapped her in his coat and led her +to a horse, there to force her to mount and ride with him into town. +The house--with Squint Rodaine--was gone. Already the flame was +breaking through the roof in a dozen places. It would be ashes before +the antiquated fire department of the little town of Ohadi could reach +there. + +Back in the office of Sheriff Bardwell the books--were opened, and +Fairchild uttered an exclamation. + +"Harry! Did n't she talk about her books at the Coroner's inquest?" + +"Yeh. That's them. Them 's her dairy." + +"Diary," Anita corrected. "Everybody knows about that--she writes +everything down in there. And the funny part about it, they say, is +that when she's writing, her mind is straight and she knows what she's +done and tells about it. They 've tried her out." + +Fairchild was leaning forward. + +"See if there 's any entry along early in July--about the time of the +inquest." + +Bardwell turned the closely written pages, with their items set forth +with a slight margin and a double line dividing them from the events +tabulated above. At last he stopped. + +"Testified to-day at the inquest," he read. "I lied. Roady made me do +it. I never saw anybody quarreling. Besides, I did it myself." + +"What's she mean--did it herself?" the sheriff looked up. "Guess we +'ll have to go 'way back for that." + +"First let's see how accurate the thing is," Fairchild interrupted. +"See if there 's an item under November 9 of this year." + +The sheriff searched, then read: + +"I dug a grave to-night. It was not filled. The immortal thing left +me. I knew it would. Roady had come and told me to dig a grave and +put it in there. I did. We filled it with quicklime. Then we went +upstairs and it was gone. I do not understand it. If Roady wanted me +to kill him, why did n't he say so. I will kill if Roady will be good +to me. I 've killed before for him." + +"Still referring to somebody she 's killed," cut in Anita. "I wonder +if it could be possible--" + +"I 've just thought of the date!" Harry broke in excitedly. "It was +along about June 7, 1892. I 'm sure it was around there." + +The old books were mulled over, one after the other. At last Bardwell +leaned forward and pointed to a certain page. + +"Here's an item under May 28. It says: 'Roady has been at me again! +He wants me to fix things so that the three men in the Blue Poppy mine +will get caught in there by a cave-in.'" The sheriff looked up. "This +seems to read a little better than the other stuff. It's not so +jagged. Don't guess she was as much off her nut then as she is now. +Let's see. Where 's the place? Oh, yes: 'If I 'll help him, I can +have half, and we 'll live together again, and he 'll be good to me and +I can have the boy. I know what it's all about. He wants to get the +mine without Sissie Larsen having anything to do with it. Sissie has +cemented up the hole he drilled into the pay ore and has n't told +Fairchild about it, because he thinks Roady will go partnerships with +him and help him buy in. But Roady won't do it. He wants that extra +money for me. He told me so. Roady is good to me sometimes. He +kisses me and makes over me just like he did the night our boy was +born. But that's when he wants me to do something. If he 'll keep his +promise I 'll fix the mine so they won't get out. Then we can buy it +at public sale or from the heirs; and Roady and I will live together +again.'" + +"The poor old soul," there was aching sympathy in Anita Richmond's +voice. "I--I can't help it if she was willing to kill people. The +poor old thing was crazy." + +"Yes, and she 's 'ad us bloody near crazy too. Maybe there 's another +entry." + +"I 'm coming to it. It's along in June. The date 's blurred. Listen: +'I did what Roady wanted me to. I sneaked into the mine and planted +dynamite in the timbers. I wanted to wait until the third man was +there, but I could n't. Fairchild and Larsen were fussing. Fairchild +had learned about the hole and wanted to know what Larsen had found. +Finally Larsen pulled a gun and shot Fairchild. He fell, and I knew he +was dead. Then Larsen bent over him, and when he did I hit him--on the +head with a single-jack hammer. Then I set off the charge. Nobody +ever will know how it happened unless they find the bullet or the gun. +I don't care if they do. Roady wanted me to do it.'" + +Fairchild started to speak, but the sheriff stopped him. + +"Wait, here 's another item: + +"'I failed. I did n't kill either of them. They got out someway and +drove out of town to-night. Roady is mad at me. He won't come near +me. And I 'm so lonesome for him!'" + +"The explanation!" Fairchild almost shouted it as he seized the book +and read it again. "Sheriff, I 've got to make a confession. My +father always thought that he had killed a man. Not that he told +me--but I could guess it easily enough, from other things that +happened. When he came to, he found a single-jack hammer lying beside +him, and Larsen's body across him. Could n't he naturally believe that +he had killed him while in a daze? He was afraid of Rodaine--that +Rodaine would get up a lynching party and string him up. Harry here +and Mrs. Howard helped him out of town. And this is the explanation!" + +Bardwell smiled quizzically. + +"It looks like there 's going to be a lot of explanations. What time +was it when you were trapped in that mine, Harkins?" + +"Along about the first of November." + +The sheriff turned to the page. It was there,--the story of Crazy +Laura and her descent into the Blue Poppy mine, and again the charge of +dynamite which wrecked the tunnel. With a little sigh, Bardwell closed +the book and looked out at the dawn, forcing its way through the +blinding snow. + +"Yes, I guess we 'll find a lot of things in this old book," came at +last. "But I think right now that the best thing any of us can find is +a little sleep." + +Rest,--rest for five wearied persons, but the rest of contentment and +peace. And late in the afternoon, three of them were gathered in the +old-fashioned parlor of Mother Howard's boarding house, waiting for the +return of that dignitary from a sudden mission upon which Anita +Richmond had sent her, involving a trip to the old Richmond mansion. +Harry turned away from his place at the window. + +"The district attorney 'ad a long talk with Barnham," he announced, +"and 'e 's figured out a wye for all the stock'olders in the Silver +Queen to get what's coming to them. As it is, they's about a 'unnerd +thousand short some'eres." + +Fairchild looked up. + +"What's the scheme?" + +"To call a meeting of the stock'olders and transfer all that money over +to a special fund to buy Blue Poppy stock. We 'll 'ave to raise money +anyway to work the mine like we ought to. And it 'd cost something. +You always 'ave to underwrite that sort of thing. I sort of like it, +even if we 'd 'ave to sell stock a little below par. It 'd keep Ohadi +from getting a bad name and all that." + +"I think so too." Anita Richmond laughed, "It suits me fine." + +Fairchild looked down at her and smiled. + +"I guess that's the answer," he said. "Of course that does n't include +the Rodaine stock. In other words, we give a lot of disappointed +stockholders par value for about ninety cents on the dollar. But +Farrell can look after all that. He 's got to have something to keep +him busy as attorney for the company." + +A step on the veranda, and Mother Howard entered, a package under her +arm, which she placed in Anita's lap. The girl looked up at the man +who stood beside her. + +"I promised," she said, "that I 'd tell you about the Denver road." + +He leaned close. + +"That is n't all you promised--just before I left you this morning," +came his whispered voice, and Harry, at the window, doubled in laughter. + +"Why did n't you speak it all out?" he gurgled. "I 'eard every word." + +Anita's eyes snapped. + +"Well, I don't guess that's any worse than me standing behind the +folding doors listening to you and Mother Howard gushing like a couple +of sick doves!" + +"That 'olds me," announced Harry. "That 'olds me. I ain't got a word +to sye!" + +Anita laughed. + +"Persons who live in glass houses, you know. But about this +explanation. I 'm going to ask a hypothetical question. Suppose you +and your family were in the clutches of persons who were always trying +to get you into a position where you 'd be more at their mercy. And +suppose an old friend of the family wanted to make the family a present +and called up from Denver for you to come on down and get it--not for +yourself, but just to have around in case of need. Then suppose you +went to Denver, got the valuable present and then, just when you were +getting up speed to make the first grade on Lookout, you heard a shot +behind you and looked around to see the sheriff coming. And if he +caught you, it 'd mean a lot of worry and the worst kind of gossip, and +maybe you 'd have to go to jail for breaking laws and everything like +that? In a case of that kind, what'd you do?" + +"Run to beat bloody 'ell!" blurted out Harry. + +"And that's just what she did," added Fairchild. "I know because I saw +her." + +Anita was unwrapping the package. + +"And seeing that I did run," she added with a laugh, "and got away with +it, who would like to share in what remains of one beautiful bottle of +Manhattan cocktails?" + +There was not one dissenting voice! + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CROSS-CUT*** + + +******* This file should be named 20104.txt or 20104.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/0/1/0/20104 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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