Bemidji Daily Pioneer Newspaper, July 18, 1922, Page 2

SYNOPSIS ol e | CHAPTER L—At Thornton Fairchild'w @eath his son Robert learns there has | been & dark period in his father's life which for almost thirty years has caused | him suffering. The secret is hinted at | in & document left by the elder Fair-| child, which also informs Robert he is now ‘owner of a mining claim in_Colo- rado, and advising alm to see Henry | Beamish, a lawyer. i CHAPTER 11.—Beamish tells Robert his claim, a silver.mine, is at Ohadi, thirty- eight miles from Denver. He also warns | him against a certain man, “Squint” Ro- daine, his father's enemy. Robert decides | to go to Ohadi. CHAPTER IIL.—On the road to Ohadl from Denver Fairchild assists a girl, ap- parently In a frenzy of haste, to change & tire on her auto. When she has left, the sheriff and a posse appear, in pur- | suit of a bandit. Fairchild bewildered, misleads them as to the direction the girl had taken. CHAPTER IV.—At Ohadl Fairchild is warmly greeted by ‘Mother” Howard boarding-house keeper, for his fatl sake. ‘CHAPTER_ V.—From Mother Howard, Falrchild learns something of the mystery cted with the disappearance of “Sls- Larsen, his father's co-worker in mine. He meets the girl he had as- | sisted, but sho denfes her identity. She | js Anita Richmond, Judge Richmond's dayghter. CHAPTER VI.—Visiting his claim, Fair- child is shadowed by a man he Tecos- nizes from descriptions as “Squint” Ro- | danive. Back in_Ohadi, his father's old friend, Harry Harkins, a Cornishman, summoned from England by Beamish to help Fairchild, hails him with joy. CH. VIL—The palr find the mine flooded and have not sufdclent funds to have it pumped dry. later in the day “Squint” Rodaine ~announces that he practically saw Harkins fall into the floeded mine, and evidently Is drowned. CHAPTER VIIL—Harkins being a gen- | eral favorite, the entire population turns out to clear the ed mine. When | the work is practic o, Harry ap- | pears, apparently suru at the tur- | moil. It had been a sh trick on his | part to get the mine pumped out without | cost to himself or Falrchild, and the men | take it as « wood joke. | CHAPTER TIX.—Fairchild learns that Judge Richmond is dying, and that he | and Anita are in the power of the Ro- | daines. They begin, as purtners, to work | the mine. In their hearts both fear Lar- | sen was killed by Thornton Fairchild and | his body, burled by a cave-in which de- | stroyed the mine, At the “Old Times | Ball”_ Fairchild dances with Anita, to the discomfiture of Maurice Rodaine, son of “Squint,” supposed to be engaged | to the girl.” A bandit holds up the dance gnd shoots o merrymaker, Maurlce Ro- | ine claims he recognized the bandit as | Harkins, Tho latter Is arrested. Fair- chila interferes to save Anita from the | bullying of the two ‘Rodaines, and is mystified at Anita's apparent Ingratitude. | - (Continued from last issue) © “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 volces shouted the question at once. i “Yes." Then Maurice Rodaine nodded atraight toward Robert Fairchild, “The light was good, end I got a straight “He Was That Fellow's Partner.” look at him. He was that fellow's partner—a Cornishman they call Harry!” “I don't belleve it1”. 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?® ° “We agreed upon it yesterday after- noon.” “At whose suggestion?” “I'm not sure—but I think it was mine.” “Young fellow,” the sheriff had ap- proached him now, “you'd better be .certaln about that. It looks to me that might be a pretty good excuse to give when a man can’t produce an alibl. Anyway, the identification seems pretty complete. Then he turned to the crowd. “I want a couple of good men to go along with me as deputies.” “L have a right to go.” 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 Ro- daime 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 sherlff and his two deputies, Jjust starting out of the dance hall. Five minutes later they were in a motor car, chugging up Kentucky' gulch, Slowly, the motor car fighting against the grade, thie ‘trip was ac- complished. Thep the four men leaped from the machine at the last rise be- fore the tunnel was renched and three of them went forward afoot toward where a slight gleam of light came from the mouth of the Blue Poppy. 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 Harrys voice. “Come out—and be quick about fit. Hold your light in front of your face with both hands.” “The “ell I will! And 'oo’s talking?” “Sheriff Adams of Clear Creek coun- ty. You've got one minute to come oui—or I'il shoot.” “I'm coming on the run!" And olmost instantly the form of Harry, his acetylene lamp lighting up his hulbous, suzprised 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 dep~ | utles: uSheriff! Leoks like it's him, all right. Y've found a horse down here --all sweated up from running.” “That's about the’ answer.” Sher- ift Adams went forward and with a motlon of his revolver sent Harry's hands into the alr. *“Let's see what you've got on you.” A light gleamed below as an elec- tric 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 blank- ly. “Of what?" “Quit your kidding, now. They've found your horse down there.” “Wouldn't it be & good idea—" Falir- child had cut In acridly— “to save your accusations on this thing until you're a little surer of it? Harry hasn’t any horse. If he's rented one, you ought to be able to find that out pretty shortly.” As it In apswer, 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 offi- cer 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 the chiv wheel? 'Ow—?" “They say you held up the dance tonight and robbed us,” Falrchild cut in. Harry's face lost its surprised look, to give way to a glance of keen questioning. “And do you say 1t?” “I most certainly do not. The iden- tification was glven by that honorable person known as Mr. Maurice Ro- dalne.” “Oh! other—" “Sheriff " Again the volce from be- low. “Yeh!™ “We've found a cache down here. Must have been made in a hurry—two new revolvers, bullets, a mask, a cou- ple of new handkerchiefs and the money.” Harry eyes grew wide. 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 sherift snapped the handcuffs into place. Then he 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 ot the articles necessary for a disguise— | Fairchin { plenty to cause consternation, as Fair- | One thief {identifying an- | also the revolvers and thelr bullets. Robert Fairchild watched Harry placed in the solitary cell of the county Jall with a spirit that could not re- spond 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 high- way robbery, and worse, the final as- sault with attempt to kill. Fairchild ! turned wearlly away; he could not find - the optimism to join Harry's chéerful announcement that it would {all right.” The appearances were rwise. Besides, up in the little hogpital on the hill, Fairchild had seen lights gleaming as he entered the jail, and he knew that doctors were work- ing there over the wounded body of the fiddler. Tired, heavy at heart, his earlier conquest of the night sod- den and overshadowed now, he turned away from the cell and its optimistic cccupant—out into the night. It was only a short walk to the hos- pital and Falrchild 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 child walked slowly down the dark, winding street toward the main thor- oughfare. Without Harry, Fairchild now felt himself lost. Before the big, | genal, eccentric Cornishman had come { into his life, he had believed, with 'wme sort of divine ignorance, that t he could carry out his ambitions by | himself, with no knowledge of the tech- | nical details necessary to mining, with no previous history of the Blue Pop- | py to gulde him, and with no help against the enemies who seemed every- where. Now he saw that it was im- possible, More, the incidents of the night showed how swiftly those ene- mies were working, how sharp and stiletto-like their weapons. That Harry was innocent was cer- tain—to Robert Fairchild. Looking back over it now, he could see how easily Fate had played into the hands of the Rodaines, if the Ro- daines had not possessed a deepea con- cern than merely to seize upon a hap- pening and turn it to their own ac- count. 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 i of Maurice Rodaine, already ugly and evll 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 te get the in- spiration, 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 strong- er, 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 thance for escape by Harry, once his case went to trial, Down the dark street the man wan- dered, 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 bad 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 out- strewn shade of a window on the sec- ond floor. More, he had heard her volce, 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 bark- ing sentence answered her, something that Fairchild could not understand. crept to the porch that he might hear the better. Then cvery merve within him jangled, and the black of the dark- were within; he had heard first the cold volce of the father, then the rasp- Ing tones of the son, in upbraiding. that it was Anita Richmond, And then: It was her volce, high, screaming. Hysteria had come—the wild, racking hysterla of a person driven to the breaking point: “Leave this house—hear me! Leave this house! 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—1!" 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 un- locked, to throw it wide and to leap into the hall. Great steps, and le had cleared the stairs to the second floor. Dimly, as through a red screen, Fair- child saw the frightened face of Anita Richmond, and on the landing, front- Ing him angrily, stood the two Ro- daines. For a moment, Falrchild dis- regarded them and turned to the sob- bing, disheveled little being in the dootway. “What's happened?” “They were threatening me—and father!” she moaned. *“But you shouldn't have come in—you shouldn’t { have—" “I heard you scream. I couldn't help it. I heard you say they were killing your father—" The girl looked anxiously toward an faintly the still figure of a man out- lined under the covers of an old- faghioned four-poster, stretched, as she passed the light-| He left the old board sidewalk nnd! ness changed to red. The Rodaines | More, there had come the sobbing of a | woman; instinctively Fairchild knew | Can't you see that you're | inner room, wheie Fairchild could see | i"fl\ty Were Threatening Me — and Father!” ~ “They—they- him excited. He had another stroke. I—I couldn’t stand it any longer.” “You'd better get out,” sald Fair- child 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 restrain- ing hand on his arm. A step and the elder Rodaine hesitated. “I'm only going because of your father,” he said grufily, with a glance toward Anita., “I'm not going be- cause—"" “Oh, I know. Mr. Fairchild shouldn’t ‘have come in here. He | shouldn’t have done it. I'm sorry— | please go.” Down the steps they went, the old- er 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, i only to be followed by a quickly whis- pered “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—" g “Please gg,” came the direct answer. “And please 10 not vent your spite on Mr. Rodaine_and his son. I'm sure | that they will act like gentlemen if you will. You shouldn't have rushed in here,” “I henrd you ireaming, Miss Rich- mond.” A %% | “I know,”;¢ame her answer, as iclly as gver. .THen the :door downsialrs closed and e the veranda.’/She leaned close to him. “I Had to say that,”. came her whis- pered words.' “Please don't try to un- derstand anything I do In the future. Just go—plesse!” And Fairchild obeyed. | l:+. " CHAPTER X The Rodaines were on the sldewalk when Fairchild came forth from the Richmond home, and true to his in- structions from the frightened girl, he i 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 as he hurried on toward Mother How- ard’s boarding house. In his creaky bed he sought to think, but in vain. After hours, daylight began to streak the sky. Fairchild, dull, worn by ex- cltement and fatigue, strove to rise, | then lald 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. “Who 18 it?” “No one you know—yet. I've come to talk to you about your partner. May I come in?” “Yes”” Falrchild was fully alive now to the activities that the day held before him.. The door opened, and a young man, alert, almost cocky in man- ner, 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 Ohadl. The only—" “That doesn't alter the fact. I'm your lawyer, and I'm at your service. | And T 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 driv- | en other 'queries from Fairchild's | mind. Farrell, the attorney, grinned cheerily. | “Because I understand it concerns the Rodalnes. Nearly everybody has prises. And seeing.I have no money i at all, I'm not financially interested. And not being interested, I'm wholly Just,. fair and willing to fight 'em to a standstill. - Your partner's in jafl, | ns T understand it. Guilty or not guil- ty? “Wa—walt a minute! Who hired {you? Then with a sudden inspira- | tion: “Mother Howard didn’t go and | do this?" | woman who runs the boarding house? Not at all.” “Rut—" | @ little money stuck into thelr enter- | “Mother Howard? You mean the; ‘sound of steps came. on | seeming even to notice their presence i “Pm not exactly at liberty to state.” Suspicion began to assert itself. “Under those conditions, I don't be- lieve—" “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, Apd against the wishes of the person who hired me for this work, I—well, I brought the evidence. 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. Falrchild 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 feml- nine: “Mr. ‘Fairchild: This is my gocd 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 grinned broadly. “I see you don’t know Miss—the writer of this card at all. That's her nature, Besides—well, all she’s got to do with me is crook her finger and T'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 ef speaking, about his enthusiasm, that wiped out suspicion and invited ‘con- fidence. The owner of the Blue Pop- py mine leaned forward. “But you didn’t finish your sentence | about—the writer of that card.” “You ‘mean—oh—well, there’s noth- ing 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 haven't got a chance. 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 thous-\, and.” “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?” “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 thous- | and dollars. That'll do the trick. I'd suggest now that you get up, selze your deeds and accompany me to the palace of justice. -Otherwise, that partner of yours will ‘have to eat dinmer in a place called in undignified language the Hoosegow !” & Soon. Falrchild was ' dressed and walked hurrledly up the street with the voluble ‘attorney. ‘A half-hour more and they -were: before the court, | Fairchild, the lawyer and the jall-worn | Harry, his mastache fluttering in more | |directions than ever. ! “Not guilty, Your Honor,” said Ran- dolph P. Farrell, “May I ask the ex- tent of the bond?” !, The judge adjusted his glasses and | 'studied the Information which the dis- 'trict attorney had. laid before him, | “In view of the number of charges iand 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 hon- ior between them. I refer, Your Honor, ito the deeds of the Blue Poppy mine. Would Your Honor care to examine ‘them?” iFor a long moment he studled them, jand Falrehild, in looking about the | jcourtroom, saw the bailiff in conversa- | ‘tion with' & tall, thin man, with squint |eyes and a scar-marked forehead. A lmoment later, the judge looked over his glasses. “Ballifr!” “Yes, Your Honor.” “Have you any information regard- ing the value of the Blue Poppy min- ing_elatms?_ Continued in next issue A song is sung; a speech is made; and the face of a loved one fades from the mind; BUT A PICTURE! —that lives forever! HAKKERUP The Pnotographer in Your Town. His Honor would. His Honor did |~ d fo Snowballs ~~——in Iwo Hours A rapid fire program of fun. After breakfast a dip in the Pacific. At 10 A. M. motor , over wonderful boulevards through orange groves and up the high mountains and have a snowball fight before luncheon. And at night you sleep under blankets. | Its like “presto change” in California—from splendid | cities- to nearby mountain wilderness, wonderful | beaches thronged with merry-makers and old Missions with their halo of Spanish romance. On the way stop at Salt Lake City; hear the won- derful organ in the Mormon Tabernacle; float like a gull on the waters of Great Salt Lake. 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