Bemidji Daily Pioneer Newspaper, July 22, 1922, Page 2

it e ‘(Continued from last issue) *Pxactly. ~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 earbide flare—“there’s a wye” “But we. cun't take It, Hnrry. In my father’s letter was the statement that he made only one mistake—that of fear. I'm going to belleve 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 above- board about it all. ' There's notaing on my consclence—and T know that if my father ‘had not made the mistake of ronning away when he did, there would -have been nothing on his.” Harry ‘shook his head. “'B couldn’t do much else, Boy. Ro- daine was stronger in some ways then than he:is now. That was in different days.. That was in times when Squint Rodalne 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 fatlier, I'd 'ave done the same as ¢ did. I'd 'ave run, too—'e'd 'ave paid for it with 'is life it e didn’t, guilty or rot’gulity.” And—" he looked sharply toward the younger man— “you say to go on?” “Go - on,” sald Fairchild, and he |- spoke the words between tightly elenchied- teeth, Harry turned his light “Leok—'l’h-ro—o»ur by the Foot. walll” before him, and once more. shlelded it with his big hand. A step—two, then': “Look—there—over by the foot- | wall1” | Fairchild forced his eyes in the di- rection designated and stared intent- ly. '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 Falirchild, 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 pro- truding. in comically tragic fashion ever 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 Hps refused to utter the words that strove to travel past them; they were two 'men dumb, dumb through a dis- covery which they had forced them- -melves: to face, through a fact which they 'hoped against, each more or less silently, yet felt sure must, sooner or lgter, come before them. And now it 'was here. And; this was the reason that twen- ty years before, Thornton Fairchild, whlte, grim, had sought the aid of Ha:ry and of Mother Howard. This was the reason that a woman had played the part of a man, to all appearances only one of three disap- pouited sminers seeking a new fleld. And yot— wls»»Bnrrys volce, ltmngely hoarse and ‘weak. “I'm thinking the same thing. ~ But it mustn't be. Dead men ‘don't- always mean they've died—in a ‘wye: to- cast reflections on the man that was with ’em. Do you get what 'Y mean? You've sald—" and he looked . :hard into the cramped, suffering face sof Robert Fairchild— “that you were going 7to .'old your father Innocent. We don’t know, Boy, what ’ere. And we've got to 'ope " Then, while Fairchild stood motion- less 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 carblde close to some object which Fairchild could not see. At last he rose and with old, white features, approached his part- ner. “The appearances are agalnst 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. *f 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;ft to be at all. It might be nmehody “else—who had come in here and set off a charge of powder by accident and—" But the shaking of Harry's head stified the momentary ray of hope. “No. I looked. There was a watch <~all covered with mold and mildewed. 1 pried it open. It's got Lll‘!flll name inside!” ,GHAP‘I?!R X, quenti i faryy, shot thelr: queries: at' him one after another, But Harry was adamant, ‘“I afn't got anythlnc to. -nl And there's an end to it]” Late that night, as they were en- gaged at their usual occupation of re- Iating the varled happenings of the ‘day:to Mother Howard, there came a knack at the door. Instinctively, Falr child bent toward her: “Your pame's out; of thll-—n m as’ boule ! She smiled in her mothering, know- way. 'Then she opened the door, to find a deputy from m coroner wants Mr. Fairchild and Mr. Harkins to come up there and tell what they. kn bont thig here skele- ton they fl)lmw PPOHS £ It was the|expected,; The two men went_ forth, -to find the:street about the courthouse’ thronged, for giready the news of the finding of the skele- ton had traveled far, even into the little mining camps which skirted the town. Everywhere were black crowds under the faint street lamps. The basement of the courthouse was illu- minated; 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 isn't necessary for me to make 4n appear- ance. 'How do you know but what Thornton - Fairchild ‘was attacked by this iman and forced to kill in self-de- fense? It's a penitentiary: offense for a man to strike:another, without suf- | ‘ficlent justification, - bene And ‘had - Sissig’ en evep so much as slapped ton' Fairehild,'» ‘per fled in killing-him:'to:protect himsel; Guide yourselyés -accordingly—and ‘1. will be there only:as a spectator, un- thing else.”. They promised nnd went._on, some- what calmer. in mind, to edge .their way to the steps -and’to - enter the basement - of “.the. _courthouse. The u(’vl'_ less ‘events : should * neeeultute some- |- coroner and- his ‘jury, composed of six miners picked up haphazard along the street—according. to thé 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 Fair- child pald little attention—all . but threé, - } g Again there was a long moment of | silence, while Harry stood pawing at | his mustache and while Robert Fnlr-* child sought to summon the strength | to do the thing which was before him. | All the soddenness of the. old ‘days had come back to him, ghosts which ‘ al know what you're thlnklnt." 1t would not -be driven away; memories | of a time when he was the mbblnz. 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 dis- covery would be made. ‘And it had remained for Robert’ Fairchild, 'the son, to find the hidden sécret, for him | to come upon the thing which had caused the agény of nearly thirty syefirs of suffering, for him'to face the alternative of .again placing that grue- some firid into hiding, or to square his shoulders before. the world and take the consequences. There was no time to lose in making his decislon, Beside him‘stood Harry, sllent, morose, Before him—Fair- child closed his eyes in an attempt to shut out the sight of it. was there, the crumpled heap of tat- tered clothing and human remains, the awry,. heavy shoes still shielding | the fleshless bones of the feet. He turned bllndly. his hlndl mplng be- fore him, ! “Harry,"” he called ‘Harry! Get me ‘out of here—I—can't stand it!" Wordlessly the big man came to his slde. Wordlessly they made the trip back ‘to thé’Nole in the cave-in and then followed the trail of new-lald track ‘to the shaft. Up—up—the trip seemed endless as they jerked and pulled on the welighted rope, that their shaft bucket might travel to the surface. Then, at the mouth of the tunnel, Robert Fairchild stood for a long time starlng ot over’the soft hills and the radiance of the smowy range, far away. It gave him a new strength, a new de{enulnutlon His eyes brightened with ‘resolution. Then he turned to the faithful Harry, wait- ing In the background. “There’s no use trying to evade any- thing, Harry. We've got to face the musle. WIill you go with me to notify the coroner—or wollld you rather stay here?” “rll go Silently they tmdgod into town and | . to the little undertaking shop which also served as the office of the coro- ner. They made their report, then ac- companied 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 walt 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 slight- est sound on the old, vine-clad veran- da, nothlng of the letter which he had | 1o|md Jn safe. Nothing was| & ‘that; nothing could | ba nlned by tellln‘ it. In the heart of Robert Fairchild was the convic- tion that somehow, some way, his fa- ther 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 remem- bered the departure of Thornton Fair- child from Ohadi, There were others who recollected perfectly that in the center of the rig was a man, appar- ently “Sissie” Larsen. And they asked|- But still it | They were on a back-seat in the { 1ong; courtroom—Squint - Rodaine and his son, chalkier, . yet blacker than ever, while’ between them sat an old woman with white halr which strag- gled :about her cheeks, a woman with deep-set eyes, whose hands wandered now, and then vaguely before her; a wrinkled woman, fidgeting. about--on those who stuffed: e way | the already crammed rm, | mever still, her lips. llovlju :::mnt- 1y, as though mumbling. lome never- ending rote. Fairchild i ‘at her, then turned to Harry. . . “Who's that with the, Rodnlnea‘!" ‘Harry . -looked mmmy. “Crazy Laura—his wife.” i R “But— “And she _aln’t ‘ere for- lnyt.hln‘ good!” Harry's volce hore a tone of | \ [ | = LI [ it i Il \ ml\ lmli\ Crazy Lllll;l- nervousness. “Squint Rodalne don't even recognize ’er.on, the street—much less appéar in company with' ‘er. | Something’s 'appening!” “But what could she, testify:to?" “'Qw should I know?” - Harry said it almost petulantly. “I didn’t even know she—" . “Oyez, oyez, oyes!” It was the balliff, using a regular district-court introductlon of the fact.that an In- quest was about to be held. The crowd- | ed foom sighed and settled. The coro- ner‘atepped forward, - {}f ‘e are gathered heré tonight to into the death.of a man sup- tn be L. 4 Larsen, commonly | callpd ‘Siaale,’ .w foutld to n% | As sworn ai ! cordner’s jury,, rehllte commnnd you'in the great name of the soverelzn state of Colorado, to do your full duty {in arriving at your verdict.” The jury, half risen from the chairs, some with thelr left hands held high above them, some. with their right, swore In mumbling tones to do their duty, whatever that might be. The coroner surveycd the assemblage. “First witness,” he called out; “Harry Harkins!” Harry. went forward. clusily seek- inqdire ing the withess chair, | He was ques- tioned rmrdlng mthlng more than the mere flndlnx of the K‘mdy. the iden: tification by means of tlie watch, and the notification of tlle oroner. - Fair- child. was called, er no more from the querles or the investigator than Harry. There was A pause. seemed that the inquest wpu over. A few poople hvm to move wnnl the Prodded lo her feet by tha squlnt- eyed man’ beside her, shé Tose 'and, laughing tn silly fashion, stumbled to tn{ng halr, her ragged hoes’ and shufrling Ith the wild, eerle] ing of the almost toothless mouth. Aguln e ll\,;hed. in a vacant, e barra; manner, as she reached the stand ‘and ;held up her hand for the administration of the oath,’ Fairchild leaned close to his partner,. “At hnt she knows enough tor that.” Harry nodded “She knows a lot, that ole girl. They say she iwrites down-in a book every- thing 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?” "Laum’_Rodalne. Least, that’s' the name ¥ go by. My real maiden name 1s Laura Masterson, and—" : “Rodaine will be sufl!cxeut age?” A “I think it's slxt)-loul‘ If I'had my- book I could tell. I— “Your book?” “Yes, I keep everything in 'a book. But it isn’t here. I couldn’t bring it.” s will be suffi¢ient in this ¥ 've lived here a) good many Your and’ flllrty -five. Let's see sure |t's thirty-five. ‘My'boy b!re—-he's dbout' thirty .and re five'years before: that.” 5 ‘you told tne’ tonight “that you have'a Elt of wandéring nronnd the hilla? * “Yes, I've done that—[ do it rlgm along—T've done.it ever since:my hus- band- aqd:I ‘split’ up—that. was just a little while after: the boy was born—" : “Sufficient. “1. merely wanted. to- es- tablish '.hnt fact. - In wandering'about, dld youkeéver fiee anything, - twenty- three or four® years- ago -or so, that would lead you to know something.of the death of:the-man ‘into whose de- mige we are fnquiring?” . “I know something. :I know a lot. But T've never figured it was-anybody’s business but my-own. So I haven’t told Larsen: was sup- owh—that was:the day her seat; wntn.-hln:.vm craned - neck |- within | . eyes gwuyeaterduy e (WEsd1d it give you “That somebody 'had been -miur- dereat” “Who—and by whom ?” Crazy Laura munched at her tooth- Iess ;gums for & moment and looked again toward her husband. Then, her watery, almost colorless eyes search- :{:ing, ishe': began ‘a survey of the ‘big room, looking intently from one figure |* to another. On and on—finally to reath the spot where stood Robert Falirchild 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 1 aln’t inistaken, 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 & pocket as he did ‘so. “This has ceased to be an inquest; it has re- solved itself into some sort of an in- quisition !” “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 wom- an who is not legally able to give tes- timony in agy Kkind of a court or on any kind of a case! Have you any further, evidence upon the lines’ that she Is going to give?” . “Not directly.” “Then I demand that all the testl- mony which this woman has given be stricken out, and ‘ftlie jury instructed to disregard it.” The official smiled. “I think otherwise. The jury is en- titled to all the evldence that has any bearing on the case.” Bt this woman Is crazy!" “Has she ever been adjudged so, or commmed to any asylum for the in- fact'that she ls mentafly unBalanced*and not a Ait" son to fasten a crime upon any man’s head by her testimony. And referring even to yourself, Coronér, have you within the ‘last: twenty:five .years, in fact, since a short time after the bixth of her son, called her anything else but Cragy Laura? Has anyone else in this town called her any other name? Man, I appeal to your—" “What you say may be true. It may not. _l llon't know. I only am sure of fless, there m a this courttgom It the constant ‘munch- |’ ‘["Fairchild, son of a man’just accused ¢ usual formalities, uml then 'he ‘asked ‘one thing—that a person (s Sané" fh| the ‘eyes of the law until adjudged otherwise, Therefore, hek. evidence at this time is perfectiy legal and prop: er” “It won't be as soon as I can bring an action before a lunacy court and cause lier examination by & bonrd 'M alienists.” aul # "Tlmt 's something for the fn&u-c In that case things might be dlfteren! But 1 can only ‘follow the lnw, with the members of the jury instructed, of course, to 'accept the evidence for ‘what they deem it is worth. You will proc rs. Rodaine.” What did you see. iised. you to come to this +conclusipn 7" “Can’tif§ou even stick to the rules and ethics of testimony?” It was the coroner eyed him glowdpadf ¢ v . “Mr. Farrell,” came his answer, “I must confess to a deviatienfrom reg- } ular court procedure in this inquiry. 1t is customary 1i”ar*inbuest. 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?" 2 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 wére mad at each oth- er, but Fairchild; seemed to be the maddest. i “I didn’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. awent on up the gulch—I:w ‘flowers. After awhilethe m away down : underneath - m ‘when _it's -far away, ~-pretty soon, - I -saw “Fairchild” come. rushing out of the mine, and hls hmfls were all -bloody.- He ran’ to the ¢creek and washed; them, looking. around to see if anybody was watching, 1\!1;1—but he dign’t notice me. . Then, when he'd ‘washed the. blnod fron; hunds, he got up;on the road and ent'down into town. Later on, I (hought I saw all three ot ‘em .- leave town,: ‘Fairchild, Sissie and a fellow named Harkins. So I never. paid any more attentiomr to it until today. That's all T know.” She stepped down then and .went back to her. seat with- Squint Rodaine and .the ‘son,” fidgeting there again, craning, her neck as Dbefore, .while .of murder, watched her with eyes fas- elriated . from -horror. The" coroner Igoked at ip of paper in his hand. i, %<he called. "A mi- forward, to-go through the the question:’ “Did you'see Thornto: the night he le{t'Oh.’id “Yes, a ot of us’'saw him. He drove out of town with Hatry Harkins, and a fellow who .we ‘all thought was Sis- sie Larsen.” \ “That’s all. . Gentlemen of the jury,” he turned his back on the crowded room and faced the small, worried ap- pearing 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.” Shuffling forms faded through the door at the right. Then followed long moments of waiting, in whi¢h Robert Fairchild’s eyes went to the floor, in which he strove to avoid the gaze of Fairchild on “We, the Jury, Find That the Deceased Came,to . His DPa!h From Injuries Sustained at thé Hands of Thornton Fairchild” ‘every ‘one: in lhé crowded courtroom. He Knew what thvrwm thigiing, that his father had been ‘a murderer, and that he—well, !hnt Tie ‘stas blood of his father’® i the buzzing of to the courtrdom on' and he knew fingers him. For once in his Tife he !md not | the strength to face his fellow men. | A quarter of an hour—a knpck on the door—then the six men. clnttered forth again, to hand a plece of paper to the coroner. And he, adjusting. liis glasses, turned to the courtroom and read: “We, the jury, find that the de- ceased came to his death from injuries sustained at the hands of “Thornton Fairchild, in or about the month of June, 1892 . final plea of the defeated Farrell. The | ' B - o The stain had been rlnced~ the thing ‘which he white-halred man who had ‘sat by 'a window \back’ th Indianapolls had feared all his life had come after! death. 3 It seemed hours before the courts room cleared. Then, the attorney at ? &e side, Harry. nt the othe'r. he mr!- Y (ed out of the [courtroom. The crowd still was on the street. milling, circling," dl}'ldmg itself ! Into little -groups ' to discuss the verdict. Through them shot scrambling forms: ofavawsboys. . Dazgdly,, simply, for, f' shke of something to take his mine from the thro) a,nd the ‘gossip about hjm, Fairchill -bought “a: paper - and 4. pped to, the light to glance over the st page. There, emblazoned under e “Extra” heading, was the story the finding of the skeleton in the lue Poppy mine, 'v»hile beside it w3s, mething which caused Rbbert Fairs &md to almost forget, for the moment, the horrors of the ordeal which he was undergoing, It was a paragraph lendlng the “personal” column of the small, amateurish sheet, announcing the engagement of Miss Anita Natalie Richmond to Mr, Maurice Rodaine, the :edding to come “probably in the late all " Ws toasted,’ This I ene extra process gives a rare and Y . detightful quality r-—-imposslble to SUBSCRLBE FOR THE - DAILY PIONEER [NTOTTETOTO mm:umm U Ill\I!Ill'l\Ill\lllillillllllll g PALACE CAFE BEST OF FOOD AND SERVICE AT ALL HOURS FORMER PATRONS ESPECIALLY Under the management of Marvin Tughart Specxal Dinners ~Served. URGED TO TRY US AGAIN. —-OPEN DAY AND NIGHT— “PALACE CAFE +112 Thqu Street [ F. M. Pencle'r.gast Implement Co. 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