The Bemidji daily pioneer. [volume] (Bemidji, Minn.) 1904-1971, 1922-07-18

! 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 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 YEARLY away; he could not
find the optimism to join Harry's
cheerful announcement that it would
be s''all right" The appearances were
! otherwise. Besides, up in the little
hospital on the hill, Fairchild had seen
lights cleaning 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
I den and overshadowed now, he turned
away from the cell and it's optimistic
! cccupant--Out into the night.
It was only short walk to the hos
pital and Fatrchild 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 thing for
which to be thankful; but there was
plenty to cause CONSERVATION, as Fair
child walked slowly down the dark,
winding street toward the main thor
oughfare. 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 tech
nical details necessary to mining, with
no previous history of the Blue Pop
py to guide him, and with no help
against the enemies who seemed every
where. Now he saw that it was i'm
possible. More the incidents of the
night showed how swiftly those enc
mics were working, how sharp and
stiletto-like their weapons.
That Harry was innocent was Ger.
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-
DANES had not possessed a deepet con-
Germ than merely to seize upon hap
pening and turn it to their own &C.
count. The highwayman was big. The
Id, FOL q
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 bad
come from Anita Richmond. 1t was
an easy matter for him to get the in
SEPARATION, 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 he 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 Ills
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
had come to him. At one side was
q big house-a house whose occupants
he knew instinctively. for he had seen
the shadow Of a woman, hands out
stretched, as she passed the light
strewn shade of a window on the Sec
ond floor. More, he had heard her
voice, supplemented by gruffer tones.
And then 1t 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.
He left the old board sidewalk and
crept to the porch that he might hear
the better. Then every nerve within
him tangled, and the black Of the dark.
ness changed to red. The Rodaines
were within; he had heard first the
cold voice Of the father, then the rasp-
ing tones Of the son, In upbraiding.
More, there had come the sobbing Of
woman; instlnctively Fafrchild knew
that it was Anita Richmond. And
then:
1t was her voice, high, screaming.
Hysteria had come-the wild, racking
hysteria of a person driven to the
breaking point:
Leave this house-hear mel Leave
this house! Can't you see that you're
killing hlm7 Don't you dare touch me
leave this house! No. 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 un-
locked, to throw it wide and to leap
into the hall. Great steps, and he had