The Bemidji daily pioneer. [volume] (Bemidji, Minn.) 1904-1971, 1922-07-08

and fumbled there moment, to re-
turn at last with few slips Of paper.
Here's the answer" he said qui-
city, "the taxes are paid until 1922"
Robert Fairchilh studied the re-
ceipts carefully-futilely. They told
him nothing. The lawyer stood look
ing down upon him; at last he laid a
I hand on his shoulder. a
BOY" came quickly. II 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
ont fiat-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 just couldn't do it,"
$50 you can tell me nothing?"
"rm afraid that's true-in one way.
In another I'm fund Of information.
Tonight you and will 60 to Indian
UlNl Hl'uUlC Tic "lIl"1I
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"
Don't ask my advice. BOY. ],
haven't any. Your father told me
what to do If you decided to try your
luck-and silver's ut $1.29. 1t means
Il 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 advertisement hills. Robert
Fairchild's life had been plOdding
thing Of books and accounts. of high
desks which as vet had failed to stOop
his shoulders, of stuffy Offices which
had been thwan'ted so far In their grip
at his lung power; the long walk in
the morning and the tired trudge
1 h0meward ut night. But the recoil
had not exerteal itself against an Office
cramped bra ln, n 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."
lie said slowly. .t5:a.Hsacan, see the symp-
toms. You've got the fever-you're
going back to work thRt mine. Per-
haps," and he shrugged his shoulders,
its just rs well. But there are GER
tain things to remember"
Name them"
"Ohadi is thirty-cight' miles from
Denver. That's your goal, Out there,
they'll tell you how the mine caved in,
and how Thornton FairchilAl, who had
worked 1t. together with hHs; two men,
Harry Harkins,In Cornishman. and
'Sissie' Larsen, .Swtsle, left town late
one night for Cripple Creek-and that
they never came hack. Tlults the
story they'll tell you. Agree with it.
Tell them that Harkilrs, as far as You
know, went back to. Cornwall. and
that you have heard vaguely thHt Lar
sen later followed the mining tgame
farther out west"
ais it the truth?'
GLOW do l know? It's good enough
people shouldn't ask questions. Tell
nothing more than that-and be care.
ful Of your friends. There is one
man to watcll-if he is still ulive.
/ They call him 'S0uint' Rodaine, and