The Bottineau courant. (Bottineau, Bottineau County, N.D.) 1895-1929, 1922-08-03
By Courtney
R'yley !.
Cooper
Copyright By Little. Brown D O..

#"Boy," came quickly, IT know Just
about what you're thinking. I'VE spent
a few hours ut the same kind OF a Job
myself. and I've called old Henry
Beamish more kinds of a fool than
you al 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 zee the lines Of an old man In his
young face, I just couldn't do itl"
$50 you can tell me nothing?"
"T'm afraid that's true-in one way.
In another I'm a fund of information.
Tonight you and I will go to Indian
apolis and probate the Willis 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"
"Don't ask my advice, Boy. I
haven't any. Your father told me
what to do If you decided to try your
luck--and s~ilver's at $1.29. 1t 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. Robert
Fairchild's life had been q 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. But the recoil
had not exerted itself against an office
cramped brain, a dusty ledger-illed
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. II can see the symp-
toms. You've got the fever-you're
going back to work that mine.
"Ohadi is thirty-efght miles from
Denver. That's your goal. Out there,
they'll tell you how the mine caved in,
and how Thornton Fairehild, who had
worked it, together with his two men.
Harry Harkfns, q ~Cornishman, and
'Sissie' Larsen, Swede, left town late
n 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 Lar.
sen later followed the mining game
farther out west"
rs 1t the truthr
"How do I know? It's good enough
people shouldn't ask questions. Tell
nothing o than that-and be care.
full of your friends. There Is one
NAH to watch-if he Is still alive,
They call him 'Squint' Rodaine, and
he may or may not still be there. ]
don't know-rm only sure Of the fact
that your father hated him, fought
him and feared him. The mine tun.
mel is two miles up Kentucky gulch
and n hundred yards to the right.
A surveyor al lead you to the very
spot. It's been abandoned now fol-
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 yov