Fairchild felt the logic of the remark and ceased his worriment.
Quietly, as though nothing had happened, the three men went down the
stairs, passed the sleeping night clerk and headed back to the
sheriff's office, where waited Anita and Harry, who had completed his
last duties in regard to the chalky-faced Maurice Rodaine. The
telephone jangled. It was Denver. Mason talked a moment over the
wire, then turned to his fellow officer.
"They 've got Barnham. He was in his office, evidently waiting for a
call from here. What's more, he had close to a million dollars in
currency strapped around him. Pete Carr 's bringing him and the boodle
up to Ohadi on the morning train. Guess we 'd better stir up some
horses now and chase along, had n't we?"
"Yes, and get a gentle one for me," cautioned Harry. "It's been eight
years since I 've sit on the 'urricane deck of a 'orse!"
"That goes for me too," laughed Fairchild.
"And me--I like automobiles better," Anita was twisting her long hair
into a braid, to be once more shoved under her cap. Fairchild looked
at her with a new sense of proprietorship.
"You 're not going to be warm enough!"
"Oh, yes, I will."
"But--"
"I'll end the argument," boomed old Sheriff Mason, dragging a heavy fur
coat from a closet. "If she gets cold in this--I 'm crazy."
There was little chance. In fact, the only difficulty was to find the
girl herself, once she and the great coat were on the back of a saddle
horse. The start was made. Slowly the five figures circled the hotel
and into the alley, to follow the tracks in the snow to a barn far at
the edge of town. They looked within. A horse and saddle were
missing, and the tracks in the snow pointed the way they had gone.
There was nothing necessary but to follow.
A detour, then the tracks led the way to the Ohadi road, and behind
them came the pursuers, heads down against the wind, horses snorting
and coughing as they forced their way through the big drifts, each
following one another for the protection it afforded. A long, silent,
cold-gripped two hours,--then finally the lights of Ohadi.
But even then the trail was not difficult. The little town was asleep;
hardly a track showed in the streets beyond the hoofprints of a horse
leading up the principal thoroughfare and on out to the Georgeville
road. Onward, until before them was the bleak, rat-ridden old
roadhouse which formed Laura's home, and a light was gleaming within.
Silently the pursuers dismounted and started forward, only to stop
short. A scream had come to them, faint in the bluster of the storm,
the racking scream of a woman in a tempest of anger. Suddenly the
light seemed to bob about in the old house; it showed first at one
window--then another--as though some one were running from room to
room. Once two gaunt shadows stood forth--of a crouching man and a
woman, one hand extended in the air, as she whirled the lamp before her
for an instant and brought herself between its rays and those who
watched.
Again the chase and then the scream, louder than ever, accompanied by
streaking red flame which spread across the top floor like wind-blown
spray. Shadows weaved before the windows, while the flames seemed to
reach out and enwrap every portion of the upper floor. The staggering
figure of a man with the blaze all about him was visible; then a woman
who rushed past him. Groping as though blinded, the burning form of
the man weaved a moment before a window, clawing in a futile attempt to
open it, the flames, which seemed to leap from every portion of his
body, enwrapping him. Slowly, a torch-like, stricken thing, he sank
out of sight, and as the pursuers outside rushed forward, the figure of
a woman appeared on the old veranda, half naked, shrieking, carrying
something tightly locked in her arms, and plunged down the steps into
the snow.
Fairchild, circling far to one side, caught her, and with all his
strength resisted her squirming efforts until Harry and Bardwell had
come to his assistance. It was Crazy Laura, the contents of her arms
now showing in the light of the flames as they licked every window of
the upper portion of the house,--five heavy, sheepskin-bound books of
the ledger type, wrapped tight in a grasp that not even Harry could
loosen.
"Don't take them from me!" the insane woman screamed. "He tried it,
didn't he? And where 's he now--up there burning! He hit me--and I
threw the lamp at him! He wanted my books--he wanted to take them away
from me--but I would n't let him. And you can't have them--hear
me--let go of my arm--let go!"
She bit at them. She twisted and butted them with her gray head. She
screamed and squirmed,--at last to weaken. Slowly Harry forced her
arms aside and took from them the precious contents,--whatever they
might be. Grimly old Sheriff Mason wrapped her in his coat and led her
to a horse, there to force her to mount and ride with him into town.
The house--with Squint Rodaine--was gone. Already the flame was
breaking through the roof in a dozen places. It would be ashes before
the antiquated fire department of the little town of Ohadi could reach
there.
Back in the office of Sheriff Bardwell the books--were opened, and
Fairchild uttered an exclamation.
"Harry! Did n't she talk about her books at the Coroner's inquest?"
"Yeh. That's them. Them 's her dairy."
"Diary," Anita corrected. "Everybody knows about that--she writes
everything down in there. And the funny part about it, they say, is
that when she's writing, her mind is straight and she knows what she's
done and tells about it. They 've tried her out."
Fairchild was leaning forward.
"See if there 's any entry along early in July--about the time of the
inquest."
Bardwell turned the closely written pages, with their items set forth
with a slight margin and a double line dividing them from the events
tabulated above. At last he stopped.
"Testified to-day at the inquest," he read. "I lied. Roady made me do
it. I never saw anybody quarreling. Besides, I did it myself."
"What's she mean--did it herself?" the sheriff looked up. "Guess we
'll have to go 'way back for that."
"First let's see how accurate the thing is," Fairchild interrupted.
"See if there 's an item under November 9 of this year."
The sheriff searched, then read:
"I dug a grave to-night. It was not filled. The immortal thing left
me. I knew it would. Roady had come and told me to dig a grave and
put it in there. I did. We filled it with quicklime. Then we went
upstairs and it was gone. I do not understand it. If Roady wanted me
to kill him, why did n't he say so. I will kill if Roady will be good
to me. I 've killed before for him."
"Still referring to somebody she 's killed," cut in Anita. "I wonder
if it could be possible--"
"I 've just thought of the date!" Harry broke in excitedly. "It was
along about June 7, 1892. I 'm sure it was around there."
The old books were mulled over, one after the other. At last Bardwell
leaned forward and pointed to a certain page.
"Here's an item under May 28. It says: 'Roady has been at me again!
He wants me to fix things so that the three men in the Blue Poppy mine
will get caught in there by a cave-in.'" The sheriff looked up. "This
seems to read a little better than the other stuff. It's not so
jagged. Don't guess she was as much off her nut then as she is now.
Let's see. Where 's the place? Oh, yes: 'If I 'll help him, I can
have half, and we 'll live together again, and he 'll be good to me and
I can have the boy. I know what it's all about. He wants to get the
mine without Sissie Larsen having anything to do with it. Sissie has
cemented up the hole he drilled into the pay ore and has n't told
Fairchild about it, because he thinks Roady will go partnerships with
him and help him buy in. But Roady won't do it. He wants that extra
money for me. He told me so. Roady is good to me sometimes. He
kisses me and makes over me just like he did the night our boy was
born. But that's when he wants me to do something. If he 'll keep his
promise I 'll fix the mine so they won't get out. Then we can buy it
at public sale or from the heirs; and Roady and I will live together
again.'"
"The poor old soul," there was aching sympathy in Anita Richmond's
voice. "I--I can't help it if she was willing to kill people. The
poor old thing was crazy."
"Yes, and she 's 'ad us bloody near crazy too. Maybe there 's another
entry."
"I 'm coming to it. It's along in June. The date 's blurred. Listen:
'I did what Roady wanted me to. I sneaked into the mine and planted
dynamite in the timbers. I wanted to wait until the third man was
there, but I could n't. Fairchild and Larsen were fussing. Fairchild
had learned about the hole and wanted to know what Larsen had found.
Finally Larsen pulled a gun and shot Fairchild. He fell, and I knew he
was dead. Then Larsen bent over him, and when he did I hit him--on the
head with a single-jack hammer. Then I set off the charge. Nobody
ever will know how it happened unless they find the bullet or the gun.
I don't care if they do. Roady wanted me to do it.'"
Fairchild started to speak, but the sheriff stopped him.
"Wait, here 's another item:
"'I failed. I did n't kill either of them. They got out someway and
drove out of town to-night. Roady is mad at me. He won't come near
me. And I 'm so lonesome for him!'"
"The explanation!" Fairchild almost shouted it as he seized the book
and read it again. "Sheriff, I 've got to make a confession. My
father always thought that he had killed a man. Not that he told
me--but I could guess it easily enough, from other things that
happened. When he came to, he found a single-jack hammer lying beside
him, and Larsen's body across him. Could n't he naturally believe that
he had killed him while in a daze? He was afraid of Rodaine--that
Rodaine would get up a lynching party and string him up. Harry here
and Mrs. Howard helped him out of town. And this is the explanation!"
Bardwell smiled quizzically.
"It looks like there 's going to be a lot of explanations. What time
was it when you were trapped in that mine, Harkins?"
"Along about the first of November."
The sheriff turned to the page. It was there,--the story of Crazy
Laura and her descent into the Blue Poppy mine, and again the charge of
dynamite which wrecked the tunnel. With a little sigh, Bardwell closed
the book and looked out at the dawn, forcing its way through the
blinding snow.
"Yes, I guess we 'll find a lot of things in this old book," came at
last. "But I think right now that the best thing any of us can find is
a little sleep."
Rest,--rest for five wearied persons, but the rest of contentment and
peace. And late in the afternoon, three of them were gathered in the
old-fashioned parlor of Mother Howard's boarding house, waiting for the
return of that dignitary from a sudden mission upon which Anita
Richmond had sent her, involving a trip to the old Richmond mansion.
Harry turned away from his place at the window.
"The district attorney 'ad a long talk with Barnham," he announced,
"and 'e 's figured out a wye for all the stock'olders in the Silver
Queen to get what's coming to them. As it is, they's about a 'unnerd
thousand short some'eres."
Fairchild looked up.
"What's the scheme?"
"To call a meeting of the stock'olders and transfer all that money over
to a special fund to buy Blue Poppy stock. We 'll 'ave to raise money
anyway to work the mine like we ought to. And it 'd cost something.
You always 'ave to underwrite that sort of thing. I sort of like it,
even if we 'd 'ave to sell stock a little below par. It 'd keep Ohadi
from getting a bad name and all that."
"I think so too." Anita Richmond laughed, "It suits me fine."
Fairchild looked down at her and smiled.
"I guess that's the answer," he said. "Of course that does n't include
the Rodaine stock. In other words, we give a lot of disappointed
stockholders par value for about ninety cents on the dollar. But
Farrell can look after all that. He 's got to have something to keep
him busy as attorney for the company."
A step on the veranda, and Mother Howard entered, a package under her
arm, which she placed in Anita's lap. The girl looked up at the man
who stood beside her.
"I promised," she said, "that I 'd tell you about the Denver road."
He leaned close.
"That is n't all you promised--just before I left you this morning,"
came his whispered voice, and Harry, at the window, doubled in laughter.
"Why did n't you speak it all out?" he gurgled. "I 'eard every word."
Anita's eyes snapped.
"Well, I don't guess that's any worse than me standing behind the
folding doors listening to you and Mother Howard gushing like a couple
of sick doves!"
"That 'olds me," announced Harry. "That 'olds me. I ain't got a word
to sye!"
Anita laughed.
"Persons who live in glass houses, you know. But about this
explanation. I 'm going to ask a hypothetical question. Suppose you
and your family were in the clutches of persons who were always trying
to get you into a position where you 'd be more at their mercy. And
suppose an old friend of the family wanted to make the family a present
and called up from Denver for you to come on down and get it--not for
yourself, but just to have around in case of need. Then suppose you
went to Denver, got the valuable present and then, just when you were
getting up speed to make the first grade on Lookout, you heard a shot
behind you and looked around to see the sheriff coming. And if he
caught you, it 'd mean a lot of worry and the worst kind of gossip, and
maybe you 'd have to go to jail for breaking laws and everything like
that? In a case of that kind, what'd you do?"
"Run to beat bloody 'ell!" blurted out Harry.
"And that's just what she did," added Fairchild. "I know because I saw
her."
Anita was unwrapping the package.
"And seeing that I did run," she added with a laugh, "and got away with
it, who would like to share in what remains of one beautiful bottle of
Manhattan cocktails?"
There was not one dissenting voice!