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"That vein 's certainly five feet wide." "And two hundred dollars to the ton," added Fairchild, laughing. "No wonder Rodaine wanted it." "I 'll sye so!" exclaimed Harry, again to stand and stare, his mouth open, his mustache spraying about on his upper lip in more directions than ever. A long time of congratulatory celebration, then Harry led the way to the far end of the great cavern.
She reached for the door and then, turning, patted Fairchild on the shoulder. "Boy," came quietly, "you 've got a broad back and a good head. Rodaine beat your father don't let him beat you. And always remember one thing: Old Mother Howard 's played the game before, and she 'll play it with you against anybody. Good night. Go to bed dark streets are n't exactly the place for you."
It was n't as hard as you think all Squint Rodaine had to do was to act nice to her and promise her a few things that he 'll squirm out of later on, and she went on the stand and lied her head off." "But for a crazy woman " "Laura's crazy and she ain't crazy. I 've seen that woman as sensible and as shrewd as any sane woman who ever drew breath.
A mountain rat, already disturbed by the entrance of Rodaine, scampered across his feet, and Fairchild shrunk into a corner, hiding himself as best he could in case the noise should cause an investigation from above. But it did not. Now Fairchild could hear voices, and in a moment more they became louder, as a door opened. "It don't make any difference! I ain't going to stand for it!
Once more a long wait. Finally: "What do I get out of it?" Fairchild moved to the man's side. "My promise and my partner's promise that if you tell the whole truth, we 'll do what we can to get you leniency. And you might as well do it; there 's little chance of you getting away otherwise. As soon as we can get to the sheriff's office, we 'll have Rodaine under arrest, anyway.
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.
Squint Rodaine passed the street leading to his house without even looking up. Two blocks more, and they reached the city limits. But Squint kept on, and far in the rear, watching carefully every move, Fairchild followed his quarry's shadow. A mile, and they were in the open country, crossing and recrossing the ice-dotted Clear Creek.
It seemed that the inquest was over. A few people began to move toward the door only to halt. The coroner's voice had sounded again: "Mrs. Laura Rodaine!"
They crossed the slight alleyway, and she laid her hand on his arm, almost caressingly, Fairchild thought, and he stared hard as though in unbelief of their identity. But it was certain. It was Maurice Rodaine and Anita Richmond; they came closer, her eyes turned toward Fairchild, and then
Instinct told Fairchild that for the present, at least, Rodaine must believe that Harry had escaped unaided.
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