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Updated: June 4, 2025
They had finished lunch, when Marston, looking at his watch, took a small mirror from his pocket and stood gazing expectantly toward the distant valley where Fairlands lay under the blue haze. Presently, a flash of light appeared; then another and another. It was the signal that Aaron King had seen and to which he had called Brian Oakley's attention, that first day of their search.
"What brought you to this community that thinks so much more of its millionaires than it does of its mountains? Have you come to Fairlands to work?" "I hope to," answered the artist. "There are there are reasons why I do not care to work, for the present, in the East. I confess it was because I understood that Fairlands offered exceptional opportunities for a portrait painter that I came here.
Always, when the sitting was finished, he drew the curtain to hide the picture; forbidding her to look at it until he said that it was finished. Much of the time, when he was not in the studio at work, the painter spent with Mrs. Taine and her friends, in the big touring car, and at the house on Fairlands Heights.
But the woman who lived on the Heights of Fairlands saw neither the homes of their neighbors, the busy valley below, nor the mountains that lifted so far above them all. Her thoughts were centered upon what, to her, was more than these. When night was gathering over the scene, her maid entered softly. Mrs. Taine dismissed the woman with a word, telling her not to return until she rang.
There must be some peak, at the Cold Water end of this range, from which you can see Fairlands as well as the Galena Valley." "Yes," the other answered eagerly. "And," continued Rutlidge, "there is a good 'auto' road up the Galena Valley. One could get, I should think, to a point within say nine hours of your camp. Do you know anything about the heliograph?"
When he spoke, there was a ring in his voice that left in the minds of his companions no doubt as to his view of the seriousness of the situation. "Milt," he said sharply. The youngest of the Carleton sons stepped forward. "Yes, sir." "You will ride to Fairlands. It's half past one, now. You should be back between eight and nine in the morning.
"When Will was killed by those Mexican outlaws, which is a story in itself, Nelly sold the ranch to the Power Company, and bought an orange grove in Fairlands which was the thing for her to do, as she and Myra could handle that sort of property, and the ranch had to go, anyway. Before Nelly died, she and I talked things over, and she put everything in Myra's hands, in trust for the girl.
As certain streets and blocks are given to the wholesale establishments, others to retail stores, and still others to the manufacturing plants; so there are the tenement districts, the slums, and the streets where may be found the homes of wealth and fashion. In Fairlands, the social rating is largely marked by altitude.
The height of the palms that grew along the road in front, the pepper and eucalyptus trees that overshadowed the house, and the size of the orange-trees that shut in the little yard with walls of green, marked the place as having been established before the wealth of the far-away East discovered the peculiar charm of the Fairlands hills.
King, accidentally, once, at the depot in Fairlands," continued the woman with the disfigured face. "He impressed me, then, as being a genuinely good man a true gentleman. But, judging from his books, Conrad Lagrange is not a man I would wish Sibyl to meet. I have wondered at the artist's friendship with him." "I tell you, Myra, Lagrange is all right," said Brian Oakley, stoutly.
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