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Updated: June 17, 2025
Perhaps he had heard the low sound which the opening door of the hut made. "You're a dead man if you move," said a voice out of the darkness. Fairley started and made a step forward, but stopped in time. "I should know that voice. I am Martin Fairley." "Fairley!" Crosby hurried forward to meet him. "Have you been a prisoner in Dorchester?" Martin asked. "A prisoner! No."
Fairley rose with a feeble cry, and then, as if acted upon by some dominant memory, groped under the bed until he found his buckskin bag and his precious crystal, and fled precipitately from the room. Lifted by this second shock from his apathy, he returned to the fixed idea of his life, the discovery and creation of the diamond, and forgot all else.
He spoke to no one, save the wizened Elder Meacham, and to John Fairley, who rightly felt that he had a share in the making of Claridge Pasha. With head perched in the air, and face half hidden in his great white collar, the wizened Elder, stopping Luke Claridge in the street one day, said: "Does thee think the lad will ride in Pharaoh's chariot here?"
Perhaps his horse gave him trouble at that moment, but it seemed to Crosby that his companion did not believe him. "You doubt what I say?" "Did I say so?" asked Fairley. "I am used to strange tales, and I have only heard a part of yours. Finish it, Mr. Crosby." "The flight from Sedgemoor had let licence loose in the West, and I have reason to think that I am a victim of private vengeance.
"Can't ye get the poor critter some whiskey?" he queried, fretfully. "Ye used to be peart enuff before." As Flip turned to the corner to lift the demijohn, Fairley took occasion to kick the squaw with his foot, and indicate by extravagant pantomime that the bargain was not to be alluded to before the girl. Flip poured out some whiskey in a tin cup, and, approaching the squaw, handed it to her.
But it did suit Lance, who found it warm, and also had suddenly found a certain satisfaction in opposing Flip. When he had put it on, and nodded coldly to the old man, and carelessly to Flip, he walked to the door. "If you're going to take the Monterey road, I can show you a short cut to it," said Flip, with a certain kind of shy civility. The paternal Fairley groaned.
The old man's lips closed tightly, he clasped his hands between his knees with apparent self-repression. The second Elder who had spoken was he who had once heard Luke Claridge use profane words in the Cloistered House. Feeling trouble ahead, and liking the young man and his brother Elder, Luke Claridge, John Fairley sought now to take the case into his own hands.
He might have enemies in the town, but what power had they? Fear closed Judge Marriott's mouth; the fiddler, Martin Fairley, had vanished into some hole to hide himself; Crosby was waiting patiently for the fulfilment of his promise; and Sydney Fellowes, who, to his surprise, he learnt was also in Dorchester, could do little against him.
"My uncle seems strangely anxious to make a rebel of me," said Barbara. "I hold to our bond. Martin Fairley is not here, therefore I give no promise this morning." "I do not remember agreeing to such a bargain," said Rosmore. "It pleases me," said Barbara, "and helps me to forget that you began by threatening me. I am not a woman to be frightened by a threat." "Then you will give me no promise?"
"Ye ain't got no pooty things for poor Wangee girl?" he continued, insinuatingly. "Me got heap cache nuts and berries," said the squaw. "Oh, in course! in course! That's just it," screamed Fairley; "you've got 'em cached only two mile from yer, and you'll go and get 'em for a half dollar, cash down." "Me bring Wangee girl to cache," replied the Indian, pointing to the wood. "Honest Injin."
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