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Updated: May 21, 2025
You 've got the fever You 're going to work that mine. Perhaps," and he shrugged his shoulders, "it's just as well. But there are certain things to remember." "Name them." "Ohadi is thirty-eight miles from Denver. That's your goal.
There was only one possible conjecture: Sissie Larsen had been impersonated by a woman. Sissie Larsen had never been seen again in Ohadi. "I I would hate to put it into words," came finally. Harry slapped him on the shoulder. "Then don't. It was nearly thirty years ago. Let sleeping dogs lie. Take a look around before we go into the tunnel."
Afternoon and most of Ohadi was there. Fairchild could distinguish the form of Anita Richmond in the hundreds of women and men clustered about the opening of the tunnel, and for once she was not in the company of Maurice Rodaine. He hurried to her and she smiled at his approach. "Have they found anything yet?" "Nothing so far. Except that there is plenty of water in the shaft.
You say Bardwell and your partner went out on the Ohadi road to head the young 'un off?" "Yes. They had about a fifteen-minute start on us. Do you think ?" "We 'll wait here. They 're hefty and strong. They can handle him alone." But an hour passed without word from the two Searchers. Two more went by.
At last: "Open it, why don't you?" Harry's mustache was tickling his ear, as the big miner stared over his shoulder. Fairchild obeyed. They gasped together. Before them were figures and sentences which blurred for a moment, finally to resolve into: Mr. Robert Fairchild, Ohadi, Colorado. Dear Sir;
Robert Fairchild obeyed the instructions, a victim of many a conjecture, many an attempt at reasoning as he sought sleep that was far away. Again and again there rose before him the vision of two men in an open buggy, with a singing, apparently maudlin person between them whom Ohadi believed to be an effeminate-voiced Swede; in reality, only a woman. And why had they adopted the expedient?
Only the bawling 'bus man for the hotel, the station agent wrestling with a trunk or two, that was all. Fairchild looked about him in surprise, then approached the agent. "What's happened? Where 's everybody?" "Up on the hill." "Something happened?" "A lot. From what I hear it's a strike that's going to put Ohadi on the map again." "Who made it?" "Don't know.
You 'll be in Ohadi in no time." Fairchild obeyed the instructions, and in the baggage room rechecked his trunk to follow him, lightening his traveling bag at the same time until it carried only necessities. A luncheon, then the street car. Three quarters of an hour later, he began the five-mile trudge up the broad, smooth, carefully groomed automobile highway which masters Mount Lookout.
"When can I get a train for Ohadi?" The ticket seller smiled. "You can't get one." "But the map shows that a railroad runs there " "Ran there, you mean," chaffed the clerk. "The best you can do is get to Forks Creek and walk the rest of the way. That's a narrow-gauge line, and Clear Creek 's been on a rampage.
Played your cheap jokes and got away with 'em. But everybody ain't like them fools!" he pointed to the crowd just rounding the rocks, Harry bobbing in the foreground. "There 's some that remember and I 'm one of 'em. You 've put over your fake; you 've had your laugh; you 've framed it so I 'll be the butt of every numbskull in Ohadi.
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