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Updated: July 22, 2025
It was all grotesque; it was fantastic, almost laughable, had it not concerned him! For Rodaine had been his father's enemy, and Mother Howard had told him enough to assure him that Rodaine did not forget. The crazed woman of the graveyards was Squint's lunatic wife, ready to kill, if necessary, for a husband who beat her. And the young Rodaine was his son, blood of his blood; that was enough.
For a long moment he studied them, and Fairchild, in looking about the courtroom, saw the bailiff in conversation with a tall, thin man, with squint eyes and a scar-marked forehead. A moment later, the judge looked over his glasses. "Bailiff!" "Yes, Your Honor." "Have you any information regarding the value of the Blue Poppy mining claims?" "Sir, I have just been talking to Mr. Rodaine.
And, that accomplished, denying himself the invitation of rest that his bed held forth for him, he started out into town, apparently to loiter about the streets and receive the congratulations of the towns-people, but in reality to watch for one person and one alone, Squint Rodaine!
A moment's pause and the old lodging-house keeper went on. "Your father was one of these men. 'Squint' Rodaine was another they called him that because at some time in his life he 'd tried to shoot faster than the other fellow and did n't do it. The bullet hit right between his eyes, but it must have had poor powder behind it all it did was to cut through the skin and go straight up his forehead.
Farther in the background, narrow eyes watching him closely, was Squint Rodaine. And still farther Fairchild gasped as he noticed the figure plodding down the mountain side. He put out a hand, then, seizing the nervous Herbenfelder by the shoulder, whirled him around. "Look!" he exclaimed. "Look there! Did n't I tell you! Did n't I have a hunch?"
It was like a hawk's; hook-beaked, colorless, toneless in all expressions save that of a malicious tenacity; the eyes were slanted until they resembled those of some fantastic Chinese image, while just above the curving nose a blue-white scar ran straight up the forehead, Squint Rodaine! So he was on the trail already!
Squint Rodaine had turned up the lane which led to a great, shambling, old, white building that, in the rosy days of the mining game, had been a roadhouse with its roulette wheels, its bar, its dining tables and its champagne, but which now, barely furnished in only a few of its rooms, inhabited by mountain rats and fluttering bats and general decay for the most part, formed the uncomfortable abode of Crazy Laura!
She had called herself a cad then, and the feeling that she perhaps had been abrupt toward a man who had helped her out of a disagreeable predicament was prompting her action now; Fairchild felt sure of that. And he was glad of the fact, very glad. Again he laughed, while Rodaine eyed him narrowly. Fairchild shrugged his shoulders.
Squint Rodaine might return, and the consciousness of caution bade that Fairchild not be there when he came back. Hurriedly he descended the rocks once more to turn toward town and toward Mother Howard's boarding house. He wanted to tell her what he had seen and to obtain her help and counsel.
"All we 've got is one man's word for this." "Yes," Sam spread his hands, "but look who it was! Squint Rodaine! Ach will I ever get back that diamond?" "I 'm starting to the mine," Fairchild released him. "If you want to go along and look for yourself, all right. But wait until you 're sure about the thing before you go crazy over it." However, Sam had other thoughts.
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