Fairchild had made his decision, and he had told the lawyer where to go.

If, at the same time, he had relegated the woman who had awakened affection in his heart, only to have circumstances do their best to stamp it out again, to the same place,--well, that had been done, too, and there was no recalling of it now.

But one thing was certain: the Blue Poppy mine was worth money.

Somewhere in that beetling hill awaited wealth, and if determination counted for anything, if force of will and force of muscle were worth only a part of their accepted value, Fairchild meant to find it.

Once before an offer had come, and now that he thought of it, Fairchild felt almost certain that it had been from the same source.