Instead he kept straight on up the street, past the little line of store buildings and to the courthouse, where he sought out the sole remaining light in the bleak, black building,--Sheriff Bardwell's office.

That personage was nodding in his chair, but removed his feet from the desk and turned drowsily as Fairchild entered.
"Well ?" he questioned, "what's up ?" "My partner has disappeared.

I want to report to you--and see if I can get some help." "Disappeared?
Who ?" "Harry Harkins.

He 's a big Cornishman, with a large mustache, very red face, about sixty years old, I should judge--" "Wait a minute," Bardwell's eyes narrowed.

"Ain't he the fellow I arrested in the Blue Poppy mine the night of the Old Times dance ?" "Yes." "And you say he 's disappeared ?" "I think you heard me!" Fairchild spoke with some asperity.