And the young Rodaine was his son, blood of his blood; that was enough.

It was hours before Fairchild found sleep, and even then it was a thing of troubled visions.
Streaming sun awakened him, and he hurried to the dining room to find himself the last lodger at the tables.

He ate a rather hasty meal, made more so by an impatient waitress, then with the necessary papers in his pocket, Fairchild started toward the courthouse and the legal procedure which must be undergone before he made his first trip to the mine.
A block or two, and then Fairchild suddenly halted.

Crossing the street at an angle just before him was a young woman whose features, whose mannerisms he recognized.

The whipcord riding habit had given place now to a tailored suit which deprived her of the boyishness that had been so apparent on their first meeting.