Instinctively Fairchild knew that young Rodaine was not pleased with the return of Harkins.

As for the father-- Fairchild whirled at a voice by his side and looked straight into the crooked eyes of Thornton Fairchild's enemy.

The blue-white scar had turned almost black now, the eyes were red from swollen, blood-stained veins, the evil, thin, crooked lips were working in sullen fury.

They were practically alone at the mouth of the mine, Fairchild with a laugh dying on his lips, Rodaine with all the hate and anger and futile malice that a human being can know typified in his scarred, hawklike features.

A thin, taloned hand came upward, to double, leaving one bony, curved finger extending in emphasis of the words which streamed from the slit of a mouth: "Funny, weren't you?
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.