A furlong more, then Fairchild went to his knees that he might use the snow for a better background.

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! And Fairchild followed.

It could mean only one thing when Rodaine sought the white-haired, mumbling old hag whom once he had called his wife.

It could mean but one outcome, and that of disaster for some one.

Mother Howard had said that Crazy Laura would kill for Squint.
Fairchild felt sure that once, at least, she had lied for him, so that the name of Thornton Fairchild might be branded as that of a murderer and that his son might be set down in the community as a person of ill-intent and one not to be trusted.