SCOTT ASKS FOR BIDS
The next morning a wave of astonishment quickly followed by another of
indignation spread over the west mountain with almost incredible
rapidity, and a corresponding feeling of relief and satisfaction settled
on the family of the Morgans. Quite the reverse of the situation of the
day before.
The sole cause of this momentous change was a small sign posted on the
village bulletin board. It was couched in somewhat intricate legal
language, but it said in effect that bids were now open for the logging
contract and any one desiring to submit one must place it in the hands
of the supervisor, along with a bond for fifty thousand dollars, within
ten days. No one had seen either a Wait or a Morgan read it, but their
knowledge of it was universal.
Single horsemen threaded their way along by-roads and paths on the west
slope to meet others at cabins scattered here and there over the
mountainside, and all these little groups finally assembled at the home
of Foster Wait. That worthy gentleman was half intoxicated, as usual,
and greeted each sullen new arrival with a detailed blustering account
of what he was going to do to the man who had double-crossed him. They
did not seem to take much stock in what he said (it looked as though
they had perhaps heard that same kind of bluster from him many times
before) and their apparent indifference drove him to wilder boasts.
Hopwood sat on the corner of the porch whittling a stick and apparently
oblivious to all that was going on around him. He glanced occasionally
from one of the group to another but the blank expression on his face
never changed. The others paid no attention to him at all except when
they wanted to know something. They seemed to be strangely inconsistent.
They treated him as an idiot except when they wanted news, but they put
implicit confidence in what he said.
“Where did you find this out, Hop?” one of the newcomers asked. It was
Sewall Wait, the real leader of the Wait faction. Foster was the nominal
ruler by inheritance, but Sewall furnished the brains which Foster
lacked. He had to repeat the question before Hopwood seemed to
understand.
“It is on the bulletin board in the village,” Hopwood answered in an
expressionless tone.
“What did it say?”
Hopwood repeated the gist of the notice.
“Who read it to you?”
Hopwood seemed offended at the string of questions. He did not answer at
once but seemed to think better of it. “Mr. Roberts,” he answered in the
same dull tone.
Sewall turned towards Foster but came back again to Hopwood. “Where’s
that man Reynolds?” he asked.
“Left on the train yesterday,” Hopwood answered promptly.
Sewall walked over to where Foster was raving for the benefit of two
late comers. “What’s the use of bawling like a spanked kid?” he asked in
a disgusted tone. “That is a formal request for bids posted in regular
form by the U. S. Government, and if Hopwood has the lingo right it’s
according to law. That man Reynolds is the fellow who made a sucker of
you and he went home yesterday. I’m going home myself.”
“Going home?” Foster raved. “And let that little squirt of a supervisor
rob us of the contract and probably give it to old Jarred Morgan? No,
sir, we’ll go down there and teach him that he can’t trifle with the
Waits. That contract is ours and I am going to make him give it to us.”
“And get your ears boxed for your trouble,” Sewall sneered as he walked
to his horse. “Fighting the Morgans is one thing, but fighting the U. S.
Government is something else.”
Foster was furious at the reference to his boxed ears and started after
him with waving fists, but Sewall rode slowly out of the yard without so
much as looking at him, and his three sons followed him.
Foster bawled threats and objurgations after them till they were far out
of earshot and then returned to rail at the others. “Hopwood!” he
shouted.
They all looked at the place where Hopwood had been sitting. It was
vacant. Hopwood had disappeared in his usual sudden manner.
One by one the others tired of Foster’s futile raving and rode away till
the hereditary leader of the family was left alone. The frenzy into
which he had worked himself had sobered him and he looked after the last
of his departing followers with anxious humiliation. He knew the
trouble; it had happened before. He had talked too much and done too
little. He would have to do something to reinstate himself and he owed
the supervisor something anyway. This would be a good chance to kill two
birds with one stone. He would have preferred some company but there was
no chance of that now, and he prepared to go alone.
In the meanwhile Scott was sitting down in the hotel waiting. He knew
that nothing could come of this advertisement either on the bulletin
board or in the local papers where he had sent it, and he wanted to be
about his business. He knew what he was going to do now and he was
anxious to be at it, but he knew what a hubbub the news would make among
the Waits and he did not want to appear to run away. He had to wait at
least till he had seen Foster Wait. It would never do for them to come
down and find that he had left the country as soon as he had posted the
notice. His duty did not require him to stay there, but his pride did.
He sat on the front porch, from which point of vantage he could bring
the whole village under his surveillance at once. He could see the
little white square of his posted notice on the bulletin board at the
other end of the street, and he watched it curiously to see if any one
would read it. He saw two or three from the east slope stop there, and
come on to the Morgan store in apparent good humor. No one at all came
down from the Wait territory, and Scott was disappointed because they
were the ones on whom he was anxious to note the effect.
One hour crawled slowly after another and he patiently watched the
lights and shadows creeping over the mountain slopes as the sun rose
higher in the heavens. It was after ten o’clock when Scott happened to
glance to his right and started to find Hopwood sitting in an
inconspicuous place on the end of the porch.
“Where under the sun did you come from, Hopwood?” he exclaimed.
Hopwood spread his hands in both directions as he always did to indicate
that he came from everywhere.
“Foster is pretty mad,” he remarked casually.
“Have you seen him?” Scott asked anxiously.
Hopwood nodded. “I saw them all.”
“I suppose they were holding a big family powwow over it and will all be
swarming down here after a while to find out what it means.” Scott
chuckled at the discomfiture he was causing the Waits, for he had taken
a distinct dislike to the whole tribe with the exception of Hopwood.
“No,” Hopwood remarked quietly, “they are not coming, but maybe Foster
will get up the nerve to come down alone. He’ll pretty near have to or
he will be done for.”
“What do you mean?” Scott asked. “I thought they always went in a gang.”
Hopwood shook his head. “Sewall would not back him up.”
“Who is Sewall?” Scott had never heard of him and he had gathered from
what he had heard that Foster was the leader of the Waits.
“He’s the only Wait who has any brains,” Hopwood answered, and added
naïvely, “except me.”
Scott glanced at him keenly but saw only the usual blank expression. “By
George, Hopwood!” he exclaimed, “I believe you really have more brains
than any of them. But what do you mean by saying that Foster will have
to come?”
“He’s been saying so much about what he is going to do to you that he
will have to do it or they will quit him,” Hopwood explained.
Scott rubbed his hands with satisfaction at the prospect of a meeting
with Foster Wait alone.
“Are you sure he will come, Hopwood?”
Hopwood was silent a moment as though waiting for a message. “Yes,” he
said confidently. “He’ll be here in about an hour. Don’t let him scare
you. He’s a coward.”
“Going to try to scare me into it, is he?” Scott asked, but Hopwood had
disappeared and left him to plan alone for his meeting with Foster Wait.