HOPWOOD TAKES A TRIP
For the next few days Scott was too busy to think anything of Foster
Wait’s possible revenge. In fact he almost forgot the feud altogether.
The time for the return of bids had come and he had been awarded the
contract. He had wired in his resignation to Washington and was once
more in the thick of a logging job.
He wired to Asheville where he had already made his preliminary
arrangements, and in two days carloads of men, lumber and supplies began
to arrive. He had hired a friend of his old foreman to boss the job,
another Scotchman, MacAndrews, who knew the country and the logging
methods. Camp buildings of rough lumber sprang up like mushrooms in the
valley near the railroad tracks, and the skid roads began to creep
slowly up the mountain in the shallow draws toward the ridge.
The log chute was of particular interest to Scott because he had never
seen one. In that particular place there was a small side valley, larger
than most of the shallow draws, and the log chute was built along the
little stream in the bottom of it. It consisted of two strings of logs
laid side by side on short ties and hewed flat on the inside to form a
rough trough. The logs were peeled and rolled into it far up on the
mountain and gravity brought them down with the speed of a toboggan.
Near the bottom of it they built a contraption which they called a bear
trap to break the speed of the logs before they came out on to the pile.
It was a heavy log, one end of which was raised on a tripod over the
chute while the heavy butt end rested in the chute. Scott never tired of
watching the great logs rushing down at tremendous speed only to butt
this big swinging log high in the air and slide gently out of the chute,
their force all spent.
Every now and then the silence of the valley was broken by a dull boom
as the long saws chewed their way steadily through the great trunks and
the majestic monarchs of the forest plunged headlong down the side of
the mountain over which they had stood guard for centuries. And down the
steep skid roads in the shallow draws the teams were hauling long trains
of logs chained end to end.
Everything was running as smoothly as a watch under MacAndrews’
efficient management, and Scott would have been serenely happy but for
one thing. He had not seen Hopwood for three weeks. Not since the first
day of his return from Washington. And he had come to rely on Hopwood
more than he realized. There was no one else who could keep him posted.
The agent told him what little he heard, and he visited old man Sanders
one evening. But without Hopwood they were almost as much in the dark as
he was.
One evening Sewall came to see him at the hotel which was considered
neutral ground. He, too, was worrying about Hopwood.
“So you have not seen him, either,” he said, as he was preparing to
leave. “I do not know what to make of it. He never disappeared this way
before. I have searched for him everywhere on this side of the mountain
but no one has seen him. No one has seen him on the other side.”
“Have you any suspicions about it?” Scott asked.
Sewall hesitated a moment. “He seems to have taken quite a shine to you
and I thought maybe you had sent him on an errand somewhere. I wanted to
find out before I said anything else.”
“Now what are you going to do?” Scott asked anxiously.
Again Sewall hesitated.
“This is not mere curiosity on my part,” Scott added. “I look upon
Hopwood as a good friend of mine, and I am as anxious to find him as you
are. If you have any theory and I can do anything to help I want to do
it.”
Sewall still hesitated. “I don’t see how you can help me just now and I
have not told any one my suspicions, but if you are a friend of his I
might as well tell you what I am thinking. I can’t lower your opinion of
Foster much. I have no basis for my suspicions, but I can’t help
wondering if Foster has anything to do with it. He knows that Hopwood
does not like him and he may have got him out of the way to keep him
from working against him. I suppose you know how Hopwood came to be
crazy?”
Scott nodded. “I heard about it,” he said. “But surely Foster would not
do him any farther injury when he is already responsible for that.”
“Foster is desperate now,” Sewall replied, “and he would do anything. By
the way, you want to keep on your guard yourself. He’ll never forgive
you for thrashing him.”
“I am watching him the best I can,” Scott replied. “I wish you would let
me know what you find out about Hopwood, and I’ll send him right to you
if I find him.”
Sewall left and Scott sat pondering over the depths of Foster’s
villainy. It did not seem possible that any one could do such a thing as
that in cold blood, or that a man who had such a reputation could be
left at large. He glanced up impatiently and saw Hopwood sitting on a
chair near the door.
“Why, Hopwood,” Scott exclaimed as he jumped forward joyously to greet
him, “where have you been all this time?”
Hopwood’s face beamed with pleasure as he recognized the sincerity of
Scott’s greeting, and he spread out his hands in his old characteristic
gesture.
“Sewall was just here looking for you. He has searched all that side of
the mountain, and I have been inquiring for you on this side. You’ve had
us worried.”
“I saw him,” Hopwood replied laconically.
“Did you tell him where you had been?”
“No,” Hopwood said, “he did not see me.”
“You should have spoken to him, Hopwood. He is putting in all his time
looking for you.”
“I did not know that he cared that much about me,” Hopwood replied
rather wistfully. “I’ll go right to him.”
“You should,” Scott urged him earnestly, “for he cares a great deal
about you, and so do I. You ought not to scare us that way.”
Hopwood looked a little hurt. “I was trying to do something for you.
That was why I went away.”
“For me!” Scott exclaimed in astonishment. “How is that?”
“Foster will shoot you if he gets a chance,” Hopwood replied
confidently. “I went over to the county seat to try to get him arrested.
If he was in jail it would be safer around here. It will never be safe
while he is here.”
“But you can’t get a man arrested for what you think he is going to do,
Hopwood,” Scott remonstrated.
“No, not for what he _has_ done, either,” Hopwood replied bitterly. “He
killed a little girl here years ago, Jarred’s daughter. It was not a
fight, just plain murder. It was for that I wanted them to arrest him.”
Scott looked at him wonderingly. “What did they say?”
“They laughed at me,” Hopwood replied angrily. “Said they could not
arrest any one on the word of a crazy man.”
“Did you have on your iron hat?” Scott asked, a little amused in spite
of himself.
A rare smile came over Hopwood’s face. “There’s where I made my
mistake,” he replied. “I forgot that I had it on.”
“Why do you wear it, Hopwood?” Scott asked, his curiosity getting the
better of him.
Hopwood looked at him thoughtfully. “I’ll tell you some day. I’m not
quite ready yet. What did Sewall think?” he asked shrewdly.
“He thought that I might have sent you on an errand or that Foster might
have done something to you.”
An angry scowl spread over Hopwood’s brow. It was the first time Scott
had ever seen such an expression there. “Foster will never do anything
to me. If I did not have more sense than they think I have, it would be
I who would do something to Foster.” It did not sound to Scott much like
the speech of a half-wit.
“Well, you’d better go see Sewall now. It will relieve his mind.”
Hopwood started for the door without comment.
Scott had not expected him to go so suddenly and called after him, “I
certainly appreciate what you tried to do for me, Hopwood, and I would
like to see you to-morrow if you get a chance. I have not had any news
since you left.”
It was pathetic to see how grateful Hopwood was for any appreciation. He
stopped a moment in confusion. “I’ll be here,” he blurted with evident
embarrassment and hurried out.
“He may be crazy,” Scott thought, “but if he is, it is a pity that there
are not more crazy people in the world. If it were not for that iron hat
I would not believe it for a minute.”