HOPWOOD THROWS AWAY HIS IRON HAT
After dinner Scott stopped at the bunk house to see that his orders were
carried out in regard to Dick. Dick had not delivered the message, but
he did not have to. MacAndrews had spotted him shortly after Scott had
discovered him and had started him down the track before dinner.
Scott decided to devote the afternoon to collecting news from his
friends in the hope that he could find out something which would throw
some light on Foster’s actions. The station agent had heard nothing and
he went up to see old man Sanders. The old man greeted him with his
usual cordiality.
“Come in, come in,” he said. “I hear you have beaten up the ogre and are
succeeding in getting out the timber without his assistance. How did you
do it?”
Scott sat down in the proffered chair a little wearily. “Every one seems
to be more interested in my fighting ability than in anything else. It’s
a fine reputation for a man who started out to be an angel of peace.
Things are going pretty well but there is something about it I do not
like. Foster Wait is hanging around the logging operation all the time,
and I can’t find out what he is up to. Haven’t heard anything about it,
have you?”
Mr. Sanders shook his head. “No,” he replied, “I have not heard anything
at all. Hopwood seems to have deserted me, and Vic has not been down the
mountain since the night you took her home. I can’t get around much
myself and when those two desert me I don’t know much.”
“I have not seen Hopwood for three or four days myself,” Scott said. “Do
you suppose he has disappeared again?”
“It is hard to tell what he is up to. The last time I saw him he was
coming up the road there, but when he saw me he slipped into the woods.
It was not like him. He never avoided me before.”
Scott saw that there was nothing to be learned from Mr. Sanders and he
rose to go. “Maybe he was just in a hurry and did not want to be
delayed. He seems to be very busy on some scheme of his own.”
“Poor fellow!” the old man sighed, “a lot of good his schemes will ever
do anybody, but I suppose it gives him something to do.”
Scott turned back from the gate. “Just what do you think of Hopwood, Mr.
Sanders?”
Mr. Sanders looked at him with a little surprise. “I thought I told you
about him. He has never been right since Foster hit him in the head
years ago.”
“Yes, I know,” Scott interrupted. “You told me about that, but I have
been wondering a good deal lately whether he is really as crazy as
people think.”
Mr. Sanders shook his head sadly. “I wish you were right but there is no
chance. I have known him too long.”
“Well, I think I’ll take a look for him, anyway. I like him, whatever he
is.”
Scott crossed the valley and took the road up the other slope towards
Sewall Wait’s cabin. There were several other cabins along the road and
as Scott approached one of them he saw a man come out of the gate, stand
uncertainly for a minute and go back. The funny part of it was that he
thought he recognized Dick, the man who had been fired from the camp
that morning, but the distance was too great to be sure of it, and when
he passed the cabin there was no one in sight. There seldom was any one
in sight at any of these cabins. The children all ran away and hid at
the approach of a stranger. Sometimes he caught a glimpse of some one,
peeping out of the corner of a window, but that was all. It always made
him feel uneasy to go by one of them.
Sewall was home and glad to see him. Scott told him what Foster had done
in the morning and how he was continually hanging around the camp.
Sewall only shook his head doubtfully. “I don’t know what it is, but he
is up to something. He has avoided me for a month. I don’t like the way
he is chumming with some of the wilder of the young fellows. My boys
don’t like him any better than I do, and they have tried to find out
what he is doing but they can’t. I know his game but I can’t figure out
his next move.”
“Just what is his game?” Scott asked anxiously.
“He knows that the family has pretty much lost confidence in him as a
leader, and he thinks that if he starts some trouble they will have to
support him. That much is clear enough, but I can’t see how he can gain
anything by jimming your logging job.”
“I thought that was probably just revenge for the thrashing I gave him,”
Scott said. “If that’s all it is I am not worried, for he can’t do very
much harm, but I was afraid there might be something else back of it.”
Sewall shook his head. “He is too big a coward to risk very much just
for revenge. To shoot you in the back would be more like his methods. He
beat up poor Hopwood the other day. That’s about his size,” he added
bitterly.
“That is what I really came up for,” Scott exclaimed quickly. “To find
out whether you knew anything about Hopwood. I have not seen him for
three or four days.”
“I saw him this morning. Foster went after him with a club day before
yesterday, and if it had not been for that old iron hat I think he would
have killed him.”
“The big bully. What was it about?” Scott asked eagerly.
“He would not tell me, but I thought from the way he talked that it had
something to do with you.”
“Where is he?” Scott asked. If Hopwood had taken up his fight he wanted
to know what it was so that he could take it up himself.
“He is up in his cabin. I tried to bring him down here, but he would not
come. He’s funny that way. I have never known him to sleep in anybody
else’s cabin. If he can’t get home he sleeps out-of-doors.”
“Where is his cabin?” Scott asked. “I must go and see him.”
Sewall hesitated. “He does not usually like to have people come to his
cabin.”
“But can’t you see that if he got into this trouble on my account I must
see him at once.”
“Well,” Sewall admitted reluctantly. “I reckon he would not mind seeing
you. His cabin is away up there on top of Jones’ Knob. The trail turns
off this road about a half mile above here. It’s not very plain but I
guess you can find it.”
Scott took a hasty leave of Sewall and started in search of the trail.
Sewall told the truth when he said that it was not very plain. Scott
looked for it closely, but he passed it and had to come back in his
search. He finally found a faint trace and followed it up over little
ridges and down into the draws for an hour, always drawing a little
closer to the peak. When he came out in the little flat opening on the
top there was no cabin to be seen. He had never been there before but he
knew that this was Jones’ Knob, and yet there was no cabin.
Scott looked carefully around him and there on the edge of the clearing
he discovered a tiny cabin nestled back in the edge of the spruce
thicket. He hurried over to it and looked eagerly in the open door.
There was a man lying on the bed, but at first Scott did not recognize
him as Hopwood till he saw the iron hat lying on his chest. He appeared
to be asleep.
It was the first time Scott had ever seen Hopwood without his iron hat,
and he took the opportunity to study him carefully. He was amazed at the
high, well-formed forehead and fine features. The blank expression which
he always wore when awake was entirely gone now. He seemed to feel that
some one was staring at him and moved uneasily.
As Scott did not want Hopwood to discover him there and think that he
had been spying on him he knocked softly.
Hopwood sat up suddenly at the first tap and hurriedly put on his iron
hat. He was very much displeased at the intrusion, but when he saw who
it was a radiant smile chased away his frown. Nor did the usual blank
expression take its accustomed place.
“I went up to see if Sewall knew anything about you,” Scott explained,
“and he told me that you were hurt.”
Hopwood’s face beamed when he heard that Scott had come in search of
him, but a shadow of hatred passed over it when his injury was
mentioned. It seemed as though a struggle were going on within him. The
next instant he was as calm as usual.
“I am glad you found me,” he said simply.
“Is it true as Sewall said that you were hurt on my account?”
Hopwood hesitated. “Sewall does not know why I was hurt,” he answered
evasively.
“But can’t you see, Hopwood, that if it had anything to do with me, I
ought to know about it?”
Still Hopwood was silent.
“Foster has been acting queerly,” Scott continued. “He has been hanging
around the camp all the time and this morning he scared one of the teams
and almost ruined it. I am almost sure that he did it on purpose.”
“He did,” Hopwood exclaimed angrily. “That was what my trouble was all
about. He wanted me to set fire to the camps.”
Scott gasped in astonishment. He had rather expected Foster to attempt
some personal revenge but it had never occurred to him that his
cowardice would ever drive him to use such an expedient as that. It was
a move too degraded for Scott to understand.
“When I refused,” Hopwood continued, “he tried to kill me for fear I
would tell on him.”
Scott was silent a moment. “I don’t suppose that will prevent him from
getting somebody else to do it,” he said gloomily.
“I doubt it,” Hopwood said. “If it burns now, everybody will know who
did it.”
“Could we have him arrested for assault?” Scott asked.
Hopwood shook his head. “There were no witnesses except his own family
and they would swear to anything.”
“Did he hurt you badly, Hopwood?”
“No,” Hopwood answered, “not very, but if it had not been for my iron
hat he would have killed me. He hammered me with a heavy club, bruised
my shoulders and cut my face. I’m all right now.”
Scott glanced questioningly at the bed.
“Oh, I don’t have to stay there,” Hopwood replied with a laugh. “But
since he knocked me crazy the first time I am always careful when I get
hit on the head.”
Certainly that did not sound like the talk of a crazy man, but Scott did
not question him.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Hopwood?”
“Oh, no!” Hopwood exclaimed. “I’m all right. Won’t you stay and have
supper with me?” he asked bashfully.
“I wish I could,” Scott said, “but there are some things I have to
attend to down at the camp. I hope I can some day. This is a beautiful
place.”
Hopwood came to the door with him, and they stood for a moment looking
in silence at the beautiful scene before them, or rather below them.
Jones’ Knob was the highest peak in that section, and they looked down
upon a number of smaller mountains. The sun, setting rapidly over the
western ridge, sent ever changing shadows over the eastern slopes. The
evening mists were beginning to fill the valleys like a rising tide, and
even as they watched one of the lower peaks was submerged in the sea of
white.
Scott roused himself. “It will be dark in the valley before I get down
there if I don’t hurry. Take care of yourself, Hopwood.”
“I’ll be down to-morrow,” Hopwood replied confidently, and as Scott
disappeared down the winding trail he threw his iron hat far down the
side of the mountain.