HOPWOOD SENDS FOSTER A MESSAGE
Hopwood did not go immediately back to camp to carry the message to
MacAndrews. There would be plenty of time for that after dark. He
thought it better to hang around and try to find out something of
Foster’s plans. Instead of going down the trail he hid in the brush and
watched, for he felt sure that Foster would come back that way when he
found he had missed his mark.
He saw Foster come out of the woods and judged his state of mind pretty
well from his looks. When he saw him shoot the squirrel he was convinced
of his savage rage. In such a condition as that he might do anything. He
thought of old Jarred and little Vic up there on the opposite mountain
and wondered what form his rage would take.
Just then Foster could not have told him himself. He only knew that he
had lost his opportunity in a game that he did not very clearly
understand. Why had Scott gone to the still and not touched it? If he
had destroyed the still and the supply of whisky in those barrels he
could have understood that. He would have been trying to protect himself
and his crew. But he had not destroyed it.
Then a new thought occurred to him. Perhaps Scott had gone there to
destroy things but had been interrupted before he had a chance to carry
out his purpose. Perhaps he had destroyed it after he himself had been
there. There had been quite an interval between the time he had looked
in the cabin and the time he discovered Scott on the opposite ridge. He
decided to see; it would at least give him something to do.
He started toward the still again and Hopwood, who had been able almost
to read his thoughts, followed as close as he dared. Foster went
straight to the still and Hopwood waited outside the tunnel. Foster was
not reasoning, he was just grasping wildly for some clue in this blind
puzzle. He hurried to the cabin. Everything was just as he had left it.
He came out and examined the edge of the clearing. He easily found the
trail leading into the laurel. He really did not see the tracks of
Scott’s tennis shoes, but he had not seen Hopwood and mistook his boots
for Scott’s. He realized now that he had trapped Scott in there when he
came back, and ground his teeth in his disappointment. As much puzzled
as ever he paced nervously up and down the little clearing. Then he
determined to go home and send his boy to find out where Scott had gone.
Hopwood followed Foster home and saw the boy start down the road toward
the village. He did not think it likely that Foster would leave the
house again that night and decided to overtake the boy. Possibly he
could pump some of Foster’s plans out of him. He was a favorite with all
the young people on both sides of the mountain. For some reason they
seemed to look on him as an old man, although in reality he was little
older than they were, except in mental capacity.
He kept to the woods till he was out of sight from the house. But he was
so used to the woods that he lost little time by that and once in the
road he soon overtook the boy.
“Hello, Bill!” he called. “Dad out of chewing tobacco?”
“No,” Bill growled. “He ain’t even got that excuse.” The boy did not
seem to be any too pleased with his errand, whatever it was and spoke
sullenly.
“What then?” Hopwood persisted. “Just out for your health?”
“Out for his health, I reckon,” the boy replied spitefully. “He wants me
to find out where that logging boss is.”
“Who, MacAndrews?” Hopwood asked innocently.
“No, Burton,” Bill growled.
“That ought to be easy,” Hopwood said teasingly. “MacAndrews can
probably tell you where he is.”
“Might if I asked him,” the boy replied doggedly, “but MacAndrews isn’t
going to see me.”
“What’s the matter? Been stealing stuff from the cook shack?” Hopwood
went on.
“No,” Bill protested, “but he pretty near caught me this morning when I
went over to take some whisky to the men.”
Hopwood whistled. “No wonder you don’t want him to see you. Then how are
you going to find out?”
“Ask Mr. Roberts, I reckon.”
For some reason or other the station agent had never lost his title with
these people. He was still “Mr.” Roberts after years of residence in
close touch with them.
Hopwood thought a moment. Mr. Roberts might know where Scott had gone,
and if he did, he might tell Bill, and that would not do at all.
“Maybe I can find out for you from MacAndrews,” he volunteered.
Bill cheered up at once. “Gee, will you, Hop? Dad seems to want to know
awful bad, and if I don’t find out I’ll be afraid to go home.”
“All right,” Hopwood agreed. “I’ll ask MacAndrews for you.”
They walked on for a while in silence. Bill’s troubles had been
unexpectedly lifted from his shoulders and Hopwood had found out what he
wanted to know. Foster did not know where Scott had gone, and he would
not find out from this boy if Hopwood could help it. And he thought that
he could.
When they came within sight of the camp it was growing dark, but they
could still see dusky figures moving about.
“I’ll wait here,” Bill said, and the tone of his voice indicated that
nothing on earth could persuade him to go any nearer.
“All right,” Hopwood agreed. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
He strolled on down to the bunk house. The men had just straggled out
from supper and they were a sorry-looking lot. Some had gone straight to
bed. Others were lolling around a bonfire outside. They looked at
Hopwood curiously but none of them had ever seen him before, and they
were too woebegone even to speak to him.
He was just going into the bunk house when he saw MacAndrews coming out
of the cook shack. Hopwood walked straight up to him and came out
frankly with his message. “Mr. MacAndrews, Mr. Burton asked me to tell
you to put the men to work in the morning as usual and that he would be
back to-morrow.”
Mac had been staring hard at him trying to recognize him in the dusk.
“Who are you?” he asked gruffly.
“My name is Hopwood,” Hopwood replied wisely leaving off his last name.
“Come into the cook shack,” Mac growled, “where I can have a good look
at you. I am suspicious of visitors since this morning.”
Hopwood followed him obediently into the cook shack and looked him
squarely in the eye. “He also told me that I was to keep in touch with
you while he was away and let you know what Foster Wait was doing.”
“He did, did he?” Mac grunted, as he looked him over suspiciously from
head to foot. “Where has he gone?”
Hopwood looked around and lowered his voice. “He went over the mountain
to see the United States marshal.”
Mac grunted his satisfaction but his suspicion was not completely
allayed. “Who the deuce are you?” he asked again. “You look like one of
these pesky mountaineers to me.”
“I am,” Hopwood replied bluntly, “but I am a friend of Mr. Burton’s and
I don’t like Foster Wait as well as you do. That ought to be enough to
satisfy you.”
“Well,” Mac said grudgingly, “if you are a liar you are a mighty slick
one. I’ll take a chance on you, anyway. What’s that man Wait up to now?”
“He was in the house when I came by there a while ago. He’s not likely
to come out again to-night, and I’ll watch him in the morning and let
you know if he’s up to anything.”
“Very well,” Mac replied. “I’ll be watching for you, and—for him,” he
added grimly.
Hopwood started for the door. “Don’t you want a handout?” Mac called
after him hospitably.
As Hopwood had not had anything to eat since morning, he gladly accepted
the invitation. While he was eating Mac plied him with all kinds of
questions about Foster Wait. It was evident that it would be a bad day
for Foster if he ever fell into Mac’s hands.
When he had finished the generous meal which Ben had given him he walked
out to find Bill. The boy was sitting on the stump waiting patiently.
Waiting was one of the best things Bill did.
“You ought to have come with me,” Hopwood said. “The cook gave me a
great handout.”
“You can have mine in there,” Bill replied with a wry face. “What did he
say about his boss?”
“He said he was out on the works to-day and would be back in camp
to-night,” Hopwood lied glibly.
It was enough for the boy to have a satisfactory answer to take home. He
did not question the truth of it. “Thanks,” he said, and started back up
the mountain.
“Wait a while and I’ll walk up with you,” Hopwood volunteered.
“I gotta be getting home,” the boy said. “He’ll be mad enough now
without keeping him waiting any longer.”
Hopwood watched him out of sight in the darkness. “Well, give him that
information,” he mumbled maliciously to himself. “It may quiet his
nerves.”