CHAPTER XII

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.