CHAPTER XIII

FOSTER WAIT DEMANDS THE CONTRACT

The news that Foster Wait had been boasting among his followers of the terrible things he was going to do to the supervisor and the possibility of his coming down alone to make good his threats gave Scott a new interest in the meeting. He had taken an instinctive dislike to the man at first sight, and everything he had seen and heard of him since had only served to intensify that feeling.

Foster was a much larger man than Scott, but Scott had not needed Hopwood’s warning to tell him that the giant was a coward. He had seen it and felt it. Probably his followers knew it, too, and maybe that was the reason they had refused to back him up. That was one of the things he had wanted to ask Hopwood, but the man of the iron hat always disappeared before he found out half that he wanted to know.

A man appeared suddenly at the end of the village and Scott watched him eagerly, but it proved to be only the mail carrier who had stopped to read the notice. A new notice on the Caspar bulletin board was in itself an event. The time dragged slowly by and still the expected visitor did not arrive. Could Hopwood have failed in his prophecy? He had the reputation of being infallible.

Things always happen when they are least expected, and Foster Wait had ridden his white horse halfway up the village street before Scott saw him. But even then the suspense was not over for the rider stopped at the store instead of coming straight to the hotel as Scott had hoped. Probably he had dropped in there to bolster up his nerve with a little more bragging, Scott thought. If so, he must have had a great deal of bragging to do, for ten minutes elapsed and he had not come out.

Finally some one came out of the store and started for the hotel. Scott was disappointed to see that it was not Foster but one of the boys who stayed at the store. The boy shuffled along slowly looking everywhere except at Scott, and plainly showing that his errand was not to his liking. He headed for the corner of the house as though he were going around to the back door but changed his course suddenly and edged along the front of the porch. His actions were so peculiar that Scott watched him keenly.

The boy finally came to a halt about ten feet away and looked the front of the house over carefully as though he had come to estimate the cost of a new coat of paint.

“Foster says he wants to see you at the store right away,” the boy gulped suddenly without looking at Scott.

Scott was so amused at the boy’s embarrassment that he almost forgot to be indignant at Foster’s message, but he stiffened a little as he realized the impertinence of the command.

“Tell Mr. Wait that I am at the hotel and will be glad to see him any time he cares to come,” Scott said with forced dignity.

“That’s what I told him,” the boy said, as he looked at Scott for the first time. And he seemed very much relieved. He hopped out of the gate and whistled all the way to the store.

Scott waited anxiously for the result of his message. He did not have to wait so long this time. Foster’s angry roar when he heard the boy’s message reached Scott at the hotel, and the next minute Foster lunged out of the door. Three men followed him out on to the store porch, but they stopped there and watched him clamber on to his big white horse. Another small group gathered in front of the Morgan store to see the show.

It was not over seventy yards from the store to the hotel and it would have been easier for Foster to walk, but he was not used to walking and he felt that he would be more impressive on his horse. He started from the store at a gallop but before he had covered the short distance he had slowed down to a walk. He drew up at the gate and scowled at Scott fiercely.

“When I tell people to come to me they come,” he blustered. He knew when he said it that it was the wrong thing to say but he could not help it.

Scott looked at him calmly. “It must be very convenient to have them so well trained,” he remarked.

“You will be trained, too, before I am through with you,” Foster blustered. “That’s what I came for.”

“Then maybe you better come in and have a seat, for it will probably take some time.” Scott pushed forward a chair and smiled at him tauntingly.

Foster hesitated. He felt that he was decidedly getting the worst of it and he was uncertain just how to proceed. He might force him down to the store at the point of his rifle, but he was a coward at heart and he feared the consequences. He slowly dismounted and swaggered up to the porch with all the braggadocio he could muster. Scott rose to meet him. Foster climbed the two steps to the porch and glared down at Scott from his superior height.

“I want to know what you mean by not giving us that logging contract?” he blustered fiercely.

“Won’t you be seated?” Scott said quietly, as he offered him a chair.

“I did not come here to sit down,” Foster growled angrily. “I came here to find out why you did not give us that logging contract.”

“Oh,” Scott said as though puzzled, “I understood you to say that you came to train me to come when you called.”

“I’ll do that, too, before I’m through with you,” Foster exclaimed, furiously. “Are you going to answer my question or will I have to beat it out of you?”

Scott looked him calmly in the eye a moment and smiled contemptuously. “You want to know why I did not give this contract to ‘us’? Just whom do you mean? Who is ‘us’? You forget that you are a stranger to me.”

Foster stared at him open-mouthed. Then the blood rushed to his already purple face, his neck swelled and his whole frame shook with the fury of his passion. His words were almost inarticulate. “You know me, you insolent hound. Everybody knows Foster Wait and a lot of ’em to their sorrow. Answer that question before I send you after old Jarred Morgan. I’ll teach you to insult a Wait!”

Scott knew of Foster’s furious temper and he had been doing his best to arouse it. He wanted him to fight and he knew that he would not do it except in a fit of passion. He knew his danger and he watched the man’s every move as he gave his temper one more prod.

“Talk sense, Mr. Wait, if you want an answer from me,” he sneered. “Threats do not scare me any more than they do old Jarred Morgan.”

Foster gave a roar of rage and threw forward his long rifle. He would undoubtedly have shot Scott as he had shot several other men when worked up to an uncontrollable passion, but Scott had been watching for just such a move.

He had already grasped hold of a short piece of pipe which he had leaned up against a pillar of the porch in case of emergency, and when Foster threw forward his rifle he struck the barrel with all his might. The unexpected blow knocked the weapon out of Foster’s hands, and the bullet went through the roof of the porch.

The suddenness of it all bewildered Foster for a moment and before he had fully recovered, Scott struck him a crushing blow on the jaw. The blow staggered him, but he quickly recovered his balance and threw himself upon Scott with the fury of a wild animal. He was usually a coward but now he was a crazy man, blinded by his passion, and did not realize what he was doing.

His enormous size and great reach gave him a decided advantage in one way but it was partially offset by Scott’s skill and coolness. If he should succeed in landing one of his terrific but wild swings or in grappling his opponent the fight could have but one ending. Scott’s only chance was to keep out of his reach and hammer him into submission. Foster fought with all the wild fury of a madman; Scott, with the coolness of a boxing master.

Again and again Scott landed blows which would have felled a smaller man. Some of them staggered this giant a little but most of them seemed to have no effect at all. Scott was handicapped by the necessity of keeping entirely out of his reach. A grazing blow on the side of his head warned him that if one of them should land squarely he would be done for.

In attempting to avoid one of Foster’s mad rushes Scott stepped off the edge of the porch and fell on his back on the ground. Instantly Foster jumped for his head with both hobnailed boots. For the fraction of a second Scott, stunned by the fall, saw this demon hovering over him, and the sight almost sickened him. But he recovered just in time to roll suddenly over out of reach and spring to his feet. Foster, dazed by the escape of his victim, tripped and fell. Scott could have jumped on the lumbering giant there on the ground but he had been taught to play the game fair. Moreover, he did not want this man to have any excuse. He wanted to thrash him as he had never been thrashed before and make him acknowledge it.

The men from both stores had edged up to the fence and almost forgotten the dead line in their excitement.

Scott let the giant scramble to his feet unmolested, and paid dear for his chivalry. He had counted on this man’s dissipation sapping his endurance. It was beginning to tell on him. His breath was coming in great choking gasps but his mountain training had made him tough. Moreover, he realized that his strength was waning, and with that knowledge his blind fury gave way to craft.

Scott had always boxed according to the rules of the ring, and he was taken entirely off his guard when Foster suddenly sprang some lumberjack tactics and landed his hobnailed boot squarely in his stomach. For a second everything turned black before him and he staggered like a drunken man. As in a haze he saw the giant spring forward to finish him off. With the instinct of the fighter, he side-stepped and the instant’s reprieve brought back his wandering senses and his wind.

When he saw the slight effect of his blows earlier in the fight he had devoted himself almost entirely to defense and saved his strength till Foster should be tired out. Now he took the offensive with all his power. He rained blow after blow on the gasping giant with bewildering rapidity and finally, seeing the man was almost exhausted, he threw every ounce of strength into a blow square on the point of his chin.

The big fellow staggered an instant and sank limply in a lifeless heap. Scott leaned panting against the fence. He was almost exhausted. Foster moved uneasily and raised himself groaning on one elbow.

“Are you through training me to come when you call?” Scott asked between his gasps for breath.

Foster rose slowly and wobbled towards the gate without a word. Not a word of sympathy came from his friends and they watched him clamber painfully on to his horse without offering any assistance. He rode slowly down the village street with drooping head, a thoroughly beaten man.

The two groups of men walked silently back to the stores and left Scott still leaning against the fence, weak and sick, but filled with a feeling of intense satisfaction.