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.