“You’re going downstream, aren’t you? Do you mind if I walk along with you? My camp’s down that way.”
Bainbridge acquiesced readily. There was something very taking about the stranger, and within ten minutes he found himself chatting as if to an old friend. His companion turned out to be Wolcott Sears, of Boston, on a two weeks’ trip in the Maine woods. The name was only vaguely familiar, but Bob felt sure from his manner that he was a man of affairs. He was tremendously interested in hearing all about the peculiar conditions of this particular drive, and before Bainbridge realized it he had given a brief narrative of his fight with the Lumber Trust and the events which had grown out of it.
“You interest me extraordinarily, Mr. Bainbridge,” the older man said, in his crisp, decisive way, when at last they paused at the point several miles below the scene of the last jam, where Sears had to branch off to reach his camp. “Things of this sort always do, for it’s only those one has to struggle for which are really worth while. You’ve certainly had to fight hard in this case, but you’ve practically won out, haven’t you? After this last fracas I shouldn’t suppose there’d be much chance for further interference.”
Bob shrugged his shoulders and smiled a little. “You sadly underestimate the power of the trust, Mr. Sears. I shan’t be beyond the chance of interference until the drive is safe in our mill booms at Lancaster, and even then it wouldn’t surprise me if they’d try to work some dirty trick.”
Sears frowned indignantly; then his face brightened.
“In spite of everything I think I should bet on you.” he chuckled. “There’s a certain vigor in your method of dealing with these people which makes for success. I really believe you’ll win, Mr. Bainbridge, and I surely hope so. It has been a great pleasure to meet you, and I trust one to be repeated. I shall be hereabouts for some time yet, and may run across you before I leave.”
Bob warmly reciprocated his feeling, and, after a hearty handshake, turned south along the river, while Sears disappeared in the undergrowth to the westward.
“Fine man,” commented the younger man aloud. “Hope I do run into him again. Meanwhile, however, the rear isn’t coming along half quick enough, and I haven’t seen a darn thing all afternoon of the wangan. I hope nothing’s happened to it and the grub. That would be one awful blow!”
It was one that was spared him. Within half an hour the clumsy scow hove in sight. It tied up to the bank a little later, and before dark preparations for supper were going on merrily.
Bob did not get in till later. Assured that all was well with the cook and his staff, he went on downstream to see how Peters and his gang were progressing. On his return he discovered a stranger warming himself by the drying fire. He looked like an old-time woodsman, and the instant Bainbridge appeared he was on his feet, extracting an envelope from the interior of his hat.