Smith had known that before he made out the pass—then he had given him the paper with this news in it so that he’d see how dangerous it would be for him to attempt to visit Kam City just now.
It was a proof of the superintendent’s fiendish notion of what constituted a good joke—but no, that couldn’t be it. Smith had been too insistent on Hammond’s taking the early tug. Acey Smith was too keen a reader of character to doubt that he, Hammond, would face the music rather than skulk around the pulp camp a fugitive from justice. Smith had some other motive, thought Hammond—there was no doubt about that now. Despite his obvious iniquity, there was a strong element of Canadian sportsmanship in Acey Smith’s make-up, Hammond had seen proofs of that. More likely he took this off-hand method of warning Hammond what he’d be up against when he landed in Kam City. That was more like Acey Smith whom most men feared, others hated and few could find it in their hearts to exactly detest. . . . More, if the superintendent had merely wanted to complicate matters for Hammond he would only have had to send word to Kam City that he, Hammond, was over at the limits, and the authorities would come after him. Piecing it all together, the young man now sensed that for some deeper reason the Big Boss of the timber limits was anxious to see him go over to Kam City.
But, be that as it might be, Hammond’s mind was fully made up. He was now more determined than ever to make the trip to Kam City on the morrow. He quite realised what an ugly position he might be placed in through the erratic evidence of the coloured porter, but he was chafing to have the whole thing over with. He could stand continued inaction no longer. If the police arrested him, well and good: he’d take a chance on the trend of events and his own evidence bringing the truth to the surface. True, his contract with Norman T. Gildersleeve called for his keeping secret the fact that he had been engaged by the millionaire to stay on the Nannabijou limits until he received other instructions, but Gildersleeve must truly have disappeared or he would take steps of some sort or other to prevent Hammond’s arrest on a false charge. He could find no conscientious reason why he should hold out longer.
He glanced at his watch. It was nearly ten o’clock. He decided not to wait up for Sandy Macdougal, for he would have to arise early to catch the morning tug. To-morrow surely would be an eventful day.
III
Hammond was partially awakened by the cook prowling around with his bottle and a metal cup. Hammond declined Sandy’s invitation to join him in a “night-cap” and turned over to go to sleep again.
“Heard the big news, Hammond?” the cook asked.
Hammond rolled over again under the blankets at that. “No, Sandy,” he replied. “What’s being pulled off on the limits anyway?”
Macdougal tossed down his “three fingers” and gazed meaningly at the rusty stove-pipe. “There’s going to be something drop around this layout before many days are over,” he said finally.
“Yes?” encouraged Hammond.