He started toward the still again and Hopwood, who had been able almost to read his thoughts, followed as close as he dared. Foster went straight to the still and Hopwood waited outside the tunnel. Foster was not reasoning, he was just grasping wildly for some clue in this blind puzzle. He hurried to the cabin. Everything was just as he had left it.
He came out and examined the edge of the clearing. He easily found the trail leading into the laurel. He really did not see the tracks of Scott’s tennis shoes, but he had not seen Hopwood and mistook his boots for Scott’s. He realized now that he had trapped Scott in there when he came back, and ground his teeth in his disappointment. As much puzzled as ever he paced nervously up and down the little clearing. Then he determined to go home and send his boy to find out where Scott had gone.
Hopwood followed Foster home and saw the boy start down the road toward the village. He did not think it likely that Foster would leave the house again that night and decided to overtake the boy. Possibly he could pump some of Foster’s plans out of him. He was a favorite with all the young people on both sides of the mountain. For some reason they seemed to look on him as an old man, although in reality he was little older than they were, except in mental capacity.
He kept to the woods till he was out of sight from the house. But he was so used to the woods that he lost little time by that and once in the road he soon overtook the boy.
“Hello, Bill!” he called. “Dad out of chewing tobacco?”
“No,” Bill growled. “He ain’t even got that excuse.” The boy did not seem to be any too pleased with his errand, whatever it was and spoke sullenly.
“What then?” Hopwood persisted. “Just out for your health?”
“Out for his health, I reckon,” the boy replied spitefully. “He wants me to find out where that logging boss is.”
“Who, MacAndrews?” Hopwood asked innocently.
“No, Burton,” Bill growled.