“That ought to be easy,” Hopwood said teasingly. “MacAndrews can probably tell you where he is.”
“Might if I asked him,” the boy replied doggedly, “but MacAndrews isn’t going to see me.”
“What’s the matter? Been stealing stuff from the cook shack?” Hopwood went on.
“No,” Bill protested, “but he pretty near caught me this morning when I went over to take some whisky to the men.”
Hopwood whistled. “No wonder you don’t want him to see you. Then how are you going to find out?”
“Ask Mr. Roberts, I reckon.”
For some reason or other the station agent had never lost his title with these people. He was still “Mr.” Roberts after years of residence in close touch with them.
Hopwood thought a moment. Mr. Roberts might know where Scott had gone, and if he did, he might tell Bill, and that would not do at all.
“Maybe I can find out for you from MacAndrews,” he volunteered.
Bill cheered up at once. “Gee, will you, Hop? Dad seems to want to know awful bad, and if I don’t find out I’ll be afraid to go home.”