“All right,” Hopwood agreed. “I’ll ask MacAndrews for you.”
They walked on for a while in silence. Bill’s troubles had been unexpectedly lifted from his shoulders and Hopwood had found out what he wanted to know. Foster did not know where Scott had gone, and he would not find out from this boy if Hopwood could help it. And he thought that he could.
When they came within sight of the camp it was growing dark, but they could still see dusky figures moving about.
“I’ll wait here,” Bill said, and the tone of his voice indicated that nothing on earth could persuade him to go any nearer.
“All right,” Hopwood agreed. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
He strolled on down to the bunk house. The men had just straggled out from supper and they were a sorry-looking lot. Some had gone straight to bed. Others were lolling around a bonfire outside. They looked at Hopwood curiously but none of them had ever seen him before, and they were too woebegone even to speak to him.
He was just going into the bunk house when he saw MacAndrews coming out of the cook shack. Hopwood walked straight up to him and came out frankly with his message. “Mr. MacAndrews, Mr. Burton asked me to tell you to put the men to work in the morning as usual and that he would be back to-morrow.”
Mac had been staring hard at him trying to recognize him in the dusk. “Who are you?” he asked gruffly.
“My name is Hopwood,” Hopwood replied wisely leaving off his last name.
“Come into the cook shack,” Mac growled, “where I can have a good look at you. I am suspicious of visitors since this morning.”