“Reckon I do,” Mr. Sanders laughed. “He licked me at cribbage here last night.”
Scott looked at Sewall indignantly. “I thought you told me that you had not been up this road for thirty years.”
“That was above here,” Sewall laughed. “I sneak over here in the evening every once in a while to play cribbage with Mr. Sanders.”
Scott was beginning to see what a hollow thing that feud really was, and yet it had killed several people, wounded many more and ruined the community for years.
“Did Jarred know it?” he asked.
Sewall nodded. “Sure. I have sat on the fence there and talked over the feud with Vic by the hour.”
“Do you think Vic will give it up?” he asked again.
“Sure she will,” Sewall replied confidently. “She’ll marry Hopwood some day and forget there ever was a feud unless Foster comes back. She’ll never forgive him, and she’ll never forgive her father.”
They left Mr. Sanders and went down to the logging camp. There Scott gave directions to MacAndrews to go on with the logging in the morning as usual, and told him that if he were short of help he could hire anybody around there.
At the station he sent a telegram to his old boss in the forest service: