Scott thought for a moment. Old Jarred Morgan seemed to be the key to the situation if this man knew what he was talking about.
“Where could I find you if I should need you some time?” Scott asked. He thought he could see how this man might be very useful to him.
“Almost anywhere,” was Hopwood’s unsatisfactory answer.
Scott looked thoughtfully off through the woods a moment wondering what other useful information he could get out of this man, and when he looked back the man was gone.
CHAPTER VI
SCOTT TALKS WITH THE AGENT
The disappearance of Hopwood had been so silent and so unexpected that Scott hardly knew whether it had not been a dream after all. He sat still for a moment to see whether he would come back, but, when he did not, he arose leisurely, and began to glance cautiously about him. He did not want to search because he thought that Hopwood must be behind a tree somewhere waiting to have the laugh on him. After all what difference did it make what had become of Hopwood? Scott felt that he had learned all that he could get out of him just now, and he had made up his mind what he wanted to do.
He glanced at his watch. It was a quarter of twelve, and he would be late for his dinner if he did not hurry. He was curious to know how Hopwood had disappeared so suddenly and where he had gone, but he struck out for the road without looking to the right or the left. Just as he reached it he saw the man of the iron hat stroll leisurely around a bend a little way up the mountain, apparently unconscious that he had acted peculiarly, and without a backward glance. The sight of him reminded Scott that he had not found out why this man wore his strange iron hat, and he made up his mind to ask some one the first chance he had.
When Scott reached the hotel after again running the gauntlet of stares in the village there were no signs of a meal in the very near future. The women were talking in the kitchen, but there was no sign of any hurry in spite of the fact that it was already fifteen minutes after the time they had announced for dinner. He went to his room and found it just as he had left it. Either he was expected to make his own bed or the women did not make them till afternoon. He decided to wait and see what would happen.
When the dinner bell finally rang, it was a quarter past one. Scott found himself alone with the station agent. The meal was about the worst he had ever seen. Great cubes of salt pork fat three inches square, boiled and transparent, that might have made an Eskimo’s mouth water, but were impossible for the uninitiated. Corn bread as dry as powder, a sickly looking gravy, and some gluey rice. At first Scott thought that he could not eat any of it, but what was he going to do? This was probably what he would have to eat for several weeks. There was no place to look for anything better. With a desperate look around the table to make sure that he had not overlooked any possibilities, he resolutely helped himself to the rice and the corn bread and waded in. He could swallow these things if he had to, but he could not bring himself even to try the salt pork.
He had been so disgusted with the meal that he had forgotten all about the station agent. Now he recalled that the gentleman had been rather offended at his actions in the morning, and that he had better try to make his peace with him now.