“Mr. Roberts, you probably thought me very ungrateful this morning, but I knew absolutely nothing of this feud here, and could not imagine what you meant.”
The agent answered rather stiffly. “None of the government men who have been here seem to want to know anything about it, but they all learn something about it sooner or later.”
“Well, I want to know all I can about it. Up the road this morning I met Mr. Sanders, and when he asked me that same question about buying at the stores I asked him to explain. He told me all he could about it, and then I realized what you meant. I really appreciate your kindness very much, and want to thank you for trying to warn me. I don’t believe there are many people around here who would have done it.”
The agent was evidently pleased with the apology and melted immediately. “No, I reckon there ain’t,” he said rather proudly. “Old man Sanders and I are about the only ones. The others are all in it up to their necks.”
“Now that I know about it, I am not going to get mixed up with either side. They will have to give up their feud and work together like other people if they want to get in the game.”
“They will never do that as long as old Jarred lives,” the agent answered confidently.
That familiar phrase reminded Scott of the strange man with the iron hat. “By the way,” he asked, “who is this man Hopwood?”
“He’s Foster Wait’s nephew. Foster’s father is the man who started the feud, you know. He had an awful bad temper, and they tell me that, when Hopwood was a little kid, old Foster hit him in the head with his cane and he’s been crazy as a loon ever since. Did you meet him at Sanders’ place?”
“No,” Scott replied, “I met him up in the woods.”
“Thought you might have met him at Sanders’,” the agent said. “His mother was old Sanders’ daughter. What did you think of his hat?”