CHAPTER XII
SCOTT ASKS FOR BIDS
The next morning a wave of astonishment quickly followed by another of indignation spread over the west mountain with almost incredible rapidity, and a corresponding feeling of relief and satisfaction settled on the family of the Morgans. Quite the reverse of the situation of the day before.
The sole cause of this momentous change was a small sign posted on the village bulletin board. It was couched in somewhat intricate legal language, but it said in effect that bids were now open for the logging contract and any one desiring to submit one must place it in the hands of the supervisor, along with a bond for fifty thousand dollars, within ten days. No one had seen either a Wait or a Morgan read it, but their knowledge of it was universal.
Single horsemen threaded their way along by-roads and paths on the west slope to meet others at cabins scattered here and there over the mountainside, and all these little groups finally assembled at the home of Foster Wait. That worthy gentleman was half intoxicated, as usual, and greeted each sullen new arrival with a detailed blustering account of what he was going to do to the man who had double-crossed him. They did not seem to take much stock in what he said (it looked as though they had perhaps heard that same kind of bluster from him many times before) and their apparent indifference drove him to wilder boasts.
Hopwood sat on the corner of the porch whittling a stick and apparently oblivious to all that was going on around him. He glanced occasionally from one of the group to another but the blank expression on his face never changed. The others paid no attention to him at all except when they wanted to know something. They seemed to be strangely inconsistent. They treated him as an idiot except when they wanted news, but they put implicit confidence in what he said.
“Where did you find this out, Hop?” one of the newcomers asked. It was Sewall Wait, the real leader of the Wait faction. Foster was the nominal ruler by inheritance, but Sewall furnished the brains which Foster lacked. He had to repeat the question before Hopwood seemed to understand.
“It is on the bulletin board in the village,” Hopwood answered in an expressionless tone.
“What did it say?”
Hopwood repeated the gist of the notice.
“Who read it to you?”