“It must be great in those forests,” Scott thought, “and the views from those peaks ought to be worth seeing. I tell you there has got to be a lot of trouble in this job if I can’t enjoy myself in this country.”
He was trying to catch a glimpse of a particularly high peak which showed itself every now and then above the dark spruce ridge when the conductor called, “Caspar,” and Scott had to hurry to get his pack sack and suit case off the train at his headquarters.
CHAPTER II
THE MYSTERY OF THE TWO STORES
When the dinky little train pulled out and left Scott standing on the platform, he realized why he had not seen the town of Caspar from the car window. It consisted of a railroad station, two stores, four dwelling houses and another large, decrepit-looking building which could not easily be classified, and they were all on the other side of the railroad track from Scott’s position in the car. From that side of the train no one would have suspected the presence of a town anywhere in that vicinity. The mountain slope came down almost to the railroad track and the forest on that side was almost unbroken.
The station agent seemed quite interested at the sight of a stranger. He watched Scott for a minute and seemed to be studying him in his own slow way. Finally he seemed to decide that it would be safe to speak.
“Howdy! Stranger in these parts, be ye?” he drawled.
“Yes,” Scott said, “is there a hotel here or any place where a man can stay?”
“Reckon you can stay at the hotel. Ain’t no place else you could stay in this town and live.”
Scott thought at the time that that was a rather peculiar remark for any one to make, but when he found that the station agent also ran the hotel he charged it up to professional pride. When he saw the hotel he wondered how any one could have any professional pride in it.
The hotel turned out to be the nondescript building which stood, or rather sat, apart from the others at the end of the street. It was a large, rambling, barn-like structure a story and a half high. Half a dozen gables stuck up from the side of the roof. It looked very old and its first coat of paint had never been renewed. The ground around it was as bare as the weathered clapboarding. There was no sign of any attempt at beautifying either grounds or building. A rough picket fence separated it from the rest of the village, but just why no one could tell, for the ground inside the fence was, if anything, more barren than that outside. Altogether it was a forlorn-looking place.