Hopwood sat up suddenly at the first tap and hurriedly put on his iron hat. He was very much displeased at the intrusion, but when he saw who it was a radiant smile chased away his frown. Nor did the usual blank expression take its accustomed place.
“I went up to see if Sewall knew anything about you,” Scott explained, “and he told me that you were hurt.”
Hopwood’s face beamed when he heard that Scott had come in search of him, but a shadow of hatred passed over it when his injury was mentioned. It seemed as though a struggle were going on within him. The next instant he was as calm as usual.
“I am glad you found me,” he said simply.
“Is it true as Sewall said that you were hurt on my account?”
Hopwood hesitated. “Sewall does not know why I was hurt,” he answered evasively.
“But can’t you see, Hopwood, that if it had anything to do with me, I ought to know about it?”
Still Hopwood was silent.
“Foster has been acting queerly,” Scott continued. “He has been hanging around the camp all the time and this morning he scared one of the teams and almost ruined it. I am almost sure that he did it on purpose.”
“He did,” Hopwood exclaimed angrily. “That was what my trouble was all about. He wanted me to set fire to the camps.”