“There is only one other way that it can end,” Jarred answered, and his jaw clenched tight.
“That’s why I have come to see you. Would you drop this feud if Foster were put out of the way for good?” Hopwood spoke with the tone of a man exacting an oath.
“I have never made a contract for a murder,” Jarred answered coldly, “and I am too old to begin it now.”
“Look at me, Jarred,” and Hopwood squared himself around in front of the old man. “Do I look like a crazy man?”
Jarred’s frown melted into an affectionate smile. “No, Hopwood, your old iron hat has not fooled me for many years.”
“Then listen to me,” Hopwood replied with a strange tone of confident authority. “I am no more likely to take the contract for murdering a man than you are. You have always said that you would not give up the feud while Foster lived. Now I want to know if you would give it up if he were otherwise disposed of so that he would never return to this country?”
Jarred walked to the door and gazed out across at the opposite mountain in silence. It was five minutes before he turned back to Hopwood and his face was haggard.
“I could do it, Hopwood,” he said sadly. “I hate to think of that scoundrel escaping my vengeance, but I could do it, and—would,” he added after a short struggle. “But I was thinking of Vic. Would she? I have trained her all her life to hate the Waits, and Vic is a good hater. Would she give it up, or would she think me a traitor?”
“I think she would give it up,” Hopwood replied confidently.
Jarred turned quietly and faced him. “What makes you think so?” he asked sharply.