"I'm sure I don't blame you, Owen. Besides, we can go elsewhere, you know."
By the time the young lumbermen reached the station at which they were to stop, the train was nearly empty. It was dark, and only half a dozen people were at the depot. Not far away was a general store and a blacksmith shop, with a church, and about a dozen cottages, and that was all.
"Which way next?" asked Dale.
"I'll see if my uncle is anywhere about," returned Owen.
He walked around the depot, and then over to the general store, and seeing nobody who looked familiar, asked the station master if he had seen Mr. John Hoover. For a minute the man looked puzzled, then he grinned.
"You mean old Holdfast Hoover," he replied. "He's a boss lumberman."
"Yes, but his first name is John."
"Perhaps it was; but they call him Holdfast here, he's so tight with his money. No, he isn't around, but I saw his man, Sandy, here a minute ago, with a wagon. There he is now."
The station master pointed to a tall, thin man, who sat on the seat of a rough lumber wagon, chewing tobacco vigorously. To the wagon were attached a team of lean and tired-looking horses.
"Are you Mr. John Hoover's man?" asked Owen, striding up.