"Well, you'll hear more before you come away," was the storekeeper's comment. "Shouldn't wonder but what I'll see you again by the time your first month is up."
"Or before," put in Owen, with a short, hard laugh. Then Sandy Hopgood drove up, and they put their trunks into the wagon and followed with their valises.
"Now to see what we will see," remarked Dale, as lightly as he could. But his heart was heavy, for he realized that the prospect was far from encouraging.
CHAPTER XX
AT JOHN HOOVER'S HOME
The road was dark as well as rough, and as the lumber wagon bumped along over the stones and tree roots, neither Dale nor Owen had much to say. Each was busy with his thoughts, wondering how they would be received by John Hoover and his wife, and what would be the outcome of this venture into the Michigan lumber district.
"We're 'bout half there now," said Sandy Hopgood, after a long and steady pull over hills and through hollows. "But the wust part of the road is to come." And so it proved. The wagon jounced along as if ready to fall to pieces at any moment, and more than once Dale and Owen, who had both noticed the shabby harness, imagined that straps and buckles would fly in all directions. But, old and worn as it was, the turnout held together, and at last they caught sight of a light ahead, and the driver announced that they would soon be at their destination.
The Hoover camp consisted of half a dozen buildings, built on either side of a muddy roadway leading to a creek that flowed into the Saginaw River. Beyond the cabins were two stables and a tool shed. Down close to the river was a sawmill, also belonging to John Hoover. All the buildings were old and dilapidated, but the owner of the camp did not believe in spending money to fix them up.
As the wagon came up to the cabins, the door of one of the buildings was thrown open, and a man came out, lantern in hand.