CHAPTER XIX
The ride over the hills and through the valleys of New England, on the express train, was thoroughly enjoyed by Dale and Owen, and at Albany they stopped long enough to catch a flying glimpse of the State capital of New York. Then they boarded another train, and went whirling through the beautiful Mohawk Valley, westward, until, just eighteen hours after leaving the Hub, they rolled into the big depot at Buffalo, and found themselves in this most eastern city of the Great Lakes.
"So much of the journey done," said Dale, as they walked from the depot, valises in hand.
"We must have a look around here before we go any further," replied Owen. "We may never get to this city again."
It was not long before they found themselves on the main street of the city. Almost the first thing they noticed was a trolley car marked Niagara Falls.
"We must visit the Falls!" cried Dale. "We can't afford to miss that, anyhow!" And finding that the fare was a moderate one, they hopped on the car, and went spinning northward to this great Mecca of American tourists. They spent two hours at the Falls, visiting Goat Island and the Sisters, and also the Canadian shore, and then returned to Buffalo more than satisfied with the little side trip thus experienced.
By consulting a local paper, they found that they could get a lake boat for Detroit that night, and also one in the morning.
"Let us go in the morning, when we can see something," said Owen, and so it was agreed.
With a stop at Cleveland, the journey from Buffalo to Detroit is about three hundred miles. The steamer was a commodious one, and the furnishings of the cabin and the dining room caused both of the young lumbermen to stare.
"I must say I didn't expect to find anything quite as fine as this," declared Owen. "Why, it's quite as good as anything we have East."
The stop at Cleveland was also full of interest, and the young lumbermen took a brief glance at the business portion of the town and the shipping. Lumber boats were everywhere in evidence, and these interested them as much as anything else.
"The lumber trade of the Lakes must be enormous," said Dale. "Just see those schooners and other craft—how they are piled up! I never saw anything like it, even at Bangor."
So far the weather had proved fine, but as night came on a cold rain set in, which forced them to stay in the cabin, so they saw but little as the steamer turned into the Detroit River, and made the run up to the city of that name.
"Here we are at last!" exclaimed Owen, as they went ashore in a stream of people. "I guess the best thing we can do is to get out of the wet."
"Cab! Hack! Have a carriage, sir?" came from a dozen cabmen, as they pushed forward. "Carry your baggage, mister?" And Owen felt a boy of fifteen catch hold of his valise.
"No, I'll carry that myself," said Owen. "And I don't want a carriage," he went on, to the cabmen.
They were soon out of the jam, and on the way to a hotel that John Hoover had mentioned in his last letter. This was not far away, and soon they had secured a room and were retiring, worn out from the trip, but still happy and with hopes of the highest.
"I feel stiffer than if I'd been rollings logs all day," said Dale, as he leaped up the next morning. "How is it with you, Owen?"
"My head is dizzy from looking at so much," was the answer. "Feels like it did when I went to that moving-picture show that once came to Spogtown. The pictures quivered so much that I got to blinking with 'em, and the boys said I didn't stop the blinking for two days."
"Do you suppose your uncle is in town?"
"I'm sure I don't know. We can get breakfast, spruce up a bit, and then hunt up the offices of the lumber company he spoke about."
The rain of the night before had cleared away, leaving the sky bright and beautiful. Having breakfasted, they walked down the broad street until they came to a cross street, which was the one they wanted. Two squares away stood the building in which the lumber company's offices were located, on the third floor. They went up in the elevator, and entering the first of the rooms asked for Mr. John Hoover.
"Not here, and won't be to-day," was the answer of a clerk.
"Did he leave any word for me?" went on Owen. "I am his nephew, Owen Webb, from Bangor, Me."
"Oh!" The manner of the clerk changed. "Step in, Mr. Webb. Yes, sir, he left a note for you. I'll get it."
"He must think we're of some importance, by the way he changed his face when I mentioned my name," whispered Owen. "I guess Uncle Jack cuts something of a figure here."
The note was delivered, and was found to contain directions for coming up to one of the lumber camps at once. This camp was located twenty miles beyond the village of Munvale, and to get to it they had to take a train northward to the Saginaw River.
"That's quite a little trip in itself," said Dale. "But it will be the last, I suppose, for some time to come."
They had to wait until the middle of the afternoon for a train to the right station. When it did come, it was crowded, and they had to stand up part of the way. But later on the passengers thinned out, and they got a seat together near the end of the car.
At one station several men who looked as if they were lumbermen got aboard, and by their conversation Dale and Owen soon learned that they were bound for a camp not far from that run by John Hoover.
"I'm glad I'm not going to Jack Hoover's outfit," one of the men said, during the course of the conversation.
"You're right, Glassen," said another. "He's a pretty hard taskmaster, and no mistake."
"I understand Henshaw left him last week," put in a third of the crowd. "He said he wasn't going to do two days' work in one day, for any man."
"Hoover never knows when to let up," went on the first speaker. "Three months of it was enough for me. By the way, what became of Risley, who used to be one of his foremen?" And then the talk drifted in another direction.
Dale and Owen looked at each other in a suggestive manner. Then the older of the pair leaned forward.
"Doesn't look encouraging, does it?" he whispered. "I guess you won't thank me for bringing you to this place."
"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.
"That's me," was the slow answer. "Reckon you are his nevvy, aint you?"
"I am, and this is the young man who came out here with me."
"I'm a-waitin' for you. Let see, your name's Webb, aint it?"
"Yes, Owen Webb, and this is Dale Bradford."
"My name's Sandy Hopgood, although I aint no good on the hop at all." The man grinned at his little joke. "Got your outfits with you? If you have we'll dump 'em in the wagon and start. We've got nigh on to twenty miles between us an' a supper table, an' if you're too long Mrs. Hoover won't keep a blessed thing a-waitin' for you."
"In that case we'd better get something to eat before we start," put in Dale, who was already hungry.
"Aint no hotel around here."
"Then we'll get some crackers and cheese, or something else, at the store," said Owen. "Mr. Hopgood, come and have lunch with us."
"Well—er—I wouldn't mind, but the fact is I—er—I didn't bring no money with me."
"That's all right—we'll stand for it."
"Will you? Thanks; then I'll go."
The man lumbered from the wagon and tied up his team. They were soon in the general store, and here obtained a satisfactory spread of crackers, cheese, chipped beef, and canned stuff, which the storekeeper let them eat at a table in a back room.
"Blame me if that aint as good a supper as I've had in a long time," was Sandy Hopgood's comment, after he had finished the third of a pie Dale had purchased. "It's a heap sight better nor going home for the meal."
"Does Mrs. Hoover run the table?" asked Dale.
"Kind of—it runs itself mostly." Sandy Hopgood closed one eye suggestively. "You won't git fat up to our camp, let me tell you that."
When the man had departed to bring around his turnout, Owen motioned to Dale.
"I'm going to take a few eatables along," he said. "Just put the things that are in my satchel in with your own, and then we can fill mine up with food enough to last two or three days. I'm not going to starve."
This was agreed to, and by the time Sandy Hopgood called for them, they had Owen's valise filled with all sorts of things to eat. The storekeeper smiled when he saw them stowing the articles away.
"Reckon you know your man," he said suggestively.
"Not exactly, but we've heard something," answered Dale.
"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.