"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."