Bob stared in surprise. He knew this was not so, and started to speak,
but thought better of it. After he had left the store, he looked back.
Martin was gazing after him, a frown between his brows.
Before he left town a half-dozen of the mountain men had asked him, with
an obvious attempt to make the question casual, how he liked the Basin,
how long he thought his work would keep him there. Each, as he turned
away, followed him with that long, speculative, brooding look. Always,
heretofore, his relations with these mountain people had been easy,
sympathetic and cordial. Now all at once, without reason, they held him
at arm's length and regarded him with suspicious if not hostile eyes.
Puzzling over this he rode back up the road past the Power House. Thence
issued Oldham to hail him. He pulled up.
"I hear you're estimating the timber in the Basin," said the gray man,
with more appearance of disturbance than Bob had ever seen him display.
Bob acknowledged the accuracy of his statement.
"Indeed!" said Oldham, pulling at his clipped moustache, and after a
little, "Indeed!" he repeated.
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