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diff --git a/41662-0.txt b/41662-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3ebb633 --- /dev/null +++ b/41662-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6244 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41662 *** + + _THE SPELL OF THE WHITE STURGEON_ + + JIM KJELGAARD + + + DODD, MEAD & COMPANY + NEW YORK + 1953 + + Copyright, 1953 + + By Jim Kjelgaard + + All Rights Reserved + + No part of this book may be reproduced in any form + without permission in writing from the publisher + + _Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 53-6314_ + + Printed in the United States of America + by Vail-Ballou Press, Inc., Binghamton, N. Y. + + + TO + David LeClair and Richard Smith + + + + +_CONTENTS_ + + + + _Chapter One_ Storm 1 + + _Two_ Wreck 16 + + _Three_ On the Beach 34 + + _Four_ Trouble for the _Spray_ 54 + + _Five_ Rescue 73 + + _Six_ New Venture 89 + + _Seven_ Partners 109 + + _Eight_ Action 125 + + _Nine_ Pirates 144 + + _Ten_ The Great Fish 160 + + _Eleven_ Fisherman's Luck 171 + + _Twelve_ The Pond 184 + + +The characters and situations in this book are wholly fictional and +imaginative: they do not portray and are not intended to portray any +actual persons or parties. + + + + +_THE SPELL OF THE WHITE STURGEON_ + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +_STORM_ + + +Ramsay Cartou leaned on the rail of the ponderous side-wheeler, the _H. +H. Holter_, and watched without interest while a horse-drawn truck +brought another load of cattle hides on board. The sweating stevedores +who were loading the _Holter_ and the belaboring mate who supervised +them began stowing the hides into the hold. The _Holter's_ winch, either +ruined by an inexpert operator or about to fall apart anyhow, was +broken. All the work had to be done by hand. + +Ramsay turned to breathe the clean air that swept in from Lake Michigan. +It was impossible, anywhere on the _Holter_, to get away from the smell +of the hides, but at least he did not have to look at them. + +Not since he had left the brawling young city of Chicago two days +before, to make his way north to the equally lusty young city of +Milwaukee, had the sun shone. In those two days, while he waited for +repairs to the engine hauling the train in which he was riding, he had +seen nothing of the lake. Now, from the mouth of the river where the +_Holter_ was anchored, he had a clear view, and it was exciting. + +The grays of the sky and the grays of the lake were indefinable, with no +clear separation. Ramsay shivered slightly. + +The lake was a cat, he thought, a great sinewy cat, and the whitecaps +rolling into the harbor were its sheathed and unsheathed claws. It was +an awesome thing, but at the same time a wonderful one. A trembling +excitement rose within him. The lake was at once a challenge and a +promise--a threat and a mighty lure. He stared, fascinated, and tried to +trace the rolling course of the waves as they surged toward the bank. It +was impossible to follow just one for, as soon as it swelled, it +retreated, to lose itself in the immense lake and renew itself in +endless forward surges. Like recklessly charging soldiers, the waves +cast themselves up on the bank and, exhausted, fell back. + +So absorbed was he in the spectacle and so fascinated by the lake, that +for a moment he was unaware of the man beside him or of the words he +spoke. Then a rough hand grasped his shoulder and, reacting instantly, +Ramsay whirled around. + +"Why ain't you at work with the rest, boy?" + +"Take your hand off me!" + +The man who stood beside him was oddly like a rock, a great granite +boulder. Two inches taller than Ramsay's six feet, he had a barrel chest +and long, powerful arms. A leather jacket, with the sleeves cut off, +hung loosely on his upper body, and beneath it he wore a homespun shirt. +His black trousers had been fashioned by an exacting tailor but sadly +misused. They were torn and patched with anything that might have been +at hand. Black hair straggled from beneath his crushed black hat and the +hair needed cutting. His eyes, colorless, were oddly inanimate, like two +glass balls with no special warmth or feeling. A black beard sprouted +from his cheeks and half-hid his face, but the beard did not hide thick, +coarse lips. He repeated, "Them hides got to be loaded! Get to work!" + +"Load them yourself!" + +"I'll give you a lesson you won't forget, boy!" + +"Do that!" Ramsay tensed, awaiting the anticipated attack of the bigger, +heavier man. He felt almost a grim pleasure. He had learned his fighting +the hard way, as anybody brought up on the New York water-front, and +with an irresponsible father had to learn it. The man who faced him was +heavier by a good sixty pounds, but he was a bull of a man and, +probably, he would fight like a bull. Would he know about matadors? + +The man's eyes were narrowed to pinpoints, and they seemed to spark. +Sheer rage made his face livid, while his lips were distorted in a +snarl. He drew back, readying himself for the spring that would +overwhelm this brash youth who had dared dispute him. Ramsay poised on +lithe feet, prepared to side-step. + +Then fat, fussy little Captain Schultz, skipper of the _Holter_, stepped +between them. He wheezed like an over-fat lap-dog, "Vot you doin'?" + +"I want them hides loaded and the ship under way!" the man who faced +Ramsay snarled. + +"Ach! Dis man payin' passenger!" + +A deck hand, his eyes downcast, hurried past. The man who had ordered +Ramsay to get to work stood still for a moment, glaring. Then, +furiously, soundlessly, he turned on his heel and strode up the +gangplank to the pier. Ramsay watched him go, and he knew that, even if +there had not been unpleasantness between them, he could never like this +man. No matter where they met, or how, they would never get along +together. + +Captain Schultz also turned to watch the man depart. Then he gave his +attention to Ramsay. + +"Ach! You should be careful 'pout startin' fights, poy." + +"So should other people!" Ramsay said, still smarting. + +"You should, too. Yaah!" + +And, as though he had settled that once and for all, Captain Schultz +waddled away to speak to the mate who was supervising the stevedores. A +little uncertainty arose in Ramsay. + +This--this half-wilderness, half-civilization in which he found himself +was a land of strong contradictions. Lake Michigan, with all its fear +and all its terror, and all its inspiration, lapped the Wisconsin +shores. Yet some man could be so little impressed by the vast lake that +he could name a boat for himself. Possibly a man capable of building or +owning a ship like the _Holter_ had a right to think of himself. + +Ramsay turned again to look at the lake, and his mind projected him far +away from the worn, slippery decks of the _Holter_. Almost he was +unaware of the two silver dollars in his pocket, all the money he had +left in the world, and of the uncertain future. At the same time, while +his inmost being feasted on the lake, a part of his mind reviewed the +events that had brought him here. He had an abrupt, uncomfortable +revival of a New York memory. + +There was a lion, a great, black-maned lion, in the New York zoo. It was +well fed and well cared for, its every need attended. But most times the +lion had still seemed restless and unhappy, and sometimes it had been a +tired thing. Then it was hardly a lion at all but just a weary, living +thing. Ramsay had wondered often how that lion felt. + +He had never decided exactly how it did feel; within himself there were +a dozen conflicting opinions. The lion paced its cage, and coming to the +end of the very narrow limits granted to it, it turned and went back the +other way. Coming to the end of the cage, it turned again. But all it +ever found was the place it had already left. Once in a great while the +lion had been very alert and very attentive. It was as though, now and +again, the great animal could scent a wind of which nothing else was +aware. That wind brought him memories of freedom, and happiness and the +unhampered jungle life that had been. + +Ramsay had gone often to see the lion, and though he never understood +why, he always felt as though he had something in common with it, and he +understood it partially. New York offered an abundance of opportunities, +but they were well bound and well defined. There had always been a wild +longing, a reckless yearning, within him, and often he thought that the +newspapers which carried stories of the undeveloped Midwest were to him +what the faint jungle scents had been to the lion. He had devoured every +story eagerly. The Midwest was new, the papers had said. Good farm land, +if one wanted to be a farmer, could be had for as little as four dollars +an acre. It was the land of the future. + +Again Ramsay jingled the two dollars in his pocket. He had answered the +call of the Midwest because he could not help answering it. He had to +try and to go and see for himself, but at the same time a caution, +inborn in his Scotch mother and transplanted to him, could not be +ignored. Before he burned his bridges behind him he had wanted to make +sure that there were some ahead, and correspondence with the manager of +the Three Points tannery had led to the offer of a job when he came. A +dollar and twenty-five cents a day the tannery was offering able-bodied +men, and there were too few men. + +Ramsay looked out upon the lake, and a little thrill of excitement swept +through him. Sometimes he had felt doubts about the wisdom of having +left New York for the Midwest. He had been sure of a place to sleep and +enough to eat as long as he stayed in New York, and again he felt the +two dollars in his pocket. + +Troubled, he looked out on the surging lake, and knew an instant peace. +It was worth seeing. It was something few New Yorkers ever saw. The +ocean was at their doorstep, and few of them even bothered looking at +that; but the ocean was not like this. Lake Michigan was fresh and +clean, different, wild and, as the papers had promised, new. Ramsay +tasted the wet air, liking it as he did so. + +He turned at a sudden squealing and clatter on the pier, and saw four +men trying to fight a little black horse onto the ship. The horse, not +trusting this strange craft and certainly not liking it, lashed out with +striking hooves. Dodging, the men finally fought it into a sort of +small cage they had prepared. The horse thrust its head over the side +and bugled shrilly. + +Ramsay watched interestedly, distracted for the few minutes the men +needed to get the horse into its cage. It reared as though it would +climb over the confining bars, then stood quietly. A sensible horse, +Ramsay decided, and a good one. Only fools, whether they were animals or +men, fought when there was no chance of winning or battered their brains +out against a stone wall. Good animals and good men never considered +anything hopeless, but they tried to fight with intelligence as well as +brawn. Ramsay glanced again at the horse. + +It was standing quietly but not resignedly. Its head was up. Its ears +were alert and its eyes bright. It still did not like the ship, but it +had not just given in. Rather, it was waiting a good chance to get away. +Ramsay grinned. The next time, he decided, they would have a little more +trouble getting that horse onto anything that floated. Then he returned +his attention to the loading of the _Holter_. + +A continuous line of horse-drawn trucks loaded with hides was coming +alongside the ship, and the stevedores were laboring mightily to stow +the hides away. Obviously whoever owned the _Holter_ intended to load +her with every last pound she would carry. He wanted a paying cargo that +would pay off to the last cent. Almost imperceptibly the ship settled +into the water. The gangplank, that had been almost even with the deck, +now tilted downward. + +Once or twice Ramsay saw the bearded, jacketed man with whom he had +quarreled. But the man did not venture onto the _Holter_ again. Rather, +he seemed more interested in getting the hides loaded. Ramsay speculated +on the scene he was witnessing, and then he found the whys and +wherefores, the reasons behind it. + +This Wisconsin country was still more than half a wilderness. It had its +full share of wilderness men, but its fertile farm lands were attracting +many Dutch, Swiss and German farmers. Struggling with a half-tamed +country, they did anything they could to earn a livelihood, and some of +them raised beef cattle. The hides were a by-product and the world +markets needed leather. But the leather could not be processed without +necessary materials, and the hemlock trees which provided tan bark were +being cut at Three Points. It was cheaper, and easier, to transport the +hides to Three Points than it was to carry the cumbersome tan bark to +Milwaukee or Chicago. From Three Points, harness leather, sole leather +and almost every other kind, was shipped by boat to Chicago and from +there it was carried to the eastern markets by rail. + + * * * * * + +It was not until mid-afternoon that the last of the hides were loaded +and the hatches battened down. The side wheel began to turn and the +_Holter_ moved cumbersomely down the river into Lake Michigan. Standing +in his enclosure, the little horse stamped restlessly and neighed again. +He was nervous, but he was not afraid. + +Ramsay approved. The little black horse didn't like his cage, but he +would meet the situation as it existed rather than lose his head or +become panic-stricken. Ramsay walked over to the cage and the horse +thrust his velvet muzzle against the bars. When the boy rubbed his nose, +the horse twitched his ears and looked at him with friendly eyes. + +Thick smoke belched from the _Holter's_ stack and made a long plume over +the lake, behind the plodding side-wheeler. A strong wind was screaming +in from the north and lashing the water angrily into leaping waves. The +ship nosed into the trough created by the waves and rose again on the +opposite side. Ramsay walked to the bow and leaned over the rail, and a +mighty excitement rose anew within him. + +This, it seemed, was what he had wanted to find when he left New York to +go roving. The lake, storm-lashed, was a wild and terrible thing. It was +a beast, but something with a vast appeal lay behind its fury and its +anger. Lake Michigan was the place for a man. It would never be free of +challenge if there was anyone who dared to pick up the gauntlet it cast. + +There was motion beside Ramsay, and the deck hand who had passed while +he argued with the bearded man fell in beside him. He glanced at the +man. The deck hand was about thirty-six, older than Ramsay by eighteen +years, and there was a seasoned, weather-beaten look about him. It was +as though he had turned his face to many a raging storm and many a +fierce wind. + +He grinned amiably. "Hi!" + +"Hi!" Ramsay said. + +The deck hand chuckled. "Boy, I thought you were in trouble sure when +you were ruckusin' with old Devil Chad." + +"Devil Chad?" + +"Yeah. The one who told you to help load hides. He'd of cleaned the deck +with you." + +"Maybe he would," Ramsay said. "And then again, maybe he wouldn't." + +"He would," the deck hand asserted. "He can lick anybody or anything. +Owns half the country 'round here, he does, includin' most of the +_Holter_. What's more, he aims to keep it. One of the richest men in +Wisconsin." + +"Quite a man," Ramsay said drily. + +"Yeah, an' quite a fighter. On'y reason he didn't clean your clock was +on account Captain Schultz told him you was a payin' passenger. Devil +Chad, he gets half the fare every passenger on the _Holter_ pays, he +does." + +Ramsay knew a rising irritation. "What makes you so sure he can't be cut +down to size?" + +"Never has been, never will be," the deck hand asserted. He regarded the +surging lake morosely, and then said, "One of these days this old tub is +goin' to end up right at the bottom of Michigan, it is. Either that or +on the beach. Wish I was some'res else." + +"Why don't you go somewhere else?" + +"One of these days I will," the deck hand threatened. "I'll just haul +off an' go back to the ocean boats, I will. I was on 'em for fourteen +years, an' quit to come here on account I got scar't of storms at sea. +Ha! Worstest thing I ever see on the Atlantic ain't nothin' to what this +lake can throw at you." + +"Is it really that bad?" Ramsay asked eagerly. + +"Bad?" the deck hand said. "Boy, I've seen waves here taller'n a ship. +In course nobody ever goes out when it's that bad on account, if they +did, nobody'd ever get back." He scanned the horizon. "We're goin' to +hit weather afore we ever gets to Three Points. Goin' to hit it sure. +Wish this old tub wasn't loaded so heavy, an' with hides at that." + +A wave struck the bow, crested and broke in foaming spray that cast +itself up and over the ship. Ramsay felt it, cool on his face, and he +licked eager lips. Lake Michigan was fresh water, not salt like the +ocean, and it was as pure as an ice-cold artesian well. It was also, he +thought, almost as cold. + +He looked into the clouded horizon, studying the storm that battered the +_Holter_. He smiled to himself. + +Suddenly he became all eager interest, peering out into the driving +waves and focusing his attention on one place. He thought he had seen +something there, but because of the angry lake he could not be sure. It +might have been just a drifting shadow, or just one more of the dark +waves which seemed to fill the lake and to be of all shades. Then, and +plainly, he saw it again. + +It was a boat, a little boat no more than twenty-four feet from bowsprit +to stern, and it was carrying almost a full load of sail as it tacked +back and forth into the wind. Ramsay had not seen the sails because, +when he first spotted the boat, it had been heeled over so far that the +sails did not show. Now they were showing and full, and the little boat +sailed like a proud swan with its wings spread. + +Ramsay forgot the _Holter_, the man beside him and everything else save +the little boat. The _Holter_ and nothing on it, with the possible +exception of the little black horse, was even remotely interesting. But +this was. Ramsay breathed a sigh of relief. + +He should have known. He should have understood from the first that, +when any water was as mighty and as exciting as Lake Michigan, there +would be some to meet its challenge with daring, grace and spirit. The +tiny craft was a mere cockleshell of a boat, a ridiculously small thing +with which to venture upon such a water, but Ramsay could not help +feeling that it would be much better to sail on the little boat than on +the _Holter_. + +He kept fascinated eyes on it as it tacked back into the wind. Again it +heeled over, so far that it was almost hidden in the trough of a vast +wave. Saucily, jauntily it bobbed up again. + +The _Holter_, that workhorse of the water, plodded stolidly on its +appointed way. Ramsay continued to watch the little boat, and now they +were near enough so that he could see its crew of four. He gasped +involuntarily. + +Working into the wind, the little boat was coming back, and its course +took it directly across the _Holter's_ right of way. Ramsay clenched his +fingers and bit his lip fiercely. A collision seemed inevitable. +Wide-eyed, he watched the little boat. + +Now he saw its name, not painted on with stencils but written in a fine, +free-flowing script, _Spray_, and the carved Valkyrie maiden that was +its figurehead. A big gull, obviously its tame one, sat on the very top +of the mast and flapped its wings. The _Spray_ had a crew of four, but +Ramsay concentrated on just one of them. + +He was huge, fully as tall as the black beard who had accosted Ramsay +and just as heavy, but he was a different kind of man. He balanced on +his little boat's swaying deck with all the grace of a dancer, while he +clung almost carelessly to a line that ran through a pulley. + +No inch of the man's shirt and trousers, which were all the clothing he +wore, for he was bare-footed, remained dry, and the shaggy blond curls +that carpeted his head were dripping. White teeth gleamed as he looked +up at the _Holter_ and laughed. Ramsay leaned forward excitedly. He +warmed to this man, even as he had been repelled by the black beard the +deck hand called Devil Chad. The man on the boat was gay and spirited, +and he seemed complete master of everything about him. + +The deck hand put cupped hands to his mouth and screamed, "Sheer off! +Sheer off!" + +Captain Schultz's voice was heard. "_Dumkopf!_ Go 'way!" + +Then, just as it seemed that collision could not be avoided, more sail +bloomed on the _Spray's_ mast and she danced lightly out of the way. The +man with the shaggy curls looked back and waved a taunting hand. Ramsay +turned to watch, but the _Spray_ disappeared in a curtain of mist that +had draped itself between the _Holter_ and the shore. His eyes shining, +the boy turned to the deck hand. + +"Who was that?" + +"A crazy Dutch fisherman, named Hans Van Doorst," the deck hand growled. +"He'd sail that peanut shell right in to see Old Nick hisself, an' one +of these days he will. He ain't even afraid of the White Sturgeon." + +"What's the White Sturgeon?" + +The deck hand looked at him queerly. "How long you been here, boy?" + +"A couple of days." + +"Well, that accounts for it. You see the White Sturgeon; you start +prayin' right after. You'll need to. Nobody except that crazy Van Doorst +has ever saw him an' lived to tell about it. Well, got to get to work." + +The deck hand wandered away. Ramsay turned again to face the storm and +let spray blow into his face. He thought of all that had happened since +he had, at last, reached Lake Michigan. This Wisconsin country was +indeed a land of sharp contrasts. + +The _Holter_ and the _Spray_. Captain Schultz and the deck hand. Devil +Chad and Hans Van Doorst. A tannery and a fisherman. Local superstition +about a white sturgeon. Ramsay knew a rising satisfaction. This +semi-wilderness, lapped by a vast inland sea, might be a strange land, +but nobody could say that it was not an interesting or a strong one. His +last lingering doubts were set at rest and for the first time he was +entirely satisfied because he had come. A strong country was always the +place for strong people. + +Ramsay raised his head, puzzled by something which, suddenly, seemed to +be out of place. For a second he did not know what it was. Then he +realized that the crying gulls which had been following the _Holter_ in +the hope that scraps or garbage would be tossed to them or else +interested in whatever debris the side wheel might churn up, were no +longer there. + +Ramsay knew a second's uneasiness, and he could not explain it. He did +not know why he missed the gulls. It was just that they and their crying +had seemed a part of the lake. Now that they were gone, the lake was +incomplete. The boy braced himself against a sudden, vicious burst of +wind. + +Even a land-lubber could tell that the storm's fury was increasing. A +sharp patter of rain sliced like a shower of cold knives across the +_Holter's_ deck, and Ramsay ducked his head. He raised it again, +grinning sheepishly as he did so, then gripped the rail to steady +himself. He watched with much interest as the storm raged even more +strongly. + +It was driving directly out of the northwest, and it seemed to be +perpetually re-born in the dark clouds that had possession of the sky. A +howling wind accompanied it, and more shrapnel-bursts of rain. + +The waves rose to prodigious heights. Dipping into them, the _Holter_ +seemed no more than a leaf on this tossing sea. Turning, Ramsay saw the +helmsman clinging almost fiercely to his wheel, as though he would +somehow soften the storm's rage by doing that. In his cage the little +black horse nickered uncertainly. + +Then there came something that was instantly apparent, even above the +screaming wind. The rough rhythm of the _Holter's_ throbbing engines +seemed to halt. The ship shivered mightily, as though in pain. + +The engines stopped. + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +_WRECK_ + + +Shorn of her power, the _Holter_ still followed her helmsman's course. +But it became a listless, sluggish course. The ship was like a suddenly +freed slave that does not know what to do with his own freedom. + +For six years she had plodded Lake Michigan, always with the biggest +possible paying load and always working at top speed. Many times she had +groaned and protested, but she had been forced to obey the dictates of +the engine that turned her side wheel. Now the engine, the tyrant, was +dead from misuse of its own power. But without it the _Holter_ had +neither mind nor will of her own. + +She smashed head-on into a mountainous wave that set her decks awash. +For another moment or two she held her course, carried by her own +momentum. Then, slowly and unwillingly, as though afraid to do such a +thing and not trusting herself to do it, she swung broadside to the +waves. + +A muffled shout floated out of the engine room. Fat little Captain +Schultz, a slicker covering his round body and anxiety written on his +face, was peering down an opened hatch. Sluicing rain pelted the slicker +and bounded off. Ramsay's eyes found the deck hand. + +Eyes wide and mouth agape, he was standing near the wheelhouse. Naked +terror was written on his face as he stared at something out in the +lake. Ramsay followed his gaze. + +To the starboard, the right side of the _Holter_, the lake seemed +strangely calm. It was as though the wind and the storm did not strike +with outrageous strength there, and oddly as if that part of the water +might be commanded by some inexplicable force. Unable to tear his gaze +away, expecting to see something special, Ramsay kept his eyes riveted +on the calm water. + +He saw a ripple, but not one born of storm and wind. There was something +here that had nothing to do with the driving wind, or the cold rain, or +even the tremendous waves. The deck hand covered his eyes with his hand. + +At that instant, a great white apparition swam up through the water. It +was a ghost, a creature of nightmares, a terrible thing seen only in +terror-ridden moments. Ramsay controlled an impulse to shout or to flee. +The thing came up to within inches of the surface and wallowed there +like a greasy fat hog. Whitish-gray, rather than pure white, it flipped +an enormous tail while it sported near the surface. + +The thing, a fish, seemed fully nine feet long and possibly it carried a +hundred pounds of weight for every foot. It bore no scales but seemed to +be clothed in an overlapping series of armored plates. Its snout, +pointed somewhat like a pig's, was tipped with barbels, or feelers. Dull +eyes showed. + +Again Ramsay controlled his fear. The thing, sober judgment told him, +was nothing more or less than a great sturgeon, the mightiest fish of +these inland waters. The fact that it was white, rather than the +conventional gray-green or olive-green, was of no significance whatever. +All living creatures, from elephants down to mice, occasionally produced +an albino. It was not beyond reason that there could be an albino +sturgeon. + +Ramsay watched while it swam, and some semblance of cool control +returned to his fevered imagination. This was no grotesque monster from +another world. Telling himself again that it was nothing more or less +than an unusual fish, he watched it sink back into the churning depths +from which it had arisen. He put a shaking hand on the _Holter's_ rail. + +It was a fish and nothing else. None but superstitious people believed +in superstition. Then the deck hand's terrified shriek rose above the +keening wind. + +"It's him! We seen it! The White Sturgeon! _Gar-hhh!_" + +Mouth agape, the deck hand kept his eyes on that place where the White +Sturgeon had disappeared. A great wave washed across the deck, and when +it rolled away the deck hand was no longer visible. Ramsay shook his +head to clear it and looked again at the place where the deck hand had +been standing. Lake Michigan could swallow a man even easier than a pond +swallowed a pebble, for there had not been even a ripple to mark the +place where the deck hand had disappeared. There was not the slightest +possibility of rescuing him. The deck hand had seen the White Sturgeon! + +A battering ram of a wave crashed into the _Holter's_ starboard side, +and Ramsay felt a cold chill travel up and down his spine. Fear laid its +icy fingers there, but he shook them off. The fact that the water had +been calm when the White Sturgeon made its appearance and was angry now +had nothing whatever to do with the fish. Rather, the calm water could +be attributed to some quirk, some phenomenon inherent in the storm +itself. Probably the White Sturgeon appeared because, for the moment, +the lake had been calm. Knowing that, the big fish had nosed its way to +the surface. Now that the lake was again storm-deviled, the White +Sturgeon was gone. + +Bracing himself against the wind, Ramsay made his way across the deck to +the wheelhouse. He shivered, for the first time aware of the fact that +his clothing was rain-drenched and that he was very cold. It was a +penetrating, creeping cold that reached the inmost marrow of his bones. +When another wave smashed the _Holter_, Ramsay caught hold of the little +horse's cage to steady himself. Within the enclosure, nervous but still +not terrified, the black horse looked hopefully at him. + +Ramsay reached the wheelhouse, and came face to face with Captain +Schultz. The little captain's slicker had blown open, so that now it was +of no use whatever in warding off the rain, but he had not seen fit to +close it again. It would do him no good if he did; his clothing was +already soaked. + +Ramsay shouted to make himself heard above the roar of the wind. "What +happened?" + +"The enchin, she kaput. Like that, she kaput." + +Ramsay revised his opinions of the little Captain. At the pier, Captain +Schultz had been only a fat, fussy little man. Facing this dire +predicament, he was not terrified and had not given way to panic. He had +risen to the emergency. Maybe, Ramsay thought, anyone who sailed Lake +Michigan had to be able to rise to any emergency if he would continue +to sail. He shouted again, "Will the ship sink?" + +"Ach, I don't know! If we can't get the enchin to go, she might." + +"What do we do then?" + +"Find somet'ing. Find anyt'ing, poy, an' swim. Be sure you find +somet'ing that does not sink mit you." + +"How far are we from land?" + +"Ach! That I cannot tell you." + +"Did you see the White Sturgeon?" + +"Yaah. We still try." + +Captain Schultz went all the way into the wheelhouse and disappeared +into the hold. Dimly, out of the open hatchway, came the sound of +ringing hammers. There was a desperate tone in them, as though the men +working in the _Holter's_ hold were fully aware of the grave danger they +faced. On sudden impulse Ramsay ducked into the wheelhouse and descended +into the engine-room. + +Captain Schultz held an oil lamp to illumine the labors of two men whom, +so far, Ramsay had not seen. Presumably they were the _Holter's_ +engineer and fireman. Another deck hand and the mate stood by, passing +tools requested by the workers. + +Down here, in the bowels of the _Holter_, the storm seemed a faraway and +almost an unreal thing. The howling wind was heard faintly, and if the +ship had not been tossing so violently, they might have been in the +power-room of any industrial plant. + +The sweating engineer, his face grease-streaked, turned from his labors +to face Ramsay. He spoke with a nasal New England twang. "Was that +White Sturgeon really off the ship?" + +"I--I didn't see anything," Ramsay answered. + +Captain Schultz flashed him a grateful smile. The workers went on with +their toils. + +Obviously, among Lake Michigan sailors, or anyhow some of them, there +was a firm belief in the evil powers of the White Sturgeon. Ramsay +looked again at the little Captain's face. + +It was a concerned, worried face, what one might expect to see in a man +who was in danger of losing his ship. At the same time, and even though +Captain Schultz remained completely in command, there was about him a +certain air that had nothing to do with getting the _Holter's_ engine +working again. Ramsay sought for the answer, and finally he found it. A +strong man in his own right, Captain Schultz had seen the White Sturgeon +and he believed in it. + +Ramsay climbed the narrow ladder-way leading back to the deck. The +_Holter_ was strong, he assured himself. There was little danger that it +could be pounded to pieces by any sea. Then he looked at the wild and +angry lake and knew the fallacy of his reasoning. + +The _Holter_ was strong, but the lake was stronger. Waves, the color of +steel and with the strength of steel, smashed into the ship and made her +shiver. Ramsay heard a shrieking protest as some plank or stay beneath +the deck tore loose. + +The _Holter_ shuddered, like a big horse in pain, and settled so low in +the water that waves washed continuously across her deck. There was +another shriek, and she settled deeper into the lake. She was a very +sluggish craft now, with no control or direction, and Ramsay guessed +that the hides in the hold were getting soaked. The ship's nose dipped +to meet a wave, and it did not come up again. + +The imprisoned horse bugled his fright. Captain Schultz, the engineer, +the fireman and the deck hand appeared on deck. There was no sign of the +mate; perhaps he had already gone over. The engineer and the fireman +struggled under the weight of a crude raft which they had knocked +together from such timbers as were available. Ramsay looked uncertainly +toward them, and the engineer glared back. + +"Get your own!" he snarled. "Me an' Pete made this, an' me an' Pete are +goin' to use it!" + +They carried their makeshift raft to the settling nose of the ship, laid +it down, mounted it, and let the next wave carry them off. Ramsay felt a +turning nausea in the pit of his stomach. As the raft went over the +rail, the man called Pete was swept from it. Only the engineer stayed +on, clinging desperately as he was washed out into the angry lake. In a +second or two he had disappeared. + +Captain Schultz rolled frightened eyes and said to Ramsay, "Get a door, +or hatch cover, an' ride that." + +Suiting his actions to his words, Captain Schultz seized a fire axe that +was hanging near and pounded the wheelhouse door from its hinges. He +dragged the door to the rail, threw it into the lake, and jumped after +it. The deck hand wrestled with a hatch cover, finally pried it loose, +and rode that away. + +Ramsay was left alone on the sinking _Holter_. He tried to keep a clear +head, but he could not help an overwhelming fear. This was nothing he +had ever faced before and now, facing it, he did not know what to do. +Finding anything that would float and riding it away seemed to be the +answer. Then the little horse bugled and he knew that he was not alone. + +Water crept around his feet as he made his way across the deck to the +cage. He put his hand on the bar, and as soon as he did that the little +horse thrust a soft, warm nose against it. He muzzled Ramsay's hand with +almost violent intensity. All his life he had depended upon men for +everything. Now, in this peril, men would not desert him. + +Softly Ramsay stroked the soft muzzle, but only for a second. The +_Holter_ was going down fast. Soon, as the gloomy deck hand had +forecast, she would be on the bottom of Lake Michigan. There was no time +to lose. Ramsay unlatched the door of the cage, opened it, and when he +did that the horse walked out. + +He stayed very near to the boy, fearing to leave, and once or twice +bumped Ramsay with his shoulder. Ramsay studied the angry lake, and +looked back at the horse. Again he glanced out on the stormy water. +There was nothing else in sight. Those who, by one way or another, hoped +to reach shore were already lost in swirling sheets of rain. Ramsay bit +his lower lip so hard that he drew blood. + +The men had either jumped, or else had merely ridden over the rail on a +wave that set the decks awash, but the horse could not do that. There +was real danger of his breaking a leg, or becoming otherwise injured, if +he tried. Ramsay turned and caught up the axe with which Captain Schultz +had stricken down the door. + +The black horse crowded with him, afraid to be alone, and the boy had to +go around him to get back to the rail. The horse pushed close to him +again and Ramsay spoke soothingly, "Easy. Take it easy now." + +He raised the axe and swung it, and felt its blade bite deeply into the +wooden rail. He swung again and again, until he had slashed through it, +then moved ten feet to one side, toward the rail's supporting post, and +cut it there. The severed section was whisked into the wave-tormented +lake as a match stick disappears in a whirlpool. Ramsay threw the axe +back onto the _Holter's_ sinking deck and stepped aside. + +Get something that would float, Captain Schultz had said, and be sure +that it would keep him above water. But suddenly he could think of +nothing that would float. Wildly he cast about for a hatch cover or a +door. There was not one to be seen. + +The _Holter_ made a sudden list that carried her starboard deck beneath +the lake. A wave surged across her. Even the little horse had unsteady +legs. Ramsay tried hard to overcome the terror within him. + +Then, together, he and the little horse were in the lake. He threw wild +arms about the animal's neck, and a huge wave overwhelmed them. Gasping, +he arose. + +The lake was wilder and fiercer and colder than he had thought it could +be. Every nerve and muscle in his body seemed chilled, so that he was +barely able to move. Another wave washed in, over both the little black +horse and himself, and for a moment they were deep beneath the churning +waters. They broke onto the surface, Ramsay with both hands entwined in +the horse's mane, and the horse turned to look at him. + +There was uncertainty in the animal's eyes, and fright, but no terror. +The little horse knew his own power, and the fact that a human being +stayed with him gave him confidence in that strength. + +Ramsay spoke reassuringly. "We're all right. We'll do all right, Black. +Let's get out of it." + +The words were a tonic, the inspiration the horse needed. The next time +a wave rolled in, he did not try to fight it. Rather, he rose with it, +swimming strongly. He had adjusted himself to many situations, now he +met this one without panic. An intelligent beast, he had long ago +learned that every crisis must be met with intelligence. + +Ramsay stayed easily beside him, keeping just enough weight on the +swimming animal to hold his own head above water and doing nothing that +would interfere with the furious fight the horse was waging to keep from +drowning. + +The lake was indeed cold, colder than any other water the boy had ever +known, and he had to exercise every particle of his mind and will just +to cling to the horse. The wind blew furiously, and sluicing rain poured +down. Then the rain dwindled away and heavy mist settled in. Ramsay knew +a moment's panic. + +It was impossible to see more than a few feet or to tell which way the +shore lay. The lake was huge, and should they be heading towards the +Michigan shore, they would never get there. Ramsay tried to remember all +he had ever known of wind and drift and currents on Lake Michigan, and +discovered that he could remember nothing. Any direction at all could be +north and he was unable to orient himself, but he controlled the rising +panic. It would do no good at all to lose his head. + +The wind seemed to be dying, and the waves lessening. Ramsay kept his +hold on the little horse's mane. He saw a floating object pass and tried +to catch it, but when he did so he almost lost his hold on the horse. +Kicking hard to catch up, he twined both hands in the horse's mane and +tightened them there. + +Then he felt a rebirth of confidence. Already they had been in the lake +for a long, long time and he had been able to hold his own. It was +impossible to get much colder, or more numb, than he already was and he +could still hang on. Besides, the horse seemed to know where he was +going. + +He swam strongly, and apparently he was swimming straight. At any rate, +there was no evidence that he was traveling in circles or choosing an +erratic course. Ramsay had been told that animals have an instinct +compared to which the most sensitive human's is coarse and blunted and +maybe that was true. Maybe the horse did know where it was going. + +Now that the waves were not rising so high, the horse swam faster. The +wind died almost completely, so that the lake's surface was merely +ruffled, and Ramsay felt a mounting confidence in his ability to live +through this. In the overcast a gull cried, and things had started going +wrong with the _Holter_ when the gulls left it. Now they were back. +Probably they, too, had known of the approaching storm and had flown to +safety off the lake. + +The swimmers broke out of the mist and Ramsay saw the beach. + +It was about a hundred yards away, a sand beach behind which a rocky +cliff rose. This wore a crest of evergreens, and its face was spotted +here and there with smaller trees. A cloud of white gulls screamed into +the air as Ramsay and the horse approached. + +They reached the shallows, and the little horse's back emerged from the +water like that of some suddenly appearing sea monster. Ramsay let go +his hold on the animal's mane and swam. Then, coming to waist-high water +in which he could wade, he splashed toward the beach. + +The wind had died, but waves still pounded the beach and it was very +cold. The near borders of this wild lake, Ramsay decided, probably never +warmed up. With an immense body of cold water lapping them, they were +perpetually chilled. + +While the little horse looked gravely on, Ramsay stripped his clothing +off, wrung it out, and put the wet garments back on. The horse crowded +very close, as though he were afraid to go away. He nibbled Ramsay with +his lips. As soon as the boy moved, he moved with him. + +He stayed very near as Ramsay walked up the beach, a stretch of +driftwood-spotted sand that varied from sixty to two hundred feet in +width and reached clear back to the rising bluff. A belt of wet sand +showed where the lake had crawled up onto the beach and fallen back. + +The boy stopped suddenly, and the little horse stopped with him. Just +ahead, in the belt of wet sand which the highest waves had washed, lay +two tumbled figures. The little horse tossed his head uneasily, not +liking this at all, and Ramsay felt a cold lump rise in his throat. He +advanced at a slow walk and, after some hesitation, the horse trotted to +catch up with him. Ramsay stopped again. + +The two drowned people were Captain Schultz of the _Holter_ and the deck +hand who had wished so fervently that he was somewhere else. Ramsay +cleared the lump in his throat, and was struck by the notion that at +last the deck hand had gone somewhere else. Then the black horse raised +his head and nickered, and the boy looked around to see a man on a +spotted black-and-white horse riding toward him. + +He rode at full trot, the reins hanging loosely around his mount's +throat, and he wore an outlandish sort of affected cowboy's hat pulled +low over his eyes. His features were heavy, and would be flabby when he +had aged a few more years. Blue jeans clung tightly around his legs, and +straight black hair lay thick on his head. As he rode, he leveled a +heavy pistol. + +"Go on! Beat it!" + +"But ..." + +"This is my find! I said beat it!" + +The pistol roared, and a heavy ball buried itself in the sand at +Ramsay's feet. The boy felt a quick anger and a disinclination to obey +the order to leave. He took a step toward the horseman, knowing that he +would need a few seconds to re-load his pistol. But almost by magic +another pistol appeared in the man's hand and he leveled it steadily. + +"Your last warnin'. Go on!" + +Ramsay shrugged, and the black horse followed him as he walked on. This +was indeed a strange land, where men were willing to fight for the +possession of corpses. What did the horseman want with them? The loot +they might have in their pockets? Perhaps, but that seemed very +unlikely. Captain Schultz was not the type of person who would carry a +great deal of money in his pockets, and certainly the deck hand wouldn't +have enough to bother about. But obviously the horseman wanted the two +bodies. + +Ramsay walked on up the sand beach. Gulls rose protestingly as he came +in sight, and flocks of ducks scudded across the water. A pair of Canada +Geese hissed at him as he passed. They were guarding a nest and they +were ready to fight for it. Ramsay gave them a wide berth and the horse +walked faithfully beside him. + +The afternoon was half-spent when Ramsay smelled wood smoke. He +quickened his pace, but remained cautious. This was a wild land, with no +part of it wilder than this lonely Lake Michigan Beach, and there was +never any certainty as to just what anyone would find or how he would be +received. Nevertheless, if these people were friendly, other humans +would be welcome. Ramsay was both hungry and tired to the point of +exhaustion. He fingered the two dollars in his pocket. He could pay his +way. He rounded a long, forested nose of land where the bluff cut the +sand beach to a narrow five feet and looked out on a peaceful bay. + +The bluff gave way to gently rising, treeless hills. A rail fence hemmed +part of them in, and black-and-white cattle grazed inside the fence. A +stone house, of Dutch architecture, stood on a knoll that commanded a +view of the lake, and a suitable distance from it was a snug wooden +barn. A small lake, or large pond, separated from Lake Michigan by a +narrow neck of land, glowed like a blue sapphire. Chickens, ducks and +geese crowded noisily together in the barnyard, and a man with a wooden +pail in his hand came out of the barn door. + +Ramsay walked forward, as first uncertainly and then very steadily. A +man might be afraid, but it was always to his advantage not to let the +enemy, if enemy this might be, know he was afraid. The man at the barn +door hesitated, and then stood still while the boy approached. + +Ramsay greeted him pleasantly, "Hello." + +"Hello." + +The man was tall and supple, with a frank, open face and intelligent, +blue eyes. He was perhaps six years older than Ramsay and he spoke with +a Dutch accent. Ramsay said, "I was sailing up to Three Points on the +_Holter_. Now she's wrecked and I must walk...." + +"The _Holter's_ wrecked?" the other broke in. + +"Yes." + +"Any drowned people on the beach?" + +"Two, but a man on a black-and-white horse took them away from me at +pistol point." Ramsay knew a rising impatience. "Why the dickens should +he do that?" + +The other grinned faintly. "You get money for watching 'em until they +can be brought in and buried proper, and money is not easy to come by. +If there's a man already watching these, that would be Joe Mannis. He +combs the beach night and day after storms, and he's got as much money +as most people. What can I do for you?" + +"I'd like something to eat before I go on to Three Points." + +"That we can give you," the farmer said. "Come." + +When the horse would have followed them to the house, the Dutch farmer +looked quizzically at Ramsay. The boy grinned. + +"He's not mine. He was on the _Holter_ and we swam ashore together. +Without him I might not have made it." + +"Then he is yours," the farmer said. "By right of salvage he is yours. +But Marta, she wouldn't like a horse in the house." + +"It's hardly the place for a horse," Ramsay agreed. "Can we leave him +here?" + +"Yaah." + +The farmer opened the barnyard gate and Ramsay walked in. The horse +followed willingly. Ramsay stepped out and shut the gate. He saw the +little horse, its head over the bars, watching him as he walked toward +the house. + +It was a clean house, and a scrubbed and shiny one. Even the big flat +stone that served as a back doorstep had almost an antiseptic +cleanliness. The house was filled with the odors of freshly baked bread +and spice and canned jam and curing hams. Ramsay smiled at the slim, +pleasant girl who met them at the door. + +"Marta," the farmer said, "this man was ship-wrecked and is to be our +guest for as long as he wants to stay. He is...?" + +"Ramsay Cartou," Ramsay supplied. + +"Yaah! Ramsay Cartou. I am Pieter Van Hooven and this is my wife, +Marta." + +Ramsay made himself comfortable in the neat kitchen while Marta Van +Hooven hurried efficiently about, preparing a meal. There was baked +whitefish, venison, roasted goose, fluffy mashed potatoes, crisp salad, +billowy fresh rolls, delicious cheese and milk. + +Ramsay ate until he could eat no more, then pushed himself away from the +table and smiled graciously at Marta Van Hooven. "That was good!" he +said feelingly. + +"You ate so little." + +Ramsay grinned, "Not more than enough to feed three good-sized horses. +You can really cook." + +Pieter Van Hooven glowed at this compliment extended to his wife. He +filled and lighted a clay pipe, and puffed contentedly. "What are you +going to do now?" he asked Ramsay. + +"I," Ramsay hesitated, "I'd like to pay for the meal." + +Pieter Van Hooven smiled. "Forget that. You were our guest." + +"How far is Three Points?" + +"Six miles. Just stay on the beach." + +"Reckon I'll go up there then. I've got a job waiting for me at the +tannery. By the way, do you have any use for that horse?" + +"A good horse can always be used on a farm. But I won't take him. I'll +keep him, and you can have him any time you want." Pieter Van Hooven +looked queerly at Ramsay. "You sure you want to go to Three Points?" + +"I've got a job there, and I need it." + +"Then go, but remember that nobody starves in Wisconsin. Marta and me, +we got no money but we got everything else. You don't like it in Three +Points, you might come back here?" + +"I'll be glad to," Ramsay said, a little puzzled. + +"Then do that, my friend." + +Well-fed and rested, Ramsay walked alone up the sandy beach. Stay on the +sand, Pieter Van Hooven had advised him, and he couldn't go wrong. Three +Points, the tannery town, was right on the lake. Two hours after he left +the Van Hoovens, Ramsay reached the village. + +Three Points nestled snugly in a gap which, only recently, had been +hacked out of the hemlock forest. Many big trees still stood on the edge +of town, and some right in the center; and most of the houses were built +of hemlock logs. There were a few, evidently belonging to Three Points' +wealthier residents, that were massively built and patterned after the +New England style of architecture. + +There was no mistaking the tannery; the smell would have guided one +there, even if the mountains of hemlock bark piled all about had not. +Ramsay entered the long, low, shed-like building, and a man working at a +steaming vat looked up curiously. Ramsay approached him with "Who's the +boss man around here?" + +"I am," an unseen man said. + +Ramsay whirled to look at the man who had spoken, and he came face to +face with Devil Chad. + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +_ON THE BEACH_ + + +Ramsay felt an instant tension and a bristling anger, and he knew now +that he should have connected two incidents. The man who had written to +him and offered him a job in the Three Points tannery had signed his +name 'Devlin Chadbourne.' Devlin Chadbourne--Devil Chad--and Ramsay took +a backward step. Never before had he met a man so capable of arousing in +him a cordial dislike that was almost an urge to start fighting +immediately. + +"Where's the _Holter_?" Devil Chad demanded. + +"I sent her back to Milwaukee after Captain Schultz let me off here," +Ramsay said sarcastically. + +"Don't get smart with me, boy." Devil Chad glowered. "You was on the +_Holter_ when she sailed." + +"Where were you?" Ramsay demanded. + +"I'll ask the questions here!" Devil Chad's thick lips curled in an ugly +oblong. "Where's the _Holter_?" + +"At the bottom of Lake Michigan!" Ramsay flared. "Captain Schultz and +one of your deck hands are lying drowned on the beach! I don't know +where the others are." + +Devil Chad's glass balls of eyes glinted. His face twisted into a +horrible glare, and every inch of his big frame seemed to shrink and +swell with the rage that consumed him. "You mean to tell me," he +demanded furiously, "that all them hides was lost?" + +"Men were lost," Ramsay pointed out. + +"You mean to tell me," Devil Chad repeated, as though he had not heard +Ramsay, "that all them hides was lost?" + +"Swim out and get 'em," Ramsay invited. "I'll show you the place where I +landed, and the _Holter_ can't be more than a couple of miles out in the +lake." + +"What did Schultz do?" Devil Chad demanded. + +"Drowned." + +"You're pretty flip, boy," Devil Chad warned, "an' I don't put up with +flip people. You tell me what happened." + +"Your greasy tub was carrying one third more than ever should have been +put on her, her equipment was no good, we ran into a storm and the +engines quit." + +"All them hides lost." Devil Chad was overwhelmed by this personal +tragedy and could think of nothing else. "Couldn't you of done +somethin'?" + +"It wasn't my ship and they weren't my hides. What are you going to do +for the families of the men who were lost?" + +"Why should I do anything? They knew when they signed on that they was +runnin' risks." Devil Chad turned his unreadable eyes squarely on +Ramsay. "What do you want here?" + +"Nothing." + +"Ain't you the boy who wrote me from New York, an' asked me for a job?" + +The man at the vat continued working and others stayed at their tasks, +but Ramsay was aware of a rippling under-current. There was an +uneasiness among the men, and a fear; and in spite of the fact that they +kept busy they turned covert eyes on Ramsay and Devil Chad. The boy felt +a flashing anger. Who was this man, and what was he, that so many others +could live in almost craven fear of him? + +"If you are," Devil Chad continued, still holding Ramsay in the cage of +his eyes, "you can have the job but I hold back twenty-five cents a day +until them hides are paid for." + +"Take your job!" Ramsay exploded, "and go plumb to the bottom of the +lake with it!" + +"I warned you, boy," Devil Chad was talking softly now. "I warned you. I +don't put up with flip people, an' now I'm goin' to teach you the lesson +that I should of given you on the _Holter_." + +"Why didn't you sail on the _Holter_?" Ramsay demanded. + +Devil Chad made no answer. He was in a half-crouch, his huge head bent +to his chest and his fists knotted so tightly that the knuckles were +whitened. His shaggy hair tumbled forward on his forehead, and his eyes +still held no expression. + +Ramsay raised his voice so all in the building could hear. "You filthy +pup! You lily-livered slug! You knew the _Holter_ was going to the +bottom some day! Even your deck hand knew it! You sent other men out to +die, but didn't risk yourself! You haven't got enough money to hire me +to work for you!" + +Devil Chad was inching forward, his head still bent; and when he had +advanced a foot, he sprang. It was the rush of a bull, but not a +cumbersome bull. He flung out both arms, intending to crush Ramsay to +his chest and break his ribs. It was the only way Devil Chad knew how to +fight, but the boy knew other tricks. + +When the bigger, heavier man launched his charge, Ramsay stood still. He +saw those massive stretched arms, and knew their purpose, but he did not +move until Devil Chad flung them out for his crushing embrace. Then, and +only then, did Ramsay act. + +He flitted aside, balancing himself on the balls of his feet and +whirling even as he evaded the other's lunge. Like a snapping whip his +clenched right fist flicked in to deliver a stinging blow to the side of +his enemy's head. But the blow did little except spin Devil Chad around +and arouse a mighty bellow in the depths of his enormous chest. + +Ramsay remained poised, alert for the next charge, and an almost grim +satisfaction drove other thoughts from his mind. He had not wanted this +fight and had not forced it, but within him there was a curious feeling +that it was fore-ordained, and now that it was here, he relished it. +Devil Chad was not a man. He was an animal who thought as an animal +thinks. Other men, other human beings, had lost their lives in his +overloaded, unseaworthy ship, and all this brute could think of was the +fact that he had lost his cargo. + +Devil Chad's eyes, even in the heat of battle, remained opaque and +strangely without expression. It was only his face, like a rubber mask +expertly molded to form an expression of rage, that betrayed his fury. +He swung heavily, running forward even as he launched his blow, and +Ramsay ducked beneath it. He came up to land a hard left and a right on +Devil Chad's jaw. + +He might as well have struck a granite boulder. Devil Chad did not even +flinch and the boy knew a moment's uncertainty. His enemy was a bull, +but bulls were felled with pole-axes, not with fists. Ramsay backed +lightly away. + +All about now, knowing that Devil Chad was engrossed in the fight and +had no time for them, men had openly stopped work and were staring at +the battlers. On the faces of some was written incredulity. Some looked +on with delighted interest, and an expectant smile lighted the swarthy +features of a little Frenchman who had stopped moving cattle hides to +watch Ramsay weave away from Devil Chad. There was no man here who, in +some silent way, did not cheer the boy on, but there were none who +expected him to win. All knew their master. + +Devil Chad rushed again, swinging his fists like pistons as he did so, +and again Ramsay side-stepped. He landed a fierce blow squarely on the +other's nose and was gratified to see a crimson stream of blood spout +forth to mingle darkly with his antagonist's black beard and mustache. A +cold uncertainty rose within Ramsay. + +He had fought before, many times, and he had defeated his opponents and +had been defeated, but never before had he fought a man just like this +one. Devil Chad, apparently, was able to absorb an endless amount of +punishment with no effect whatever on himself. He was as tough as one of +the trees that grew on the outskirts of Three Points. + +Ramsay risked a fleeting backward glance to see where he was going, and +edged away from the wall. He was breathing hard because of the +tremendous physical effort he had exerted, but he was far from exhausted +and he knew that, as long as he could keep the battle in the open, he +could avoid the other's charges. But the certainty that he could not win +this battle solidified. It seemed possible to pound Devil Chad all day +long without hurting him at all. + +"Kill him!" an excited man shouted. + +Devil Chad paused just long enough to locate and identify this rash +employee who dared encourage his enemy, and Ramsay felt a nausea in the +pit of his stomach. When the battle ended, no matter who won, at least +one man would have some explaining to do and probably a beating to take. +The boy kept his eyes on Devil Chad, anticipating the other's next move. + +Then he tripped over an unseen and unsuspected block of wood and fell +backward. + +Even as he fell he tried to pick himself up and scoot out of the way. +But a bludgeon, the toe of Devil Chad's heavy boot, collided soddenly +with his ribs and a sickening pain shot through his entire body. He +turned, snatching furiously at the boot as it was raised again and still +trying to wriggle away. His arm flipped convulsively as Devil Chad +kicked him squarely on the wrist, and he felt a creeping numbness that +began there and spread to his shoulder. + +He rolled to escape his tormentor, rolled again, and struggled to his +hands and knees. Vaguely, as though he were viewing it in some fantastic +dream, he saw the big black boot flying at his head. The boot was a huge +thing and so clearly-outlined that Ramsay saw every tiny wrinkle in it. +He was aware of the stitching where the ponderous sole joined the upper +leather, and he knew that he must get away. But that was a vague and +misty thought, one he seemed unable to carry farther. A mighty rage +flared within him. + +No more than a split second elapsed before the boot struck, but it +seemed like hours. Ramsay was aware of the fact that his two silver +dollars, his last money, rolled out of his pockets and across the +tannery's floor. A thousand colored lights danced in his head, and then +he was back on the lake. + +He had loved the lake, he remembered, and there was something +wonderfully cool and refreshing about returning to it. A small boat with +a crazy Dutch fisherman at her tiller danced out of the lake's gray +stretches and sported gracefully before him. On top of the mast was a +tame sea gull that clicked his mandibles and fluttered his wings. Ramsay +even saw the boat's name written in fine script across her bows. She was +the _Spray_. + +The _Spray_ hove to very close to Ramsay, and her skipper looked at him. +He was a tall man, very powerful, and he was blond and easily laughing. +There was no grimness about him, only grace and light spirit. Several +men had gone sailing on a raft made of cattle hides, he told Ramsay, and +they were in great trouble out on the lake. Did Ramsay care to go with +him and help bring the unfortunates safely back? The sea gull, of +course, would help too. + +When Ramsay pretended not to hear, the crazy Dutch fisherman obligingly +repeated his information. Again Ramsay pretended not to hear; whereupon +the Dutch fisherman caught up a wooden bucket, dipped it into the lake +and showered him with ice-cold water. He held the bucket waist-high, as +though wondering whether more water was necessary, and the twinkle +remained in his eyes and the laugh on his lips. It was impossible to be +angry with him. Laughing back, Ramsay agreed to go help the foolish men +who had sailed away on the cattle hides. + +Then he awakened, to find a woman bathing his face with cold water. + +For a moment she was a distorted picture, a hazy vision that advanced +toward him and retreated far away. Again Ramsay almost lost himself in +the dim world into which Devil Chad's boots had kicked him. The cold +cloth on his face brought him back, and he opened his eyes to see the +woman very clearly. + +She was small, with a worn face, so weary from endless toil that the +skin was drawn tightly over it. But her eyes were the brownest, the +softest and the gentlest Ramsay had ever seen. Black hair was combed +smoothly back on her head and caught in a knot at the base of her neck. +Again she laid the cold cloth on his face, and the boy closed his eyes +at the luxury of such a thing. Then he spoke, "Where am I?" + +"_Sh-h._ Don't try to talk, M'sieu." + +The woman, unmistakably French, rose and went into another room. Ramsay +looked about him. + +The room in which he lay was walled with rough, unplaned boards, and the +ceiling was made of the same material. Only the floor, scrubbed so +carefully that it glowed like a polished diamond, was of smooth boards. +Light was admitted by a single small pane of glass, and the light +reflected on a crucifix that hung on the far wall. There were a few +pictures, yellow with age, a table over which a deer skin was gracefully +draped, and a candle-holder with a half-burned candle. Everything was +neat and spotlessly clean. + +The woman came back bearing a hollowed-out gourd. She passed an arm +around Ramsay's shoulders--despite her small size she was surprisingly +strong--and assisted him to a half-sitting position. She held the gourd +to his lips. + +Ramsay drank deeply, and fell back sputtering. The gourd was +partly-filled with cold water and partly with a whisky, so strong and +violent that it burned his mouth and lips. He lay blinking, while tears +welled in his eyes and flowed down his cheeks. The whisky, doubtless +homemade, was strong enough to choke a horse. But, after a half-minute, +it made itself felt. A warm glow spread from the roots of Ramsay's hair +to the tips of his toes. Some of his many aches and pains lessened. + +"More?" the woman inquired softly. + +"Uh ... No--no thank you." + +She put the gourd on the table and came over to lay a hand on his +forehead. It was a calloused and work-hardened hand, but so gentle was +she that her caress was scarcely a feather's touch. Ramsay smiled his +thanks. + +"How did I get here?" he asked again. + +"My man, Pierre LeDou, he brought you. But now you must rest, M'sieu, +and try to sleep. Badly have you been hurt." + +The woman drew an exquisite, hand-sewn lace curtain, an incongruous +thing in these rough surroundings, over the window, and semi-gloom +reigned in the room. She tiptoed out, closing the door behind her, and +Ramsay was left alone with his thoughts. + +That mighty rage mounted within him again. He had been fighting with +Devil Chad, he remembered, and not doing badly until he fell over some +unseen object. Then he had been kicked into--into this. Experimentally +Ramsay tried to move his legs, and found that he could do so. He +clenched and unclenched his fists, and there in the half-light of an +unknown room, in a stranger's house, he made a solemn vow. One day, no +matter what else happened, he and Devil Chad would meet again. Devil +Chad would pay, in full, for every twinge Ramsay suffered. In that +moment Ramsay knew that he was not afraid. + +His burning anger became tempered with pleasant wonder. This was a harsh +land, but there was room for tenderness. He was a stranger and had been +in Three Points only long enough to get himself kicked into +insensibility, but there were those in Three Points who knew compassion +and friendship. Otherwise, he would not now be lying in some unknown +man's house and being ministered to by that man's wife. Pierre--Ramsay +strove to recall the last name and could not. He fell into a quiet +slumber. + +The next time he awakened, the candle on his table was burning and his +host--vaguely Ramsay remembered seeing him move hides about the +tannery--was standing near. Like his wife, he was small and gentle, with +a manner that belied the fierce little black mustache clinging to his +upper lip. He was too small and gentle, Ramsay thought, ever to fit +into a town such as Three Points. But certainly he was kind and good. He +smiled, revealing flashing white teeth, and when he did Ramsay +remembered the name, Pierre LeDou. + +"How do you feel?" he asked briskly. + +"Better." Ramsay grinned. + +"He beat you," Pierre LeDou said. "_Sacre!_ But he beat you!" The little +man's eyes roved about the room, as though seeking the solution to a +problem which he must solve, and Ramsay knew that he, too, hated Devil +Chad. "He kicked you!" Pierre LeDou said. + +"I know, and some day I'll pay him back for that." + +Interest brightened in the little Frenchman's eyes. "You think so, +M'sieu--M'sieu ..." + +"Cartou," Ramsay said. "Ramsay Cartou. And I will not kill anybody +unless I have to. But one day this Devil Chad will pay, ten times over, +for everything he did to me." + +"He is very hard man." Pierre LeDou sighed. + +"So am I!" Ramsay gritted, and again anger rose within him. "Why should +so many people tremble in their boots when he comes around?" + +Pierre LeDou shrugged eloquently. "The job. A man has to have the job." + +"I see. And Devil Chad controls 'the job'?" + +"Not all," Pierre LeDou explained. "He does not walk so freely where the +fishermen and farmers are." + +"I'm beginning to like these fishermen and farmers more and more." + +"They are nice," Pierre agreed, "but wild. Especially the fishermen. +Oh, so wild! Out in the lake they go, afraid of nothing; but those that +do not drown return with multitudes of fish." + +"Do many drown?" + +"Very many, but you cannot kill a fisherman. They say that the lake +sends back two for every one it takes, and maybe that is so. At any +rate, when a fisherman drowns, two more always appear. I would go +fishing myself were it not that I am afraid. Are you hungry, M'sieu?" + +"Yes," Ramsay answered frankly. + +"Then I will get you something to eat." + +Pierre LeDou disappeared. Ramsay lay back on the bed to think. Now this +half-wild, half-tame country into which he had come was assuming a +definite pattern. Some, like Pierre LeDou, had been attracted by the +endless wealth offered, and had found only a back-breaking job with +Devil Chad or his counterpart. Others, and Ramsay thought of Hans Van +Doorst and Pieter Van Hooven, were finding wealth. + +It was not wealth that could be measured in terms of money; probably the +crazy Dutch fisherman and Pieter Van Hooven had little money, but just +the same it was wealth. Rather than toil meekly for someone else and +obey a master's every wish, they had chosen to discover for themselves +the true richness of this endlessly rich land and they were discovering +it. So some were afraid and some were not; and those who were not seemed +to enjoy life at its fullest. And, as usual, there was the arrogant +overlord, Devil Chad, who wanted everything for himself and who would +take it if he could. He did not care what he did or whom he killed, as +long as he got what he wanted. + +Pierre LeDou came back, bearing a bowl on a wooden platter. Ramsay +sniffed hungrily. The bowl was old and cracked, but like everything else +in the house it was scrupulously clean, and the odors wafted from it +would tempt the appetite of a dying man. Pierre put the bowl and a +wooden spoon down where Ramsay could reach them, and Ramsay saw a meat +stew in which fluffy dumplings floated. + +"It is not much," the little Frenchman apologized. "Venison stew with +dumplings, and that is all. Would you like some spirits to go with it?" + +"Uh!" Ramsay remembered the fiery liquor. "No thanks. I would like some +water." + +"I can offer you milk." + +"That will be fine." + +Pierre disappeared, and returned with a bowl of milk and a beaker of the +strong whisky. He gave the bowl to Ramsay and held the whisky aloft. + +"Your health, M'sieu," he said. + +He drained the beaker without even quivering, and Ramsay suppressed a +shudder. Dipping the spoon in his venison stew, he tasted it. It was +rich, with all the expertness of French cuisine behind it, and +delicious. Ramsay took a chunk of venison in his mouth and chewed it +with relish. Venison, fish and whatever else they could get out of the +country doubtless meant much to the people who lived here. + +"How long have you worked in the tannery?" he asked Pierre. + +"Five years," the little Frenchman said. "Five long years. I shall work +there much longer if God is kind." + +"May He always be kind to you!" Ramsay said feelingly. + +"My thanks to you, M'sieu Ramsay. And now, with your permission, I shall +retire. I suggest that you sleep, for you look very weary. Should you +want anything you have only to call." + +Ramsay fell into a restful slumber from which he was awakened by the +sound of people stirring. The early morning sun, just rising, caressed +the curtained window softly and a sleepy bird twittered outside the +window. There was the sound of lifted stove lids and of people stirring. +Ramsay dozed off, then sprang guiltily awake and jumped out of bed. + +He felt good, with only an occasional twinge of pain here and there. +Hastily he pulled on his trousers and shirt, laced his shoes and +smoothed his rumpled hair with his hand. When he had made himself as +presentable as he could, he went into the other room. + +Though the hour was still early and the sun not yet fairly up, Pierre +LeDou had already left for his work in the tannery. His pleasant wife +was pouring hot water from a pan on the stove into a big wooden bowl, +evidently the receptacle in which dishes were washed. She turned around. + +"Good morning!" Ramsay said cheerfully. + +"Good morning, M'sieu." Then she cautioned him. "Should you be out of +bed?" + +"I feel fine." Ramsay grinned. "Strong as a bull and twice as hungry." + +"Then I will prepare you something to eat. If M'sieu cares to do so, he +may wash just outside the door." + +"Thanks." + +Ramsay went out the door. To one side, in front of the house, there was +a big wooden bowl and two wooden pails filled with water. A well-worn +trail threading away from the door obviously led to a well or spring. +Hanging on a wooden peg driven into a hole, drilled in the cabin's wall, +were a clean towel and washcloth. Even the door's hinges, cleverly +carved pins that turned on holes drilled into wooden blocks attached to +the cabin's wall, were wood. Evidently, in this country, wood +substituted for metal. + +Ramsay filled the bowl with water, washed himself and went back into the +cabin. Pierre LeDou's wife was bending over a skillet from which came +the smell of frying fish. Ramsay sniffed hungrily, and licked his lips. +She turned the fish, let it cook a little while longer, and put it on +the table, along with feather-light biscuits, butter and cold milk. +Ramsay ate hungrily, but tried to curb his appetite so he would also eat +decently, and as he ate he talked. + +"Why," he asked Pierre LeDou's wife, "did your husband bring me here?" + +"You were hurt and needed help," she said simply. + +In sudden haste Ramsay felt his pocket, and discovered that the two +silver dollars were gone. He remembered that he had lost them while he +fought with Devil Chad, and a flood of embarrassment almost overwhelmed +him. + +"I--I have no money to pay you," he said awkwardly. + +For the first time she looked reprovingly at him. "We did not ask for +money, M'sieu. One does not." + +Ramsay knew another awkward moment and a little shame. "It is very good +of you," he said. + +She said, "One does not neglect a fellow human." + +Ramsay finished eating and pushed his dishes back. Pierre LeDou's wife, +who had already finished washing the rest of the dishes, put Ramsay's in +the dish water and left them there. She smiled at him. "It would be well +if you rested." + +"I'm not tired. Really I'm not." + +"You should rest. Badly were you hurt." + +"Let me sit here a while." + +"As long as you sit." + +She went to a cupboard and took from it a big ball of strong linen +thread. From the table she caught up a small board. Wrapping the thread +twice around the board, she knotted it. Slipping the thread from the +board, she hung the loop she had made on a wooden peg and made a new +loop. Her hands flew so swiftly that in a few moments she had seventeen +of the meshes, all joined together. + +"What are you doing?" Ramsay inquired interestedly. + +"Making a gill net," she explained. "It was ordered by Baptiste LeClair, +a fisherman, and is to have a four and a half-inch mesh. So we use a +mesh board that is exactly two and a quarter inches wide and wrap the +thread twice around. Now I have seventeen. See?" + +"I see." + +She strung the seventeen meshes on a wooden rod, placed two chairs far +enough apart so that the meshes stretched, tied the rod to them and +began knitting on the net she had started. "The net is to be seventeen +meshes, or seventy-six and one-half inches, wide. Now I lengthen it." + +Under the boy's interested eyes the gill net grew swiftly, and as it +lengthened she wrapped it around the rod. Ramsay watched every move. +"How long will it be?" he queried. + +"One net," she told him, "is about two hundred and fifty feet long. But +usually several are tied together to form a box of nets. A box is about +fourteen hundred feet." + +"Isn't that a lot?" + +She smiled. "A crew of three good men, like Hans Van Doorst or Baptiste +LeClair, with a good Mackinaw boat can handle two boxes." + +"Could you make this net longer if you wished to?" + +"Oh, yes. It could be many miles long. Two hundred and fifty feet is a +good length for one net because, if it is torn by strong water or heavy +fish, it may be untied and repaired while the rest may still be used." + +"What else must you do?" + +"After the net is two hundred and fifty feet long, I will use fifteen- +or sixteen-thread twine through from three to six meshes on the outer +edge. This, in turn, will be tied to ninety-thread twine which extends +the full length." + +Ramsay was amazed at the way this quiet little woman reeled off these +figures, as though she were reciting a well-learned lesson. But he +wanted to know even more. "How do they set such a net?" + +"The fishermen gather small, flat stones, about three to the pound, and +cut a groove around them so that they can be suspended from a rope. +These are called sinkers, and are tied to the net about nine feet apart. +For floats they use cedar blocks, about two feet long by one-quarter of +an inch thick and an inch and a quarter wide. They bore a small hole +one inch from the end, then split the block to the bored hole. The +floats--and the number they use depends on the depth to which they sink +the net--are pushed over the ninety-thread twine." + +"Let me try!" Ramsay was beginning to feel the effects of idleness and +wanted action. + +"But of course, M'sieu." + +Ramsay took the mesh board in his hand and, as he had seen her do, +wrapped the thread twice around it. But, though it had looked simple +when she did it, there was a distinct knack to doing it right. The mesh +board slipped from his fingers and the twine unwound. Madame LeDou +laughed. "Let me show you." + +Patiently, carefully, she guided his fingers through the knitting of a +mesh, then another and a third and fourth. Ramsay felt a rising elation. +He had liked the _Spray_ when he saw her and now he liked this. Fishing, +from the making of the nets to setting them, seemed more than ever a +craft that was almost an art. He knitted a row of meshes across the gill +net, and happily surveyed his work. + +At the same time he remained aware of the fact that she could knit three +times as fast as he. Ramsay thrust his tongue into his cheek and grimly +continued at his work. + +After an hour Madame LeDou said soberly, "You do right well, M'sieu. But +should you not rest now?" + +Ramsay said, "This is fun." + +"It is well that you enjoy yourself. Would you consider it uncivil if I +left you for a while?" + +"Please do what you must." + +She left, and Ramsay continued to work on the net. As he did, his skill +improved. Though he was still unable to knit as swiftly as Madame LeDou, +he could make a good net. And there was a feel, a tension, to the +thread. Within itself the thread had life and being. It was supple, +strong and would not fail a fisherman who depended upon it. + +Madame LeDou returned, smiled at him and went unobtrusively about the +task of preparing a lunch. So absorbed was he in his net-making that he +scarcely tasted the food. All afternoon he worked on the net. + +Madame LeDou said approvingly, "You make a good net, M'sieu. You have +knitted almost four pounds of thread into this one. The most skilled +net-makers, those who have had years of experience, cannot knit more +than six or seven pounds in one day." + +Twilight shadows were lengthening when Pierre LeDou returned. The little +man, as always, was courteous. But behind his inherited Gallic grace and +manners lay a troubled under-current. Pierre spoke in rapid French to +his wife, and she turned worried eyes on their guest. Ramsay stopped +knitting the net. + +All afternoon there had been growing upon him an awareness that he could +not continue indefinitely to accept the LeDou's hospitality, and now he +knew that he must go. The pattern had definite shape, and the reason +behind Pierre's uneasiness was not hard to fathom. Devil Chad was the +ruler, and Devil Chad must rule. Who harbored his enemy must be his +enemy, and Pierre LeDou needed the job in the tannery. Should he lose +it, the LeDous could not live. + +With an air of spontaneity, anxious not to cause his host and hostess +any embarrassment, Ramsay rose and smiled. "It has been a most enjoyable +stay at your home," he said. "But of course it cannot continue. I have +work to find. If you will be kind enough to shelter me again tonight, I +will go tomorrow, and I shall never forget the LeDous." + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +_TROUBLE FOR THE_ SPRAY + + +Early the next morning, when Pierre departed for work, Ramsay bade +farewell to Madame LeDou and left their house with his kind host. He did +so with a little reluctance, now that all his money was gone and the +future loomed more uncertainly than ever. At the same time there was +about him a rising eagerness and an unfulfilled expectation. + +It seemed to him that, since swimming ashore from the sinking _Holter_, +he had ceased to be a boy and had become a man. And a man must know that +all desirable things had their undesirable aspects. This country was +wonderful. If, to stay in it, he must come to grips with other men--men +as strong and as cruel as Devil Chad--and with nature too, Ramsay felt +himself willing to do that. + +As soon as the two were fifty yards from the LeDou home he purposely +dropped behind Pierre and leaned against a huge hemlock until the little +man was out of sight. Pierre had said nothing and Ramsay had not asked, +but the latter knew Devil Chad had told the Frenchman that, if he valued +his job in the tannery, he must no longer shelter Ramsay. The boy had +no wish to further embarrass his host or to jeopardize his job by being +seen with him. Therefore he leaned against the tree until Pierre had had +time to reach and enter the tannery. + +Slowly Ramsay left his tree and walked down the same path that Pierre +had followed. Badly as he needed a job, it was useless to try to get one +in the tannery. He slowed his pace even more as he walked past the +building. He had been beaten by Devil Chad, and he might be beaten a +second time should they fight again; but he was not afraid to try. His +body had been hurt, but not his courage. + +Almost insolently Ramsay stopped where he could be seen from the +tannery's open door, and waited there. He was aware of curious, +half-embarrassed glances from men hurrying into the place, and then they +avoided looking at him. Finally a man stopped. He spoke to a man who +halted beside him. + +"All right, Jules. Get in an' start to work." + +He was a straw boss or foreman, Ramsay decided, and his voice betrayed +his New England forebears. An older man, with hair completely gray, like +all the rest he was wrinkled and weathered. Physically he was lean and +tough, but he did not seem belligerent or even unkind. When the last +worker had entered the tannery, he turned to Ramsay. + +"You needn't be afraid, son. Mr. Chadbourne went to Milwaukee last +night." + +"I'm not afraid. I was just wondering if he wouldn't come out for a +second start." + +"Look, son," the other's air was that of an older and wiser person +trying to reason with an impetuous boy, "you haven't got a chance. The +best thing you can do is get out of town before Mr. Chadbourne comes +back." + +"Maybe I like this town." + +"You can only cause trouble by staying here." + +"I've been in trouble before, too." + +The older man shrugged, as though he had discharged his full +responsibility in warning Ramsay, and said, "It's your funeral, my boy. +Stay away from the tannery." + +"You needn't worry." + +Ramsay strolled on down the dusty street, and in spite of himself he was +a little relieved. If Devil Chad had gone to Milwaukee, probably to +arrange for another shipload of hides, it was unlikely that he would be +back before night at the earliest. Ramsay would not have to fight again +today; presumably he was free to do as he pleased without any fear of +interruption. He thrust his hands into empty pockets and, to cheer +himself up, started to whistle. + +A fat Indian, dressed in ragged trousers, which some white man had +thrown out, and an equally-tattered black coat which he could not button +across his immense, naked stomach, grinned at him. Ramsay grinned back +and winked. His friends in New York had been awe-stricken at the very +thought of venturing into the wild Midwest where, they thought, scalping +parties occurred every few hours and no white man was safe from the +savages. Ramsay had enjoyed himself by elaborating on the part he would +play when such a war party came along. But he had discovered for +himself, before he left Chicago, that the Indians in this section of +Wisconsin were harmless. When they could they sold bead work and +basketry to the settlers and they were not above stealing. But they were +not warlike. + +Ramsay strode past another building, a big one with two separate floors +and an attic. Its chimney belched smoke, and from within came the whine +of saws and other machinery. In front of the building were stacked a +great number of barrels, made of white pine and with hoops formed from +the black ash tree. Ramsay hesitated a moment and entered. + +Three Points was obviously a raw frontier town, but definitely it was +not as raw as Ramsay had expected it to be. Obviously there was at least +one industrial plant in addition to the tannery. It seemed to be a +cooper's shop, engaged in the production of barrels, and it might hold a +job for him. He stopped just inside the door, trying to adjust his ears +to the scream of a big circular saw that was powered by a steam engine. +Beyond were lathes and various other machines, and a great many wooden +pails were piled against the far wall. This factory, then, made both +barrels and pails. + +Presently a middle-aged man, with the neatest clothing Ramsay had yet +seen in Three Points, came out of an office and walked toward him. He +shouted to make himself heard above the screaming saw, "Yes?" + +"Are you the manager here?" Ramsay shouted back. + +"Yes." + +"Need any men?" + +"What?" + +Ramsay grinned faintly. The factory, if not bedlam, was close to it. It +was incredible that anyone at all could carry on an intelligent, or +even an intelligible, conversation inside it. Ramsay shouted, "Let's go +outside!" + +The other followed him out, and far enough from the door so they could +hear each other. Ramsay turned to his companion, "My name's Ramsay +Cartou and I'm looking for a job. Do you have any to offer?" + +The manager looked soberly at Ramsay's battered face, then with the toe +of his shoe he began tracing a circle in the dirt. He hesitated. Then, +"I'm afraid not." + +Ramsay felt a stirring anger. Definitely there was more work in Three +Points than there were men to do it. The town had need of strong +workers. For a moment he looked steadily at the manager, who looked +away. Then he swallowed and tried a new tack, "What do you do with all +the barrels?" + +"Most of them go to fishermen who use them to ship their catches to +Chicago. The pails are shipped by boat to wherever there is a market for +them." + +"And you can't give me a job?" + +"That's right." + +"Why?" Ramsay challenged. + +"We--we have a full crew." + +"I see. Now will you answer one question?" + +"Certainly." + +"Does 'Mister' Chadbourne own this place too?" + +"He has a financial interest ..." The other stopped short. "See here, +young man! I have told you that I cannot offer you a job and that should +be sufficient!" + +"I just wanted to know why," Ramsay said. + +He turned and walked away from the cooper's shop. His chin was high, +and anger seethed within him. Devil Chad, apparently, owned most of +Three Points and a lot of other things between that and Milwaukee. If +there was an opportunity to earn a dollar, honest or dishonest, Devil +Chad was seizing that opportunity. Obviously the manager of the cooper's +shop had heard of his fight with Ramsay--in a small community like this +everyone would have heard of it--and was afraid to give him a job. +Ramsay resumed his tuneless whistling. + +Plainly he was going to get nowhere in Three Points. But definitely he +had no intention of running away with his tail between his legs, like a +whipped puppy. He liked this lakeshore country and he intended to stay +in it. If he had to fight to do that, then he would fight. + +Between the rugged trunks of tall hemlock trees he caught a glimpse of +the lake, sparkling blue in the sunshine and gently ruffled by a soft +south wind. He turned his steps toward it, and now he walked eagerly. +The lake was magic, a world in itself which never had been tamed and +never would be tamed. He shivered ecstatically. This was what he had +come west to find. Devil Chad and his tannery, the town of Three Points, +and even Milwaukee paled into nothingness when compared to the lake. He +broke from the last trees and saw Lake Michigan clearly. + +A heavy wooden pier extended out onto it, and a sailing vessel was tied +up at one side. Ramsay read her name. She was the _Brilliant_, from +Ludington, Michigan, and a line of men were toiling up a gangplank with +heavy bags which they were stacking on the pier. On the pier's other +side a steamer, a side-wheeler like the _Holter_, was loading leather +from Devil Chad's tannery. She was the _Jackson_, a freighter that +carried assorted cargoes between Three Points, Milwaukee and Chicago. + +Ramsay strolled out on the pier and brightened when the cold lake air +struck his face. It was impossible to be on the lake, or near it, and +feel stolid or dull. It provided its own freshness, and Ramsay thought +it also furnished a constant inspiration. He watched the sweating men +continue to bring loaded bags up from the sailing vessel and approached +near enough to ask a burly deck hand, "What's this cargo?" + +The man looked surlily at him. "What's it look like?" + +"Diamonds." Ramsay grinned. + +"Well, it ain't. It's salt." + +"What the blazes will anyone do with so much salt?" + +"Eat it," the deck hand grunted. "People hereabouts like salt." Then he, +too, grinned. "Naw, it's for fishermen. They got to have somethin' to +salt their catches in." + +"Oh. I see." + +Ramsay added this bit of information to the lore he had already +gathered. Obviously fishing consisted of more than just catching fish. +Actually taking the fish, of course, was the most exciting and romantic +part. But the fishermen could not ply their trade at all without women +like Madame LeDou who made their nets, a shop like the Three Points' +cooper's shop which provided the barrels into which the fish were +packed, or vessels like the _Brilliant_ which brought salt that kept the +fish from spoiling. + +Ramsay stayed on the pier until the _Brilliant_ was unloaded, and +licked his lips while he watched her crew eating thick sandwiches. They +took a whole loaf of bread, sliced it lengthwise, packed the center with +meat, cheese, fish and anything else they could lay their hands on, and, +according to their taste, washed it down with cold lake water or beakers +of whisky. Ramsay looked away. + +Madame LeDou had provided him with a substantial breakfast, but this was +an invigorating country wherein one soon became hungry again. Ramsay +patted his empty stomach. + +Probably Madame LeDou would give him something to eat should he go back +there, but he had already posed enough problems for the LeDous. Besides, +he did not like the idea of asking for food. He left the pier to walk +past the Lake House, Three Points' only hotel. Savory odors of cooking +food wafted to his nostrils and made him drool. He walked past the Lake +House, then turned to walk back. He trotted up the steps and sat down at +a table spread with a white cloth. + +A hard-eyed woman, wearing a brown dress over which she had tied a neat +white apron, came up to him. Ramsay leaned back. He had decided to make +his play, and he might as well play it to the end. + +"What does the menu offer?" he asked almost haughtily. + +"Whitefish at fifteen cents, venison at fifteen cents, a boiled dinner +at ten cents." + +"What? No steak?" + +"The steak dinner," the woman said, "costs thirty cents. With it you get +potatoes, coffee, salad and apple pie." + +"Bring it to me," Ramsay said. "And please be prompt. My time is +valuable." + +"As soon as possible," the woman said. + +Ramsay relaxed in his chair. A half-hour later the waitress brought him +a broiled sirloin, so big that it overflowed the platter on which it +rested. There were crisp fried potatoes, coffee--a rare beverage in this +country--cream, a salad and a huge wedge of apple pie. Ramsay ate +hungrily, then the waitress approached him. + +"Will you pay now?" + +"It is a lot," said Ramsay, who could not have swallowed another crust, +"to pay for such a puny meal." + +"I told you the price before you ordered." + +"It doesn't matter," Ramsay waved a languid hand. "Especially since I +have no money. What do we do now?" + +Ramsay stood in the kitchen of the Lake House, and by the light of an +oil lamp piled the last of what had been a mountain of dishes, into warm +water. There must, he thought, have been thousands of them, but there +were only a few more and he dropped one of those. Instantly the woman +who had served him popped into the kitchen. + +"Must you be so clumsy?" + +"It is the only dish I have broken out of all I have washed," Ramsay +said. "Don't you think I have paid off my dinner by this time?" + +"You knew the price before you ordered." + +"The way you've had me working since, I earned the whole cow. Haven't I +repaid you, with perhaps a bonus of a sandwich for supper?" + +"Sit down, kid," the woman said gruffly. + +She brought him a sandwich, huge slices of fluffy homemade bread between +which thick slices of beef nestled, and a bowl of milk. Ramsay ate +hungrily, and after he had finished his hostess talked to him. "You're +the youngster Devil Chad beat up, aren't you?" + +"I tripped," Ramsay said grimly. + +"Devil Chad trips 'em all. You're crazy if you think you can get away +with anything. Best thing you can do is leave." + +Ramsay said, "I guess I'm just naturally crazy." + +The woman shrugged. "I'm tellin' you for your own good, kid. You'll get +nowhere in Three Points as long as Chad don't like you. Why not be a +smart little boy and beat it back to wherever you came from?" + +Ramsay said, "That isn't a good idea." + +"You're a stubborn kid, ain't you?" + +"Mule-headed," Ramsay agreed. "Even worse than a mule." + +"Well, if you won't take good advice, there's not much I can do. Would +you like to sleep here tonight?" + +"Nope. I'll be going now, and thanks for the steak." + +"Well ... Good luck, kid." + +"Thanks." + +Ramsay walked out into the darkness and drew his jacket tightly about +him. The lake shore was cold by day, much colder by night when there was +no sun to warm it. He had brought extra clothing, but all his personal +belongings had gone down with the _Holter_. He looked dismally at the +dark town--Three Points seemed to go to bed with the setting sun--and +wandered forlornly down toward the lake front. Both the sailing vessel +from Ludington and the _Jackson_ were gone. + +A little wind was driving wavelets gently against the shore, and the +lap-lap of their rising and falling made pleasant music in the night. +Ramsay wandered out on the pier, where the stacked bags of salt were +covered with tarpaulins. He looked furtively around. + +Nobody else was on or even near the pier, and it seemed unlikely that +anyone would come. He curled up close to the bags of salt and drew the +flowing end of a tarpaulin over his body. He pillowed his head on a +protruding bag and snuggled very near to the stack. + +The pier was hard, but he had slept on hard beds before and the barrier +of salt broke the wind's force. The tarpaulin, of heavy duck, made a +warm blanket. In spite of the odds he faced, Ramsay felt a wonderful +sense of well-being and peace. He went quietly to sleep. + +When he awakened, soft gray dawn was stealing like a fawn out of the +summer sky. Three Points, not yet awake, slumbered in the dim morning. +Ramsay crawled out from beneath the tarpaulin and rose to look at the +town. + +Nobody gave up any battles; but nobody knocked his head against a stone +wall or strove against hopeless odds. Even the little black horse had +not done that. He might just as well see things as they were. Devil Chad +ruled Three Points and, with his present resources, Ramsay could not +fight Devil Chad. But it was certain that Chad could not rule all of +Milwaukee, too, and Milwaukee would need workers. He could go back +there, get a job and plan his future after he had it. + +A sudden inspiration seemed to fall right out of the brightening sky. + +The Van Hoovens! Pieter Van Hooven had told him to come back should he +fail to find what he expected in Three Points, and Pierre LeDou had +assured him that Devil Chad did not walk so freely among the farmers and +fishermen. Maybe Pieter could give him a job, at least something that +would offer security until he was able to get himself oriented; and if +he could, Ramsay wanted to stay in this part of the country. It was +better than Milwaukee. + +Briskly he left the pier and struck down the sand beach. Now that he had +decided to take this step, he felt lighter and happier. Maybe he would +and maybe he would not have liked working in the tannery, even if that +had been ruled by some other man than Devil Chad, but he knew that he +would like the Van Hoovens and their way of life. + +He moved fast, staying far enough up on the beach so he need not step in +wet sand but near enough the water so he could walk on sun-baked sand +over which high water had already rolled. That was packed hard, almost +to the consistency of concrete. + +The sun was well up when he came again to the Van Hooven's pleasant +home. Resolutely he walked up and knocked on the back door. + +A second later it opened, and Marta Van Hooven flashed a warm smile of +welcome. "Oh! Come in." + +Pieter, who had already finished his milking and was now seated at the +breakfast table, said, "Hello." + +"Hello," Ramsay said. "I thought I'd stop in and see you on ..." He +fumbled. "On my way back to Milwaukee." + +Pieter looked seriously at him. "You're not going to work in Three +Points?" + +"No," Ramsay said bluntly. "Mr. Chadbourne and I did not see eye to eye. +In fact, three minutes after we met our fists were flying in each +other's eyes." + +"You fought Devil Chad?" + +"I did, and got well-beaten." + +Pieter said quietly, "Some day somebody will kill him." + +"Some day somebody might." + +"Eat," Pieter invited. He pushed a platter of eggs at the boy and forked +a thick slice of home-cured ham onto his plate. Then he placed the dish +of yellow butter where Ramsay could help himself and put a plate of +feather-light fresh-baked rolls where he was able to reach it. Marta +came softly in from the kitchen with a bowl of cold milk. + +Ramsay ate, primly at first, then gave way to his enormous appetite. +Pieter served him another slice of ham. The boy took two more eggs and +another roll, which he spread lavishly with butter. Sighing, unable to +swallow another crumb, he pushed his plate back. Pieter looked gravely +at him. "Do you have to go to Milwaukee?" + +"No, I just thought I might find a job there." + +"You can," Pieter assured him. "But if a job is what you want, a job is +what I can give you. I can't pay you any money, at least until we have +sold our fall crops, because we haven't any. But I can give you all you +can eat, a good bed to sleep in, and I have some clothes that will fit +you." + +Ramsay said deliberately, "Devil Chad won't like you for that." + +"Around here," and there was no air of braggadocio in Pieter's words, +"we don't much care what Devil Chad likes." + +Ramsay looked hard at his host, and then the two young men grinned at +each other. + +"You've got yourself a man," Ramsay said. "What do we do first?" + + * * * * * + +Hidden from the house by a jutting shoulder of land, Ramsay stood beside +the small lake on Pieter Van Hooven's property and peeled off his +clothes. All day long, interrupted in mid-morning by Marta, who brought +him a substantial lunch, at noon by a huge and delicious dinner and +again in mid-afternoon with a lunch, he had toiled in Pieter Van +Hooven's sprouting corn. + +All day long the sun had beaten down and, though the lake shore was cool +enough, a man doing hard physical labor could easily work up a sweat. +But it was good. Ramsay had felt the sun's rays penetrate to and warm +the very marrow of his bones. In spite of the hard labor he had been +doing, few times in his life had he felt as agile and supple and wholly +alive as this. + +He plunged headlong into the lake and came up gasping. The water was +cold, though not nearly as cold as the big lake; and after Ramsay's body +was adjusted to it, a delicious glow ran through his whole physical +being. He dived again, then climbed up on the soft grass to let the +lowering sun dry him before he put his clothes on. + +He dressed slowly, happily, and now all his cares were behind him. This +was the place for him, and no longer did he have the slightest doubt +that he was going to like everything about it. Fresh and vigorous, the +day's toil washed away, he walked slowly down to Lake Michigan and +stared across it. Supper in half an hour, Pieter had said when he had +advised Ramsay to stop work and have a swim, and no more than half that +time had elapsed. The rest could profitably be spent in just looking at +this endlessly fascinating water. + +Ramsay stared across the lake. More than ever it seemed a live creature +and one of many moods. Ramsay had seen it roaring-mad, and now he saw it +gentle as a lamb. There was scarcely a ripple anywhere. Absorbed in the +lake, Ramsay was aware of nothing else until a horse snorted very close +to him. When he whirled, he knew that he had seen the same horse and +rider before. + +It was the body-watcher, Joe Mannis, and he was riding the +black-and-white horse which he had ridden when he had warned Ramsay away +from the drowned Captain Schultz and the deck hand. The huge cowboy hat +tilted precariously on his head and the blue jeans, apparently unwashed +in a good many months, clung tightly to his legs. Thick black hair +escaped from beneath the hat, and he looked Ramsay up and down. "What +are you doin' here?" + +"What's it to you?" + +"Well, nothin' I expect. Nothin' at all. But just don't bother me again +when I'm workin' at my trade." + +"I won't," Ramsay promised, "unless I have a couple of pistols, too." + +"Just don't bother me when I'm workin' at my trade," the other repeated, +"an' we'll get along fine." + +"You think so?" Ramsay snapped. + +Missing the challenge implied in Ramsay's words, Joe Mannis trotted his +horse up the sand beach toward Three Points. Ramsay looked without +interest at his retreating back. Joe Mannis was an unsavory man, he +decided, but unlike Devil Chad, he was a stupid man. Only when backed by +his pistols would Joe be much of a threat. + +Ramsay pushed his drying hair back with his hands and went around to the +rear of the Van Hooven house. That was also a custom, it seemed. Formal +visitors, if there were any, might enter by the front door; but everyone +else went around to the rear. Obviously the visitor who had arrived +while Ramsay bathed and stood on the shore, was not formal. + +He was a tall, gaunt man with a thin face and a hooked nose. Except for +a white shirt, the collar of which was adorned by a bright ribbon that +could hardly be called a tie, from his stovepipe hat to his shoes he was +dressed entirely in black. An outlandish rig, a four-wheeled cart with a +fringed top supported on four posts, stood in the yard. Its curtains +were rolled up, and the cart seemed to contain everything from wash tubs +to pins. Pieter and the stranger were unhitching a gray horse that stood +patiently between the cart's shafts. + +Pieter called the boy over, "Ramsay, this is Mr. Hammersly." + +Mr. Hammersly, so-called, turned and thrust forth a huge hand. "Tradin' +Jack," he amended. "Tradin' Jack Hammersly. You need anythin', I got +it. Fairer prices as you'll find in Three Points, Chicago, or Milwaukee. +Need a box of candy for that girl of yours, Ramsay?" + +"I haven't any girl," Ramsay said. + +"You'll have one," Tradin' Jack declared. "Every young buck like you +needs a pert doe. Can't get along without 'em, I always say. Yup, you'll +have one. When you get one, remember Tradin' Jack." + +"I will," Ramsay promised. + +While Tradin' Jack washed up at the stand beside the back door, Pieter +led the gray horse to the barn, stripped it of its harness and loosed it +with the little black horse. The two animals touched friendly noses. + +Pieter returned, and all three went in to the groaning table which Marta +had ready. It seemed a natural thing here, Ramsay observed, to expect +all passing wayfarers to share whatever there was to be had. Gracefully +Tradin' Jack lifted the tails of his long black coat and sat down. + +"Left Milwaukee day before yesterday," he said. "Stopped off to see the +Blounts, down at Blounts' Landin'...." + +Marta and Pieter Van Hooven gave rapt attention, and even Ramsay found +himself interested. Aside from being a trader, it appeared that Tradin' +Jack Hammersly was also a walking newspaper. He knew everything about +everybody between Three Points and Milwaukee, and between Milwaukee and +Kenosha. Endlessly he related tales of new babies, new weddings and new +engagements. Tradin' Jack knew that Wilhelm Schmidt's horse had the +colic but probably would recover, and that Mrs. Darmstedt, that would +be the wife of Pete Darmstedt, had shot a black bear right in her own +front yard. + +There was nothing about the people he did not know and not much that he +was unwilling to tell. Finished, he got down to business. "Any eggs for +me, Marta?" + +"Twenty dozen," she said, "all fresh." + +"Fourteen cents a dozen," Tradin' Jack said promptly. + +"Yaah," Marta, too, was bargaining now, "I can get that in Three +Points." + +"Take it in trade an' I'll allow you fifteen," Tradin' Jack said. "Got +to keep my customers sweet." + +Before he went to bed Tradin' Jack arranged with Pieter to have a +butchered pig ready for him when he returned from Three Points the day +after tomorrow. Two and a half cents a pound he would pay, or two and +three-quarters if Pieter would take it in trade. He left with the Van +Hoovens a tempting array of calico, ribbons, needles, pins, a new axe +and hammer, a box of nails and other things which were always useful and +always needed. + +The next morning Ramsay roused himself out of bed at dawn to find +Tradin' Jack already gone. He had sensed the storm that was approaching, +Pieter said, and, if possible, he wanted to get into Three Points before +it struck. Ramsay felt a strange uneasiness and an unrest. Going +outside, he saw that yesterday's blue skies had given way to ominous +masses of gray clouds. His uneasiness mounted. + +Something terrible was being brewed within the giant lake, and shortly +it would erupt. A strong wind sent high waves leaping up onto the +shore. They fell back, only to be replaced with more waves. Ramsay +shuddered. + +If there was terror in this, there was also grandeur. The lake, angered, +was a fearful and wonderful spectacle. It was a gargantuan thing which +seemed to writhe in an agony which, somehow, was created by itself. A +few drops of rain pattered down. The wind blew harder. + +Pieter and Ramsay went to the barn to repair tools, and neither spoke as +they stared through the barn's open door. The waves were raging now, +launching endless attacks on the shore and always rolling back. + +Suddenly Ramsay leaped to his feet and stifled a cry. Far out in the +lake's surging gray masses he thought that he had seen something pure +white. But he could not be sure. A moment later he saw it again. A sail! +Then he was able clearly to identify a little peanut shell of a boat. + +She was the _Spray_, and she was in serious trouble. + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +_RESCUE_ + + +A fresh gust of wind sent the waves leaping higher, and for a moment +only the furious lake could be seen. Ramsay rose, and Pieter rose beside +him; and both went to the barn door. They stood alert, still not +speaking and not even certain of what they had seen. Then they saw it +again. + +Beyond any possible doubt it was the _Spray_, and she was working +valiantly to get into shore. Ramsay swallowed a lump in his throat. He +had first seen the _Spray_ as a dancing bit of gaiety on a lake as +stormy as this one, and then she had seemed so sure of herself and so +capable. Now she was like a shot-wounded duck which, no longer able to +rise in graceful flight, must lie on the water and flutter desperate +wings. For another tense moment Ramsay and Pieter stood side by side. + +By inches the _Spray_ was fighting her way toward shore, but a glance +was sufficient to reveal the tremendous odds against her ever making +safety. Still, even in this terrible dilemma, there was a spirit about +her which the _Holter_ never had and never could have. The two men on +the _Spray_--and did not the crazy Dutch fisherman usually carry a crew +of four?--seemed to be working calmly and easily. There was, from this +distance, no trace of the near-panic that had reigned when the _Holter_ +went down. + +Ramsay knew a moment's intense gratification. This was part of the +dream, part of the picture he had engraved in his heart when he first +saw the _Spray_ and her skipper. When they challenged the lake, they +accepted it in all its aspects. Now they were behaving as all fishermen +should behave. Before they could even begin to follow their trade they +must make an unbreakable pact with their fortune on the water, be it +good or bad. + +Then the trance was broken. Out on the lake, within sight of Pieter and +Ramsay, men were about to die. They must not die if there was any way to +help them. As though their eyes were guided by one common impulse, both +men looked toward Pieter's small boat. + +It was a clumsy craft, strongly-built of heavy timbers which Pieter +himself had hand-sawed in his spare time. Usually, when Pieter wasn't +using the boat, it was pulled high enough on the beach so storm-driven +battering rams of waves could not touch it, and so it was now. Side by +side, with no need to speak, Pieter and Ramsay left the barn and raced +toward the boat. + +Wind-driven rain soaked their clothing before they had gone ten feet, +but they paid no attention to it. Kneeling, one on either side of the +fourteen-foot boat, they strove to push it back into the lake. Pieter +shouted to make himself heard above the roar of the wind and the +smashing waves. "Wait!" + +Ramsay stopped pushing while Pieter took the long oars out of their +locks and laid them lengthwise in the boat. The boy nodded approvingly. +As things were, it seemed all but impossible to launch the boat. If they +launched it and lost an oar in the high seas, they were doomed to +disaster, anyhow. + +"Now!" Pieter shouted. + +The boat scraped a deep furrow in the wet sand as, with a concerted +effort, they pushed it backwards. Not looking at the savage combers, +Ramsay gave all his attention to the boat. They would have to work with +all possible speed to get it into the lake and the oars in place, +because the waves were rising to enormous heights now. He felt the +boat's square stern touch water. + +Then an irresistible giant, a force that would bear no interference, +took hold and shoved the little craft almost as far up on the beach as +it had been when they tried to launch it. Leaving the boat half-filled +with water, the smashing wave washed away from the wet sand. + +Ramsay stood erect to catch his breath. They had given all their +strength to backing the boat into the lake, and as they were about to +succeed it had been plucked from their hands as easily as a strong man +might snatch a flower from the hands of a baby. He glanced out across +the water to assure himself that the _Spray_ was still floating, then +looked desperately at Pieter. + +"Nose first!" Pieter said. "Turn it around!" + +He shouted to make himself heard, but there was about him an almost +maddening calmness as he worked. Ramsay restrained his impatience. They +must not lose a second's time; but if they were going to do this at all, +it must be done exactly right. Both on one side of the boat, they +raised it to let the water spill out. + +In spite of his drenched clothing and the cold air that blew in from the +lake, Ramsay was sweating. Pieter's boat had been built by a farmer, not +a fisherman. It was all right on a calm day when Pieter wanted to go +fishing, but certainly it had never been built to weather storms. So +heavy was the craft that the combined strength of two men was needed to +tip the water from it. + +They let the boat drop heavily back on its side, and the oars fell out. +Still calmly, refusing to become excited, Pieter picked them up and +placed them in the oar locks. Again Ramsay understood. Both men knew +this for a furious storm but both had underestimated its fury. At the +best, should they be able to get the boat into the lake, they would have +a split second to float her and the oars had to be ready. It was better +to take a chance on losing an oar than to have the boat driven back onto +the beach. + +Kneeling, Ramsay felt his muscles stand out like stretched cords as he +gave every ounce of strength to turning the boat around. He was sweating +again--and short of breath. Only the pressing urgency and the great need +for immediate action gave him the strength to continue. + +Then the craft seemed to move a little easier, and Ramsay glanced around +to see Marta working beside them. Noting them from the house, and +understanding their mission, she had thrown a shawl about her shoulders +and raced out to help. With almost maddening slowness the boat turned +until its curved nose faced the lake. + +Ramsay on one side and Pieter on the other slid it down the wet sand +toward the water. The boy bit his lip fiercely to help keep control of +himself. Nothing must go amiss here, and a wrong or panic-stricken move +could mean disaster. Because this launching demanded machine-like +precision, Ramsay fought to control the fire in his brain. Carefully he +thought out each exact step. + +Get the boat into the lake until it floated. Then leap in beside Pieter, +grab an oar and time his strokes to Pieter's. Fight their way out to the +stricken _Spray_ and rescue those aboard her. + +It seemed a simple matter, but never before in his whole life had Ramsay +faced anything more complex. It couldn't be done, his mind said, while +at the same time something else told him that it could and must be done. +He glanced around and curiously, as though the picture were registering +somewhere other than in his own eyes, he saw Marta Van Hooven. + +She was standing at the edge of the lake, her dress and shawl sodden-wet +and her rain-soaked blond hair clinging like a seal's fur to her head +and shoulders. One hand covered her mouth, as though to stifle a cry +that was half-born there, and in her eyes were a great pleading and a +great prayer as she watched her husband. But the cry did not find life. +She uttered no sound. While she did not want Pieter to go, at the same +time she knew that he must. Only if help came did anyone left alive on +the _Spray_ have even a faint chance of staying alive. + +Then they were in the lake, and a mighty wave burst like a water-filled +bomb about them. It staggered Ramsay and sent him reeling, but it did +not unnerve him. Because he had practised in his own imagination what he +must do from here on in, he could do it. + +He felt cold water creeping about his shoes and then up around his +knees. The boat which they had been dragging steadied itself as they +reached water in which it could float. Through the blinding spray that +lashed at them Ramsay looked across at Pieter. He saw him only +indistinctly, but it was as though they read each other's thoughts. At +exactly the same moment they flung themselves into opposite sides of the +rower's seat and each grabbed an oar. The boy bent his back to the +man-killing job of rowing. + +The boat was sluggish, and again half-filled with water. But it floated, +and as soon as they were free of the mighty waves that smashed against +the beach it floated a little more easily. Ramsay looked back across the +steel-gray turmoil to see the Van Hooven farm, and Marta still on the +shore. Then he returned all his attention to the task at hand. + +The lake was an insane thing, bent on destruction. They went into the +trough of a wave and rose on the next one. Ramsay risked a fleeting +backward glance to see the _Spray_, much nearer the shore and still +afloat. + +Suddenly they were in an almost-calm stretch of water. Ramsay felt cold +fear run up and down his spine. He had met this on the sinking _Holter_, +and now here it was again. Almost fearfully he glanced sidewise at +Pieter, but he could not speak because the screaming wind would have +drowned his words as soon as he uttered them. His eyes grew big. + +Just behind, and again on the right side, an apparition drifted out of +the depths. It was a ghost figure, a thing born of nightmares. Ramsay +gasped. The White Sturgeon nosed to the surface, drifted lazily for a +moment and disappeared back into the watery depths out of which it had +come. + +Ramsay risked a sidewise glance at Pieter, whose face remained +undisturbed, and he swallowed the lump in his own throat. Sailors might +fear the White Sturgeon, but if Pieter did, he was not showing his fear. +The boy told himself again that the sturgeon was a fish, nothing more or +less than a great fish which, through some freak of nature, was colored +white. But it did seem to appear only when death and destruction stalked +the lake. He forced such thoughts from his mind. + +They were again in storm-lashed water, striving to keep their boat +straight and headed toward the _Spray_. Vast waves bore down upon them, +plunging the little craft into their cold troughs and then shooting it +up as though it were a plaything. From the crest of the waves Ramsay +could still see the _Spray_. He worried. Now there seemed to be only one +man aboard her. + +There was a sharp, sickening crack and the sound of splintering wood, +that rose above the roar of the wind and the surge of the waves. The +boat slewed sideways, and for the first time Pieter Van Hooven's face +betrayed emotion. He brought in the stump of oar remaining in his hand +and, at the risk of upsetting the little boat, leaned across the seat to +snatch Ramsay's oar from its lock. With that in his hand, he made a +precarious way to the stern. He thrust the oar over the rear seat, +trying to use it as a rudder, and the boy strove to overcome the fear he +felt. + +The White Sturgeon, the sailors' superstition said, always brought +disaster. If you see it, the little deck hand had told Ramsay, you can +start praying right afterwards. For one terror-filled moment their +predictions seemed correct. Twice Ramsay had seen the White Sturgeon; +each time he had been in immediate danger of death. Then superstition +subsided and reason came back to his aid. + +Crouching in the back seat, with only one oar, Pieter Van Hooven was +doing his best to fight the angry lake. Though he was a farmer, +obviously he knew something of seamanship. + +For a brief moment, just long enough to keep from capsizing, he kept the +little boat headed into the onrushing waves. When he turned it, he did +so skilfully. Working the oar only with the strength in his hard-muscled +arms, he headed back towards shore. A mighty wave smashed the stern, +throwing cold water over them and across the tiny craft. Ramsay moved +from side to side, doing all he could to help Pieter by shifting his +weight to where it was needed most. The boat was three-quarters filled +with water. Never made for a heavy sea, now it was an almost dead thing. +But so strong were the waves and so powerful the wind, that they were +driven at almost motor speed back into the beach. Ramsay had one glimpse +of Marta. + +Pieter lost the little control he had. Turning sidewise, the boat lifted +like a matchstick on the crest of a giant wave and spun dizzily down +into the trough. It was lifted again, and just before it turned over +Ramsay flung himself clear. As he did, he saw Pieter go over with him. + +He dived as deeply as he could, knowing that the boat would come +crashing down and knowing also that it would kill him if it struck him +on the head. Far into the lake he went, swimming under water and groping +his way. He surfaced to see the craft to one side and a bobbing object, +which he thought was the head of Pieter Van Hooven. A second later a +tremendous wave deposited him on the sandy beach. + +He lay gasping, all the breath knocked out of him, and he wished +desperately to get out of the path of the waves that were breaking over +him. But it seemed impossible to move. His mind urged him to go, but he +lacked the physical strength to obey. Then he felt a pair of hands in +his armpits, and his body was dragged over the scraping sand. Ramsay +looked up to see the frightened face of Marta Van Hooven. + +"Can you move?" she pleaded. + +"Gi--give me a minute!" + +For what seemed an interminable time, but could not have been more than +twenty seconds, Ramsay lay still. He turned over so that he lay face +down, and lifted himself with his arms. His legs and feet were made of +jelly. Vaguely he was aware of Marta and Pieter Van Hooven, one on each +side, lifting him to his feet. A second later his strength returned. + +Keening in from the lake, the wind made him stagger backwards. Reaching +mountainous heights, the breaking waves shattered themselves far up on +the beach. Ramsay looked across them. About two hundred yards out, the +_Spray_ was completely crippled. Trailing from her broken mast, the +sail bled water into the angry lake. Down at the bows, the fisherman's +boat seemed hung up on a rock or reef. Every second wave that washed in +broke completely over her and hid her from view. But the single man +remaining on board still worked calmly with the broken half of an oar, +to free the _Spray_ from her prison. + +Ramsay allowed himself another split second. The entire dream was coming +true. There were some men who, to the last, could meet the challenge of +the lake with grace and spirit. The man on the _Spray_, identified even +at this distance as Hans Van Doorst, had not given up. + +The boy whirled on Pieter Van Hooven. "A coil of rope!" he ejaculated. + +Without waiting to see whether or not Pieter followed his instructions, +he raced for the barn. Snatching a bridle from its wooden peg, he went +more slowly toward the corral where the little black horse was confined. + +This had happened once before and it might happen again. A man's +strength was as nothing in the raging lake, but a horse was many times +as strong as a man. The black horse had brought him safely in when all +the others had drowned. + +The little horse arched his neck and flicked his ears when his young +friend approached and patted him. + +"Easy," Ramsay said reassuringly. "Take it easy, Black." + +The little horse rested his head over the boy's shoulder for a moment, +then the latter stepped back to slip the bit into Black's mouth, put the +bridle over his ears and buckle the throat latch. The horse followed +willingly behind him as he pushed the corral's gate aside. + +He mounted, and Black reared and pranced, just to prove that he could. +Ramsay tried not to look at the lake, but he couldn't help looking. When +he did, very lonely in the gray waves, he saw the reef- or rock-bound +_Spray_. The lone fisherman still could be seen, working to free his +craft. + +Ramsay leaned forward to pat the little horse on the neck. "We can do +it," he murmured. "Let's prove it." + +He took the bridle reins in his hand and trotted Black toward the +foaming lake. Pieter, his eyes grave, tossed him a coil of half-inch +rope. Ramsay had one glimpse of Marta's anguished face. He slipped the +coil of rope over his shoulder and did not look back. + +As they approached the lake, the horse hesitated, to paw the sand with a +front hoof. He looked around to eye the rider on his back, and again +Ramsay leaned forward. "All right," he said. "Go on." + +The horse accepted his words but, more than that, his confidence. Guided +by the bridle's touch, he walked willingly into the pounding lake. +Another water bomb exploded about them. They submerged, but Black came +up swimming strongly. Ramsay kept soft fingers on the bridle reins, not +wanting to exert any pressure or do anything else that might divert the +horse from the job at hand. + +Tossing his head, Black sneezed to empty his nose of water that had +washed into it. He was timing himself capably and almost perfectly to +meet the waves at their place of least resistance, and he rose and fell +with them. From the crests Ramsay could see the _Spray_. From the +troughs he could see nothing. A lump rose in his throat. + +The _Spray_ was indeed sadly wounded. Only part of her stern showed +above water. Hans Van Doorst still worked with a broken oar to free his +boat, and as soon as he came near enough Ramsay knew that he had been +right. + +The Dutch fisherman had been one with the lake when Ramsay first saw +him, and he was one with it now. Unafraid, he fought the lake as +gracefully as a swordsman. Perched on the broken stump of mast, the sea +gull fluttered his wings and clicked his mandibles. + +Ramsay gauged the situation as precisely as he could. If he could throw +his rope over the stranded _Spray_, the little horse might be able to +pull it from its anchor and back to shore. Ramsay saw Hans Van Doorst +turn to watch him. The fisherman waved a friendly hand. + +Still guiding Black lightly, imposing no undue strain on the reins or +bit, Ramsay steered him across the _Spray's_ sunken prow. He let the +reins hang slackly on the horse's neck and took the coil of rope from +his shoulder. As precisely as he could, he cast and watched the rope +snake through the air. + +A sick feeling arose in the pit of his stomach and he moaned audibly. He +had calculated the distance correctly but he had not allowed for the +strength of the wind. The rope missed Hans Van Doorst's outstretched +hands by two feet and fell into the angry lake. Of his own volition, +Black turned back toward shore. Ramsay saw the squawking sea gull bounce +a couple of feet into the air and spread his long wings. Grasping the +reins, for the first time the boy used strength as he strove to turn the +horse back. He glanced over his shoulder to see what might be done next, +and gasped. + +Hans Van Doorst had gone to the raised stern of his wrecked boat to give +himself a running start, and as Ramsay looked, he dived. Leaping as far +as possible from the _Spray_ to avoid striking the rock, he hurled +himself into the storm-lashed lake, straight at his would-be rescuers. +For a few seconds that seemed like hours, he disappeared into the +churning depths, but when he surfaced he was squarely behind Ramsay and +he used both hands to grasp the horse's tail. + +Black turned back toward shore. He swam more strongly now because he was +going with the wind instead of against it, and his double burden did not +seem unduly heavy. Ramsay saw Pieter and Marta Van Hooven, Pieter's hand +protectingly over his wife's shoulder, as they waited to see what would +happen. + +The last wave burst around them and they were back on shore. Instantly +Ramsay slid from the little horse's back and looked around. A nausea +seized him. Hans Van Doorst was no longer in sight. Ramsay had tried and +failed. He glanced toward the _Spray_, as though he expected to see the +crazy Dutch fisherman still there, and knew only that waves were +smashing the boat into kindling wood. + +Then, as though he had literally risen from the lake, Hans Van Doorst +picked himself up from the wreckage of a breaking wave and walked +ashore. His tame sea gull fluttered out of the sky to alight on its +master's shoulder. The Dutchman reached up to stroke his pet as he +looked at Pieter and Ramsay. "None but me and Captain Klaus?" he asked. + +"None, Hans," Pieter said. + +For a moment an infinite sadness, a melancholy born thousands of years +ago in the first fisherman who had seen his mates lost, pervaded the +Dutchman. But it was only for a moment. Pieter and Ramsay walked to his +side and offered their assistance. He declined it. + +"I'll walk," he said. + +Ramsay felt a great warmth for and a vast sympathy with this man who, +while daring all and losing all, could remain so very human. Marta +hovered solicitously near as they all went up to the house and wore +their dripping clothes into her immaculate kitchen. Hans Van Doorst sat +down, tried to fold his arms across his chest, and winced. + +"You're hurt!" Marta cried. + +"It is nothing." The Dutch fisherman looked at the three. "It happened +out on the lake. We struck something, I do not know what. Perhaps the +half-submerged hull of a sunken ship. Then we were in trouble." + +Marta was stooping beside him, gently unbuttoning his soaking-wet shirt. +Hans Van Doorst looked fondly down at her wet and bedraggled hair, and +he offered no protest as his upper body was bared. There was a vast, +ugly scar on the right side of his chest, and when Marta touched him +there his ribs moved. The Dutchman sat very straight in his chair. +Though he must have felt pain, he showed none. + +Ramsay and Pieter stood aside while Marta worked expertly. Ripping one +of her snow-white sheets into strips, she wound a bandage tightly around +Hans Van Doorst's broken ribs. Ramsay and Pieter looked significantly at +each other. Such an injury _might_ have resulted when wind or a heavy +wave flung the fisherman against something. Probably it had happened +when Hans flung himself forward in an effort to rescue a shipmate. + +Marta finished her bandaging and stepped back. "You rest now." + +He grinned at her. "Fishermen have no time for rest." + +"Do as she says, Hans," Pieter urged. + +"Come," said Marta. She went to a bedroom, opened the door and waited +expectantly. + +Hans Van Doorst spread eloquent hands. "Who can argue with a woman?" he +asked. "Especially a Dutch woman?" + +He rose, went into the room, and closed the door behind him. Ten minutes +later, Marta opened the door a crack and peeked in. She entered, and +came out with Hans Van Doorst's clothing. + +"He sleeps," she announced. "Like a man worn out he sleeps." + +Ramsay changed his wet clothes for some dry ones Pieter had given him +and went out to catch Black. From the house's ridge pole, Captain Klaus, +Hans Van Doorst's tame sea gull, squawked at him. Ramsay grinned back, +walked up to the little horse, rubbed him down, and put him back in the +corral. He did the rest of his chores, and when he went into the house +for dinner Hans Van Doorst was seated at the table. + +"I told him!" Marta scolded. "I told him to stay in bed and I would +bring him his food. But can I talk reason to a Dutchman?" + +"Marta," Hans Van Doorst said softly, "there is fishing to be done." + +Eager interest glowed in Pieter's eyes. "Are you going again, Hans?" + +"I am a fisherman." + +"You are crazy," Marta corrected. "One day you will kill yourself on +that lake." + +Again the sadness, the inborn melancholy, sat like a mask on the Dutch +fisherman. But only for a moment. + +"Marta," he said, "fishermen do not die in bed." + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +_NEW VENTURE_ + + +Ramsay stirred sleepily and raised a restless hand to shield his eyes +from the morning sun. Almost the whole night through, until the first +waking birds had begun to chatter just outside his window, he had lain +restlessly awake. Just thinking of Hans Van Doorst, and fishing, had not +permitted him to sleep. + +Now, with the sun high, he was at last deep in slumber. Ramsay could not +know that Pieter had arisen shortly after the first birds and had the +milking all finished, or that Hans Van Doorst sat in the kitchen, eating +the hearty breakfast which Marta had prepared for him. He knew only that +he seemed to be hearing strange sounds. + +There were throaty chucklings and gurglings and low-pitched laughter, +and all of it was punctuated by raucous squawks. Troubled, Ramsay rolled +over in bed and covered his head with the quilt. Even that did not shut +out the sounds, and finally he came fully awake. Sleepy-eyed, +tousle-haired, he sat up in bed. + +For a moment he could not define the sounds, which seemed to originate +very near the roof of the house, and he was puzzled. Then he identified +the various noises a sea gull makes. Ramsay slipped out of bed, pushed +the double windows open, and looked into a calm morning. + +There was a rustle of wings overhead and a flutter of feathers. Captain +Klaus took strong wing to circle the house. He swung back to alight on +the window ledge, and tilted his head sidewise while he regarded Ramsay +with bright, intelligent eyes. "_Qu-uark!_" he chattered. + +Ramsay grinned, but when he put out a hand to touch him Captain Klaus +again took flight and sailed down to the now-calm lake. He alighted on +the shore, folded his wings across his back, and walked down the beach +until he found a storm-killed perch. With the fish in his bill, he flew +back to the house's ridge-pole to eat his breakfast while he awaited the +reappearance of Hans Van Doorst. + +A little bit embarrassed, Ramsay dressed hurriedly. The working day in +this country began with dawn and ended with dark. Everything that needed +doing--and there was much to be done--had to be crowded into such +daylight as there was, and there was never enough. Hurrying down the +steps leading to the kitchen, he saw Hans Van Doorst at the table. Marta +greeted him pleasantly, "Good morning." + +"Good morning," Ramsay replied. "I overslept! I didn't mean to. Why +didn't somebody call me?" + +"Yaah!" Marta laughed. "Pieter said not to. You earned your sleep, +Pieter said. Sit down with Hans and have some breakfast." + +Hans said, "Men who are not hungry are sick. Sit down." + +Ramsay sat, and felt a free and easy sense of comradeship, as though he +and the Dutch fisherman had something in common. They felt alike and +thought alike. Hans Van Doorst had thanked Ramsay with his eyes for +rescuing him, but not once had he spoken of it and not once had he +mentioned the wreck of the _Spray_. The boy was grateful for that; he +knew that he would be embarrassed if his part in yesterday's incident +were brought into the limelight. + +Marta busied herself at the big wood-burning stove, and Ramsay +speculated on the difficulties involved in just getting such a stove +into this country. Marta laughed. "While I make you the breakfast, you +listen to the crazy tales the crazy fisherman tells you." + +Hans turned his twinkling eyes on Ramsay. "Marta is a good girl," he +said. "A good Dutch girl. She thinks all men are crazy." + +"They all are," Marta said. "Especially you. What you need is a good +farm and stay away from that wild lake." + +"Farms and me wouldn't get along, Marta." Hans laughed. "I told you I'm +a fisherman." + +"Yaah? You lost everything with the _Spray_. How are you going to go +fishing again?" + +Hans spread his two powerful hands. "These are what I had when I +started. These are what I have now." + +"You need money, too. Money for nets, money for ..." + +The door opened and Pieter came in for breakfast. Hanging his light +jacket on a wooden peg in the hallway, he took his seat at the table. +"Why does Hans need so much money?" he asked. + +"He says he's going fishing again." Marta sniffed. "I've been telling +him that he should get a farm, and we can put him up until he gets one, +and ..." + +"Are you really going fishing?" Pieter broke in. + +"That I am. I'm a fisherman. Now look, Pieter, you get up at dawn to +milk your cows. No? To be sure, you get all the milk you can drink; but +if you're lucky, Tradin' Jack Hammersly gives you maybe half of what +your butter's worth. All winter long and all summer long you work for +those cows. A fisherman, now, he works for four months, just +four. . . ." + +Pieter said, "It sounds good!" + +"Pieter!" Marta broke in sharply. "You are _not_ going fishing!" + +Pieter wriggled uncomfortably. "Well," he said, "I can at least listen +to what the man says, can't I?" + +"One haul of the nets," Hans continued, "and maybe one thousand, maybe +two thousand pounds of whitefish. Never less than five hundred. For that +you get six cents a pound in the Chicago market. You don't earn that on +your farm, and besides, fishing is a lot more fun. A smart Dutchman +don't have to tend cows." + +"_Uaah!_" Pieter breathed. + +"Pieter!" Marta said. + +Ramsay listened, dazzled by the prospects of a fisherman's life as +compared to any future a farmer might have. Determinedly Marta brought a +huge dish of wheat cakes and sausage over and thumped it firmly down on +the table. + +"Eat!" she commanded. + +The three gave all their attention to the food, and they did not speak +while eating. Then Hans pushed his chair back. + +"If I am going to fish again, I must start," he announced. "First I +will go down and see if there is any salvage." + +"We'll help you!" Pieter exclaimed. "My boat was not badly smashed. A +little work and it will be good as new." + +"Pieter!" Marta said. "You are not going fishing!" + +"Now I ask you," Pieter said plaintively, "is helping a man pick up his +own property, his very own property, is that fishing? Could anyone even +think it was fishing? No. Come on." + +The three left the kitchen and walked down to the lake. Calm after the +storm that had raged across it, only little waves were washing in. +Ramsay looked out at the rock, as though half expecting to see the +_Spray_ still there, and saw nothing. Pieter gave a triumphant little +exclamation and waded into shallow water to pick up something that +bobbed back and forth. + +It was the carved Valkyrie maiden that had been the _Spray's_ +figurehead. Exquisitely and almost perfectly hand-carved, the wooden +statue leaned forward, as though she would embrace the whole lake to her +bosom. + +Hans Van Doorst's eyes were soft as he took it from Pieter. "My +sweetheart!" he murmured. + +Captain Klaus winged down from the ridge pole of the house to alight +near them. Clucking softly to himself, happy because Hans was once more +with him, he followed the three men down the beach. Ramsay found a coil +of rope, then another, and farther on was the _Spray's_ torn sail. +Ramsay pointed out onto the lake. + +"About there is where we saw the White Sturgeon," he said. + +"I know," Hans Van Doorst murmured. "We saw him a half-dozen times." + +Ramsay looked at him, puzzled. Then, "The sailors told me he always +brings bad luck." + +"The sailors!" Hans scoffed. "They know nothing about anything except +maybe how to stuff themselves with good whitefish that the fishermen +bring them! The White Sturgeon noses his way to the top when a storm +comes, so he is bad luck? Do not believe it! He is good luck! He comes +to the top so that he may show fishermen the way back to shore!" + +Ramsay grinned appreciatively. This, in spite of the fact that the Dutch +fisherman's idea of the White Sturgeon bringing good luck was as +superstitious as the sailors' notion that he always brought bad, fitted +in. It was what Hans should have said. + +"How big is that sturgeon?" Ramsay asked. + +"The Grandfather of all lake fish," Hans Van Doorst asserted solemnly. +"Have you not noticed that, like all grandfathers, he is white? In +truth, I have never seen a bigger fish anywhere." + +"Another coil of rope!" Pieter said, pouncing on it. + +Hans, who had grinned happily with each new find, did not even look +around. Ramsay looked at him questioningly. Anything but stolid, the +Dutch fisherman had been bubbling over at the prospect of going fishing +again. Now he seemed melancholy, immersed within himself, and his whole +attention was given to the lake. + +Ramsay followed his gaze, but saw little. True, a vast number of small +aquatic worms had been washed ashore by the pounding waves. There must +have been countless millions of them, so many that they formed a living +carpet as far up the beach as the waves had washed. The wriggling, +writhing mass was now disentangling itself, and the worms that could +were crawling back into the lake. A number of sea gulls and a number of +land birds were gorging themselves, and new birds arrived by the flock. +They scarcely made a dent in the multitude of worms. Ramsay looked again +at Hans Van Doorst. + +"Never, never!" the fisherman breathed. + +Pieter, too, swung to look curiously at him. "What's the matter, Hans?" + +"I went on the lake when I was a boy of thirteen," Hans Van Doorst said. +"That was fourteen years ago, in 1852. I thought I had seen much, but +never have I seen this!" + +"What?" Ramsay asked impatiently. + +"Look around you," Hans said. "What do you see?" + +"Worms." + +"Not worms! Food for whitefish! With these millions washed up, can you +not imagine the vast amount remaining in the water? We are all rich +men!" + +"You think so?" Pieter queried. + +"There is no doubt of it! The whitefish go where their food is! There +must be countless tons of whitefish here at your very door step, and +here is where we shall fish!" + +"Do whitefish eat only worms?" Ramsay asked. + +"No. They feed on other things, too, notably their own spawn or that of +other fish. But enough of this idle talk! I must have a net so we can +start fishing at once! Pieter, I would borrow your horse and cart!" + +"The cart you may have," Pieter said. "The horse belongs to Ramsay." + +"Go ahead and take him," Ramsay urged. + +Hans tripped like a dancer to the barn, caught the little horse, and +backed him between the shafts of Pieter's two-wheeled cart. Bubbling +like a boiling kettle, entirely happy, he started at a fast trot up the +sand beach to Three Points. With a startled squawk, Captain Klaus +hurried to catch up. The tame sea gull settled affectionately on the rim +of the cart's seat. + +As Ramsay watched him go, he felt a vast envy of the light-hearted +fisherman. If ever he could go away like that, he thought, he would have +lived life at its fullest. Not until he looked around did he discover +that Pieter was watching too, and his eyes were wistful. + +"There is work to be done!" Marta called. + +They flushed and walked towards the barnyard, where Marta was tending +her poultry. Geese, chickens and ducks swarmed around her and pigeons +alighted on her shoulders. She kept her eyes on the men. + +As Ramsay and Pieter cleaned the cowbarn, both remained strangely +silent. Both thought of the Dutch fisherman. Then Pieter, who had +promised to have a dressed pig ready for Tradin' Jack Hammersly, started +honing a razor edge on his butchering tools. Ramsay picked up a hoe, +preparatory to returning to the corn-patch. + +"You think he'll get a net?" Pieter asked. + +"I hope so!" + +Moodily, scarcely seeing or knowing what he was doing, Ramsay chopped at +weeds that had stolen a home in the growing corn. The work suddenly +lacked any flavor whatever. Millions of worms, whitefish food, washed up +on the beach and the bay in front of Pieter's swarming with whitefish! +That's what the Dutch fisherman had said. Marta brought his mid-morning +lunch, and her eyes were troubled. + +"Do you think Hans will get what he wants?" she asked. + +"I don't know. Marta, why don't you want Pieter to go fishing?" + +"You heard what he said. Last night he said it. Fishermen do not die in +bed. Those were his words." + +"Just talk. The lake's safe enough." + +"Yaah? Is that why Joe Mannis can make more money than anybody else +around here, just watchin' bodies? Aah! I worry about my man!" + +Ramsay said gently, "Don't worry, Marta." + +Marta returned to the house and Ramsay continued working. In back of the +barn Pieter had his butchered pig strung up on a block and tackle, and +the two men looked at each other. Both were waiting for Hans Van Doorst +to return. + +About a half-hour before noon Captain Klaus soared back to his +accustomed place on the house's ridge pole. A moment later the little +black horse appeared on the beach, and Hans drove to the barn. + +Ramsay and Pieter, meeting him, stifled their astonishment. When Hans +left them, to all outward appearances he had been a normal person. Now +blood had dried on his nose and his right eye was puffy and streaked +with color. Anger seethed within him. + +"There is no honor any more!" he said bitterly. "And men are not men!" + +"What happened?" Ramsay inquired. + +"What happened? I went to Three Points to get us a pound net! Carefully +did I explain to that frog-mouthed Fontan, whose wife knits the best +pound nets on Lake Michigan, what I wanted. I know pound nets cost five +hundred dollars, but I was very careful to prove that we have untold +riches just waiting to be caught! As soon as we made some catches, I +said, we would pay him his money, plus a bonus for his trouble. Fontan +became abusive." + +"Then what?" Pieter said. + +"He hit me twice. Because of these thrice-cursed broken ribs I cannot +move as swiftly as I should. Then I hit him once, and the last I saw of +him he was lying on one of his wife's pound nets. After that came the +constable who, as everybody knows, is merely another one of Devil Chad's +playthings, and said he would put me in jail. It was necessary to hit +the constable, too." + +Hans Van Doorst leaned against the side of the barn, glumly lost in his +own bitter thoughts. Coming from the house to meet Hans and sensing the +men's moodiness, Marta fell silent beside her husband. Ramsay unhitched +the little black horse, put him back into the corral, and hung the +harness on its wooden pegs. + +After five minutes, Pieter Van Hooven broke the thick silence. "I do not +know whether or not it will be any good, perhaps not. But last year a +fisherman came here in a very small boat. He was going to Three Points, +he said, to get himself a larger boat and he had to make time. I do not +know what happened to him, for he never came back and I have not seen +him since. Probably Joe Mannis got him. But before he took his leave he +asked me to store for him a box of nets and ..." + +"A box of nets!" Hans Van Doorst's melancholy left him like a wind-blown +puff of feathers. He put an almost passionate arm about Pieter's +shoulders. "All is lost! All is gone! Then this--this miracle worker! He +talks of a box of nets! Tell me, Pieter! Tell me it is still there!" + +"It must be, for it was never taken away," Pieter said. + +"Then let us get it! Let us get and look at it before I faint with +excitement!" + +Pieter and Hans disappeared in the barn, and a moment later they +reappeared with a long, deep wooden box between them. Having lain in the +barn for a year, the box and its contents were thick with dust and +spiders had woven their own gossamer nets everywhere. Hans Van Doorst +patted the dust away. He looked with ecstatic eyes, and he unfolded a +few feet of the net. Ramsay saw that it was similar to the gill net +insofar as it had stones--sinkers--on one side and a place for floats on +the other. Made of sixteen-thread twine, the net had a three-inch mesh. + +"A seine," Hans Van Doorst pronounced, "and a well-made seine, though it +was not made in Two Rivers. It was brought here by one of the Ohio +fishermen, for that is the way they tie their meshes. Let us see some +more. I would say that it is about eight hundred feet long. That is not +ample; we still need good pound nets, but with it we may again go +fishing. Help me, Pieter." + +Pieter and Hans dragged the box to a small tree, tied one end of the +seine to the tree's trunk, and began to unwind the net toward another +little tree. Ramsay saw how shrewdly the Dutch fisherman had guessed. +The trees, within a few feet one way or the other, were just about eight +hundred feet apart and Hans Van Doorst tied the other end of the seine +to the far tree. He stood still, a small happy grin lighting his face, +and looked at their discovery. + +Slowly, with Ramsay, Marta and Pieter trailing him, he started to walk +the length of the seine as it lay on the ground. He kept his eyes +downward, and as he walked along he talked almost to himself. "A good +seine, yes, a good seine, but it has received hard use. Here is almost +five feet where it scraped among sharp rocks, and the mesh is worn. +Under a heavy load of fish, it will break. That hole was made by a +sunken log or other object, for you can see that it is a clean tear. +This one was made by a huge fish, probably a sturgeon, for just see how +the mesh is mangled where he lunged time after time against it. Now this +. . ." + +Slowly, missing no inch of the seine, he traveled the length of it, and +as he traveled he marked every hole and weak spot by telling himself +about it. Reaching the end, he stood nervously tapping a finger against +his forehead. "My hands are more accustomed to pulling seines than +mending them," he told the three. "Still, if we are to make the catch we +can make, this seine must be mended. I will try to mend it." + +"I worked on a net in Three Points!" Ramsay said eagerly. "I stayed for +a while with Pierre LeDou, and because there was nothing else to kill +time, I helped Madame LeDou knit a gill net! This cannot be too +different!" + +"You!" For a moment Ramsay thought Hans was going to kiss him. "So! +Everything works our way! Yaah? You fix the seine!" His face fell. "No. +We must have new twine. Now where will I get it?" + +"I have some," Marta spoke up. "Good linen twine, easily a match for +anything in this seine." + +"And you would give it?" Pieter asked incredulously. + +Marta shrugged. "You're going fishing, anyway, and I'm going with you. +Men always want all the fun." + +The smile Hans turned on her was rare. "A good Dutch girl," he said. +"Thank you, Marta." + +Pieter and Hans cut tripods--three poles strung together at the top to +form a standard--and at necessary intervals raised the seine to them so +that it was completely off the ground. Like a huge tennis net, broken +only by the tripods, it stretched between the two trees. Ramsay stood +beside it with a one and one-half inch meshboard--this mesh was three +inches--and a ball of the fine linen twine which Marta had given him. + +He worked as fast as he could, while at the same time he did not +sacrifice efficiency. More than ever fishing seemed to be an art within +itself, and if the seine were not perfectly made, then it was better +left alone. A slipshod or hasty knot could cost them a hundred pounds of +fish, or even the seine itself. As Ramsay went along, he judged for +himself which parts needed repairing. Any mesh that seemed to be worn +must be replaced; a whole school of fish might follow each other through +a single hole. + +For half an hour Hans stood watching him. Then, satisfied that Ramsay +knew what he was about, he went off to cut new floats and place them on +top of the seine. A dozen times he went down to study the bay, looking +carefully and judging for himself the depth at which they would find the +largest schools of whitefish. Coming back, he adjusted the stone sinkers +accordingly. + +Absorbed in his work, Ramsay gave no thought to the passage of time +until Marta called him for supper. As soon as he had finished eating, he +returned to the net. Darkness deepened and still he worked on. + +"Ach!" Marta said. "You'll kill yourself working! Can you not come in +now?" + +"Just a little while. Bring me a lantern." + +Ramsay heard Hans Van Doorst murmur, "A fisherman, that one," and a +yellow lantern glowed behind him. It was nothing more than a tallow +candle set in a glass case but, Ramsay thought, he really didn't need a +stronger light. So sensitive had his fingers become to the feel of the +net, and so expert was he in knitting new meshes, that, almost, he would +have been able to do it with his eyes closed. He worked on while, held +alternately by Hans and Pieter, the lantern moved with him. He forgot +the ache in his fingers and the weariness in his body. He knew only that +the sooner the net was in good working order, the sooner they could go +fishing. + +The pre-dawn birds were again singing when Ramsay finally bumped against +something and, so absorbed had he been in his work, it took him a moment +to realize that it was the other tree. He held the mesh board in fingers +which, strangely and suddenly, seemed to lack all nerve or feeling. He +blinked almost stupidly and stepped back. + +When he spoke, his words sounded almost silly. "Well," he said, "there +it is." + +"There indeed it is!" Hans chuckled. "And there it will be until, as +soon as possible, we get it into the water. Come now and sleep, for with +the morning's sun I would have you go with me." + +Ramsay stumbled to his bedroom, took his shoes off, and without removing +any of his other clothing, fell across the bed. Instantly he was +submerged in exhausted slumber from which he was awakened by a gentle +hand on his shoulder. + +"Come now," a voice said. + +Ramsay sat up with a start, to see Hans Van Doorst looking down at him. +Again with a guilty feeling, he knew that he had slept far beyond the +time when any worker in this country should sleep. Hastily he sprang out +of bed. "I'll be right with you!" + +"Compose yourself," said Hans Van Doorst, who had awakened him. "There +is no need for any mad rush. I thought you might wish to help me." + +"Oh, sure!" + +Ramsay grinned faintly when he discovered that, except for his shoes, he +was fully dressed. He put his shoes on and tied them, went outside to +wash at the wash stand, and came in to eat the breakfast Marta had +ready. Scarcely noticing what he ate, he gulped it down. + +"Easy," Marta cautioned. "The stomach complaint you will be giving +yourself!" + +"I must hurry! Hans is waiting for me!" + +"With men it is always hurry, especially when they go to do what they +wish to do anyway. Aah! Only a man would give up a good farm to go +fishing!" + +"Pieter has not given up his farm," Ramsay pointed out. + +"He will," Marta prophesied. "He will, and he will go fishing with you +and that crazy Hans." + +"Oh, Marta, don't be so sad about things! It ..." + +She was sunny again. "Go along now. Hans is waiting." + +Hans had Black hitched to the cart and was waiting outside the door. His +wings calmly folded, Captain Klaus sat on the back of the seat. Ramsay +climbed up, and Hans slapped the reins over the horse's back. They +started up the sand beach--there was a corduroy road but the sand was +smoother--toward Three Points. + +Ramsay grinned impishly as they drove through the town, because he felt +the questioning glances of the towns people. Devil Chad controlled all +this, and Devil Chad had made it very clear that Ramsay was not wanted +in Three Points. Maybe Hans wasn't wanted either but, as Pierre LeDou +had pointed out, the fishermen and farmers cared little what anyone else +thought. Ramsay looked about, hoping to see Devil Chad, but he was +nowhere in sight. A little disappointed, he relaxed beside Hans. + +They drove through the village and up a rutted little road that wound +among gloomy hemlocks. Ramsay saw a doe with a fawn at her side, staring +at them. As they drew near the doe raised her white tail over her back +and disappeared. Hans grinned at her. + +"They shoot the mammas with the babies," he said, "just like they do the +papas with the horns. There is no more right in that than there is in +netting a spawning fish." + +"You mean because the babies will die?" + +"Yaah. Then, after there aren't any more deer, people just do not +understand it. Some awful disease, they say, carried them off. They do +not know that their own lack of sense carried them off. It is the same +with fish. Those who seine in the spawning season kill maybe two hundred +for every one they take. When there are not any more fish, they will +invent a terrible disease that carried them off." + +Ramsay felt a little alarm. "Do you think there won't be any more?" + +"The whitefish," Hans pronounced, "cannot last in numbers such as you +find them in now. That is because so many of them are being caught. For +maybe ten thousand years they are filling the lake until now no fish is +more numerous. Yaah, for many years they were a food staple of the +Indians. I myself have seen Indians spearing them, or shooting them with +bows and arrows. Tribes came from as far as the Mississippi River to +fish here. But a net fisherman takes more in one season than a whole +tribe of Indians used to, and often the fishermen cannot even take care +of what they catch. I have seen whitefish, good eating whitefish, +stacked like cordwood along the beach and left to rot there. I have seen +them fed to pigs. The best fishing along Lake Erie is already gone, due +to such excesses. That is why fishermen from Ohio come here." + +"Will fishing end?" Ramsay inquired. + +"That I do not think. Considering it from all angles. Now a fisherman +will catch perhaps a thousand whitefish, and maybe a hundred sturgeon, +for every trout. Why? Because the whitefish and sturgeon eat trout spawn +is part of the reason. When the whitefish and sturgeon are gone, the +trout will multiply until they are the big catch. If the trout are taken +or die out, there will be something else. No. There will always be +fishing here, but it will be better when men learn to fish wisely and +not to take anything in the spawning season." + +"When is that?" Ramsay inquired. + +"Whitefish and trout both spawn in the fall, from the fifteenth of +October until the fifteenth of December. The sturgeon, I think they are +a river fish and that they go up the rivers to spawn. If ever the rivers +are closed, there will be many fewer sturgeon." + +The gloomy little road swerved back toward the lake. They broke out of +the trees, and Ramsay saw the water again. Built into it, at this point, +was a rambling wooden pier. There was a house and a fishing shanty. Tied +to a stake in a patch of green grass, a sad-eyed brown cow munched +placidly on a five-pound whitefish. Tied to the pier, a saucy +twenty-six-foot Mackinaw boat, much like the _Spray_, bobbed up and +down. Nearer the beach was another boat, evidently a sadly worn one. +Nets of various kinds were strung on reels close to the lake. + +The house's door opened, and a ferocious little black dog snarled +toward them. Showing white teeth, foaming at the mouth, he hurled +himself straight at the visitors. Hans laughed and swung down from the +cart, and as soon as he did the little black dog leaped about him to wag +an almost furious welcome. Hans grinned and knelt to tickle the dog's +ears. + +"Like most Frenchmen, you can do nothing unless you do it violently," he +soothed. "Where is your master?" + +The house's door opened and a man, whom at first Ramsay thought was a +boy, flung himself out. Barely five feet tall, he was dressed in +breeches, leather leggings with colored fringes and a shirt that seemed +to sport every color in the rainbow. He threw himself at Hans. + +"_Mon ami!_" he screamed. "My friend! It has been so long, so very long +since you honored us with a visit! Tell me what has kept you away for so +very long?" + +"Baptiste," Hans said, "meet one of my new partners, Ramsay Cartou. +Ramsay, Baptiste LeClaire." + +Baptiste wrung Ramsay's arm as though it were a pump handle and in spite +of his small size, he was very strong. He looked frankly at the boy. + +"You have," he asked, "bought an interest in the _Spray_?" + +"The _Spray_ is no more," Hans informed him. "She went back to the +lake." + +"Oh." + +For a moment Baptiste was very sober. Then both men laughed, as though +they shared some huge secret which nobody else could ever understand. +Baptiste exploded. + +"What is it you need, my friend? My boats, my nets, my pier, my life? +Name it and it is yours!" + +"No," Hans said. "What we need is barrels. Good oaken barrels with +pliant black ash hoops. We also need salt. We have a net and we have a +boat." + +"That is all you need?" Baptiste seemed disappointed. + +"That is all." + +Baptiste turned and in rapid-fire French directed orders at three men +who were lingering near. At once they began to take barrels built to +hold two hundred pounds of fish from a huge pile near the fishing shanty +and to stack them on Baptiste's boat. Ramsay read her name, _Bon Homme_. +Baptiste LeClaire turned to his visitors. + +"Now that you are here," he said, "share the hospitality of my poor +home." + +"With pleasure," Hans agreed. + +They went into the house to meet Baptiste's wife, a sparkling little +black-eyed French woman. Producing the inevitable jug, Baptiste filled +three gourds with fiery whisky. Hans and Baptiste drained theirs with +one gulp. Ramsay nursed his, both men laughed at him. But the boy could +partake of the delicious fish stew which Baptiste's wife prepared. + +A half-hour after Ramsay and Hans returned to the Van Hooven farm, a +white sail bloomed out in the bay. She was the _Bon Homme_, loaded +halfway up the mast with barrels and salt. Hans Van Doorst rubbed his +hands in undisguised glee. + +"Now," he chuckled, "we go fishing!" + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +_PARTNERS_ + + +Ramsay was puzzled. Hans Van Doorst had arisen even before the first +faint streaks of dawn cracked the night sky and without waiting for +anyone else to get up, or for breakfast, he had gone out to work. He was +not fishing, for he had assured Ramsay that there would be no fishing +until all could take part. Furthermore, Hans had said, the fishing would +need all of them. One man alone could not take enough fish to make it +worthwhile. + +Still, Hans had gone out before it was properly light enough to see. +Ramsay had heard Captain Klaus greet his master from the top of the +house. What anyone would be doing out of bed at such an early hour +remained a mystery. In the dim morning light, descending the steps to +the kitchen, Ramsay continued to wonder why Hans had gone out when he +did. He greeted the Van Hoovens, who were already washed up for +breakfast, and Marta went to the back door to call, "Hans!" + +Captain Klaus' hoarse squawk broke the morning stillness, and a second +later there was an answering call from Hans. He was down at the beach, +doing something there, and presently he came in. + +Ramsay grinned appreciatively at his appearance, for the Dutch +fisherman's cheeks glowed like the rising sun. His eyes sparkled, and a +perpetual chuckle seemed to gurgle in his throat. Plainly Hans had been +doing some invigorating work, but it was work in which he took a vast +pleasure. Anything onerous could not possibly put such a shine upon +anyone at all. Hans washed at the basin outside the door. + +"Ah!" he breathed as he sat down to the huge breakfast Marta had +readied. "This looks good!" + +"I should think a stale crust would look good to anyone who puts in a +half-day's work before anyone else stirs," Marta said. + +"It would!" Hans agreed, helping himself to half a dozen eggs and an +equal number of bacon slices. "It would, and many a time I have dined on +only a crust! But fare such as this! Fit for the angels! I'm the +luckiest fisherman alive, I think!" + +"Also the most oily-tongued," Marta added. Nonetheless she was pleased. +"I suppose, when we are all wealthy from fishing, you will hire a cook +for me?" + +"Not I!" Hans said. "Never I! Hiring anyone but you to do our cooking +would be as out of place as hiring Joe Mannis instead of a preacher to +do our praying! No, Marta! Not elsewhere in Wisconsin is there one who +equals your skill with cookery!" + +Pieter, who often tried to beguile his wife but seldom succeeded, +laughed. Marta blushed. While Hans devoured what he had already taken, +then served himself to three more eggs, Ramsay ate almost feverishly. +Today was the big day, the time all of them had been waiting for, +because today they went fishing. Ramsay finished and waited with +ill-concealed impatience while Pieter and Hans mopped their plates with +crusts of bread. All three went outside. + +Squawking and chuckling, as though at some huge joke, Captain Klaus +winged down from the rooftop to alight on his master's shoulder. He +tilted, flapping his wings to balance himself, and caressed Hans' cheek +with his hard, cold bill, even while he kept up a running fire of sea +gull chatter. Hans reached up to stroke his pet. + +Ramsay looked down at the beach, and saw two structures which had not +been there yesterday. Hans must have built them this morning. They were +windlasses, made of peeled logs, and about eight hundred feet apart. One +was the conventional windlass--a drum mounted on two uprights and with a +crank that could be turned by hand. The spindle of the other--all these +lake men could work miracles with logs or anything else at their +command--was set vertically in a stone and log foundation and it had a +long, stout shaft protruding from its center. Ramsay looked +questioningly at Hans. + +The Dutch fisherman shrugged. "It is simple," he explained. "We have but +one horse. Therefore, we men work the one while the horse turns the +other. Marta can lead it." + +Ramsay was incredulous. "You mean we'll take so many fish that a horse +will be needed to drag them in?" + +Hans' throaty chuckle sounded. "If we do not," he said, "from now on +forever you may say that Hans Van Doorst is not a fisherman. Say that he +is just a little boy who plays at fishing." + +With a fisherman's skill, Hans was coiling a rope. He settled it +carefully in the bottom of the boat, so that it wouldn't kink or snarl +when paid out, and was alert to avoid stepping on or tangling it in +anyway. Folded exactly as Hans wanted it, with all the floats on one +side and all the sinkers on the other, the net was overhauled on the +stern of the boat. Another coil of rope lay on the net, and Hans tied +one end of that to the spindle of the horse-powered windlass. + +Then he looked happily at Pieter and Ramsay. "Now," he said, "I need an +oarsman." + +"I'll row!" Ramsay offered eagerly. + +"Go ahead." Pieter grinned. + +So expertly that he scarcely ruffled the water and did not even disturb +his net or rope, Hans launched the boat. He waded in up to his knees, +paying out more rope as he did so, and held the boat steady until Ramsay +waded out beside him and climbed into the rower's seat. + +Ramsay tried to board cautiously, skilfully, as he had seen Hans do. +Obviously a great deal of careful work had gone into folding the net and +coiling the rope. Everything had to be done exactly right, and one +clumsy or ill-timed move could make a hopeless snarl out of all. Still, +Hans seemed confident and sure of himself. Probably, Ramsay thought, he +had done this so many times that doing it was almost second nature. The +boy looked expectantly at Hans. + +"Straight into the lake," the Dutch fisherman directed. "Keep a straight +right-angle course to the windlass; you can do that by sighting yourself +from it. Row as swiftly as you wish." + +With strong, surging strokes of the oars, Ramsay sent the ponderous boat +out into the quiet lake. He watched Hans carefully, trying to note +everything he did, and his respect for fishermen grew. The Dutchman sat +almost carelessly in the stern, to all outward appearances not even +interested in what he was doing. But, as they continued out into the +lake, the rope continued to slip smoothly over the stern. There was +never a tangle or even a kink. It looked easy, but net-weaving had +looked easy too before Ramsay tried it. Beyond any doubt, it took skill +and long familiarity with the job to handle six or eight hundred feet of +rope in such a fashion and do it perfectly. + +They came near the end of the rope and Ramsay slowed his strokes a +little. The laughing Dutch fisherman turned to him. + +"Sharp left," he directed. "Stay about this far out in the lake and row +a bit more slowly. Now we set the seine." + +Ramsay followed instructions, watching the beach line to make sure that +he stayed the proper distance out, and Hans began sliding the seine over +the stern. He did it smoothly, gracefully, as he did everything +connected with fishing. Ramsay nodded approvingly to see how well Hans +laid his net and how expertly he had guaged the place in which it was to +be laid. Instead of curling toward the beach, the seine, obviously +controlled by a current that swept into the lake, billowed outward. + +"Does the lake have different currents?" Ramsay asked interestedly. + +"That it does. When the wind blows toward shore, of course waves wash up +on the shore. But the lake, she moves in a thousand different ways, and +the currents that appear on the surface are not always like those that +surge beneath the surface. Ah, yes! Many moods has Lake Michigan and," +Hans grinned, "not many of them are placid moods." + +"How could you tell that a current to hold the seine was right here?" + +"I felt it when I had hold of your horse's tail." + +Ramsay pondered that information. The current holding the net certainly +was not perceptible from the surface. It would not be evident at all, +except to one who had a thorough understanding of such things and was +able to sense the most minute change in the water that lay about him. Of +course, the stones, the sinkers, probably helped hold the seine in place +too. + +Foot by foot, the seine slipped into the lake and a long line of it +stretched at an angle toward the boat. Ramsay tried to judge for himself +how far the net was going down. He could not because he had had too +little experience in fishing, but he was sure the seine rested exactly +where Hans wanted it to rest. + +Without seeming to move, Hans leaned over to pick up the other coil of +rope. Smoothly he tied it, and the last few feet of seine slid over the +boat's stern to disappear in the lake. Ramsay waited expectantly for +directions. They came. + +"Straight as you can towards the other windlass," Hans said. "Then we +are all ready." + +Again Ramsay turned at a right angle toward the other windlass. Now he +began to understand the setting of a seine. There were the two +windlasses, the two six-hundred-foot ropes and the seine running +parallel to the beach. Now, Ramsay supposed, they would beach the boat, +tie this rope to the other windlass, and be ready to haul in the seine. +If they did not make a good catch, they could lengthen the ropes and put +the seine farther out in the lake. Also, by adding more sinkers or +subtracting some, they could raise or lower the seine. Ramsay tried to +make some observations about the water in which they were fishing. + +It was comparatively shallow, though at all places except very near the +shore it would float a fair-sized ship. Also, it seemed to have a rather +smooth bottom. In addition, though the bay could at times be angry, it +was more sheltered than some places. Storms here probably would at no +time reach the heights of fury that they reached on the open lake. +Because he was anxious to learn as much as he could about fishing, +Ramsay asked some questions. "Are whitefish usually found in shallow +water?" + +"Almost always," Hans said. "Though they need not necessarily always be +found close to shore. I myself know of reefs where we will be sure of +wonderful catches as soon as we get some pound nets, and some of them +are a mile or more out." + +"Then the lake bottom varies?" + +"Oh, yes! To get an idea of what the bottom of the lake is like, take a +look at the land about you. Here you find a hill, or a succession of +rolling hills. Here is a stretch of flat prairie. There are deep gulches +and bluffs. You will find clay, sand, loam, small stones, boulders. As +I've already said, the lake's bottom is almost exactly like the land +about it." + +"What's the deepest part?" + +"Baptiste LeClaire and I once sounded a place off the Wisconsin +peninsula. We touched bottom with a thousand feet of line, and I think +that may be the deepest place in Lake Michigan, though I cannot be sure. +I have not sounded every place in the lake and, for that matter, neither +has anyone else." + +"Are there deep-water fish?" + +"The trout ordinarily seeks deep water, though they may be found in +shallows in the spring. However, there are not enough trout to be worth +a fisherman's while. Some day this may change." + +"Is there any way to set a net so a fisherman may be sure of a good +catch?" + +"Not once in ten times, if he is just beginning, can a fisherman be +certain of a good catch, or of any catch. The tenth time is the +exception. I am sure, for instance, that there must be a vast number of +whitefish in this bay, because the food for them is here. Otherwise, the +fisherman must be taught by experience, or by another fisherman, where +to set his nets so that he will make a good catch. Watch it now. We are +about to land." + +The nose of the little boat bumped gently against the sand beach, and +Hans stepped out into knee-deep water. Paying no attention to his +soaking-wet shoes and trousers, he uncoiled the rope as he walked up the +beach and tied it through a hole which he had drilled in the spindle of +the hand windlass. More gingerly, not afraid of getting wet but not +anxious to do so, Ramsay stepped to the nose of the boat and leaped +onto the dry beach. + +Pieter and Marta joined them, and all turned puzzled glances on Hans; +they knew almost nothing about the technique of fishing and must look to +him. Ramsay watched the fisherman test the taut rope with his hand, and +a little smile of satisfaction flitted across his face. + +Excited himself, Hans looked at the even more excited people about him. +"Relax." He grinned. "The seine is not going anywhere, and we will soon +see what we have caught. Ramsay, do you want to harness the horse and +bring him down?" + +"Sure." + +Ramsay trotted to the barn, anxious to be doing anything that would help +relieve the seething tension within him. Everything he had done this +morning--indeed, everything he had done since meeting Hans Van +Doorst--had been fascination itself. Now, if Hans' predictions were +right, and the Dutch fisherman seemed so absolutely sure of himself, +they would soon be in the fishing business. Ramsay laid a friendly hand +on Black's mane, and the little horse followed willingly into the barn. +He stood quietly to be harnessed. Ramsay fastened a singletree to the +harness tugs and hooked a strong chain onto it. + +Partaking of the humans' excitement, Captain Klaus winged low over the +beach, crying and squawking as he wheeled and dipped in graceful +circles. Ramsay grinned at him. Of all the pets a fisherman might have, +surely a sea gull was the most fitting. + +Ramsay led Black toward the far windlass, the one the horse was to work, +because Hans, Pieter and Marta had gathered about it. Captain Klaus +came out of the sky to alight on top of the windlass, and the horse +scraped a restless front hoof across the sand beach. Ramsay looked +inquiringly at Hans, who frowned and stepped back, then turned to the +boy. "We need a longer chain," he decided. "Will you get one?" + +"Sure." + +Ramsay ran back to the barn and returned with the longest chain Pieter +had. Hans hooked it to the windlass shaft, laid it out flat, and then +connected it to the chain Ramsay had already brought. The boy nodded +understandingly. The rope dipped into the lake, then rose to the +windlass spindle. The chain had to be long enough so that the horse, in +walking around and around, could step over the rope. + +Hans turned to Marta. "When I give the word," he said, "lead the horse +in a circle around the windlass. Lead him slowly; we do not want the +seine to come in too fast. Try to maintain a steady pace, and we will do +our best to suit ours to yours. Both ends of the seine must come in +evenly." + +"Yaah!" In spite of her dire forebodings about fishermen, Marta's eyes +were shining like stars. "Yaah! I can do it." + +"Good," Hans said gently. "I know you can. Ramsay, you and Pieter come +with me." + +The three men took their places by the other windlass, and Ramsay tried +to suppress a growing excitement. He waited tensely, both hands on the +crank; Pieter was on the other side of the windlass. + +Looking once more at the taut rope stretching into the lake, Hans Van +Doorst raised his voice, "All right, Marta!" + +Grasping the cheek strap of the little horse's bridle, Marta began to +lead him slowly around and around. Tense, sweating a little, Ramsay took +a fierce grip on the windlass crank and looked at Hans. The Dutch +fisherman, his eyes on Marta, timed the turning of the windlass. "Now!" +he said. + +Ramsay strained with every muscle and nerve, and great beads of sweat +dripped from his forehead. Hans had built well and with a full +appreciation of leverage and tension; nevertheless, the windlass was +hard to turn. The seine itself would be responsible for part of that. +Dry, one man could carry it. But when lake water penetrated every one of +its hundreds of meshes, the seine would surely weigh much more. However, +no net of any description could within itself weigh this much. Hans must +have guessed correctly. There were endless fish in the bay and the +incoming seine must be loaded with them. + +"Faster!" Hans exclaimed. + +Ramsay gritted his teeth and turned the windlass faster. He shot a +fleeting glance at Marta, who was still leading the horse slowly. Even +so, Black was going too fast. The combined strength of three men was no +match for the strength of a horse. Hans' bellow split the air, "Marta, +stop!" + +Marta halted the little horse and Ramsay leaned his weight against the +windlass' crank so that they would not lose what they had already +gained. He gulped in great, refreshing breaths. Hans asked, "Can you +hold it?" + +Ramsay and Pieter nodded, and Hans walked down to talk with Marta. She +must lead the horse even more slowly, for the men could not keep up with +him. If both ends of the seine were not pulled in evenly, if the net was +tilted or bent, the catch could well be lost. + +Ramsay straightened as Hans came back to take hold of the crank. "All +right," he said. + +Ramsay turned, setting his shoulder to the windlass while his breath +came in excited little gasps. The rope, tight as a stretched wire, +sloped into the lake. Though it was stoutly built of heavy logs, the +windlass trembled on its frame. The crank became harder to turn and the +wet rope wrapped like a clinging hair about the spindle. Ramsay gasped. + +Out in the lake, just beyond the shallow water at the edge of the beach, +the seine's floats showed. The seine itself was bent like a bow, its two +ends straining toward the windlasses while the center arched into the +lake. + +The gleam of silver in the seine seemed to cast a soft radiance over the +lake and the beach, and even a powerful current could not have bowed the +seine in such a fashion. Ramsay set his shoulder to the windlass and +helped give it two more turns. Down at the other windlass, Marta was +watching them. She, too, had learned. The men could not keep up with the +horse, so she was adjusting the horse's speed to them. + +Farther up the seine came, so that some of the sinkers were dragging in +the shallows. The floats were bowed over, forming a sort of half-sack, +and the center of the seine still arched back into deep water. Ramsay +saw a tight little grin appear on Hans Van Doorst's face. Pieter was +looking incredulously at the loaded net. + +"A little more!" Hans pleaded. "Just a little more! Get the center up!" + +They took two more turns, brought the center of the seine into shallow +water, and Hans latched the windlass. With a wild whoop, the Dutch +fisherman raced down to the lake and stooped to grasp a +hundred-and-fifty-pound sturgeon caught in the net. Hans dragged it up +onto the beach, left it there, and returned to get a bigger one. + +"Nets unload!" he sang out. + +Ramsay ran forward, heedless of water that surged about his knees. He +stumbled, fell headlong, and arose sputtering. But, now that he was +soaking-wet anyway, it no longer made any difference. He grabbed a +six-pound whitefish in each hand and threw the pair far up the beach. He +grinned as he watched Pieter drag another big sturgeon out of the seine, +and grabbed two more whitefish. + +"Yaah! For once men work with a real will!" + +Ramsay turned around to see Marta, her spray-wet hair plastered close to +her head. Her feet were spread almost defiantly apart, and the smile on +her lips and the laugh in her eyes were proof of the fact that she was +now whole-heartedly with them. Fishermen risked a lot. But who didn't +risk when they played for big stakes? Lake Michigan was there, until now +an almost untapped source of wealth; and if nobody dared to get this +hoard, it would remain forever in the lake. Somebody had to try. In that +moment, as never before, Ramsay knew that they were in the fishing +business. + +Only vaguely was he aware of Pieter and Hans working beside him, and he +did not know how long it took to get all the fish out of the seine. He +knew only that suddenly the net sagged emptily. He took two small +whitefish out of it, threw them back into the lake, and watched them +swim away; then he looked at Hans Van Doorst. + +"Let us bring the net up to dry," Hans said. + +They reeled in the windlasses and stretched the soaking seine between +them. Ramsay turned for a look at the beach, and he could not see it +because the sand was covered with fish. Hans had been right. The bay in +front of the Van Hooven home was a very paradise for fish. Countless +sturgeon and whitefish lay on the beach. Ramsay heard Hans say, "Now we +go to work." + +Hans hitched the little horse, brought the cart down to the beach, and +began throwing whitefish into it. The bigger, heavier sturgeon, of +course, Hans had to lift into the wagon box. When they had a load, he +drove to the stacked barrels left by Baptiste LeClaire. Ramsay watched +interestedly. + +A little trickle of water wound into the lake at this point, and Hans +had dammed it in such a fashion that a miniature cataract fell over the +stones and mud which he had placed in the water course. Beside this were +a big, flat wooden dish, evidently also made by Hans, and several sacks +of salt. The Dutchman produced three razor-sharp fish knives, more +salvage from the _Spray_, and turned to Pieter. "Do you want to bring +the rest of the fish up?" + +"Yaah. I'll do that." + +Hans caught up a six-pound whitefish and, seeming to use his knife very +little, he cut its head off. Leaving the fish unscaled, he sliced it +down the backbone to the end of the tail and spilled the viscera out. He +washed his fish in the dam's tiny spillway and, filling the wooden dish +with salt, he rolled the split whitefish in dry salt. Then he placed it +carefully in a two-hundred-pound barrel. + +Ramsay caught up a fish and a knife and tried to imitate exactly Hans' +procedure. But, though he thought he was doing everything precisely as +the Dutchman had done it, he was much slower. Hans had two more fish +ready and in the barrel before Ramsay was finished with one. Grimly +Ramsay worked on. If this was a part of fishing, it was a part he must +and would learn. He picked up another fish and, as he worked, he gained +skill. + +As soon as one barrel was filled, Hans threw a couple of hands full of +salt on top, fitted a head to it and clamped it down with a black ash +hoop. Again Ramsay nodded understandingly. He had supposed that a brine +solution in which to pack the fish must be prepared, but evidently none +was necessary. Enough water remained on the fish to form their own +brine. Packed in such a fashion, they would keep for many months. + +Pieter brought another load of fish and another, and then set to work +with a fish knife to help clean the catch and pack it. The big sturgeon, +of course, had to be cut into suitable strips and salted before they +were packed. Some of them were filled with roe--caviar--and Pieter +carted pails full of that to feed Marta's poultry. The remainder of the +waste was loaded into the cart and hauled far away from the scene of the +packing. Then Hans scrubbed everything carefully. Fishermen who packed +food for human consumption must be very clean. + +The sun was down and the moon up before they finished, but when they +were done they had packed seven barrels--fourteen hundred pounds--of +whitefish and three barrels of sturgeon. It was a rich haul. Though they +had worked for almost seventeen hours, each of them had earned more +money than the average worker in Devil Chad's tannery received in a full +month. + +Ramsay sighed as he cleaned and honed his fish knife, and Hans said, +"The moon is bright and right for working, and we need a pier." + +"A pier?" + +"Yaah. Else how will a boat put in to pick our catch up? I work for an +hour or so." + +Ramsay, thinking of his comfortable bed, stumbled down to the lake to +help Hans put in an hour or two on the pier. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +_ACTION_ + + +Restlessly Ramsay picked up a big whitefish and cleaned it. Salting it, +he threw the fish into a barrel and picked up another. A freckle-faced +urchin about ten years old stood near, watching him. The youngster was +Johnny O'Toole, son of Shamus O'Toole. In the summer Shamus did odd +jobs. In winter, when boats could not run, he drove one of the sleds +that carried leather from Three Points to Milwaukee and cattle hides +from Milwaukee to Three Points. + +"You goin' to fix a sturgeon?" Johnny demanded. + +"Sure," Ramsay said absently. "Pretty soon." + +Ramsay's eyes kept straying out on the lake, past the solid wooden pier +which Hans, Pieter and Ramsay, had erected. The past days, it seemed, +had been nothing but work. Up with the dawn and out to make another +catch of fish. Pack the catch, and spend any time that remained working +on the pier. Weeds were sprouting as high as the corn, oats were heading +untended and unheeded on their stalks, and the farm was getting only the +skimpiest attention. All this because they had decided to gamble on +fishing. + +When the _Jackson_, summoned by Hans, had nosed into their pier, she had +taken on board a hundred and twenty barrels--twenty-four thousand +pounds of whitefish--and forty thousand pounds of sturgeon. The +whitefish, Hans had assured them, would bring not less than five cents a +pound in the Chicago market and the sturgeon were worth three cents a +pound. When they had their money they would be able to buy a pound net, +a pound boat, more salt and barrels, and be ready for fishing on a +really big scale. + +Ramsay's eyes kept darting toward the lake. The _Jackson's_ skipper had +said that, depending on how much cargo he had to take on in Chicago and +the number of stops between Chicago and Three Points, the ship would be +back Tuesday or Wednesday. This was Tuesday, and Ramsay could not +control his impatience. + +"Fix a sturgeon," Johnny pleaded. "Fix a sturgeon now." + +"I ... All right, Johnny." + +Ramsay began to dismember a hundred-pound sturgeon, and Johnny O'Toole's +eyes danced. He stood anxiously near, trying to remember his manners, +but his impatience triumphed. "Gimme his nose, will ya? Can I have his +nose?" + +"Sure, Johnny." + +Ramsay, who had learned a lot about dressing fish since his first +halting attempts, sliced the sturgeon's nose off with one clean stroke +of his knife. The nose was round as a ball, and as rubbery, and every +one of the numberless freckles on Johnny O'Toole's face danced with +delight when Ramsay tossed it to him. + +Immediately, Johnny began bouncing the sturgeon's nose up and down on +the hard-packed ground. He had only to drop it, and the nose bounded +higher than his head. This was the rubber ball, and sometimes the only +plaything, of children who lived among the commercial fishermen of Lake +Michigan. Johnny began throwing the nose against a tree, catching it in +his hand as it rebounded to him. + +Ramsay--Hans and Pieter were down at the lake, strengthening the +pier--picked up another sturgeon and filled a barrel. He sprinkled the +usual two handfuls of salt on top of the filled barrel, fitted a head to +it, and bound it tightly with a black ash hoop. Ramsay looked at the two +sturgeon remaining from this morning's catch, and decided that they +would just about fill a barrel. He rolled one of their dwindling supply +over. + +"Can I have their noses, too?" Johnny begged. "Can I? Huh?" + +"Sure, Johnny." + +"Gee! Thanks!" + +Johnny O'Toole began to play with his four sturgeon noses, sometimes +bouncing all of them at once and sometimes juggling them. Ramsay +continued to steal glances at the lake. If everything worked out the way +Hans said it would, they would have ... Ramsay dared not think of it, +but, even after they paid the skipper of the _Jackson_ for hauling their +catch to Chicago, there would be a great deal. + +"I'd better be goin'," Johnny O'Toole said. "My Pa, he whales me if I +stay out after dark. Thanks for the sturgeon noses. I can trade two of +'em to my brother for a knife he's got." + +"You're welcome, Johnny. Come back when we have some more sturgeon." + +"I'll do that!" + +Bouncing one of the sturgeon noses ahead of him, Johnny O'Toole started +up the beach toward Three Points. Ramsay watched him go, then cleaned +the last of the sturgeon, put them in a barrel and sealed it. As the +evening shadows lengthened, he looked again at the bay. The _Jackson_ +still had not put in, and he gave up. The ship would not be here until +tomorrow. He left the barrels where they were and went toward the house. + +Tradin' Jack Hammersly's four-wheeled cart was again in the yard, its +curtains rolled up to reveal the trader's tempting array of wares. His +gray horse was in the corral with the little black, and Tradin' Jack +Hammersly's stovepipe hat was decorously placed on the bench outside the +door. Ramsay grinned faintly as he washed up. The Trader was an +eccentric character, and Ramsay suspected that his eccentricities were +planned; they made good advertising. But he was likeable, and now they +would get more news. Ramsay went into the house. + +"Hi, Ramsay," Tradin' Jack greeted him. "How about a pretty ribbon for +that girl of yours?" + +"I still haven't any girl." + +"Slow," Tradin' Jack asserted. "So much time you have spent around here +an' still no girl. Too slow." + +"I'll get one," Ramsay promised, "but I've been too busy fishing to look +the field over." + +Tradin' Jack nodded sadly. "Yes. I heard it. That's what I did, heard +it. So you go fishin'. So what happens? Can a trader trade fish? No. He +can't. Fish you sell in Chicago. Fishermen are the ruination of +traders." + +"Not everybody will go fishing," Pieter pointed out. "Enough will stay +at farming to keep you supplied. Besides, with all the money the +fishermen are going to earn, they can buy a lot more of your goods." + +"That's so," Tradin' Jack agreed. "That's so, too, but a man's got to +take everything into account. If he wants to stay in business, he has +to. Got any eggs for me, Marta?" + +"Yaah! Crate after crate." + +"I'll take 'em. Take 'em all. Fourteen cents a dozen. Fourteen and a +half if you'll take it in trade." + +His mind on the _Jackson_, which even now should be churning its way +toward them, Ramsay only half-listened as Tradin' Jack rattled on about +the various events which, combined, went to make up life on the west +shore of Lake Michigan. Remembering little of what he had heard, Ramsay +went upstairs to bed. Snuggling down into the soft, feather-filled +mattress, he tried to stay awake and could not. The work was always too +hard and the days too long to forego even one minute's slumber. + + * * * * * + +The sun was only half-awake when Ramsay got up, breakfasted and went +back to the place where they cleaned their fish. Everything that could +be was packed and the grounds were clean, but yesterday they had ripped +a ragged gash in the seine and now that needed repair. Ramsay, assisted +by Hans, set to work with a ball of linen twine. He lost himself in what +he was doing. The important thing, if they wanted fish, was to get the +net into the water and use it. Even one half-hour must not be wasted. + +Ramsay was jerked out of his absorption in the net by two shrill blasts. +He sat up, and sprang to his feet as the blasts were repeated. Looking +in the direction of the pier, he saw the _Jackson_, her wheel churning +up a path of foam, nosing toward the mooring place. Pieter appeared, and +Marta. All four raced to the pier, and they reached it before the +approaching steamer did. Ramsay and Hans secured mooring lines which a +deck hand threw to them, and Captain Williamson of the _Jackson_ came +down a short ladder. + +He was a bustling little man who wore a blue-and-gold uniform which, +Ramsay thought, would have graced an admiral in any navy. But he was +efficient and he knew the lake. For eleven years he had been running the +_Jackson_ between Three Points and Chicago without getting her into or +even near trouble. + +Captain Williamson took a white sheet and a wallet from an inner pocket, +and he read from the sheet, "Twenty-four thousand pounds of whitefish +you gave me. It brought five cents a pound, or twelve hundred dollars, +less a cent a pound for the hauling. Here you are, nine hundred and +twenty dollars." + +From the wallet he extracted a sheaf of bills and handed them to Hans. +Ramsay looked questioningly at him. "The sturgeon?" he asked. + +"Ha!" Captain Williamson snorted. "There's enough sturgeon layin' on the +Chicago pier to run the whole city for the next six weeks. Nobody's +buying it but, since I hauled, I have to be paid. See you later, +gentlemen." + +Captain Williamson scrambled back up his ladder, which was hauled in +after him. Snorting like an overworked draft horse, the _Jackson_ backed +away from her mooring, made a wide circle into the lake, and puffed on +toward Three Points. Ramsay looked incredulously at the money in Hans' +fist, slow to realize that, even if they split it among the four of +them, it would be more than half a year's wages for each and they had +earned it in less than two weeks. Then he looked at Marta's face and +burst out laughing. + +From the first, Marta had been with them only half-heartedly and only +because Pieter could not be swayed from fishing. Now, seeing enough +money to buy a farm, and with tangible evidence that fishing paid well, +she had swung completely to their side. Pieter and Hans joined in +Ramsay's laughter while Marta looked puzzled. She was, as Hans had +declared, a good Dutch girl. Definitely she was not avaricious, but no +good Dutch girl could fail to be impressed by the sight of so much +money. Hans clasped the bills firmly and looked at his partners. "What +do you say?" he asked. + +"What do you mean?" Ramsay inquired. + +"Pound nets we need, pound boats. Men to help us set them. More salt and +more barrels. We owe Baptiste. Or shall we divide what we have and keep +on fishing with the seine?" + +"Will it take so much to buy those things of which you speak?" Marta +inquired. + +"This and more, if we really want to take fish." + +"Then let's do it!" Marta declared. + +"Pieter?" Hans inquired. + +"Fishing beats farming." + +"Ramsay?" + +"I came here to fish." + +"Come with me." + +Hans hitched the little black horse, and Ramsay climbed up on the cart +beside him. Captain Klaus, hurrying frantically from his perch atop the +house, alighted on the cart and caressed Hans with his bill. The Dutch +fisherman whistled happily as he drove along, and Ramsay grinned. This +was the way to get things done; work every second of every day to catch +fish and then, without even thinking twice about it, invest everything +they had earned in more equipment so they could catch even more fish. +Captain Klaus winged off the cart to go and see what some of his wild +relatives along the lake shore were doing. + +Ramsay turned to Hans, "How big is this pound net?" + +"Ha! You have never seen one?" + +"Never." + +"Soon you will. Very soon you will. There are a lot of pieces in each +net and, all together, they weigh about six hundred and fifty pounds. It +will cost, I think, about thirty cents a pound, or perhaps two hundred +dollars for each net. Then we shall need at least one pound boat, and +that will cost an additional two hundred dollars. We shall need more +rope, perhaps two hundred and fifty pounds, at a cost of about nine +cents a pound. Then we shall have to hire men to help us drive spiles +for the net. We need more barrels, more salt. The money we have here +will provide us with no more than one net." + +"How many should we have?" + +"I think that you, I and Pieter could handle three on part time. We +could very well use seven or eight if we gave full time to pound nets. +However, as soon as we get three in working order--and meanwhile we will +continue to seine--we will build a good Mackinaw boat, like the _Spray_, +and use gill nets, too." + +Ramsay whistled. "We're really getting in deep!" + +"Ah, yes!" Hans said gleefully. "But the fishing, it is a business! It +is the only business for a man!" + +Ramsay pondered thoughtfully. Devil Chad, who lately had seemed remote, +was now near and his presence could be felt. Probably, to anyone who +knew Devil Chad, it would be impossible to go into Three Points without +sensing his nearness. If Devil Chad had set out to control everything, +then why hadn't he made an attempt to control fishing? Certainly it was +profitable. Ramsay dismissed the thought. Maybe Devil Chad had his hands +full and lacked the time to intrude on the fisheries. It still seemed +strange that he would lack time to intrude on anything that offered an +honest, or even a dishonest, dollar. + +Captain Klaus came winging back to the cart and perched on the +Dutchman's shoulder. Hans turned the little horse down a dim road, one +Ramsay had not yet noticed, on the edge of Three Points, and they came +out on the borders of a river that emptied into the lake. + +There was a large shed with a chimney that leaned at a crazy angle and +belched a thin trickle of smoke. Hans halted the little horse, who +immediately lowered his head to nibble at one of the few patches of +green grass growing on this sand beach. Ramsay turned his head to look +at the place. + +Lumber of various sizes and cuts was stacked all about it, and there was +a pile of uncut logs left to season. Ramsay saw the gleam of a saw and +caught the scent of a wood-fired boiler. Now the saw's shrill roar was +stilled and the boiler's fires were banked. Ramsay looked at the dozen +boats that were drawn up on the river bank. They were sturdy, fourteen +to sixteen feet long, and propelled wholly by oars. At the back of each +was sort of a small winch. There were broad seats and long oars. Ramsay +turned to face the man who emerged from the shed. + +He was tall, blond and so big that he was almost fat. But his quick eyes +were not those of a dull-witted fat man, and his big hands tapered into +slim, expressive, artist's fingers. A ready smile seemed engraved on his +thick lips, and his blue eyes lighted readily. "Hans!" he exclaimed. + +"Hello, Tom," Hans said. + +"What the dickens! I thought you'd gone off some place!" + +Hans laughed. "Not me! I wish you to meet one of my new partners, Ramsay +Cartou. Ramsay, Tom Nedley. He is an artist with the wood and could make +fine violins, but he prefers to pass his time on this river bank, making +pound boats for indigent fishermen." + +"Glad to know you." Tom wrung Ramsay's hand. "What are you up to?" + +"We have come," Hans announced, "to get a pound boat." + +"Sure. Take your pick." + +"We," Hans said grandly, "have the money to pay for it." + +"Gosh! I heard you lost the _Spray_?" + +"That we did," Hans conceded, "and three good men with it. But we shall +build another boat as good. Can you, by the way, supply me with a good +oaken keel and cedar planking?" + +"Sure. I'll even show you where there's some big cedar stumps that'll do +for the ribbing." + +"I already know," Hans said. "What we wish to have you do now is deliver +a good pound boat to Pieter Van Hooven's place. Two hundred dollars?" + +"Yup. But if you haven't the money ..." + +"We have it," Hans assured him. He counted out some money and pressed it +into Tom Nedley's hands. The big boatmaker looked both embarrassed and +pleased. "Gosh! Thanks! Got your spiles driven?" + +"Nope." + +"For that you need two boats." + +"Of that I am aware. But we do not have money to buy two." + +"I'll get my brother, my cousin and their sons," Tom Nedley offered. "Be +down in the mornin'." + +"For that we will pay you." + +"Aw, Hans ..." + +"Take it." Hans grinned. "We are certain to get rich fishing but, if we +don't, you will have something." + +"Aw shucks ..." + +"Take it!" + +"We'll be there." + +"Thanks," Hans said. + +Mounting the cart, he turned the horse around and at a smart trot drove +up into the village. Ramsay sat proudly erect, feeling strength like +that of a young bull arise within him. This was the village from which +he had been driven in disgrace by Devil Chad, but it was a village he +dared return to. Any time he felt like it he would return to Three +Points, and let Devil Chad meet him if he dared. Hans stopped the horse +in front of a cottage which might have been an exact duplicate of the +one occupied by Pierre and Madame LeDou. + +Letting the horse stand, Hans leaped from the cart and faced Ramsay. +"This," he announced loudly, "is the home of Frog-Mouth Fontan, whose +good wife is about to sell us a pound net. Frog-Mouth, by the way, is +one of Devil Chad's closest friends." + +As though summoned by the voice, one of the very few tall Frenchmen +Ramsay had ever seen appeared at the door. His mouth, the boy noticed, +was oddly like that of a frog. As soon as he recognized his visitor, he +emitted an enraged bellow and charged. + +Hans grinned, stepped aside, and swung. But Frog-Mouth Fontan was an +expert fighter, too. He dodged, pivoted and dealt two swift blows that +set Hans' head to rocking. Then the Dutchman found the range, and sent +his pile-driver fist into Frog-Mouth's jaw. He hit again, and a third +time. Frog-Mouth Fontan staggered, weaved backwards, and with a silly +grin on his face sat down against the cabin. He continued to grin +foolishly, staring into the bright sun. A small, dark woman without any +teeth appeared at the door. She looked at her husband, then spat at him. +"_Cochon!_" she said. "Pig!" She looked at Ramsay and Hans. "What do you +want?" + +"One of your excellent pound nets, Madame Fontan," Hans murmured +politely. + +"Do you have the money to pay for it?" + +"We have it." + +"Load the net." + +Ramsay helped Hans lift the folded net, four pieces of +three-and-a-quarter-inch webbing, two pieces of six-and-a-quarter-inch, +and seven pieces of eight-and-a-half-inch, onto the cart. The latter +sagged beneath almost seven hundred pounds of net, and the little horse +looked questioningly around. But he stepped out obediently when Hans +slapped the reins over his back, and Captain Klaus squawked over them as +they returned to Pieter's farm. + + * * * * * + +The next morning Ramsay stared in astonishment at a unique craft coming +down the lake. Five men, one of whom was Tom Nedley, manned the +outlandish rigging, and it was propelled by two sets of oars. Ramsay +strolled down to meet it, and noticed some spiles--poles--about +thirty-five feet long, that were piled on the beach. Evidently Hans had +cut them, or had them brought down, after he and Ramsay returned home. +The craft, and as it drew near, Ramsay saw that it was two sixteen-foot +pound boats, bound together by stout planks front and rear, nosed into +the pier. The crew disembarked, and Tom Nedley introduced Ramsay to his +brother, his cousin and their two strapping sons. Ramsay turned a +curious gaze on the boats. + +They were lashed solidly together by planks that kept them about fifteen +feet apart. On top of the planks was raised a sort of scaffolding, +connected by a heavy beam whose nether surface was about twenty feet +from the water. Suspended from the beam was a four-pulley block with a +rope through each pulley, and the ropes supported an iron drop hammer. +There was another pulley whose use Ramsay could not even guess. + +Shouting and scrambling as though this were some sort of picnic +especially arranged just for them, Tom Nedley's boisterous crew threw +the spiles in the water and floated them out to the boats. They tied +them to the stern, then set up a concerted shouting. "Hans! Hey, Hans! +Pieter!" + +Grinning, Hans and Pieter, who had lingered over their breakfast after +Ramsay was finished, appeared from the house. Tom Nedley's brother said +plaintively, "Twenty minutes of six! Half the day gone already! Don't +you fellows ever do anything except sleep?" + +"Yaah!" Hans scoffed. "Who is so filled with ambition?" He looked at the +oarsman who had spoken and leaped lightly into the boat. "Now we will +see who is the best man." + +Ramsay jumped on board just in time to keep from being left behind, and +Hans bent his mighty back to the oars. In the second boat the other +oarsman tried to match Hans' pace, and the unwieldy craft spurted away +like a frightened deer. Trailing behind, the spiles left a path of +bubbly ripples. + +Out of the bay they went and into the open lake. Then they turned south, +obviously Hans had some destination in mind. At any rate, he seemed to +know exactly where he was going. They stopped rowing on a reef about a +mile from shore, and one of the men retrieved a spile. + +Tom Nedley spoke to Ramsay. "Feel strong?" + +"Sure thing." + +"Good. We'll need some strong men around here. Wait until they're set, +an' then I'll show you what to do." + +Hans and another man up-ended the spile and probed toward the lake +bottom with it. They hung it on the other pulley and, when it was in +place, the end was about three feet below the drop-hammer. Hans fastened +it to the pulley, steadied it with his hands and sang out, "Let her go!" + +Tom Nedley handed a long rope to Ramsay, bade him hold it tight, and two +men in the other boat took the other two ropes. Jerking the rope in his +hands, Tom Nedley tripped the latch holding the drop-hammer, and +instantly Ramsay felt the weight. + +He hung on very tightly and was reassured by Tom Nedley's quiet, "You'll +soon get the hang of it. When I give the word, let the hammer fall just +hard enough to hit the spile. Stop it, of course, before it hits the +boys steadyin' for us." + +Ramsay waited, his eyes on Tom Nedley. The big man said, "Now!" + +The hammer dropped squarely but not completely, because Ramsay tried to +stop it too soon. Again Tom Nedley reassured him. + +"Just let her fall," he urged, as he helped raise the hammer back into +position. "There's plenty of time to stop her, but don't be careless. +That hammer weighs a hundred and seventy five pounds, an' I doubt if +even Hans' head would take that much fallin' on it." + +This time Ramsay got the rhythm. The hammer dropped swiftly, squarely +and with full force. It seated the spile in the lake bottom, so that +there was no longer any necessity for holding it. Hans and the other +stepped back. Again and again Ramsay helped drop the hammer, until the +pole was driven about eight feet into the lake bottom and perhaps four +feet remained above the surface. It had been about thirty-six feet to +start with, therefore the water at this place was twenty-four feet deep. +It should be right for whitefish. + +"Let me take that rope a while," someone said. + +Gladly Ramsay relinquished his rope to Pieter, and rested his aching +shoulders while he watched interestedly. The piles were being driven in +a geometrical pattern, a sort of square, and Ramsay understood that the +first nine were to hold the pot, the actual trap. Measuring carefully, +the boats moved away and more spiles were driven. These were for the +hearts of the net. Finally, running straight toward shore, spiles were +driven in a pattern that resembled the forks of a 'Y.' To these would be +attached the tunnel, the webbing that guided fish through the hearts of +the pound net and into the pot. + +Ramsay straightened, easing his aching shoulders. It was hard work, very +hard, to lift the hammer and let it fall for hours on end. But now the +spiles for one pound net were driven. The boy turned to Hans. "Gee whiz! +How about moving all this?" + +"You don't move a pound net except, of course, to take up the webbing +when the lake freezes. Otherwise, we'll leave this right where it is. It +is possible to fish a pound net in the same location for fifty years or +more." + +"What's next?" + +"Set the net. I think there is still time." + +They rowed back to the pier, where Marta, who had taken over the +treasurer's post, paid Tom Nedley and his crew. The big man grinned his +thanks. + +"You need us again, you know where to find us." + +"We'll probably take you up on that," Hans said. + +The ropes binding the two boats were loosened and the scaffold taken +down. Leaving the boat Hans had bought, Tom Nedley and his helpers piled +into the other one and started rowing up the lake. Hans, Pieter and +Ramsay went to the pound net. + +The pot, the trap, was loaded first. Then came the flaring, heart-shaped +'hearts,' and finally the leads, or tunnel. Setting himself to the oars, +Hans rowed back to where they had driven the piles. He tied the lead, +the beginning of the tunnel, to the spile. A five-pound stone fastened +to the bottom rope carried it down into the lake. Giving the oars to +Ramsay and cautioning him to travel slowly, Hans fastened the lead to +each spile and sank it with stones. The flaring hearts were set in the +same way. + +Coming to the pot, Hans first fastened a four-foot chain with an +attached pulley to the pile. Then he tied a rope, double the depth of +the water and with some allowance for shrinkage, to the bottom of the +pot. He did this on each spile, and they put the whole pot into the +water. Ramsay began to understand. + +In effect, they had set a gigantic fly-trap. Any fish that came along +would be guided by the tunnel into the hearts, and then into the pot. +Should any escape, the flaring sides of the hearts would keep them +trapped and, nine times out of ten, send them back into the pot instead +of out through the tunnel. + + * * * * * + +Ramsay labored under the weight of a two-hundred-pound sturgeon which +had been dragged in by the seine. Hans and Pieter hadn't wanted to +bother with sturgeon because there was no market for them, anyhow, but +Ramsay had permitted them to throw none back into the lake. Cradling his +slippery prize across his chest, as though it was a log, he carried it +to the pond and threw it in. For a moment the sturgeon swam dazedly on +the surface, then flipped his tail and submerged. Ramsay gazed into the +pond. It was alive with sturgeon weighing from seventy-five to almost +three hundred pounds. There were so many that, to supplement the food in +the pond, they were feeding them ground corn. + +Ramsay stripped off his wet clothes and dived cleanly into the pond. +Water surged about him, washing off all the sweat and grime which he had +accumulated during the day. He probed along the pond's bottom, and felt +the smooth sides of a sturgeon beneath him. It was only a little one. + +He swam on until he had to surface for air, and dived again. Across the +pond's murky depths he prowled, his white body gleaming like some great +worm in the water. Finally he found what he was looking for. + +It was a big sturgeon, and it was feeding quietly. Moving as slowly as +possible, Ramsay rubbed a hand across its back. Suddenly he wrapped both +arms about the fish and took a firm grasp with his bare legs. + +For a moment, while the dull sturgeon tried to determine what was +happening, there was no movement. Then the big fish awakened to danger +and shot to the surface. With all the speed of an outboard motor he +sliced along it, and a moment later he dived again. Grinning, +exhilarated, Ramsay swam back to shore and dressed. + +Tradin' Jack Hammersly's rig was in the yard, and Ramsay heard the man +say, "Marta, what you been feedin' your hens?" + +"The best!" Marta said indignantly. "The very best!" + +"The best of what?" + +"Why grain, and scraps, and ..." + +"And sturgeon roe?" + +"Why--yes." + +"What I thought," Tradin' Jack sighed. "Ye'll have to stop it. Ever' +customer as got some of your eggs told me they taste like caviar!" + +A moment later there was a rapid-fire sputter of French expletives. His +face red, seeming about to explode, Baptiste LeClaire raced around the +corner of the house. + +"Get your guns!" he screamed when he saw Ramsay. "Get your knives and +clubs too! Get everything! We have to kill everybody!" + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + +_PIRATES_ + + +Baptiste was dancing up and down, flinging his arms like the blades of a +windmill and screaming in French. Ramsay wrinkled his brow. He had +picked up some French, but not enough to translate the torrent of words +that rolled out of the agitated man's mouth. And never before in his +life had he seen anyone so mad. Baptiste was invoking every evil he +could think of, a most generous portion, upon someone's hapless head. +Ramsay made a move to stop him. + +"Wait. I can't follow you...." + +A few English words, among which Ramsay recognized pig, dog and son of a +rotten fish, mingled with Baptiste's violent Gallic tirade. He continued +to wave his arms and yell. Ramsay waited helplessly, unable to +understand or to do anything. Attracted by the clamor, Hans, Pieter, +Marta and Tradin' Jack appeared. + +Very quietly Hans advanced to Baptiste's side. "What is it, my friend?" + +Almost tearfully, grateful because, at last, he had someone able to +understand, Baptiste turned his machine-gun rattle of French on Hans. +Ramsay watched the Dutch fisherman's face tighten, and then it was set +in white-hot anger. He waited for Baptiste to finish, and asked in +English, "Do you know who did it?" + +"No." Having worn himself out, Baptiste lapsed naturally into English, +too. He turned his hot, angry face on the others. + +Hans spoke again. "Go to Madame Fontan in Three Points," he said to +Baptiste. "Tell her that I, Hans Van Doorst, said that you are to have +the nets you need. If she has not enough woven, get them elsewhere. +Madame LeDou makes excellent seines and gill nets. Go to the store for +the rope you need, and tell them I will pay for everything. We ourselves +will come to help you drive new spiles and make new sets." + +"It is good of you," Baptiste's face was still flaming with rage, "but +we cannot let the matter rest there." + +"Nor can we," Hans' tone was calm and reasoning, "go about shooting +people when we do not know who to shoot." + +"Pah! I know! It is Devil Chad!" + +"Have you proof of that?" + +"The proof is self-evident. Who but Devil Chad would dare do such a +thing?" + +"Did you see him?" + +"Does one see the wise fox when he comes in the night to steal a fat +goose? No, I did not see him." + +"Listen, my friend. Listen carefully. If this sort of piracy has been +started and we do not end it, we are lost. But ours will be a small +triumph if all of us get ourselves hanged. We must proceed with +caution." + +"I do not like caution." + +"Nevertheless, we must now employ it. We cannot rush off with guns and +shoot because we suspect. Get your nets and whatever else you need, and +start anew. When you can bring me proof of the pirates, I myself will be +the first to shoot." + +"It is the stumbling way." + +"It is the only way. If there is to be war, then let there be war. But +we cannot strike out blindly. To do that will be to turn every man's +hand against us. We cannot fight at all if we do not know our enemies." + +For a moment the dark-visaged little Frenchman stood uncertainly. Then +he looked directly at Hans. "I will do as you say," he agreed. "But +should I catch anyone at my nets, they or I will not live to speak of it +afterwards." + +"The same will happen should I catch anyone at our nets," Hans promised. +"But let us catch them before we act." + +Baptiste LeClaire swept his hat off, made a courtly bow, murmured, "Your +health, Madame and Messieurs," and turned back toward the pier. Expertly +handled, the _Bon Homme_ sailed gracefully into the lake. Astonished, +Ramsay stared at Hans, and Pieter and Marta reflected his astonishment. + +"What's got him by the ear?" Ramsay asked. + +"Baptiste," Hans said, "had three pound nets which he tended with pound +boats. He had a number of gill nets which he visited with the _Bon +Homme_, a proper gill net boat." + +Hans stared out on the lake, as though seeking the answer to some +question that plagued him. He turned to face the others. + +"Baptiste has no more pound nets. They have all been raised and ripped +to shreds. The spiles to which he attached them were broken. Of the +gill nets he once had, one remains. The rest were destroyed. Aside from +his years of labor, Baptiste has lost more than two thousand dollars' +worth of nets." + +"Who did it?" Ramsay gasped. + +Hans shrugged. "Someone who has discovered, at last, that there is money +to be had in Lake Michigan fishing. Someone who will stop at nothing to +get all of it for himself." + +There was conviction in Ramsay's "Devil Chad!" + +Hans shrugged again. "So Baptiste thinks." + +"What do you think?" + +Hans swung so fiercely on him that Ramsay retreated a step. "You heard +what I told Baptiste!" the Dutch fisherman said. "We must be certain! It +is not for us to appoint ourselves judge, jury and executioner! Before +we act we must be sure!" + +"Should we call in the constable?" + +Hans said scornfully, "Devil Chad's man!" + +"What must we do?" + +"Watch ourselves," Hans declared. "Hereafter we must leave the nets +unguarded and the lake without our own patrol, only when we are sure it +is safe. If someone has come to take from us our right to fish, we must +be our own protection. At the same time we must not act blindly. The +lake is big enough for all. If one has come who would take everything +for himself, we fight." + +"You know it's Devil Chad." + +"I know no such thing." + +"Do you suspect him?" + +"Yes," Hans answered frankly. + +"Then why not take action?" + +"Look, boy," and Ramsay writhed because never before had Hans addressed +him in such a fashion, "lives are now at stake. Let us be sure before we +lose ours or take someone else's!" + +"You are right," Pieter approved. "Yes, you are right." + +Puzzled, Ramsay looked at his two partners. It was absurd to suppose +that either was afraid; they had proven their courage too many times. +Yet, though both thought Devil Chad the raider, both refused to move +against him until they had proof of his piracies. Ramsay thought of +something he had read, 'A man is innocent until proven guilty.' Maybe +Hans and Pieter believed that sincerely, while the hot-headed Baptiste +was ready to strike at anything at all. + +Ramsay felt a rising admiration for his partners. "What must we do?" he +asked. + +"I doubt if they'll strike by day," Hans said. "If they come, it will be +in the night. We'll make three watches, and alternate on them. That way +they cannot surprise us." + +"Suppose they come?" + +Hans shrugged eloquently. "Then we will fight and fight hard, for it is +certain that no one else will do our fighting for us. Do either of you +have a choice as to watches?" + +Nobody had a choice. Hans broke three straws of different lengths, +concealed them in the palm of his hand, and held them out. They drew, +and compared straws. Pieter had the shortest, the first watch, Ramsay +the second and Hans the third. Hans looked thoughtfully at the +twilight-softened lake. "Pieter, do you want to go out at seven and +stay until eleven?" + +"Yaah." + +"Good. Ramsay, stay out until about two and awaken me." + +"All right." + +Ramsay ate the excellent supper Marta had prepared, listened idly to the +chatter of Tradin' Jack, who knew what had happened and was nervous +because of it, and went upstairs to bed. In spite of his inner tension +and his excitement, his head had scarcely touched the pillow when he +dozed off. A moment later, or so it seemed, Pieter was touching his +shoulder. + +"It's time." + +"I ... Huh? Oh, yes." + +Ramsay came fully awake, and Pieter lighted the candle in his room. Its +beams sparkled brightly on the shining barrel of the muzzle-loading +fowling-piece Pieter carried. Of a huge bore, the gun was charged with +black powder and loaded with lead slugs. Ramsay shuddered as he accepted +it. Such a gun would be sure to work great havoc among anything it was +shot at, but its recoil alone would probably set a mule back on its +haunches. + +"Anything happen?" Ramsay whispered. + +"Nothing," Pieter said. "Nobody came. The lake is calm and the boat +awaits you on the beach." + +"I'll see you in the morning." + +"Good luck." + +His shoes in one hand and the shotgun in the other, Ramsay stole quietly +down the stairs and out the back door. He stopped to put his shoes on, +and looked around him. + +A pale moon shone through disheveled clouds that gave the sky the +appearance of a man sadly in need of a hair-cut, and the faintest +suspicion of a breeze kicked up small wavelets. Asleep on the ridge +pole, Captain Klaus was a dull, shapeless blob in the night sky. Ramsay +cradled the shotgun in his right elbow and walked down to the beach. + +The pound boat had wedged itself lightly against the sand. Ramsay put +the anchor back in, carefully laid the shotgun on the rower's seat, and +stood in the stern until he had tilted the craft from its mooring. +Sitting down, with a vigorous stroke of the oars he sent the boat +farther into the lake. + +In the bay a fish jumped out of water, and the sound of its falling back +made a tinkling splash. Ramsay, dipping his oars quietly, steered toward +the first pound net they had set. At intervals he halted to rest on the +oars. There were no sounds save those that should have been present. +Except for him and the pound boat, the lake seemed deserted. Lingering +in the shadows, Ramsay circled the net and saw nothing. He started +toward another of their pound nets. + +They had kept the seine busy, taken good catches from their pound nets, +and turned most of their money back into additional equipment. They were +getting ahead and setting themselves up in the fishing business. By next +year they should have everything they needed. They would not have to buy +any nets, or boats, and could begin to enjoy the profits they were +earning. + +Ramsay found himself thinking of Devil Chad. Fishing was very hard work, +and expensive, but whoever did it well could hope for a fine future. +Lake Michigan was a vast reservoir of riches, and they were to be used. +There was room for all, but so was there room in Three Points. Devil +Chad wanted that for himself. Who but Devil Chad could now be plotting +to seize the Lake Michigan fisheries? + +Ramsay shrugged such thoughts away. Out here on the lake he seemed able +to think with great clarity, and he knew that Hans and Pieter were +right. They must not lash out in thoughtless anger and hit at Devil Chad +because he was the logical one to raid their nets. They must have proof, +and strike as hard as possible when they struck. + +Ramsay visited all three pound nets, and rowed back to the first one. +The lake remained calm and unruffled. When he thought it was two +o'clock--the night was divided into one watch of four hours and two of +three each--he went in to rouse Hans. At half-past five, when they ate +breakfast, Hans had nothing to report. If pirates were out to get all +nets, certainly they had not bothered theirs. + +Late that afternoon, when the fishing was done and Ramsay, much to the +amusement of Hans and Pieter, had carried six more big sturgeon to the +pond, Hans hitched the black horse and invited Ramsay to go with him to +Three Points. Captain Klaus, as usual, flew to the back of the cart and +perched where he could caress Hans with his bill. Hans turned the little +horse down the road leading to Tom Nedley's. Ramsay stirred with +interest. + +Big Tom Nedley came out of his shed, greeted them, and looked doubtfully +at the little cart. He glanced from it to a long oaken beam that was +supported on wooden horses. When he looked again at Hans, his voice and +manner were almost accusing. "You aim to drag that piece of oak?" + +"You think I'm a fool?" Hans challenged. + +"Didn't think you'd drag it." Tom Nedley seemed relieved. "There ain't +another piece of oak like that one in Wisconsin. How do you aim to get +it home?" + +"You have an extra pair of wheels and an axle?" + +"Sure, but ..." + +"Ha! Bring me a wrench!" + +The wrench in his hands, Hans set to work unbolting the clamps that held +the body on Pieter's two-wheeled cart. He lifted the body and seat off, +leaving the horse hitched only to the wheels and the axle that joined +them. + +Hans looked triumphantly at Tom Nedley, and the boatbuilder scratched +his head. "You needn't think you're so smart. I'd of thought of that +myself afore I let you drag that timber." + +"Why didn't you?" + +While Tom brought another pair of wheels, Ramsay looked at the solid +chunk of oak. About twenty-six feet long, it was very fine-grained and +it hadn't a crack or flaw throughout its length--fully seasoned, so that +not a drop of sap remained in it. Even Ramsay, whose knowledge of wood +was limited, could tell that this was an exceptionally fine chunk of +oak. Hans and Tom Nedley seemed to look upon it as they would have +looked upon some valuable jewel. Hans patted it affectionately. + +"Stronger than steel!" he said fondly. "Can you not imagine what a boat +the _Spray II_ will be?" + +Tom Nedley said, "Building from that, you cannot fail." + +For a moment Hans was wistful, as though he had gone back in memory to +the first _Spray_. + +Tom Nedley brought another set of wheels, rolled them into place, and +covered the bare axle with a soft blanket. He used another blanket to +pad the axle to which the horse was hitched, and Hans steered the horse +into position. Hans, Tom and Ramsay lifted one end of the oaken beam +onto the rear wheels. Ramsay helped lift the other end onto the other +set of wheels, and stood aside while Hans lashed both with ropes. + +Ramsay watched interestedly. Hans used his ropes to permit flexibility, +while at the same time he took no chances on their chafing or breaking. +Apparently fishermen could do anything with ropes. Ramsay tied the +unbolted seat and body to the top of the oaken beam. Hans took the +little horse's bridle and led him carefully back to the road. Mounted on +its four wheels, the long oaken beam swayed and turned. + +Leading the little horse, careful of everything that lay in front, +behind and on both sides, Hans set a very slow pace. It was as though +the beam were a very fragile thing that might break should it brush even +the smallest tree. Actually, if it hit one hard, it would have broken +any small tree in its path and rocked the larger ones. Hans continued to +treat it as though it were a very delicate thing. + +Destined to be the keel of the _Spray II_, when they reached Pieter's +house the beam was lovingly set up on three scaffoldings made of +four-by-sixes and arranged near the lake. Hans patted it as lovingly as +he would have stroked a favorite dog. "We have a start!" he said +happily. + +"Why do we need another boat?" Ramsay queried. + +"For setting gill nets," Hans replied. "You are not a fisherman unless +you know how to set a gill net, and you cannot set a gill net unless you +have a proper Mackinaw boat." He petted the oaken beam again. "As +responsive as a canoe it shall be, but as strong as a pound boat! This +one shall not break no matter what happens. The lake will not breed a +storm that it will be unable to ride out." + +That night Ramsay's was the first watch. He rowed the pound boat from +one to another of their three pound nets. No strange vessel disturbed +the lake, no hostile creature approached. Ramsay gave his watch over to +Hans, and slept until dawn. They fished, processed their catch and +loaded thirty thousand pounds of whitefish onto the _Jackson_ when she +nosed into their pier. + +Ramsay went with Hans and Pieter to a place where some mighty cedar +trees, that had grown for centuries, had been cut when the snow was +deep. Their weathered stumps thrust six feet or more above the green +foliage that surrounded them, and Hans chose very carefully. He wanted +only those stumps with a fine, closely knit grain, those which, even in +death, showed no cracks or flaws. He found three of which he approved, +and Ramsay and Pieter used a cross-cut saw to cut them off very close to +the earth. Ramsay began to understand the project in Hans' mind. + +Because of weather conditions, pound nets, at the very most, could be +used for only about three to four months out of every year. The seine, +though under no circumstances would Hans fish in the spawning season, +could be dragged in until the bay froze. But gill nets could be used +for seven or eight months if one had a proper boat, and Hans wanted to +build one that would ride out any storm. + +It was not to be an ordinary Mackinaw boat, but one such as Lake +Michigan had never seen. Its oaken keel had been chosen with an eye to +the heaviest seas and the ice that speckled those seas in spring or +fall. Though some fishermen used cedar planking for the ribbing of their +boats, and steamed it until it could be bent into the desired shape, +Hans intended to cut his directly from cedar stumps that had already +endured five hundred years and ten thousand storms. Then the _Spray II_ +would be sheathed with the best possible cedar planking and calked with +the best obtainable oakum, or rope soaked in tar. + +They would not float her this season. Neither effort nor expense were to +be spared in the building of the _Spray II_, and constructing her +properly would be a winter's job. But as soon as the ice broke next year +she would be ready to float, and they would be ready to set their gill +nets. + +Ramsay grinned fleetingly as he tossed bushels of ground corn into the +pond so that the numerous sturgeon he had imprisoned there would have +enough to eat. It seemed so very long ago that he had thrown in with +Hans and Pieter and decided to become a fisherman, and he still hadn't +two silver dollars to jingle in his pocket. Not one day, scarcely one +hour had been free of grueling labor. But they had two pound boats, +three pound nets, had bought another seine, and with spring they would +have the _Spray II_. In addition, there was enough of the season left, +so that they should be able to catch plenty of fish before either ice +or the spawning period curtailed operations. That would give them enough +money to buy gill nets, as well as anything else they needed. None of +the four partners would come out of this season with money in their +pockets. They would own a sufficient amount of equipment for next year, +and much of what they earned then would be profit. + +That night Ramsay took the third watch. He rowed softly from one pound +net to the other, always keeping in the shadows so that there was small +danger of his being noticed. He had been out about an hour, and had two +more to go, when he saw a boat approaching. + +It came from the north, Three Points, and its row locks were so well +greased that not the faintest sound came from them. The oarsman was +expert; he dipped and raised his oars so that there was no splashing. +Ramsay raised the shot gun. He leveled it. + +Unseen by the other boatmen, he lurked in the shadows and let them pass. +Ramsay was somewhat surprised to see them give a pound net a wide berth +and head into the bay. He followed, rowing his own boat silently while +he tried to discern the others' intentions. There were at least four, +and perhaps five, men in the other boat and they were going toward the +pier. Ramsay let them draw ahead, then circled around them and as fast +as he could without making any noise, he rowed straight toward the +beach. Grounding his boat, he stepped out. He was aware of the other +boat being drawn up cautiously. + +He walked toward the nocturnal visitors until he was within a +half-dozen rods. He could see them now, clustered about the pier. Two +started for the barrels and the barreled fish. There was a faint +whispering. Ramsay waited to hear no more. + +Had these people been well-intentioned, they would not be so secretive. +Plainly they were up to no good. + +Ramsay pointed the shotgun toward the sky--he had no wish to kill +anyone--braced the stock against his shoulder, and pressed the trigger. +The gun belched its load of leaden pellets, and red flame flashed from +the muzzle. Ramsay shouted as loudly as he could. "Pieter! Hans!" + +Dropping the shotgun on the sand beach, he rushed forward. The two men +who had started toward the barrels and barreled fish came running back. +Ramsay glared his anger. + +Though he could not be positive because it was too dark to identify +anything or anyone positively, he thought that the man who stood just a +little to one side of the rest was Joe Mannis, the body-watcher. Ramsay +swerved toward him, sent his doubled fist into the other's stomach, and +heard a mighty '_whoosh_' as he knocked the wind out of his enemy. Up at +the house a door slammed. + +Then a club or blackjack collided soddenly with the side of Ramsay's +head and set him reeling. He stumbled forward, feeling a little foolish +because all the strength had left him. Without being sure that he did +so, he sat down on the sand and blinked owlishly at the night visitors. +Dimly he was aware of the fact that they were launching their boat and +that he must stop them, but he did not know how to do so. + +A nightgown flapping about his legs and a tasseled red cap on his head, +Hans Van Doorst appeared on the beach. A pair of trousers hastily +strapped about his own nightgown, Pieter followed. Both men looked +quietly at the retreating boat, which they might have followed and would +have followed had not Ramsay needed help. They lifted him to his feet. + +"What happened?" Hans asked quietly. + +"I ... They came while I was out on the lake, but they didn't bother +the nets. They rowed right into the pier, and I don't know what they +wanted." + +"Did you recognize any of them?" + +"I think Joe Mannis was one." + +"Devil Chad?" + +Ramsay said positively, "He was not among them. I would have recognized +him." + +"Did you shoot at them?" + +"No, I shot to attract you and Pieter." + +"Well, that's all right, too. They won't be back tonight, or likely any +other night. Come on." + +They helped Ramsay into the house, bathed his head and put him to bed. +He awoke to a mist-filled morning. + +No breath of air stirred. Visibility was almost non-existent; the mist +was so heavy that it almost hid the lake. Ramsay, with all the +elasticity of youth, had recovered quickly from last night's incident +and he had a good appetite for the breakfast Marta had prepared. + +Then Marta tossed her head defiantly. "All of you have been away," she +announced, "and you have done many things. I have been nowhere and I +have not done anything. But today I go to Three Points to shop." + +"Sure," Pieter said. "I'll hitch the horse for you." + +They cheered Marta on her way and went down to cast the seine. The pound +nets, having been visited within the past two days, would not again be +visited today. Aside from that, they had seined tons of whitefish and +sturgeon out of the bay in front of Pieter's house. Naturally the +catches were growing smaller. If they didn't take the seine too far out, +and set it shallow, three men could work the windlasses. + +Then, just as they were ready to fish, and just about when Marta should +have reached Three Points, a man on a lathered horse came pounding down +the sand beach. He drew his tired mount up. "Quick!" he gasped. "An +accident! Marta is badly hurt!" + + + + +CHAPTER TEN + +_THE GREAT FISH_ + + +The great White Sturgeon was not, in the truest sense of the word, a +native of the lake. More years ago than any living thing could remember, +he had been born, along with thousands of brothers and sisters, halfway +up one of the many rivers that emptied into the lake. The sturgeon +remembered little about that time, but just the same it had helped to +shape him and make him what he was. + +The spawning sturgeon, a vast number of them, had started up the river +together. It was a journey as old as the lake itself. Side by side they +swam, in such numbers and so many evenly-spaced layers that none of the +many Indians who fished along the river was able to thrust his spear +without striking a sturgeon. Preying bears, otter, panthers, lynx and +other creatures that liked fish, thronged the river's banks and struck +at the horde as it passed. So little did all their raids combined matter +that it was as though they had taken nothing. No creature that wanted +one lacked a sturgeon to eat. But the great mass of fish, impelled by +the desperate necessity of laying their eggs in the river, swam on. + +Only when miles were behind them and they were about a third of the way +to the river's source, did the vast schools start to thin out. Then it +was not because their enemies took too many, though they caught a great +number. The schools started to lessen because many, too exhausted to go +farther or content with spawning grounds already reached, dropped behind +to spawn. + +Finally only a few, not necessarily the biggest but invariably the most +vigorous, were left. Day after day, night after night, stopping only to +rest or feed, they went on up the virgin river. Buck deer, drinking, saw +the fleeting shadows pass, snorted and leaped skittishly away. Drinking +buffalo raised their shaggy heads and, with water dribbling from their +muzzles, stared after the migrating fish. + +Everything seemed, in some small way, to sense the mystery that went +with the swimming sturgeon. They were part of the abundance of this +wealthy land, and when they were through spawning, that abundance would +be increased. The very presence of the fish was within itself a promise +that more were to follow. + +Finally there were only half a dozen sturgeon left. + +One was a very strong female whose spawn-swollen body even now contained +the egg, the cell, that was to be the great White Sturgeon. Swimming +close beside her was an equally vigorous male. All the sturgeon that had +been able to come this far were among the finest and best. + +They stopped in a quiet pool which, within itself, was almost a little +lake. A third of a mile wide by a mile and a half long, the pool rolled +smoothly down an almost level course. It was shaded on either side by +gloomy pines that marched like soldiers in disordered rank for a very +great distance. There were no grunting buffalo here, though an +occasional white-tailed deer tripped daintily down to drink from the +sweet, unpolluted water. + +On either side of the pool was a mat of green sedges and water-lilies, +and in them a great horde of ducks were rearing their young. They +skittered foolishly over the water, seeming to pay no attention to +anything save the sheer joy of being alive. Now and then the water +beneath them would dimple and ripple in widening circles towards either +bank; and when it did, invariably there would be one less duckling. +Nothing paid any attention whatever to such casualties. Life teemed in +the pool, and there life also fed on life. It was meant to be, and the +mighty pike that lived in the pool had to eat, too. + +Weary, but far from exhausted, the female carrying the White +Sturgeon-to-be pushed herself into the sedges and lay quietly while she +rid herself of the burden that she had carried so far. A million or more +eggs she left there, and almost before she was finished two little pike +that made their home in the sedges had started gobbling them up. + +The female sturgeon paid absolutely no attention, and neither did her +mate, when he came to fertilize the eggs. They were here to do, and knew +how to do, only one thing. Finished, they had no thought as to what +might happen next. The two sturgeon swam back into the pool and rested +before beginning their long return journey to the great lake. But they +had chosen wisely and well. + +Almost before the parent fish left, a mink that had long had his eye on +the small pike swam quietly down to take one while it was feeding. The +other one fled. Though other things came to eat them, in due time what +remained of the spawn hatched. The White Sturgeon was the first to +appear. + +The baby fish came of strong parents, so that there were almost no +infertile eggs, but such inroads had already been made among them that +not one in twenty ever knew life. Immediately they were singled out by +hungry enemies. + +The White Sturgeon should have died first for, though all his brothers +and sisters were almost the color of the water in which they found +birth, he was distinctly different. He was lighter--perhaps a throwback +to some distant age when all sturgeon were white--and thus he was the +easiest to see. But he seemed to have been born with compensating +factors. + +When a foot-long bass, a very monster of a thing compared with the baby +sturgeon, swam among them, they scattered in wild panic. The feeding +bass had only to snap here and there to get all he wanted, but the White +Sturgeon did not flee with the rest. Instead, he sank down beside a +cattail and did not move. A tiny cloud of mud-colored water drifted +around and covered him. + +Thus, from the very first, the White Sturgeon seemed to have a keener +brain, or a sharper instinct, that made up for his distinctive coloring. +Though he should have been the first to die, he did not die. He learned +his lessons well, and saw how many of his brothers and sisters perished. +Thus he discovered how to stay alive. + +For weeks he lived near his birthplace, swimming scarcely two yards from +it and feeding on minute particles of both vegetable and animal life. +Most of his time he spent feeding, and he grew very fast. Not until +encroaching winter drove him there did he move out into the pool. + +Most of the ducks were gone before the first thin shell ice formed on +the borders of the pool, and those that lingered after that flew out +with the first snow. The snow blew in from the north on the heels of an +unseasonably early winter wind, and the White Sturgeon saw the mighty +pines heaped with feathery snow. Snow lay deep on the ground, and the +deer that came down to the pool seemed almost jet-black against its +virginal whiteness. + +Lingering in the shallows, the White Sturgeon held very still. His was +the accumulated wisdom of ages. Ancestors almost exactly like him had +swum in antediluvian seas when huge, scaley monsters roamed the earth, +and perhaps the White Sturgeon knew that, as long as he held still near +the snow-covered bank, he would be hard to see. Or perhaps he merely +found the snow, his own color matched at last, interesting. + +Right after the snow stopped there was a spell of sub-zero weather that +threw a sheathing of ice clear across the pool and froze the shallows to +the very bottom. Only then did the White Sturgeon move out of them. + +He did not move far because it was not necessary to move far, and anyway +the great pike lingered in the center of the pool. Almost one third jaw, +the pikes' mouths were edged with needle-sharp teeth that never let go +and never failed to rip what they seized. Of the young sturgeon that +lived until fall, perhaps two hundred and fifty in all, the pike had +half before the winter was well set. The rest were too wary to be easy +prey. + +All winter long, living on the edge of the ice and finding all the food +he needed in the soft mud floor of the pool, the White Sturgeon led a +solitary existence. But it was not a lonely life because, as yet, it was +not in him to be lonely. All he knew, and all he had to know, was that +he must survive. Every effort was bent to that end. + +In the spring, shortly after the ice broke up and moved sluggishly down +the river, the White Sturgeon followed it. With him went three of his +brothers and two sisters, and if more than that had survived he did not +know about them or where they were. Nor did he care. In his life there +was no room for or meaning to affection; he traveled with his brothers +and sisters merely because, like him, they too were going down the +river. + +The journey was not at all hurried. The White Sturgeon, who by this time +knew much more about the various arts of survival than he had known when +he left the pool, passed the next winter in another, smaller pool, less +than two miles from his birthplace. He chose the pool largely because it +was the home of a vast number of fish smaller than he, and they offered +an easy living to the pike, bass and other things that lived by eating +fish. Grown fat and sluggish in the midst of super-abundance, these +predators were not inclined to chase anything that cared to avoid them +or to work at all for their living. All they had to do was lie still and +sooner or later the living would come to them. + +For his part, the White Sturgeon had no desire to hurt anything. His +sole wish was to be left alone, so he could peacefully pursue his own +path of destiny. He grubbed in the mud for his food and idled when he +was not eating. But, because he had a prodigious appetite, he was eating +most of the time. As a consequence, he continued to grow very rapidly. + +Again and again, while he pursued his lazy journey down the river, the +White Sturgeon saw the lake sturgeon swim past him as they headed +upstream toward the spawning grounds. Swimming strongly, they came in +huge schools. Spent from the spawning, they swam slowly past him on +their way back to the lake. + +Vaguely the White Sturgeon identified himself with these fish. Never did +he have more than a passing wish to join them. He wanted only to +continue his leisurely trip down the river, and time meant nothing at +all. + +Though the White Sturgeon did not realize it, everything was part of a +mighty pattern and a vast scheme. Though there had never been a time +when he was not in danger, the river had not been an unkind school. +There he had learned how to avoid his enemies and how to become the +powerful fish which he must be were he to live. Then the river gave him +his last test. + +He was near the mouth, only a few miles from the lake, when he suddenly +found himself face to face with a monstrous pike. The pike in the pool +of his birth were big, but they were dwarfed by this one. Out of the +shadows he came, a long, sinewy thing with the heart of a tiger and the +jaws of a pike. Even wolves' jaws are not more terrible. + +The White Sturgeon did as he always did when danger threatened; he held +very still. But this time it was futile because the pike had already +seen him. Thus the thing which must never happen, did happen. The White +Sturgeon came face to face with danger in its deadliest form. If he +lived through this, then never again would he have to fear an enemy that +swam in the water. + +Suddenly the pike whirled, flipped a contemptuous tail, and drifted back +into the shadows out of which he had come. He was not afraid; no pike is +ever afraid of anything, but the White Sturgeon was nearly as large as +he and even the pike never killed wantonly, or destroyed that which he +could not eat. The White Sturgeon swam on. He had graduated with honors +from the river's school, and he seemed to know it. For the first time +since his birth, a mighty restlessness gripped him. + +Not again did he linger in the pools, or stop to feed for a week or a +month wherever he found a rich feeding bed. Urgings and commands within +him that had been passive were suddenly active. + +With all this, he remained a harmless fish. Never born to battle, he had +no wish to fight and he did not abandon all his hard-won caution. If the +pike had not hurt him, nothing that swam in the river or lake would hurt +him; but the White Sturgeon retained a fear of those creatures not born +of the water. Aliens, they would not abide by the creed of the water. +While heeding a sudden and great wish to get out of the river and into +the lake, the White Sturgeon stayed far from both river banks. + +A ghost figure in the murky water, he shot out of the river's mouth and +into the cold lake. For a while he sported like a dolphin, rising to +the surface, showing his white back, and diving. + +An Indian who was spearing fish from a canoe stared his astonishment. +Trembling, he sheathed his spear and paddled back to his encampment. He +had seen the White Sturgeon, the Ghost Fish, and that night a mighty +storm knocked down a big pine near the Indian's camp. Two people were +killed when it fell. + +Knowing nothing of this, lying contentedly in thirty feet of water where +he was aware of the storm only because his fine and deep senses made him +aware of everything that occurred above, the White Sturgeon grubbed for +food in the lake's bottom. + +The next time his tribe left the lake to rush up the river, the White +Sturgeon journeyed with them. He went because he must, because it was a +call even stronger than hunger and he could not resist it. The strongest +of sturgeon, he stayed in the fore-front of the spawning horde and still +remained away from the banks. The few Indians who saw him were so +astonished that they forgot to strike with their spears, and he never +even came close to the prowling bears and other beasts that waxed so fat +when the migrating sturgeon came back to spawn. + +Guided by the most precise of instincts, the White Sturgeon went exactly +to that spawning bed in the sedges where he was born, and fertilized the +eggs that a female left there. Wan and spent, caring for nothing, once +his main purpose in life had been realized, he turned and swam back into +the lake. That was now his home. + +Again and again the White Sturgeon went up the river with his kind. Only +once, in all the trips he made, was he in real danger, and that time an +Indian's spear scratched his side. The Indian, fishing with two +companions, promptly fell into the river and drowned. + +Thus the legend of the White Sturgeon grew. Born in a red man's fertile +mind, it was handed from red man to white and distorted in the transfer. +Now none could trace its origin and none knew exactly how it had begun. +Lake men knew only of the White Sturgeon, and he had learned much of +men. But he lived in the present, not the past. + +Years had elapsed since Lake Michigan was shadowed only by canoes. Now +there were the Mackinaw boats, the pound boats, the churning +side-wheelers and the rowboats. Because it was his affair to know +everything that went on in the lake, the White Sturgeon knew them all. + +He knew also that it was good to rest in the lake's gentler places. Not +in years had he rushed up the river with his spawning comrades. The +fires of his youth had long since been quenched, and besides, he was now +far too big to travel up any river. Perhaps the same quirk of nature +that had granted him his pigment had given him his size. Other sturgeon +were thought to be huge when they attained a weight of two hundred and +fifty pounds. The White Sturgeon weighed almost a thousand pounds. + +He was still a gentle creature, though the sudden angers of age were apt +to seize him, and on the morning that Ramsay, Pieter and Hans were +called to Three Points, the Sturgeon was feeding quietly in the tunnel +of the first pound net they had set. He stopped feeding when he sensed +an approaching boat. + +It was a Mackinaw boat, used for setting gill nets, and it was shrouded +in mist that sat like a fleecy blanket upon the lake. The White Sturgeon +lay very still. He was not afraid but he had no wish to be disturbed, +and if he remained very quiet, perhaps he would not be bothered. He was +aware of something coming into the lake and of the boat's withdrawal +into the shrouding mist. + +The White Sturgeon decided to move, but when he tried to do so he found +his way blocked. A gill net was stretched across the entrance to the +pound net, effectively preventing anything outside from getting in or +anything inside from getting out, and the White Sturgeon was trapped by +it. + +Gently he nosed against the gill net, seeking a way through. When none +offered, he swam a little ways and tried again. A third, a fourth and a +fifth time he sought escape. There was none, and the White Sturgeon's +anger flared. + +He flung himself against the gill net, felt it cling to his mighty body, +and twisted about. A hundred yards to one side, in a weak place, the net +ripped completely in half. The White Sturgeon threshed and twisted until +he had reduced the entrapping folds to a mass of linen thread. + +Segments of the ruined net clung to him as he swam away. + + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN + +_FISHERMAN'S LUCK_ + + +The horse that had galloped from Three Points to Pieter's farm in order +to bring news of Marta's misfortune was too spent to gallop back. Nor +could he carry more than one man, even if he had not been spent. Ramsay, +Pieter and Hans left horse and rider at the farm, while they started up +the beach. For a short distance they stayed together. Then Ramsay, the +youngest and best winded of the three, drew ahead. + +A cold dread and a great fear gnawed at him as he alternately walked and +trotted. Marta had become like a beloved sister to him, and the +messenger carried no news except that she was injured. How or why, he +had not said. Ramsay glanced back over his shoulder to see if his +companions were keeping up with him, and discovered that they were lost +in the mist. In any event the day would have been unpleasant. There was +just the right weather combination to make it so--a hint of rain +combined with warm air to drape the fog over everything. And there was +no indication that anything would change. Somehow it seemed just the day +to get bad news. + +Ramsay lengthened out to trot again, and then increased his trot to a +run. He was breathing hard, but far from exhausted, and with a little +surprise he realized that he would not have been able to travel so far +without halting, or so fast, when he first came to Wisconsin. A +fisherman's life had toughened him immeasurably. Once more he slowed +down and looked around to see if Pieter and Hans were in sight. They +were not. He walked until he was rested, then trotted into Three Points. + +As though there was something in the village that drove it back, the +mist had not invaded there. It was on all sides so thick that the lake +could not be seen and the trees were ghost shapes, half-concealed and +half-disclosed. Most of Three Points was at work, but the few passers-by +on the street glanced curiously at Ramsay as he swung past them. He saw +the little black horse, tied to a hitching post in front of the general +store. + +He bounded up the wooden steps, pushed the door open and entered. Marta, +the lower part of her left leg encased in a clean white bandage, was +sitting on a chair. She turned astonished eyes on him. "Ramsay!" + +"Are you all right?" he gasped. + +"Why ... Of course, I'm all right!" + +"You're not hurt?" + +"A scratch!" She sniffed disdainfully. "Just a scratch! I stumbled when +I stepped out of the cart. Ach! Such a clumsy one I was!" + +The storekeeper's wife, obviously the one who had bandaged Marta's leg, +smiled her reassurance. "It is not bad," she said. + +"Oh!" Ramsay felt a moment's clumsiness because he could think of +nothing to say, and again he exclaimed, "Oh!" + +Panting hard, deep concern written on their faces, Hans and Pieter came +into the store. Marta's surprised eyes opened still wider. "I thought +you boys were fishing!" + +"We--we had to come in for some more twine," Ramsay said somewhat +lamely. + +"Three of you?" + +"Yaah," Hans, never slow to understand, smiled with affected laziness. +"You know us men, Marta. There wouldn't one of us stay there and work +while another was loafing in Three Points." + +"That's right." Slow Pieter finally understood that there was more here +than met the eye. "How'd you hurt yourself, Marta?" + +The wondering gaze of the storekeeper and his wife were upon them now. +Still puzzled, Marta glanced covertly at the three men. Ramsay looked at +the storekeeper's wife. + +"You should have sent somebody to tell us she was hurt." + +"But," the storekeeper's wife was completely bewildered, "she is not +hurt." + +"What's the matter?" Marta seemed worried now. + +"Nothing," Hans answered blandly. "Nothing at all. We just decided to +have a holiday in Three Points." + +"Go long!" Marta scoffed. "Men! They're bigger babies than babies are!" + +"Be sure to bring us some twine," Hans said. + +"Oh, sure. That I will do." + +"Good." + +All three men were smiling easily. But as soon as they left the store +and were out of Marta's sight, the smiles faded and their faces became +grim and intent. + +"Who was the man who told us she was hurt?" Ramsay asked. + +Pieter shook his head, and Hans said, "I never saw him before and I +don't expect to see him again. Probably he was riding into Milwaukee +anyway, and somebody gave him a dollar to report an accident." + +Ramsay nodded. Hans, as usual, was logical and there could be only one +answer. Somebody was indeed out to capture the fishing on Lake Michigan. +They had started by destroying Baptiste's nets and now they were moving +against Ramsay and his friends. But they knew well the prowess of the +three and had no wish to strike while they were present. Marta's +reported accident had been only a ruse to draw them away. + +Ramsay started toward the sand beach, but Hans laid a restraining hand +on his shoulder. "Wait!" + +"We'd better get back and look to our nets." + +"There is time, and we'd better not go blindly." + +"What are we going to do?" + +Hans said grimly, "Find the constable and ask him to accompany us. Then, +if there is trouble, and I expect it, we will have the law with us +rather than against us." + +"Suppose the constable doesn't care to come along?" + +"He'll come," Hans promised. + +They strolled down the street, stopping in various places, until they +found Jake Hillis, the constable Devil Chad had put in office, in the +Lake House. The woman who had given Ramsay the steak and then made him +wash dishes to pay for it, looked up and smiled. "Hello." + +"Hi!" Ramsay grinned. + +"You didn't run, after all." + +"Nope. I didn't." + +The constable, standing at the bar, turned around to face the three. He +hooked both thumbs in his belt, letting his fingers dangle. His right +hand, Ramsay could not help seeing, was not too far from the pistol that +swung from his belt. There was no readable expression on his face, but +the woman, who knew him well, went hastily into another room. + +Flanked by Ramsay and Pieter, Hans walked directly up to the constable. + +"We have something," he said softly, "that demands your attention." + +"What is it?" + +"It has to do with nets and a raid upon them." + +"I got no authority over what happens on Lake Michigan." + +"Nevertheless, we need a good, honest man of the law with us. And we +will pay you well enough." + +Jake Hillis shook his head. "I can't go off on any wild goose chases. My +duty is to protect this town." + +Hans' voice softened even more. "I am asking you again to come with us." + +The constable's right thumb slipped from his belt and his hand dropped +to the butt of the revolver. His fingers curled around it. As though by +accident, Pieter stumbled forward. Strong enough to stop a bull in its +tracks, Pieter wrapped his own steel fingers around the constable's +right wrist, and when they disengaged the pistol was in Pieter's hand. + +"Excuse me!" he said contritely. "I am so clumsy!" + +"Well?" Hans inquired. + +Jake Hillis looked from one to the other. He was like a drum which +almost always must sound the cadence someone else beats. Strength was +the only force he recognized, and now he saw himself surrounded by +strong, determined men. For a moment he struggled with himself. Then +"I'll go," he said. + +Hans responded graciously, "Thank you. We knew that you would come as +soon as you understood the reason in it." + +"Here's your pistol." Pieter extended the weapon. + +"I got to warn you," the constable pronounced, "that I am going to hold +you responsible for anything that happens here while I am away. And I +better tell you that I won't put up with any law-breaking." + +"Good!" Hans said. "You are a conscientious man!" + +The mist dipped and twisted about them as they started down the sand +beach toward Pieter's farm. Ramsay tried to find answers to the many +questions in his mind. Certainly somebody had lured them away from their +fishing gear. Who had done so? Was Devil Chad involved? If so, why did +Jake Hillis accompany them at all? Certainly the servant would not +willingly provoke a fight with the master. If Devil Chad was the leader +of the pirates, did he trust his minion so little that he had told him +nothing? + +Ramsay shrugged: they would have to wait and find out. + +Reaching the farm, Pieter entered the house to get the shotgun and a +pair of exquisitely carved pistols which Ramsay had never seen before. +Dueling pistols, they looked like, and Ramsay glanced curiously at +Pieter. The man was anything except stolid, yet he never spoke of his +past and of what had really brought him across the Atlantic Ocean to +this wild inland sea. Ramsay dismissed the thought. In this country it +was often just as well to forget a man's past or that he had ever had a +past. + +Jake Hillis looked narrowly as Pieter handed Hans a pistol, kept one for +himself and gave the shotgun to Ramsay. "I don't hold with shooting +scrapes!" he said. "And I don't want any part of 'em!" + +"There'll be none," Hans assured him, "unless we are shot at first." + +They launched a pound boat, and Hans took the rower's seat. Jake Hillis +sat beside Pieter and Ramsay crouched to one side. A shiver ran through +him. The mist seemed to be settling in even more thickly; they had +scarcely left the shore when they were unable to see it. From the top of +the house, the bedraggled Captain Klaus squawked his protest at such +weather. + +Hans rowed swiftly but there was no trace of hesitation in his manner, +and Ramsay marveled. The mist was heavy enough to cut visibility to +almost nothing, but Hans steered as certainly as he would have on the +sunniest of days. He seemed to know the lake so intimately that, no +matter what happened, he could still find his way. They reached the +first pound net, rowed around it. Ramsay sighed with relief. + +If pirates had come to raid, they had not yet touched this net. Ramsay +shifted his position, and Jake Hillis stirred uneasily. Then, almost +beside the boat, the water rippled and the White Sturgeon surfaced for +a moment. Nearly the color of the mist, he lay quietly on top of the +water, then dived. + +Hans' low laughter rippled. "We have a friend!" he said. + +They were near the second pound net now, and Ramsay gripped his shotgun +fiercely. He could see nothing, but something seemed to be present. It +was a half-sensed threat, like an unseen tiger crouching in the darkness +beside a campfire. They saw the spiles of the second pound net rising +like a ghost's fingers. Slowly Hans started rowing around it. + +Then Ramsay glanced behind him and snapped the shotgun to his shoulder. +From shorewards another mist-wreathed craft appeared. It was a Mackinaw +boat, like the _Spray_, and the men on her were only half seen in the +heavy overcast. Ramsay breathed a warning, "Watch it!" + +Hans let the boat drift and took the pistol in his hand. Almost +carelessly, as though there was no hurry about anything at all, Pieter +did likewise. Jake Hillis drew his breath sharply. The two boats came +closer together, and Ramsay recognized Joe Mannis. There were also three +nondescript loafers of the riff-raff type who are always found on any +frontier and who will do anything for money. But Ramsay centered his +gaze on the fifth man in the Mackinaw boat. + +There could be no mistaking him, even in the mist. It was Devil Chad. + +The other boat came nearer and was much easier to see. Ramsay felt a +cold chill seize him. All the men in the boat were armed with shotguns, +and they could sweep the pound boat from one end to the other if there +was to be a fight. Ramsay glanced at Jake Hillis. The constable was +sitting quietly, tense and strained, but he did not seem to be afraid. + +Devil Chad's bellow blasted, "What are you doin' here?" + +Ramsay heard Hans' low laugh and his quiet, "The man is most uncivil." + +"Don't get smart with me!" Devil Chad threatened. "You come to rob our +net, didn't you?" + +Hans, surprised, made a momentary slip. "Your net?" + +"Yes, our net! You come to rob it like you robbed all the rest!" Chad's +expressionless eyes pierced Jake Hillis like daggers. "What are you +doin' here?" + +Hans answered calmly. "He is here as our guest, and at our invitation. +Now let us hear some more about 'your' net." + +"You know what I mean! Touch it an' we start shootin'!" + +"But we haven't touched anything," Hans said smilingly. He turned to +Jake Hillis. "Have we?" + +Jake Hillis, too dull-witted for quick evasion, said, "No, you haven't." + +Cold rage mounted within Ramsay. He swung his shotgun so that the muzzle +centered squarely on Devil Chad. If it came to a gun battle, he decided +grimly, his arch-enemy would at least be shot at. + +Hans, unruffled, took command. "Where is your net? Show us." + +"Right here." + +Ramsay heard the mockery in Hans' voice. "And I suppose that it is a +gill net?" + +"How'd you know that?" Devil Chad challenged. + +"I gazed into my crystal ball," Hans said smoothly, "and I discovered +that, when one fisherman wishes to eliminate a competitor, he can +always stretch a gill net across the tunnel of a pound net. There is +certain to be a battle, and whoever survives controls the fishing." + +Ramsay began to understand. Fishing on Lake Michigan was governed by no +enforceable law but only by the ethics of the fishermen themselves. Most +of them were ethical; when one found a good fishing ground, others +usually respected his rights. But there was no law that said they had to +respect them. Should one fisherman care to trespass on the rights of +another, he could always find some way to provoke a quarrel. Then, +regardless of anything else that happened, he could say that he was only +trying to protect his property or claim in some other way that his was a +just quarrel. Few people would be able to prove to the contrary. + +Then a blue-and-white buoy, a marker used on a gill net, floated into +sight. Hans saw it, too, and again his voice was mocking. "Is that the +net you mean?" + +There were subdued voices on the Mackinaw boat. Joe Mannis put his +shotgun down and stepped to the bow of the boat with a gaff hook in his +hand. He lay prone, stabbed with the gaff, and hooked the buoy. Foot by +foot he reeled in thirty yards of tattered gill net. Hans' scornful +laughter rolled like a barrel through the mist and bounded back in +echoes. Ramsay, highly amused, echoed Hans. + +"Find your other buoy!" Hans called. "Pull it in, take it home, and +repair your gill net! But do not again set it on our fishing grounds!" + +The Mackinaw boat floated into the mist. Ramsay saw the baffled rage on +Devil Chad's face. But mostly he was aware of the contempt of Hans for +Devil Chad. + +"Here!" Hans called. "You're missing a man!" He turned to Jake Hillis. +The constable glowered back, like a stupid horse. + +"Want to swim over and join your little friends?" Hans invited. + +"No." + +"Well, we brought you out from the sand. We'll take you back to the +sand." + +Hans' shoulders were shaking with silent mirth as he bent his back to +the pound boat's oars. He steered in to the pier they had built, and +expertly nosed the boat in to its landing. A mist-draped wraith, Marta, +awaited them. "What happened?" she queried anxiously. + +"Nothing," Pieter assured her. + +"A great deal," Hans corrected. "They caught the White Sturgeon, for no +other fish in the lake could have wrecked a net so completely. I told +you we have a friend." + +He took a pouch from his pocket, counted five silver dollars from it, +and dropped them into Jake Hillis' hand. Captain Klaus flew down from +the house top to alight on Hans' shoulder. "_Quark!_" he squawked. + +As though he understood perfectly, Hans said, "That is right, my little +one." And to Jake Hillis he said, "If you see them, tell them not to +come again." + +Deliberately turning his back on the constable, Hans stared out over the +lake. Then Jake Hillis was gone, and somehow it was as though he had +never even been with them. Ramsay waited expectantly. Hans turned away +from his intent study of the lake, and he was frowning as though there +was some complicated problem which he must solve. Yet when he spoke, his +voice betrayed nothing abnormal and there was no sign that he might have +been under the least strain. "Perhaps it would be well not to fish again +today. That is a shame, for the season draws to a close and we cannot +fish much longer, anyway. Still, we have done all that it is necessary +to do, and next year we will be well-situated. We will have gear and +tackle. I go to work on the boat." + +Ramsay asked, "Do you think they will come again?" + +Hans answered deliberately, "I do not think so, but no man may say for +certain. They are not without determined and intelligent leadership. If +he does come again, he will come hard and directly at us. He will not +bother with the nets. There is no need to keep a patrol on the lake +tonight." + +Without another word Hans turned on his heel and strode off to where the +_Spray II_ was supported on its blocks. Ramsay went into the barn, +shouldered a hundred-pound sack of cornmeal, and carried it to the pond +in which he had imprisoned almost countless sturgeon. With both hands he +cast the ground corn into the pool, and returned for another sack, and +another. Then he stood with the last empty sack limp in his hands, idly +watching the pond. + +It had been an exciting summer, the most adventurous and most satisfying +he could remember, but it must soon end. + +Already there was a hint of frost in the air, and frost meant that the +whitefish would soon spawn. Nothing could persuade Hans to fish in the +spawning season, when every fish caught meant the loss of perhaps ten +that might be. Even if Hans would have fished, autumn meant storms when +none but a fool would venture onto the lake in a small boat. + +Ramsay turned slowly away from the pond. He wandered over to where Hans +was working on the _Spray II_. It was to be a Mackinaw boat, somewhat +like a canoe, and it was to be used for setting gill nets. These, Ramsay +understood, could be set almost as soon as the ice went out. + +Handy with almost any sort of tool, Hans himself had fashioned a wood +vise that turned on a wooden gear. He had a section of cedar stump +clamped in the vise, and with a rasp and a fine-toothed saw he was +painstakingly fashioning a rib for the _Spray II_. Unhurried, a true +artist, he shaped one side of the rib to the other. When he had +finished, it was a perfect thing, so evenly balanced that a feather's +weight on either side might have unbalanced it. Ramsay wandered away, +satisfied. The _Spray II_ was to be no ordinary vessel. There would not +be another Mackinaw boat on Lake Michigan to match it. + +Restlessly Ramsay worked on the seine until Marta called them. He ate, +went to bed, and dropped into his usual instant deep slumber. + +At first he was vaguely irritated because noises in the night disturbed +him. Then he identified those sounds as the crying of an alarmed sea +gull. Captain Klaus, on top of the roof, was vehemently protesting +something. Ramsay became aware of a strange, unreal sunrise reflecting +through his bedroom window. + +Fully awake, he rushed to the window, and saw that, down on the beach, +all their boats were burning fiercely. + + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE + +_THE POND_ + + +Captain Klaus made a swooping flight that carried him out toward the +burning boats. Frightened by a puff of smoke, he flew back to the top of +the house and continued to call querulously. + +For a moment Ramsay stood still, petrified by the spectacle. Then his +shout alarmed the house. "Hans! Pieter!" + +By the light that flickered through his window he sprang for his +clothing and hastily pulled his trousers on. Letting the tails and front +hang out, he donned his shirt and put shoes on his bare feet. He was +aware of muffled cries echoing from the rest of the house, and a lighted +candle flared in the hall. + +He rushed out to meet Hans coming from his bedroom, and a second later +Pieter's door flew open. Only half-awake and less than half-dressed, the +latter blinked like a sleepy dog in the candle's little light. + +Marta peered uneasily over his shoulder. "What is it?" + +"The boats are burning!" Ramsay gasped. + +With a mighty, outraged lion's roar, Pieter came fully awake and sprang +toward the stairs. For one brief second Ramsay was aware of Marta's +face, dead-white, then he leaped to follow Pieter. Holding the candle +aloft, Hans followed. Again the Dutch fisherman seemed to take complete +command of the situation. There was anger in his voice but no trace of +panic when he warned the other two, "Slowly! Go slowly!" + +His hand on the kitchen door, Pieter halted. Ramsay paused uncertainly +behind him, and Hans blew the candle out. The Dutch fisherman had +weathered so many savage storms that he seemed to know exactly what to +do, no matter what the crisis. Ramsay watched and approved. He must +learn to be more like Hans and to rule the emergencies that arose rather +than let them rule him. + +Hans spoke again, "Let us not go like sheep to the slaughter. If they +came again, they are probably armed and they may shoot. Pieter, get the +guns." + +Pieter shuffled off to the dark kitchen and came back. Ramsay felt the +familiar shotgun being pressed into his hands, and he knew that Hans and +Pieter each had a pistol. Because that seemed the thing to do, Ramsay +waited until Hans acted. The Dutch fisherman spoke again, and his voice +remained unruffled. "We cannot tell who or what is out there. Until we +discover exactly, keep out of the light cast by the burning boats. Do +not use your guns unless they shoot first. Then shoot to kill. Come on." + +Silent as a shadow, Hans slipped into the blackness that reigned at the +back of the house. Pieter followed, while Ramsay brought up the rear. He +shivered, but only part of his chill was caused by the cold night. This +afternoon on the pound boat he had felt only tense excitement. But then +Hans and Pieter had backed him and their presence had been a very real +thing. Now, in the night, he was almost completely unaware of them. It +was as though he stood completely alone. + +Ramsay felt his way along the rear wall of the house to the corner, and +there the darkness was broken by the glare from the burning boats. +Ramsay crept up beside Hans and peered around the corner. + +The mist was gone, and a sharp breeze had sprung up in its wake. Every +night, when the fishing was done, or any time at all when they weren't +being used, the pound boats were pulled far up on the shore. Casting a +circle of light over the water, the burning boats illuminated the rising +waves whose whitecaps broke and fell. A fierce storm was in the making. + +Ramsay's fear gave way to terrible anger. The wind from the lake would +have fanned the flames anyway, but obviously, before they had been set +on fire, the two pound boats had been coated with tar, pitch, or +something else that would burn hard and assure their complete +destruction. They were already charred beyond the faintest hope of +salvation. Ramsay gritted his teeth. + +Hans left the house and swung back, away from the lake, on a course that +would keep him in the shadows. Ramsay followed, and he was aware of +Pieter following him. There was not the least sign of the raiders or of +the boat they might have come in. Ramsay hesitated. Perhaps they had +done their work and fled, or perhaps they were lurking in ambush near +the burning boats. Five shotguns could be ready to cut down whoever +came. + +Then Ramsay set all his doubts at rest. He knew what he must do. + +There could no longer be any question but that this was Devil Chad's +work. He controlled everything around Three Points that made any money. +He was out to gain control of the fishing, too, and he was not a man who +would leave any job half-done. Failing to provoke a fight because the +White Sturgeon had ruined his gill net, he had taken the direct +approach. Beyond any doubt he would be able to produce any number of +witnesses who would swear that Hans, Ramsay and Pieter were the +aggressors. Ramsay knew what he was going to do about this. + +"Take the shotgun," he whispered, and pressed the weapon upon Pieter. + +"But ..." + +"Take it," Ramsay repeated. + +Leaving the shotgun with the bewildered Pieter, he dropped to the ground +and wormed farther away from the circle of light. Into the shadows he +went, then on toward the lake. Now he did not know where Hans and Pieter +were or what they were doing, but he was positive that they would take +any action necessary when the time came. He no longer felt alone. + +This was a thing that could never be settled with guns but must be +slugged out toe to toe and man to man. The fishing was worthwhile, and +any man who would get and keep anything worthwhile had to be ready to +fight for it. If Devil Chad had already fled, tomorrow they must go into +Three Points and seek him out. + +Ramsay halted, peering around. He could see nothing clearly. The flames +had died down and there was only dimness, filled with varying shadows +that were most difficult to identify. But what was that down at the edge +of the lake? + +It seemed to rise and fall with the rising and falling waves. Most of +the shadows were there one second and flitted away the next, but this +did not flit away, and after another thirty seconds Ramsay was fairly +sure that it was a Mackinaw boat, anchored out in the lake. Its crew had +waded ashore from it and, when and if they ran, they would wade back to +it. + +Ramsay began a slow, steady crawl toward the anchored craft. The burning +pound boats flared brightly, seeming to ring him with a halo of light. +He shrank back, certain he could be seen, then as the glare subsided, +crawled forward again. If he could see no one in the darkness, neither +could anyone see him. + +He was within thirty yards of the lake now, and he no longer gave a +thought to Hans and Pieter. He was sure only that they would be present +when they were needed and that his way was the right one. There could be +no compromise with destruction and no lingering aftermath of this +outrage. Whatever was to be settled had to be settled completely, and +tonight. + +Ramsay was certain now that the thing he saw was an anchored Mackinaw +boat. It remained in the same place, rising and falling with the waves, +and no nebulous shadow did that. Intent on the boat, he was not aware of +the man until he heard his voice, "Gus, you fool! I said be quiet!" + +Ramsay held very still, and a rising exultation flooded him. He had +heard that voice before, and there was only one just like it. He had +heard it first when he stood on the _Holter_--that seemed years ago. He +knew that he lay within feet of Devil Chad, who was indeed waiting in +ambush with his men. + +The angry voice repeated, "Be quiet! They'll come!" + +Ramsay rose and rushed forward, flinging himself into this combat with +all the fierce joy of a newly awakened warrior. He had given a full +summer, an important part of his life, to building up a career which he +greatly loved. Now he stood ready to defend it with his muscles, his +heart and, if need be, his life. + +He saw Devil Chad rise uncertainly to meet him, not knowing whether he +was friend or foe. He aimed a mighty kick at the shotgun in the other's +hands, and he knew that he had knocked it completely out of his enemy's +grasp. He felt a fresh burst of wind on his cheek and, strangely, knew +all about the storm that was brewing on the great lake. He closed with +his enemy. + +Devil Chad and his men had come to destroy and, if necessary, to kill. +But they had counted on Ramsay, Pieter and Hans, charging angrily up the +sand beach. Outlined against the burning boats, they would be at a +tremendous disadvantage. A hail of lead from five shotguns could cut +them down in almost no time. They had their choice between surrendering +or dying for what they believed in. + +It had never occurred to Devil Chad or his men that an enemy would dare +crawl into their very midst. The darkness that had befriended them now +became their enemy. Nobody dared shoot because nobody could possibly be +certain whether he were shooting at friend or foe. Ramsay edged up to +Devil Chad and swung a tremendous upper-cut to the other's jaw. + +He missed, felt his knuckles graze his enemy's cheek, and stepped back +for a new try. Only vaguely was he aware of muffled exclamations that +became shouts and then grunts. He knew that Pieter and Hans had closed +in. Then it was as though he and Devil Chad were alone. + +This was something that had to be. The seed that made the task necessary +had been planted long ago, on the _Holter_. It had taken deep root +during the fight in the tannery. Since that time Ramsay had met every +challenge the lake had flung at him. Now he would have to prove himself +capable of meeting the challenges men flung at him. Then, and only then, +could he survive. + +Ramsay's lips framed a grin. He had taken the risk, and he had won. For +one brief second somebody might have shot him down, then the opportunity +was forever gone. Now nobody dared shoot. He found a firm footing on the +lake sand. + +Ramsay dodged a terrific blow that would have knocked him flat had it +connected, and went back in with his arms swinging. He sunk a left and a +right to his adversary's midriff and heard Devil Chad's breath whistle +out of his clenched lips. He drew back to strike again. + +Like the bull he was, Devil Chad charged recklessly. He took Ramsay's +stinging blows without flinching, and the boy had to give ground. But it +was not lost ground, and for one brief, glorious second Ramsay stood and +traded blows. His head rocked, but he took what the other had to offer +and returned it in full measure. Then he learned his mistake. + +A pair of gigantic arms were flung about his middle. They tightened like +a vise, bending him backward and seeming to compress him into a space +not half-big enough. His spine was ready to crack, and lights danced in +his head. He gasped for air. + +The many lessons he had been taught by Hans Van Doorst came to his +rescue. Four months ago, and perhaps even one month ago, the fight would +have been ended by that terrific bear hug. But now Ramsay remembered in +time that he was not fighting a man alone but a man who was part beast. +And it was never wise to lose one's head. A man must always adapt +himself and fight like a beast if he fought with one. + +Summoning all his remaining strength, Ramsay drew back his right foot +and sent his heavy shoe smashing into Devil Chad's shin. The fellow +relaxed his hold and staggered back into the darkness. + +Ramsay stumbled away from him. Devil Chad was a bull, he remembered, and +he did not know about matadors. The next time he rushed, the boy stepped +aside and let his opponent's momentum carry him past. Ramsay's strength +and breath came back. + +He became cool, able to reason coolly. Devil Chad outweighed him by +fifty pounds, so he must not close again. If he did not, and there were +no accidents, he, Ramsay, would win this fight. For the first time in +his life Devil Chad was fighting his equal. + +Ramsay felt strength swell within him. It was the strength of the lake, +and it had flowed into his body through the numberless sturgeon he had +carried to the pond and from the many times he had helped bring in the +seine and from the many fish he had scooped from the raised pound nets. +He was no longer a boy but a man. + +The burning pound boats were falling into embers now, and as the light +they cast receded the blackness of the night became more intense. Wind +keened in from the lake, and the waves assaulting the sand beach made +themselves heard. + +Ramsay waded in, his fists flying. In the darkness he was aware of Devil +Chad coming to meet him, but his deception of his opponent was complete. +From the first, he had had no intention of meeting him squarely. + +He stepped aside, lashing out with both fists as he did so, and felt +both of them collide soddenly with Devil Chad's chin. The latter +bellowed, swung his head and hooked viciously. But he hooked falsely, +for Ramsay was not there. His lithe body, dodging and twisting, now here +and now there, became like the cape that lures the bull to its doom. +Devil Chad swung and kicked, and often he struck his target. But he did +not strike hard enough to bring Ramsay down, and he could not again get +a grip with his giant arms, although he tried desperately. + +Roaring wildly, he charged. But it was a blind, mad attack, directed +almost completely by rage and desperation. + +Ramsay licked his upper lip, vaguely aware of the fact that he was +tasting his own blood but not caring. He felt no pain, and it was oddly +as though he sat on some high pinnacle from which he could watch himself +and direct himself. Both his fists lashed squarely into Devil Chad's +face, driven by all the strength in his hard, young body. + +Devil Chad paused, as though bewildered, and Ramsay knew that he was +stunned. Not stopping, throwing some of his caution to the wind, he +followed up his advantage. His fists worked like cracking whips as he +struck again and again. Devil Chad spun around, took two halting steps, +and sank to one knee. + +He remained there like some carved statue, and again Ramsay licked away +the blood that flowed down his face. Now, if he did the correct thing, +he would go in and end it with kicking feet. He would beat Devil Chad as +mercilessly as he had been beaten. But he did not. + +He waited, cool and poised, while the other bowed before him. Only when +Devil Chad lurched to his feet and struck out drunkenly did Ramsay go in +again, and he went in with his fists. He beat a continuous, almost +unopposed tatto on his enemy's chin. The second time Devil Chad +collapsed he measured his full length on the sand, and he did not move +again. + +Ramsay stood watching intently for several moments. He wanted to make +certain that he had met his enemy fairly and defeated him fairly. How +long he had been fighting he did not know. It seemed like a few seconds, +but it must have been much longer. He only knew that he had come out of +the battle stronger than he was when he went into it. He called, "Hans?" + +"Here," the Dutch fisherman answered. + +His voice was strained, but even now there was nothing of desperation in +it. Rather, it was a joyous voice. Ramsay turned toward it and saw +scuffling men. He approached them and reached out with groping hands +until he touched another man. It was neither Hans nor Pieter, and as +soon as he was sure of that he swung. + +He felt a strong disappointment, for the heat of battle flared strong +within him and, instead of fighting back, the man merely collapsed on +the sand. Obviously he had already been manhandled by Hans and had +little strength left. Ramsay looked strangely at him, as though there +was something that should not be. Then he became aware of the fact that +dawn had come and he could see. He turned to help Hans or Pieter, +whichever needed it the most, and he turned just in time to see Hans hit +Joe Mannis so hard that the body-watcher flew into the air, described a +little backward whirl, and fell on the sand. + +Hans stood, shaggy and huge, breathing hard, but unbeaten and +unbeatable. Moving over beside him, Ramsay felt that at last he was +worthy to stand there. Both watched while Pieter teased the single +remaining man, one of the hired ruffians who had helped set the gill +net, then slapped him resoundingly on both cheeks. As though he were +unworthy of further notice, Pieter whirled on his heel and left his foe. +The man went weaving up the beach into the lightening morning. + +Hans grinned wryly at Ramsay. "Your face, it looks like a horse stepped +on it." + +"You've got a couple of mosquito bites yourself." + +"Yaah." Hans grinned again. + +Ramsay said, "They got our boats." + +Hans said, "They got our nets, too. Joe Mannis, he told me that when we +fought. They would get us, he said." + +"They didn't." + +"No, they didn't." + +They turned at a sudden wooden scraping out on the lake, and saw the +Mackinaw boat under way. Beaten and bruised, Devil Chad crouched at the +oars. Hurriedly he sent the boat farther out, toward the open lake. They +watched as though this were some foreign sight of no interest whatever. + +Hans walked over to prod Joe Mannis with the toe of his shoe. "Get up," +he said. + +Joe Mannis stirred and groaned. He opened his eyes, blinked stupidly and +raised himself on one hand. There was a deceptive gentleness in Hans' +words and tone, but Joe Mannis was not deceived. He knew that Hans meant +it when he said, "Come down the beach once more after this storm. You +will find something to interest only you. Then never let me see you +again. If I do, I will drown you in the lake." + +Hans looked out on the lake, into the gathering storm and at the +receding Mackinaw boat. High waves were already clawing at it, and Devil +Chad was not yet out of the bay. Hans said, "He is not a fisherman. He +is not even a sailor. I myself would think twice about taking the +_Spray_ out now." + +Near the boat something white, something not born of the rolling +whitecaps, appeared for a second and disappeared. Ramsay smiled softly. +He knew that he had again seen the White Sturgeon. He also knew what Joe +Mannis would find in the morning. Devil Chad. + +The three partners walked back down the sand to the embers of the pound +boats. They stood near them, warming themselves in the last of the +fire. Ramsay prodded the sand with his toe. + +They were right back where they had started. A whole summer's hard work +had gone to satisfy the greed and lust of one man. What they had left +was the seine, the row boat, the forming skeleton of the _Spray II_ and +the pier. Ramsay set his jaw. They could do it again. They had done it +once. + +He looked toward the Mackinaw boat, and discovered that it had gone out +of the bay into the open lake. But his eyes were attracted by something +else on the horizon. + +A moment later he identified it as a plume of smoke. Five minutes +afterward, storm-lashed but defiant, the _Jackson_ nosed out of the lake +into the sheltered bay. Manned by able seamen, sure of herself, the +_Jackson_ came up to her accustomed place at the pier. Ramsay, Hans and +Pieter caught her mooring ropes. + +Resplendent in his uniform, little Captain Williamson came down his rope +ladder and strutted on the pier. "A blow," he said, as though a storm on +Lake Michigan meant nothing to him. "We'll tie up here until it's over, +then go back to Chicago. Have you got any fish?" + +"Some," Ramsay admitted. + +He thought of the ten barrels of whitefish that were ready for shipment, +and he watched Captain Williamson's face fall. The little captain +emitted a long sigh. "Some, eh? I was hoping for better news. Chicago's +growing like a weed in the sun, and it's hungry. Most of the fishermen +made their last shipments ten days ago. The markets are almost empty, +and even sturgeon's bringing five cents a pound." + +For one brief second the storm clouds parted and the sun shone through. +Then the sky was again overcast and the storm leaped furiously. Ramsay +turned his shining face toward Hans and Pieter. The tons of sturgeon in +the pond ... At five cents a pound there would be more than enough +money to replace everything and to buy the finest planking for the +_Spray II_. + +Ramsay said, "Save plenty of room on the _Jackson_. We'll need it." + +On top of the ridge-pole, Captain Klaus fluttered his long wings and +curved his sinuous neck. As though he approved thoroughly he called, +"_Quark!_" + + + * * * * * + +_Books by Jim Kjelgaard_ + + +BIG RED + +REBEL SIEGE + +FOREST PATROL + +BUCKSKIN BRIGADE + +CHIP, THE DAM BUILDER + +FIRE HUNTER + +IRISH RED + +KALAK OF THE ICE + +A NOSE FOR TROUBLE + +SNOW DOG + +TRAILING TROUBLE + +WILD TREK + +THE SPELL OF THE WHITE STURGEON + +THE EXPLORATIONS OF PERE MARQUETTE + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Spell of the White Sturgeon, by +James Arthur Kjelgaard + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41662 *** |