{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_41662/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_41662","id":"gutenberg_41662","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41662","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Adventure","Category: American Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","Fishers -- Juvenile fiction","Fishes -- Juvenile fiction","Fishing -- Juvenile fiction","Frontier and pioneer life -- Wisconsin -- Juvenile fiction"],"text":"_THE SPELL OF THE WHITE STURGEON_\n\n                            JIM KJELGAARD\n\n\n    DODD, MEAD & COMPANY\n    NEW YORK\n    1953\n\n    Copyright, 1953\n\n    By Jim Kjelgaard\n\n    All Rights Reserved\n\n    No part of this book may be reproduced in any form\n    without permission in writing from the publisher\n\n    _Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 53-6314_\n\n    Printed in the United States of America\n    by Vail-Ballou Press, Inc., Binghamton, N. Y.\n\n\n                  TO\n    David LeClair and Richard Smith\n\n\n\n\n_CONTENTS_\n\n\n\n      _Chapter One_     Storm                        1\n\n              _Two_     Wreck                       16\n\n            _Three_     On the Beach                34\n\n             _Four_     Trouble for the _Spray_     54\n\n             _Five_     Rescue                      73\n\n              _Six_     New Venture                 89\n\n            _Seven_     Partners                   109\n\n            _Eight_     Action                     125\n\n             _Nine_     Pirates                    144\n\n              _Ten_     The Great Fish             160\n\n           _Eleven_     Fisherman's Luck           171\n\n           _Twelve_     The Pond                   184\n\n\nThe characters and situations in this book are wholly fictional and\nimaginative: they do not portray and are not intended to portray any\nactual persons or parties.\n\n\n\n\n_THE SPELL OF THE WHITE STURGEON_\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER ONE\n\n_STORM_\n\n\nRamsay Cartou leaned on the rail of the ponderous side-wheeler, the _H.\nH. Holter_, and watched without interest while a horse-drawn truck\nbrought another load of cattle hides on board. The sweating stevedores\nwho were loading the _Holter_ and the belaboring mate who supervised\nthem began stowing the hides into the hold. The _Holter's_ winch, either\nruined by an inexpert operator or about to fall apart anyhow, was\nbroken. All the work had to be done by hand.\n\nRamsay turned to breathe the clean air that swept in from Lake Michigan.\nIt was impossible, anywhere on the _Holter_, to get away from the smell\nof the hides, but at least he did not have to look at them.\n\nNot since he had left the brawling young city of Chicago two days\nbefore, to make his way north to the equally lusty young city of\nMilwaukee, had the sun shone. In those two days, while he waited for\nrepairs to the engine hauling the train in which he was riding, he had\nseen nothing of the lake. Now, from the mouth of the river where the\n_Holter_ was anchored, he had a clear view, and it was exciting.\n\nThe grays of the sky and the grays of the lake were indefinable, with no\nclear separation. Ramsay shivered slightly.\n\nThe lake was a cat, he thought, a great sinewy cat, and the whitecaps\nrolling into the harbor were its sheathed and unsheathed claws. It was\nan awesome thing, but at the same time a wonderful one. A trembling\nexcitement rose within him. The lake was at once a challenge and a\npromise--a threat and a mighty lure. He stared, fascinated, and tried to\ntrace the rolling course of the waves as they surged toward the bank. It\nwas impossible to follow just one for, as soon as it swelled, it\nretreated, to lose itself in the immense lake and renew itself in\nendless forward surges. Like recklessly charging soldiers, the waves\ncast themselves up on the bank and, exhausted, fell back.\n\nSo absorbed was he in the spectacle and so fascinated by the lake, that\nfor a moment he was unaware of the man beside him or of the words he\nspoke. Then a rough hand grasped his shoulder and, reacting instantly,\nRamsay whirled around.\n\n\"Why ain't you at work with the rest, boy?\"\n\n\"Take your hand off me!\"\n\nThe man who stood beside him was oddly like a rock, a great granite\nboulder. Two inches taller than Ramsay's six feet, he had a barrel chest\nand long, powerful arms. A leather jacket, with the sleeves cut off,\nhung loosely on his upper body, and beneath it he wore a homespun shirt.\nHis black trousers had been fashioned by an exacting tailor but sadly\nmisused. They were torn and patched with anything that might have been\nat hand. Black hair straggled from beneath his crushed black hat and the\nhair needed cutting. His eyes, colorless, were oddly inanimate, like two\nglass balls with no special warmth or feeling. A black beard sprouted\nfrom his cheeks and half-hid his face, but the beard did not hide thick,\ncoarse lips. He repeated, \"Them hides got to be loaded! Get to work!\"\n\n\"Load them yourself!\"\n\n\"I'll give you a lesson you won't forget, boy!\"\n\n\"Do that!\" Ramsay tensed, awaiting the anticipated attack of the bigger,\nheavier man. He felt almost a grim pleasure. He had learned his fighting\nthe hard way, as anybody brought up on the New York water-front, and\nwith an irresponsible father had to learn it. The man who faced him was\nheavier by a good sixty pounds, but he was a bull of a man and,\nprobably, he would fight like a bull. Would he know about matadors?\n\nThe man's eyes were narrowed to pinpoints, and they seemed to spark.\nSheer rage made his face livid, while his lips were distorted in a\nsnarl. He drew back, readying himself for the spring that would\noverwhelm this brash youth who had dared dispute him. Ramsay poised on\nlithe feet, prepared to side-step.\n\nThen fat, fussy little Captain Schultz, skipper of the _Holter_, stepped\nbetween them. He wheezed like an over-fat lap-dog, \"Vot you doin'?\"\n\n\"I want them hides loaded and the ship under way!\" the man who faced\nRamsay snarled.\n\n\"Ach! Dis man payin' passenger!\"\n\nA deck hand, his eyes downcast, hurried past. The man who had ordered\nRamsay to get to work stood still for a moment, glaring. Then,\nfuriously, soundlessly, he turned on his heel and strode up the\ngangplank to the pier. Ramsay watched him go, and he knew that, even if\nthere had not been unpleasantness between them, he could never like this\nman. No matter where they met, or how, they would never get along\ntogether.\n\nCaptain Schultz also turned to watch the man depart. Then he gave his\nattention to Ramsay.\n\n\"Ach! You should be careful 'pout startin' fights, poy.\"\n\n\"So should other people!\" Ramsay said, still smarting.\n\n\"You should, too. Yaah!\"\n\nAnd, as though he had settled that once and for all, Captain Schultz\nwaddled away to speak to the mate who was supervising the stevedores. A\nlittle uncertainty arose in Ramsay.\n\nThis--this half-wilderness, half-civilization in which he found himself\nwas a land of strong contradictions. Lake Michigan, with all its fear\nand all its terror, and all its inspiration, lapped the Wisconsin\nshores. Yet some man could be so little impressed by the vast lake that\nhe could name a boat for himself. Possibly a man capable of building or\nowning a ship like the _Holter_ had a right to think of himself.\n\nRamsay turned again to look at the lake, and his mind projected him far\naway from the worn, slippery decks of the _Holter_. Almost he was\nunaware of the two silver dollars in his pocket, all the money he had\nleft in the world, and of the uncertain future. At the same time, while\nhis inmost being feasted on the lake, a part of his mind reviewed the\nevents that had brought him here. He had an abrupt, uncomfortable\nrevival of a New York memory.\n\nThere was a lion, a great, black-maned lion, in the New York zoo. It was\nwell fed and well cared for, its every need attended. But most times the\nlion had still seemed restless and unhappy, and sometimes it had been a\ntired thing. Then it was hardly a lion at all but just a weary, living\nthing. Ramsay had wondered often how that lion felt.\n\nHe had never decided exactly how it did feel; within himself there were\na dozen conflicting opinions. The lion paced its cage, and coming to the\nend of the very narrow limits granted to it, it turned and went back the\nother way. Coming to the end of the cage, it turned again. But all it\never found was the place it had already left. Once in a great while the\nlion had been very alert and very attentive. It was as though, now and\nagain, the great animal could scent a wind of which nothing else was\naware. That wind brought him memories of freedom, and happiness and the\nunhampered jungle life that had been.\n\nRamsay had gone often to see the lion, and though he never understood\nwhy, he always felt as though he had something in common with it, and he\nunderstood it partially. New York offered an abundance of opportunities,\nbut they were well bound and well defined. There had always been a wild\nlonging, a reckless yearning, within him, and often he thought that the\nnewspapers which carried stories of the undeveloped Midwest were to him\nwhat the faint jungle scents had been to the lion. He had devoured every\nstory eagerly. The Midwest was new, the papers had said. Good farm land,\nif one wanted to be a farmer, could be had for as little as four dollars\nan acre. It was the land of the future.\n\nAgain Ramsay jingled the two dollars in his pocket. He had answered the\ncall of the Midwest because he could not help answering it. He had to\ntry and to go and see for himself, but at the same time a caution,\ninborn in his Scotch mother and transplanted to him, could not be\nignored. Before he burned his bridges behind him he had wanted to make\nsure that there were some ahead, and correspondence with the manager of\nthe Three Points tannery had led to the offer of a job when he came. A\ndollar and twenty-five cents a day the tannery was offering able-bodied\nmen, and there were too few men.\n\nRamsay looked out upon the lake, and a little thrill of excitement swept\nthrough him. Sometimes he had felt doubts about the wisdom of having\nleft New York for the Midwest. He had been sure of a place to sleep and\nenough to eat as long as he stayed in New York, and again he felt the\ntwo dollars in his pocket.\n\nTroubled, he looked out on the surging lake, and knew an instant peace.\nIt was worth seeing. It was something few New Yorkers ever saw. The\nocean was at their doorstep, and few of them even bothered looking at\nthat; but the ocean was not like this. Lake Michigan was fresh and\nclean, different, wild and, as the papers had promised, new. Ramsay\ntasted the wet air, liking it as he did so.\n\nHe turned at a sudden squealing and clatter on the pier, and saw four\nmen trying to fight a little black horse onto the ship. The horse, not\ntrusting this strange craft and certainly not liking it, lashed out with\nstriking hooves. Dodging, the men finally fought it into a sort of\nsmall cage they had prepared. The horse thrust its head over the side\nand bugled shrilly.\n\nRamsay watched interestedly, distracted for the few minutes the men\nneeded to get the horse into its cage. It reared as though it would\nclimb over the confining bars, then stood quietly. A sensible horse,\nRamsay decided, and a good one. Only fools, whether they were animals or\nmen, fought when there was no chance of winning or battered their brains\nout against a stone wall. Good animals and good men never considered\nanything hopeless, but they tried to fight with intelligence as well as\nbrawn. Ramsay glanced again at the horse.\n\nIt was standing quietly but not resignedly. Its head was up. Its ears\nwere alert and its eyes bright. It still did not like the ship, but it\nhad not just given in. Rather, it was waiting a good chance to get away.\nRamsay grinned. The next time, he decided, they would have a little more\ntrouble getting that horse onto anything that floated. Then he returned\nhis attention to the loading of the _Holter_.\n\nA continuous line of horse-drawn trucks loaded with hides was coming\nalongside the ship, and the stevedores were laboring mightily to stow\nthe hides away. Obviously whoever owned the _Holter_ intended to load\nher with every last pound she would carry. He wanted a paying cargo that\nwould pay off to the last cent. Almost imperceptibly the ship settled\ninto the water. The gangplank, that had been almost even with the deck,\nnow tilted downward.\n\nOnce or twice Ramsay saw the bearded, jacketed man with whom he had\nquarreled. But the man did not venture onto the _Holter_ again. Rather,\nhe seemed more interested in getting the hides loaded. Ramsay speculated\non the scene he was witnessing, and then he found the whys and\nwherefores, the reasons behind it.\n\nThis Wisconsin country was still more than half a wilderness. It had its\nfull share of wilderness men, but its fertile farm lands were attracting\nmany Dutch, Swiss and German farmers. Struggling with a half-tamed\ncountry, they did anything they could to earn a livelihood, and some of\nthem raised beef cattle. The hides were a by-product and the world\nmarkets needed leather. But the leather could not be processed without\nnecessary materials, and the hemlock trees which provided tan bark were\nbeing cut at Three Points. It was cheaper, and easier, to transport the\nhides to Three Points than it was to carry the cumbersome tan bark to\nMilwaukee or Chicago. From Three Points, harness leather, sole leather\nand almost every other kind, was shipped by boat to Chicago and from\nthere it was carried to the eastern markets by rail.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was not until mid-afternoon that the last of the hides were loaded\nand the hatches battened down. The side wheel began to turn and the\n_Holter_ moved cumbersomely down the river into Lake Michigan. Standing\nin his enclosure, the little horse stamped restlessly and neighed again.\nHe was nervous, but he was not afraid.\n\nRamsay approved. The little black horse didn't like his cage, but he\nwould meet the situation as it existed rather than lose his head or\nbecome panic-stricken. Ramsay walked over to the cage and the horse\nthrust his velvet muzzle against the bars. When the boy rubbed his nose,\nthe horse twitched his ears and looked at him with friendly eyes.\n\nThick smoke belched from the _Holter's_ stack and made a long plume over\nthe lake, behind the plodding side-wheeler. A strong wind was screaming\nin from the north and lashing the water angrily into leaping waves. The\nship nosed into the trough created by the waves and rose again on the\nopposite side. Ramsay walked to the bow and leaned over the rail, and a\nmighty excitement rose anew within him.\n\nThis, it seemed, was what he had wanted to find when he left New York to\ngo roving. The lake, storm-lashed, was a wild and terrible thing. It was\na beast, but something with a vast appeal lay behind its fury and its\nanger. Lake Michigan was the place for a man. It would never be free of\nchallenge if there was anyone who dared to pick up the gauntlet it cast.\n\nThere was motion beside Ramsay, and the deck hand who had passed while\nhe argued with the bearded man fell in beside him. He glanced at the\nman. The deck hand was about thirty-six, older than Ramsay by eighteen\nyears, and there was a seasoned, weather-beaten look about him. It was\nas though he had turned his face to many a raging storm and many a\nfierce wind.\n\nHe grinned amiably. \"Hi!\"\n\n\"Hi!\" Ramsay said.\n\nThe deck hand chuckled. \"Boy, I thought you were in trouble sure when\nyou were ruckusin' with old Devil Chad.\"\n\n\"Devil Chad?\"\n\n\"Yeah. The one who told you to help load hides. He'd of cleaned the deck\nwith you.\"\n\n\"Maybe he would,\" Ramsay said. \"And then again, maybe he wouldn't.\"\n\n\"He would,\" the deck hand asserted. \"He can lick anybody or anything.\nOwns half the country 'round here, he does, includin' most of the\n_Holter_. What's more, he aims to keep it. One of the richest men in\nWisconsin.\"\n\n\"Quite a man,\" Ramsay said drily.\n\n\"Yeah, an' quite a fighter. On'y reason he didn't clean your clock was\non account Captain Schultz told him you was a payin' passenger. Devil\nChad, he gets half the fare every passenger on the _Holter_ pays, he\ndoes.\"\n\nRamsay knew a rising irritation. \"What makes you so sure he can't be cut\ndown to size?\"\n\n\"Never has been, never will be,\" the deck hand asserted. He regarded the\nsurging lake morosely, and then said, \"One of these days this old tub is\ngoin' to end up right at the bottom of Michigan, it is. Either that or\non the beach. Wish I was some'res else.\"\n\n\"Why don't you go somewhere else?\"\n\n\"One of these days I will,\" the deck hand threatened. \"I'll just haul\noff an' go back to the ocean boats, I will. I was on 'em for fourteen\nyears, an' quit to come here on account I got scar't of storms at sea.\nHa! Worstest thing I ever see on the Atlantic ain't nothin' to what this\nlake can throw at you.\"\n\n\"Is it really that bad?\" Ramsay asked eagerly.\n\n\"Bad?\" the deck hand said. \"Boy, I've seen waves here taller'n a ship.\nIn course nobody ever goes out when it's that bad on account, if they\ndid, nobody'd ever get back.\" He scanned the horizon. \"We're goin' to\nhit weather afore we ever gets to Three Points. Goin' to hit it sure.\nWish this old tub wasn't loaded so heavy, an' with hides at that.\"\n\nA wave struck the bow, crested and broke in foaming spray that cast\nitself up and over the ship. Ramsay felt it, cool on his face, and he\nlicked eager lips. Lake Michigan was fresh water, not salt like the\nocean, and it was as pure as an ice-cold artesian well. It was also, he\nthought, almost as cold.\n\nHe looked into the clouded horizon, studying the storm that battered the\n_Holter_. He smiled to himself.\n\nSuddenly he became all eager interest, peering out into the driving\nwaves and focusing his attention on one place. He thought he had seen\nsomething there, but because of the angry lake he could not be sure. It\nmight have been just a drifting shadow, or just one more of the dark\nwaves which seemed to fill the lake and to be of all shades. Then, and\nplainly, he saw it again.\n\nIt was a boat, a little boat no more than twenty-four feet from bowsprit\nto stern, and it was carrying almost a full load of sail as it tacked\nback and forth into the wind. Ramsay had not seen the sails because,\nwhen he first spotted the boat, it had been heeled over so far that the\nsails did not show. Now they were showing and full, and the little boat\nsailed like a proud swan with its wings spread.\n\nRamsay forgot the _Holter_, the man beside him and everything else save\nthe little boat. The _Holter_ and nothing on it, with the possible\nexception of the little black horse, was even remotely interesting. But\nthis was. Ramsay breathed a sigh of relief.\n\nHe should have known. He should have understood from the first that,\nwhen any water was as mighty and as exciting as Lake Michigan, there\nwould be some to meet its challenge with daring, grace and spirit. The\ntiny craft was a mere cockleshell of a boat, a ridiculously small thing\nwith which to venture upon such a water, but Ramsay could not help\nfeeling that it would be much better to sail on the little boat than on\nthe _Holter_.\n\nHe kept fascinated eyes on it as it tacked back into the wind. Again it\nheeled over, so far that it was almost hidden in the trough of a vast\nwave. Saucily, jauntily it bobbed up again.\n\nThe _Holter_, that workhorse of the water, plodded stolidly on its\nappointed way. Ramsay continued to watch the little boat, and now they\nwere near enough so that he could see its crew of four. He gasped\ninvoluntarily.\n\nWorking into the wind, the little boat was coming back, and its course\ntook it directly across the _Holter's_ right of way. Ramsay clenched his\nfingers and bit his lip fiercely. A collision seemed inevitable.\nWide-eyed, he watched the little boat.\n\nNow he saw its name, not painted on with stencils but written in a fine,\nfree-flowing script, _Spray_, and the carved Valkyrie maiden that was\nits figurehead. A big gull, obviously its tame one, sat on the very top\nof the mast and flapped its wings. The _Spray_ had a crew of four, but\nRamsay concentrated on just one of them.\n\nHe was huge, fully as tall as the black beard who had accosted Ramsay\nand just as heavy, but he was a different kind of man. He balanced on\nhis little boat's swaying deck with all the grace of a dancer, while he\nclung almost carelessly to a line that ran through a pulley.\n\nNo inch of the man's shirt and trousers, which were all the clothing he\nwore, for he was bare-footed, remained dry, and the shaggy blond curls\nthat carpeted his head were dripping. White teeth gleamed as he looked\nup at the _Holter_ and laughed. Ramsay leaned forward excitedly. He\nwarmed to this man, even as he had been repelled by the black beard the\ndeck hand called Devil Chad. The man on the boat was gay and spirited,\nand he seemed complete master of everything about him.\n\nThe deck hand put cupped hands to his mouth and screamed, \"Sheer off!\nSheer off!\"\n\nCaptain Schultz's voice was heard. \"_Dumkopf!_ Go 'way!\"\n\nThen, just as it seemed that collision could not be avoided, more sail\nbloomed on the _Spray's_ mast and she danced lightly out of the way. The\nman with the shaggy curls looked back and waved a taunting hand. Ramsay\nturned to watch, but the _Spray_ disappeared in a curtain of mist that\nhad draped itself between the _Holter_ and the shore. His eyes shining,\nthe boy turned to the deck hand.\n\n\"Who was that?\"\n\n\"A crazy Dutch fisherman, named Hans Van Doorst,\" the deck hand growled.\n\"He'd sail that peanut shell right in to see Old Nick hisself, an' one\nof these days he will. He ain't even afraid of the White Sturgeon.\"\n\n\"What's the White Sturgeon?\"\n\nThe deck hand looked at him queerly. \"How long you been here, boy?\"\n\n\"A couple of days.\"\n\n\"Well, that accounts for it. You see the White Sturgeon; you start\nprayin' right after. You'll need to. Nobody except that crazy Van Doorst\nhas ever saw him an' lived to tell about it. Well, got to get to work.\"\n\nThe deck hand wandered away. Ramsay turned again to face the storm and\nlet spray blow into his face. He thought of all that had happened since\nhe had, at last, reached Lake Michigan. This Wisconsin country was\nindeed a land of sharp contrasts.\n\nThe _Holter_ and the _Spray_. Captain Schultz and the deck hand. Devil\nChad and Hans Van Doorst. A tannery and a fisherman. Local superstition\nabout a white sturgeon. Ramsay knew a rising satisfaction. This\nsemi-wilderness, lapped by a vast inland sea, might be a strange land,\nbut nobody could say that it was not an interesting or a strong one. His\nlast lingering doubts were set at rest and for the first time he was\nentirely satisfied because he had come. A strong country was always the\nplace for strong people.\n\nRamsay raised his head, puzzled by something which, suddenly, seemed to\nbe out of place. For a second he did not know what it was. Then he\nrealized that the crying gulls which had been following the _Holter_ in\nthe hope that scraps or garbage would be tossed to them or else\ninterested in whatever debris the side wheel might churn up, were no\nlonger there.\n\nRamsay knew a second's uneasiness, and he could not explain it. He did\nnot know why he missed the gulls. It was just that they and their crying\nhad seemed a part of the lake. Now that they were gone, the lake was\nincomplete. The boy braced himself against a sudden, vicious burst of\nwind.\n\nEven a land-lubber could tell that the storm's fury was increasing. A\nsharp patter of rain sliced like a shower of cold knives across the\n_Holter's_ deck, and Ramsay ducked his head. He raised it again,\ngrinning sheepishly as he did so, then gripped the rail to steady\nhimself. He watched with much interest as the storm raged even more\nstrongly.\n\nIt was driving directly out of the northwest, and it seemed to be\nperpetually re-born in the dark clouds that had possession of the sky. A\nhowling wind accompanied it, and more shrapnel-bursts of rain.\n\nThe waves rose to prodigious heights. Dipping into them, the _Holter_\nseemed no more than a leaf on this tossing sea. Turning, Ramsay saw the\nhelmsman clinging almost fiercely to his wheel, as though he would\nsomehow soften the storm's rage by doing that. In his cage the little\nblack horse nickered uncertainly.\n\nThen there came something that was instantly apparent, even above the\nscreaming wind. The rough rhythm of the _Holter's_ throbbing engines\nseemed to halt. The ship shivered mightily, as though in pain.\n\nThe engines stopped.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWO\n\n_WRECK_\n\n\nShorn of her power, the _Holter_ still followed her helmsman's course.\nBut it became a listless, sluggish course. The ship was like a suddenly\nfreed slave that does not know what to do with his own freedom.\n\nFor six years she had plodded Lake Michigan, always with the biggest\npossible paying load and always working at top speed. Many times she had\ngroaned and protested, but she had been forced to obey the dictates of\nthe engine that turned her side wheel. Now the engine, the tyrant, was\ndead from misuse of its own power. But without it the _Holter_ had\nneither mind nor will of her own.\n\nShe smashed head-on into a mountainous wave that set her decks awash.\nFor another moment or two she held her course, carried by her own\nmomentum. Then, slowly and unwillingly, as though afraid to do such a\nthing and not trusting herself to do it, she swung broadside to the\nwaves.\n\nA muffled shout floated out of the engine room. Fat little Captain\nSchultz, a slicker covering his round body and anxiety written on his\nface, was peering down an opened hatch. Sluicing rain pelted the slicker\nand bounded off. Ramsay's eyes found the deck hand.\n\nEyes wide and mouth agape, he was standing near the wheelhouse. Naked\nterror was written on his face as he stared at something out in the\nlake. Ramsay followed his gaze.\n\nTo the starboard, the right side of the _Holter_, the lake seemed\nstrangely calm. It was as though the wind and the storm did not strike\nwith outrageous strength there, and oddly as if that part of the water\nmight be commanded by some inexplicable force. Unable to tear his gaze\naway, expecting to see something special, Ramsay kept his eyes riveted\non the calm water.\n\nHe saw a ripple, but not one born of storm and wind. There was something\nhere that had nothing to do with the driving wind, or the cold rain, or\neven the tremendous waves. The deck hand covered his eyes with his hand.\n\nAt that instant, a great white apparition swam up through the water. It\nwas a ghost, a creature of nightmares, a terrible thing seen only in\nterror-ridden moments. Ramsay controlled an impulse to shout or to flee.\nThe thing came up to within inches of the surface and wallowed there\nlike a greasy fat hog. Whitish-gray, rather than pure white, it flipped\nan enormous tail while it sported near the surface.\n\nThe thing, a fish, seemed fully nine feet long and possibly it carried a\nhundred pounds of weight for every foot. It bore no scales but seemed to\nbe clothed in an overlapping series of armored plates. Its snout,\npointed somewhat like a pig's, was tipped with barbels, or feelers. Dull\neyes showed.\n\nAgain Ramsay controlled his fear. The thing, sober judgment told him,\nwas nothing more or less than a great sturgeon, the mightiest fish of\nthese inland waters. The fact that it was white, rather than the\nconventional gray-green or olive-green, was of no significance whatever.\nAll living creatures, from elephants down to mice, occasionally produced\nan albino. It was not beyond reason that there could be an albino\nsturgeon.\n\nRamsay watched while it swam, and some semblance of cool control\nreturned to his fevered imagination. This was no grotesque monster from\nanother world. Telling himself again that it was nothing more or less\nthan an unusual fish, he watched it sink back into the churning depths\nfrom which it had arisen. He put a shaking hand on the _Holter's_ rail.\n\nIt was a fish and nothing else. None but superstitious people believed\nin superstition. Then the deck hand's terrified shriek rose above the\nkeening wind.\n\n\"It's him! We seen it! The White Sturgeon! _Gar-hhh!_\"\n\nMouth agape, the deck hand kept his eyes on that place where the White\nSturgeon had disappeared. A great wave washed across the deck, and when\nit rolled away the deck hand was no longer visible. Ramsay shook his\nhead to clear it and looked again at the place where the deck hand had\nbeen standing. Lake Michigan could swallow a man even easier than a pond\nswallowed a pebble, for there had not been even a ripple to mark the\nplace where the deck hand had disappeared. There was not the slightest\npossibility of rescuing him. The deck hand had seen the White Sturgeon!\n\nA battering ram of a wave crashed into the _Holter's_ starboard side,\nand Ramsay felt a cold chill travel up and down his spine. Fear laid its\nicy fingers there, but he shook them off. The fact that the water had\nbeen calm when the White Sturgeon made its appearance and was angry now\nhad nothing whatever to do with the fish. Rather, the calm water could\nbe attributed to some quirk, some phenomenon inherent in the storm\nitself. Probably the White Sturgeon appeared because, for the moment,\nthe lake had been calm. Knowing that, the big fish had nosed its way to\nthe surface. Now that the lake was again storm-deviled, the White\nSturgeon was gone.\n\nBracing himself against the wind, Ramsay made his way across the deck to\nthe wheelhouse. He shivered, for the first time aware of the fact that\nhis clothing was rain-drenched and that he was very cold. It was a\npenetrating, creeping cold that reached the inmost marrow of his bones.\nWhen another wave smashed the _Holter_, Ramsay caught hold of the little\nhorse's cage to steady himself. Within the enclosure, nervous but still\nnot terrified, the black horse looked hopefully at him.\n\nRamsay reached the wheelhouse, and came face to face with Captain\nSchultz. The little captain's slicker had blown open, so that now it was\nof no use whatever in warding off the rain, but he had not seen fit to\nclose it again. It would do him no good if he did; his clothing was\nalready soaked.\n\nRamsay shouted to make himself heard above the roar of the wind. \"What\nhappened?\"\n\n\"The enchin, she kaput. Like that, she kaput.\"\n\nRamsay revised his opinions of the little Captain. At the pier, Captain\nSchultz had been only a fat, fussy little man. Facing this dire\npredicament, he was not terrified and had not given way to panic. He had\nrisen to the emergency. Maybe, Ramsay thought, anyone who sailed Lake\nMichigan had to be able to rise to any emergency if he would continue\nto sail. He shouted again, \"Will the ship sink?\"\n\n\"Ach, I don't know! If we can't get the enchin to go, she might.\"\n\n\"What do we do then?\"\n\n\"Find somet'ing. Find anyt'ing, poy, an' swim. Be sure you find\nsomet'ing that does not sink mit you.\"\n\n\"How far are we from land?\"\n\n\"Ach! That I cannot tell you.\"\n\n\"Did you see the White Sturgeon?\"\n\n\"Yaah. We still try.\"\n\nCaptain Schultz went all the way into the wheelhouse and disappeared\ninto the hold. Dimly, out of the open hatchway, came the sound of\nringing hammers. There was a desperate tone in them, as though the men\nworking in the _Holter's_ hold were fully aware of the grave danger they\nfaced. On sudden impulse Ramsay ducked into the wheelhouse and descended\ninto the engine-room.\n\nCaptain Schultz held an oil lamp to illumine the labors of two men whom,\nso far, Ramsay had not seen. Presumably they were the _Holter's_\nengineer and fireman. Another deck hand and the mate stood by, passing\ntools requested by the workers.\n\nDown here, in the bowels of the _Holter_, the storm seemed a faraway and\nalmost an unreal thing. The howling wind was heard faintly, and if the\nship had not been tossing so violently, they might have been in the\npower-room of any industrial plant.\n\nThe sweating engineer, his face grease-streaked, turned from his labors\nto face Ramsay. He spoke with a nasal New England twang. \"Was that\nWhite Sturgeon really off the ship?\"\n\n\"I--I didn't see anything,\" Ramsay answered.\n\nCaptain Schultz flashed him a grateful smile. The workers went on with\ntheir toils.\n\nObviously, among Lake Michigan sailors, or anyhow some of them, there\nwas a firm belief in the evil powers of the White Sturgeon. Ramsay\nlooked again at the little Captain's face.\n\nIt was a concerned, worried face, what one might expect to see in a man\nwho was in danger of losing his ship. At the same time, and even though\nCaptain Schultz remained completely in command, there was about him a\ncertain air that had nothing to do with getting the _Holter's_ engine\nworking again. Ramsay sought for the answer, and finally he found it. A\nstrong man in his own right, Captain Schultz had seen the White Sturgeon\nand he believed in it.\n\nRamsay climbed the narrow ladder-way leading back to the deck. The\n_Holter_ was strong, he assured himself. There was little danger that it\ncould be pounded to pieces by any sea. Then he looked at the wild and\nangry lake and knew the fallacy of his reasoning.\n\nThe _Holter_ was strong, but the lake was stronger. Waves, the color of\nsteel and with the strength of steel, smashed into the ship and made her\nshiver. Ramsay heard a shrieking protest as some plank or stay beneath\nthe deck tore loose.\n\nThe _Holter_ shuddered, like a big horse in pain, and settled so low in\nthe water that waves washed continuously across her deck. There was\nanother shriek, and she settled deeper into the lake. She was a very\nsluggish craft now, with no control or direction, and Ramsay guessed\nthat the hides in the hold were getting soaked. The ship's nose dipped\nto meet a wave, and it did not come up again.\n\nThe imprisoned horse bugled his fright. Captain Schultz, the engineer,\nthe fireman and the deck hand appeared on deck. There was no sign of the\nmate; perhaps he had already gone over. The engineer and the fireman\nstruggled under the weight of a crude raft which they had knocked\ntogether from such timbers as were available. Ramsay looked uncertainly\ntoward them, and the engineer glared back.\n\n\"Get your own!\" he snarled. \"Me an' Pete made this, an' me an' Pete are\ngoin' to use it!\"\n\nThey carried their makeshift raft to the settling nose of the ship, laid\nit down, mounted it, and let the next wave carry them off. Ramsay felt a\nturning nausea in the pit of his stomach. As the raft went over the\nrail, the man called Pete was swept from it. Only the engineer stayed\non, clinging desperately as he was washed out into the angry lake. In a\nsecond or two he had disappeared.\n\nCaptain Schultz rolled frightened eyes and said to Ramsay, \"Get a door,\nor hatch cover, an' ride that.\"\n\nSuiting his actions to his words, Captain Schultz seized a fire axe that\nwas hanging near and pounded the wheelhouse door from its hinges. He\ndragged the door to the rail, threw it into the lake, and jumped after\nit. The deck hand wrestled with a hatch cover, finally pried it loose,\nand rode that away.\n\nRamsay was left alone on the sinking _Holter_. He tried to keep a clear\nhead, but he could not help an overwhelming fear. This was nothing he\nhad ever faced before and now, facing it, he did not know what to do.\nFinding anything that would float and riding it away seemed to be the\nanswer. Then the little horse bugled and he knew that he was not alone.\n\nWater crept around his feet as he made his way across the deck to the\ncage. He put his hand on the bar, and as soon as he did that the little\nhorse thrust a soft, warm nose against it. He muzzled Ramsay's hand with\nalmost violent intensity. All his life he had depended upon men for\neverything. Now, in this peril, men would not desert him.\n\nSoftly Ramsay stroked the soft muzzle, but only for a second. The\n_Holter_ was going down fast. Soon, as the gloomy deck hand had\nforecast, she would be on the bottom of Lake Michigan. There was no time\nto lose. Ramsay unlatched the door of the cage, opened it, and when he\ndid that the horse walked out.\n\nHe stayed very near to the boy, fearing to leave, and once or twice\nbumped Ramsay with his shoulder. Ramsay studied the angry lake, and\nlooked back at the horse. Again he glanced out on the stormy water.\nThere was nothing else in sight. Those who, by one way or another, hoped\nto reach shore were already lost in swirling sheets of rain. Ramsay bit\nhis lower lip so hard that he drew blood.\n\nThe men had either jumped, or else had merely ridden over the rail on a\nwave that set the decks awash, but the horse could not do that. There\nwas real danger of his breaking a leg, or becoming otherwise injured, if\nhe tried. Ramsay turned and caught up the axe with which Captain Schultz\nhad stricken down the door.\n\nThe black horse crowded with him, afraid to be alone, and the boy had to\ngo around him to get back to the rail. The horse pushed close to him\nagain and Ramsay spoke soothingly, \"Easy. Take it easy now.\"\n\nHe raised the axe and swung it, and felt its blade bite deeply into the\nwooden rail. He swung again and again, until he had slashed through it,\nthen moved ten feet to one side, toward the rail's supporting post, and\ncut it there. The severed section was whisked into the wave-tormented\nlake as a match stick disappears in a whirlpool. Ramsay threw the axe\nback onto the _Holter's_ sinking deck and stepped aside.\n\nGet something that would float, Captain Schultz had said, and be sure\nthat it would keep him above water. But suddenly he could think of\nnothing that would float. Wildly he cast about for a hatch cover or a\ndoor. There was not one to be seen.\n\nThe _Holter_ made a sudden list that carried her starboard deck beneath\nthe lake. A wave surged across her. Even the little horse had unsteady\nlegs. Ramsay tried hard to overcome the terror within him.\n\nThen, together, he and the little horse were in the lake. He threw wild\narms about the animal's neck, and a huge wave overwhelmed them. Gasping,\nhe arose.\n\nThe lake was wilder and fiercer and colder than he had thought it could\nbe. Every nerve and muscle in his body seemed chilled, so that he was\nbarely able to move. Another wave washed in, over both the little black\nhorse and himself, and for a moment they were deep beneath the churning\nwaters. They broke onto the surface, Ramsay with both hands entwined in\nthe horse's mane, and the horse turned to look at him.\n\nThere was uncertainty in the animal's eyes, and fright, but no terror.\nThe little horse knew his own power, and the fact that a human being\nstayed with him gave him confidence in that strength.\n\nRamsay spoke reassuringly. \"We're all right. We'll do all right, Black.\nLet's get out of it.\"\n\nThe words were a tonic, the inspiration the horse needed. The next time\na wave rolled in, he did not try to fight it. Rather, he rose with it,\nswimming strongly. He had adjusted himself to many situations, now he\nmet this one without panic. An intelligent beast, he had long ago\nlearned that every crisis must be met with intelligence.\n\nRamsay stayed easily beside him, keeping just enough weight on the\nswimming animal to hold his own head above water and doing nothing that\nwould interfere with the furious fight the horse was waging to keep from\ndrowning.\n\nThe lake was indeed cold, colder than any other water the boy had ever\nknown, and he had to exercise every particle of his mind and will just\nto cling to the horse. The wind blew furiously, and sluicing rain poured\ndown. Then the rain dwindled away and heavy mist settled in. Ramsay knew\na moment's panic.\n\nIt was impossible to see more than a few feet or to tell which way the\nshore lay. The lake was huge, and should they be heading towards the\nMichigan shore, they would never get there. Ramsay tried to remember all\nhe had ever known of wind and drift and currents on Lake Michigan, and\ndiscovered that he could remember nothing. Any direction at all could be\nnorth and he was unable to orient himself, but he controlled the rising\npanic. It would do no good at all to lose his head.\n\nThe wind seemed to be dying, and the waves lessening. Ramsay kept his\nhold on the little horse's mane. He saw a floating object pass and tried\nto catch it, but when he did so he almost lost his hold on the horse.\nKicking hard to catch up, he twined both hands in the horse's mane and\ntightened them there.\n\nThen he felt a rebirth of confidence. Already they had been in the lake\nfor a long, long time and he had been able to hold his own. It was\nimpossible to get much colder, or more numb, than he already was and he\ncould still hang on. Besides, the horse seemed to know where he was\ngoing.\n\nHe swam strongly, and apparently he was swimming straight. At any rate,\nthere was no evidence that he was traveling in circles or choosing an\nerratic course. Ramsay had been told that animals have an instinct\ncompared to which the most sensitive human's is coarse and blunted and\nmaybe that was true. Maybe the horse did know where it was going.\n\nNow that the waves were not rising so high, the horse swam faster. The\nwind died almost completely, so that the lake's surface was merely\nruffled, and Ramsay felt a mounting confidence in his ability to live\nthrough this. In the overcast a gull cried, and things had started going\nwrong with the _Holter_ when the gulls left it. Now they were back.\nProbably they, too, had known of the approaching storm and had flown to\nsafety off the lake.\n\nThe swimmers broke out of the mist and Ramsay saw the beach.\n\nIt was about a hundred yards away, a sand beach behind which a rocky\ncliff rose. This wore a crest of evergreens, and its face was spotted\nhere and there with smaller trees. A cloud of white gulls screamed into\nthe air as Ramsay and the horse approached.\n\nThey reached the shallows, and the little horse's back emerged from the\nwater like that of some suddenly appearing sea monster. Ramsay let go\nhis hold on the animal's mane and swam. Then, coming to waist-high water\nin which he could wade, he splashed toward the beach.\n\nThe wind had died, but waves still pounded the beach and it was very\ncold. The near borders of this wild lake, Ramsay decided, probably never\nwarmed up. With an immense body of cold water lapping them, they were\nperpetually chilled.\n\nWhile the little horse looked gravely on, Ramsay stripped his clothing\noff, wrung it out, and put the wet garments back on. The horse crowded\nvery close, as though he were afraid to go away. He nibbled Ramsay with\nhis lips. As soon as the boy moved, he moved with him.\n\nHe stayed very near as Ramsay walked up the beach, a stretch of\ndriftwood-spotted sand that varied from sixty to two hundred feet in\nwidth and reached clear back to the rising bluff. A belt of wet sand\nshowed where the lake had crawled up onto the beach and fallen back.\n\nThe boy stopped suddenly, and the little horse stopped with him. Just\nahead, in the belt of wet sand which the highest waves had washed, lay\ntwo tumbled figures. The little horse tossed his head uneasily, not\nliking this at all, and Ramsay felt a cold lump rise in his throat. He\nadvanced at a slow walk and, after some hesitation, the horse trotted to\ncatch up with him. Ramsay stopped again.\n\nThe two drowned people were Captain Schultz of the _Holter_ and the deck\nhand who had wished so fervently that he was somewhere else. Ramsay\ncleared the lump in his throat, and was struck by the notion that at\nlast the deck hand had gone somewhere else. Then the black horse raised\nhis head and nickered, and the boy looked around to see a man on a\nspotted black-and-white horse riding toward him.\n\nHe rode at full trot, the reins hanging loosely around his mount's\nthroat, and he wore an outlandish sort of affected cowboy's hat pulled\nlow over his eyes. His features were heavy, and would be flabby when he\nhad aged a few more years. Blue jeans clung tightly around his legs, and\nstraight black hair lay thick on his head. As he rode, he leveled a\nheavy pistol.\n\n\"Go on! Beat it!\"\n\n\"But ...\"\n\n\"This is my find! I said beat it!\"\n\nThe pistol roared, and a heavy ball buried itself in the sand at\nRamsay's feet. The boy felt a quick anger and a disinclination to obey\nthe order to leave. He took a step toward the horseman, knowing that he\nwould need a few seconds to re-load his pistol. But almost by magic\nanother pistol appeared in the man's hand and he leveled it steadily.\n\n\"Your last warnin'. Go on!\"\n\nRamsay shrugged, and the black horse followed him as he walked on. This\nwas indeed a strange land, where men were willing to fight for the\npossession of corpses. What did the horseman want with them? The loot\nthey might have in their pockets? Perhaps, but that seemed very\nunlikely. Captain Schultz was not the type of person who would carry a\ngreat deal of money in his pockets, and certainly the deck hand wouldn't\nhave enough to bother about. But obviously the horseman wanted the two\nbodies.\n\nRamsay walked on up the sand beach. Gulls rose protestingly as he came\nin sight, and flocks of ducks scudded across the water. A pair of Canada\nGeese hissed at him as he passed. They were guarding a nest and they\nwere ready to fight for it. Ramsay gave them a wide berth and the horse\nwalked faithfully beside him.\n\nThe afternoon was half-spent when Ramsay smelled wood smoke. He\nquickened his pace, but remained cautious. This was a wild land, with no\npart of it wilder than this lonely Lake Michigan Beach, and there was\nnever any certainty as to just what anyone would find or how he would be\nreceived. Nevertheless, if these people were friendly, other humans\nwould be welcome. Ramsay was both hungry and tired to the point of\nexhaustion. He fingered the two dollars in his pocket. He could pay his\nway. He rounded a long, forested nose of land where the bluff cut the\nsand beach to a narrow five feet and looked out on a peaceful bay.\n\nThe bluff gave way to gently rising, treeless hills. A rail fence hemmed\npart of them in, and black-and-white cattle grazed inside the fence. A\nstone house, of Dutch architecture, stood on a knoll that commanded a\nview of the lake, and a suitable distance from it was a snug wooden\nbarn. A small lake, or large pond, separated from Lake Michigan by a\nnarrow neck of land, glowed like a blue sapphire. Chickens, ducks and\ngeese crowded noisily together in the barnyard, and a man with a wooden\npail in his hand came out of the barn door.\n\nRamsay walked forward, as first uncertainly and then very steadily. A\nman might be afraid, but it was always to his advantage not to let the\nenemy, if enemy this might be, know he was afraid. The man at the barn\ndoor hesitated, and then stood still while the boy approached.\n\nRamsay greeted him pleasantly, \"Hello.\"\n\n\"Hello.\"\n\nThe man was tall and supple, with a frank, open face and intelligent,\nblue eyes. He was perhaps six years older than Ramsay and he spoke with\na Dutch accent. Ramsay said, \"I was sailing up to Three Points on the\n_Holter_. Now she's wrecked and I must walk....\"\n\n\"The _Holter's_ wrecked?\" the other broke in.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Any drowned people on the beach?\"\n\n\"Two, but a man on a black-and-white horse took them away from me at\npistol point.\" Ramsay knew a rising impatience. \"Why the dickens should\nhe do that?\"\n\nThe other grinned faintly. \"You get money for watching 'em until they\ncan be brought in and buried proper, and money is not easy to come by.\nIf there's a man already watching these, that would be Joe Mannis. He\ncombs the beach night and day after storms, and he's got as much money\nas most people. What can I do for you?\"\n\n\"I'd like something to eat before I go on to Three Points.\"\n\n\"That we can give you,\" the farmer said. \"Come.\"\n\nWhen the horse would have followed them to the house, the Dutch farmer\nlooked quizzically at Ramsay. The boy grinned.\n\n\"He's not mine. He was on the _Holter_ and we swam ashore together.\nWithout him I might not have made it.\"\n\n\"Then he is yours,\" the farmer said. \"By right of salvage he is yours.\nBut Marta, she wouldn't like a horse in the house.\"\n\n\"It's hardly the place for a horse,\" Ramsay agreed. \"Can we leave him\nhere?\"\n\n\"Yaah.\"\n\nThe farmer opened the barnyard gate and Ramsay walked in. The horse\nfollowed willingly. Ramsay stepped out and shut the gate. He saw the\nlittle horse, its head over the bars, watching him as he walked toward\nthe house.\n\nIt was a clean house, and a scrubbed and shiny one. Even the big flat\nstone that served as a back doorstep had almost an antiseptic\ncleanliness. The house was filled with the odors of freshly baked bread\nand spice and canned jam and curing hams. Ramsay smiled at the slim,\npleasant girl who met them at the door.\n\n\"Marta,\" the farmer said, \"this man was ship-wrecked and is to be our\nguest for as long as he wants to stay. He is...?\"\n\n\"Ramsay Cartou,\" Ramsay supplied.\n\n\"Yaah! Ramsay Cartou. I am Pieter Van Hooven and this is my wife,\nMarta.\"\n\nRamsay made himself comfortable in the neat kitchen while Marta Van\nHooven hurried efficiently about, preparing a meal. There was baked\nwhitefish, venison, roasted goose, fluffy mashed potatoes, crisp salad,\nbillowy fresh rolls, delicious cheese and milk.\n\nRamsay ate until he could eat no more, then pushed himself away from the\ntable and smiled graciously at Marta Van Hooven. \"That was good!\" he\nsaid feelingly.\n\n\"You ate so little.\"\n\nRamsay grinned, \"Not more than enough to feed three good-sized horses.\nYou can really cook.\"\n\nPieter Van Hooven glowed at this compliment extended to his wife. He\nfilled and lighted a clay pipe, and puffed contentedly. \"What are you\ngoing to do now?\" he asked Ramsay.\n\n\"I,\" Ramsay hesitated, \"I'd like to pay for the meal.\"\n\nPieter Van Hooven smiled. \"Forget that. You were our guest.\"\n\n\"How far is Three Points?\"\n\n\"Six miles. Just stay on the beach.\"\n\n\"Reckon I'll go up there then. I've got a job waiting for me at the\ntannery. By the way, do you have any use for that horse?\"\n\n\"A good horse can always be used on a farm. But I won't take him. I'll\nkeep him, and you can have him any time you want.\" Pieter Van Hooven\nlooked queerly at Ramsay. \"You sure you want to go to Three Points?\"\n\n\"I've got a job there, and I need it.\"\n\n\"Then go, but remember that nobody starves in Wisconsin. Marta and me,\nwe got no money but we got everything else. You don't like it in Three\nPoints, you might come back here?\"\n\n\"I'll be glad to,\" Ramsay said, a little puzzled.\n\n\"Then do that, my friend.\"\n\nWell-fed and rested, Ramsay walked alone up the sandy beach. Stay on the\nsand, Pieter Van Hooven had advised him, and he couldn't go wrong. Three\nPoints, the tannery town, was right on the lake. Two hours after he left\nthe Van Hoovens, Ramsay reached the village.\n\nThree Points nestled snugly in a gap which, only recently, had been\nhacked out of the hemlock forest. Many big trees still stood on the edge\nof town, and some right in the center; and most of the houses were built\nof hemlock logs. There were a few, evidently belonging to Three Points'\nwealthier residents, that were massively built and patterned after the\nNew England style of architecture.\n\nThere was no mistaking the tannery; the smell would have guided one\nthere, even if the mountains of hemlock bark piled all about had not.\nRamsay entered the long, low, shed-like building, and a man working at a\nsteaming vat looked up curiously. Ramsay approached him with \"Who's the\nboss man around here?\"\n\n\"I am,\" an unseen man said.\n\nRamsay whirled to look at the man who had spoken, and he came face to\nface with Devil Chad.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THREE\n\n_ON THE BEACH_\n\n\nRamsay felt an instant tension and a bristling anger, and he knew now\nthat he should have connected two incidents. The man who had written to\nhim and offered him a job in the Three Points tannery had signed his\nname 'Devlin Chadbourne.' Devlin Chadbourne--Devil Chad--and Ramsay took\na backward step. Never before had he met a man so capable of arousing in\nhim a cordial dislike that was almost an urge to start fighting\nimmediately.\n\n\"Where's the _Holter_?\" Devil Chad demanded.\n\n\"I sent her back to Milwaukee after Captain Schultz let me off here,\"\nRamsay said sarcastically.\n\n\"Don't get smart with me, boy.\" Devil Chad glowered. \"You was on the\n_Holter_ when she sailed.\"\n\n\"Where were you?\" Ramsay demanded.\n\n\"I'll ask the questions here!\" Devil Chad's thick lips curled in an ugly\noblong. \"Where's the _Holter_?\"\n\n\"At the bottom of Lake Michigan!\" Ramsay flared. \"Captain Schultz and\none of your deck hands are lying drowned on the beach! I don't know\nwhere the others are.\"\n\nDevil Chad's glass balls of eyes glinted. His face twisted into a\nhorrible glare, and every inch of his big frame seemed to shrink and\nswell with the rage that consumed him. \"You mean to tell me,\" he\ndemanded furiously, \"that all them hides was lost?\"\n\n\"Men were lost,\" Ramsay pointed out.\n\n\"You mean to tell me,\" Devil Chad repeated, as though he had not heard\nRamsay, \"that all them hides was lost?\"\n\n\"Swim out and get 'em,\" Ramsay invited. \"I'll show you the place where I\nlanded, and the _Holter_ can't be more than a couple of miles out in the\nlake.\"\n\n\"What did Schultz do?\" Devil Chad demanded.\n\n\"Drowned.\"\n\n\"You're pretty flip, boy,\" Devil Chad warned, \"an' I don't put up with\nflip people. You tell me what happened.\"\n\n\"Your greasy tub was carrying one third more than ever should have been\nput on her, her equipment was no good, we ran into a storm and the\nengines quit.\"\n\n\"All them hides lost.\" Devil Chad was overwhelmed by this personal\ntragedy and could think of nothing else. \"Couldn't you of done\nsomethin'?\"\n\n\"It wasn't my ship and they weren't my hides. What are you going to do\nfor the families of the men who were lost?\"\n\n\"Why should I do anything? They knew when they signed on that they was\nrunnin' risks.\" Devil Chad turned his unreadable eyes squarely on\nRamsay. \"What do you want here?\"\n\n\"Nothing.\"\n\n\"Ain't you the boy who wrote me from New York, an' asked me for a job?\"\n\nThe man at the vat continued working and others stayed at their tasks,\nbut Ramsay was aware of a rippling under-current. There was an\nuneasiness among the men, and a fear; and in spite of the fact that they\nkept busy they turned covert eyes on Ramsay and Devil Chad. The boy felt\na flashing anger. Who was this man, and what was he, that so many others\ncould live in almost craven fear of him?\n\n\"If you are,\" Devil Chad continued, still holding Ramsay in the cage of\nhis eyes, \"you can have the job but I hold back twenty-five cents a day\nuntil them hides are paid for.\"\n\n\"Take your job!\" Ramsay exploded, \"and go plumb to the bottom of the\nlake with it!\"\n\n\"I warned you, boy,\" Devil Chad was talking softly now. \"I warned you. I\ndon't put up with flip people, an' now I'm goin' to teach you the lesson\nthat I should of given you on the _Holter_.\"\n\n\"Why didn't you sail on the _Holter_?\" Ramsay demanded.\n\nDevil Chad made no answer. He was in a half-crouch, his huge head bent\nto his chest and his fists knotted so tightly that the knuckles were\nwhitened. His shaggy hair tumbled forward on his forehead, and his eyes\nstill held no expression.\n\nRamsay raised his voice so all in the building could hear. \"You filthy\npup! You lily-livered slug! You knew the _Holter_ was going to the\nbottom some day! Even your deck hand knew it! You sent other men out to\ndie, but didn't risk yourself! You haven't got enough money to hire me\nto work for you!\"\n\nDevil Chad was inching forward, his head still bent; and when he had\nadvanced a foot, he sprang. It was the rush of a bull, but not a\ncumbersome bull. He flung out both arms, intending to crush Ramsay to\nhis chest and break his ribs. It was the only way Devil Chad knew how to\nfight, but the boy knew other tricks.\n\nWhen the bigger, heavier man launched his charge, Ramsay stood still. He\nsaw those massive stretched arms, and knew their purpose, but he did not\nmove until Devil Chad flung them out for his crushing embrace. Then, and\nonly then, did Ramsay act.\n\nHe flitted aside, balancing himself on the balls of his feet and\nwhirling even as he evaded the other's lunge. Like a snapping whip his\nclenched right fist flicked in to deliver a stinging blow to the side of\nhis enemy's head. But the blow did little except spin Devil Chad around\nand arouse a mighty bellow in the depths of his enormous chest.\n\nRamsay remained poised, alert for the next charge, and an almost grim\nsatisfaction drove other thoughts from his mind. He had not wanted this\nfight and had not forced it, but within him there was a curious feeling\nthat it was fore-ordained, and now that it was here, he relished it.\nDevil Chad was not a man. He was an animal who thought as an animal\nthinks. Other men, other human beings, had lost their lives in his\noverloaded, unseaworthy ship, and all this brute could think of was the\nfact that he had lost his cargo.\n\nDevil Chad's eyes, even in the heat of battle, remained opaque and\nstrangely without expression. It was only his face, like a rubber mask\nexpertly molded to form an expression of rage, that betrayed his fury.\nHe swung heavily, running forward even as he launched his blow, and\nRamsay ducked beneath it. He came up to land a hard left and a right on\nDevil Chad's jaw.\n\nHe might as well have struck a granite boulder. Devil Chad did not even\nflinch and the boy knew a moment's uncertainty. His enemy was a bull,\nbut bulls were felled with pole-axes, not with fists. Ramsay backed\nlightly away.\n\nAll about now, knowing that Devil Chad was engrossed in the fight and\nhad no time for them, men had openly stopped work and were staring at\nthe battlers. On the faces of some was written incredulity. Some looked\non with delighted interest, and an expectant smile lighted the swarthy\nfeatures of a little Frenchman who had stopped moving cattle hides to\nwatch Ramsay weave away from Devil Chad. There was no man here who, in\nsome silent way, did not cheer the boy on, but there were none who\nexpected him to win. All knew their master.\n\nDevil Chad rushed again, swinging his fists like pistons as he did so,\nand again Ramsay side-stepped. He landed a fierce blow squarely on the\nother's nose and was gratified to see a crimson stream of blood spout\nforth to mingle darkly with his antagonist's black beard and mustache. A\ncold uncertainty rose within Ramsay.\n\nHe had fought before, many times, and he had defeated his opponents and\nhad been defeated, but never before had he fought a man just like this\none. Devil Chad, apparently, was able to absorb an endless amount of\npunishment with no effect whatever on himself. He was as tough as one of\nthe trees that grew on the outskirts of Three Points.\n\nRamsay risked a fleeting backward glance to see where he was going, and\nedged away from the wall. He was breathing hard because of the\ntremendous physical effort he had exerted, but he was far from exhausted\nand he knew that, as long as he could keep the battle in the open, he\ncould avoid the other's charges. But the certainty that he could not win\nthis battle solidified. It seemed possible to pound Devil Chad all day\nlong without hurting him at all.\n\n\"Kill him!\" an excited man shouted.\n\nDevil Chad paused just long enough to locate and identify this rash\nemployee who dared encourage his enemy, and Ramsay felt a nausea in the\npit of his stomach. When the battle ended, no matter who won, at least\none man would have some explaining to do and probably a beating to take.\nThe boy kept his eyes on Devil Chad, anticipating the other's next move.\n\nThen he tripped over an unseen and unsuspected block of wood and fell\nbackward.\n\nEven as he fell he tried to pick himself up and scoot out of the way.\nBut a bludgeon, the toe of Devil Chad's heavy boot, collided soddenly\nwith his ribs and a sickening pain shot through his entire body. He\nturned, snatching furiously at the boot as it was raised again and still\ntrying to wriggle away. His arm flipped convulsively as Devil Chad\nkicked him squarely on the wrist, and he felt a creeping numbness that\nbegan there and spread to his shoulder.\n\nHe rolled to escape his tormentor, rolled again, and struggled to his\nhands and knees. Vaguely, as though he were viewing it in some fantastic\ndream, he saw the big black boot flying at his head. The boot was a huge\nthing and so clearly-outlined that Ramsay saw every tiny wrinkle in it.\nHe was aware of the stitching where the ponderous sole joined the upper\nleather, and he knew that he must get away. But that was a vague and\nmisty thought, one he seemed unable to carry farther. A mighty rage\nflared within him.\n\nNo more than a split second elapsed before the boot struck, but it\nseemed like hours. Ramsay was aware of the fact that his two silver\ndollars, his last money, rolled out of his pockets and across the\ntannery's floor. A thousand colored lights danced in his head, and then\nhe was back on the lake.\n\nHe had loved the lake, he remembered, and there was something\nwonderfully cool and refreshing about returning to it. A small boat with\na crazy Dutch fisherman at her tiller danced out of the lake's gray\nstretches and sported gracefully before him. On top of the mast was a\ntame sea gull that clicked his mandibles and fluttered his wings. Ramsay\neven saw the boat's name written in fine script across her bows. She was\nthe _Spray_.\n\nThe _Spray_ hove to very close to Ramsay, and her skipper looked at him.\nHe was a tall man, very powerful, and he was blond and easily laughing.\nThere was no grimness about him, only grace and light spirit. Several\nmen had gone sailing on a raft made of cattle hides, he told Ramsay, and\nthey were in great trouble out on the lake. Did Ramsay care to go with\nhim and help bring the unfortunates safely back? The sea gull, of\ncourse, would help too.\n\nWhen Ramsay pretended not to hear, the crazy Dutch fisherman obligingly\nrepeated his information. Again Ramsay pretended not to hear; whereupon\nthe Dutch fisherman caught up a wooden bucket, dipped it into the lake\nand showered him with ice-cold water. He held the bucket waist-high, as\nthough wondering whether more water was necessary, and the twinkle\nremained in his eyes and the laugh on his lips. It was impossible to be\nangry with him. Laughing back, Ramsay agreed to go help the foolish men\nwho had sailed away on the cattle hides.\n\nThen he awakened, to find a woman bathing his face with cold water.\n\nFor a moment she was a distorted picture, a hazy vision that advanced\ntoward him and retreated far away. Again Ramsay almost lost himself in\nthe dim world into which Devil Chad's boots had kicked him. The cold\ncloth on his face brought him back, and he opened his eyes to see the\nwoman very clearly.\n\nShe was small, with a worn face, so weary from endless toil that the\nskin was drawn tightly over it. But her eyes were the brownest, the\nsoftest and the gentlest Ramsay had ever seen. Black hair was combed\nsmoothly back on her head and caught in a knot at the base of her neck.\nAgain she laid the cold cloth on his face, and the boy closed his eyes\nat the luxury of such a thing. Then he spoke, \"Where am I?\"\n\n\"_Sh-h._ Don't try to talk, M'sieu.\"\n\nThe woman, unmistakably French, rose and went into another room. Ramsay\nlooked about him.\n\nThe room in which he lay was walled with rough, unplaned boards, and the\nceiling was made of the same material. Only the floor, scrubbed so\ncarefully that it glowed like a polished diamond, was of smooth boards.\nLight was admitted by a single small pane of glass, and the light\nreflected on a crucifix that hung on the far wall. There were a few\npictures, yellow with age, a table over which a deer skin was gracefully\ndraped, and a candle-holder with a half-burned candle. Everything was\nneat and spotlessly clean.\n\nThe woman came back bearing a hollowed-out gourd. She passed an arm\naround Ramsay's shoulders--despite her small size she was surprisingly\nstrong--and assisted him to a half-sitting position. She held the gourd\nto his lips.\n\nRamsay drank deeply, and fell back sputtering. The gourd was\npartly-filled with cold water and partly with a whisky, so strong and\nviolent that it burned his mouth and lips. He lay blinking, while tears\nwelled in his eyes and flowed down his cheeks. The whisky, doubtless\nhomemade, was strong enough to choke a horse. But, after a half-minute,\nit made itself felt. A warm glow spread from the roots of Ramsay's hair\nto the tips of his toes. Some of his many aches and pains lessened.\n\n\"More?\" the woman inquired softly.\n\n\"Uh ... No--no thank you.\"\n\nShe put the gourd on the table and came over to lay a hand on his\nforehead. It was a calloused and work-hardened hand, but so gentle was\nshe that her caress was scarcely a feather's touch. Ramsay smiled his\nthanks.\n\n\"How did I get here?\" he asked again.\n\n\"My man, Pierre LeDou, he brought you. But now you must rest, M'sieu,\nand try to sleep. Badly have you been hurt.\"\n\nThe woman drew an exquisite, hand-sewn lace curtain, an incongruous\nthing in these rough surroundings, over the window, and semi-gloom\nreigned in the room. She tiptoed out, closing the door behind her, and\nRamsay was left alone with his thoughts.\n\nThat mighty rage mounted within him again. He had been fighting with\nDevil Chad, he remembered, and not doing badly until he fell over some\nunseen object. Then he had been kicked into--into this. Experimentally\nRamsay tried to move his legs, and found that he could do so. He\nclenched and unclenched his fists, and there in the half-light of an\nunknown room, in a stranger's house, he made a solemn vow. One day, no\nmatter what else happened, he and Devil Chad would meet again. Devil\nChad would pay, in full, for every twinge Ramsay suffered. In that\nmoment Ramsay knew that he was not afraid.\n\nHis burning anger became tempered with pleasant wonder. This was a harsh\nland, but there was room for tenderness. He was a stranger and had been\nin Three Points only long enough to get himself kicked into\ninsensibility, but there were those in Three Points who knew compassion\nand friendship. Otherwise, he would not now be lying in some unknown\nman's house and being ministered to by that man's wife. Pierre--Ramsay\nstrove to recall the last name and could not. He fell into a quiet\nslumber.\n\nThe next time he awakened, the candle on his table was burning and his\nhost--vaguely Ramsay remembered seeing him move hides about the\ntannery--was standing near. Like his wife, he was small and gentle, with\na manner that belied the fierce little black mustache clinging to his\nupper lip. He was too small and gentle, Ramsay thought, ever to fit\ninto a town such as Three Points. But certainly he was kind and good. He\nsmiled, revealing flashing white teeth, and when he did Ramsay\nremembered the name, Pierre LeDou.\n\n\"How do you feel?\" he asked briskly.\n\n\"Better.\" Ramsay grinned.\n\n\"He beat you,\" Pierre LeDou said. \"_Sacre!_ But he beat you!\" The little\nman's eyes roved about the room, as though seeking the solution to a\nproblem which he must solve, and Ramsay knew that he, too, hated Devil\nChad. \"He kicked you!\" Pierre LeDou said.\n\n\"I know, and some day I'll pay him back for that.\"\n\nInterest brightened in the little Frenchman's eyes. \"You think so,\nM'sieu--M'sieu ...\"\n\n\"Cartou,\" Ramsay said. \"Ramsay Cartou. And I will not kill anybody\nunless I have to. But one day this Devil Chad will pay, ten times over,\nfor everything he did to me.\"\n\n\"He is very hard man.\" Pierre LeDou sighed.\n\n\"So am I!\" Ramsay gritted, and again anger rose within him. \"Why should\nso many people tremble in their boots when he comes around?\"\n\nPierre LeDou shrugged eloquently. \"The job. A man has to have the job.\"\n\n\"I see. And Devil Chad controls 'the job'?\"\n\n\"Not all,\" Pierre LeDou explained. \"He does not walk so freely where the\nfishermen and farmers are.\"\n\n\"I'm beginning to like these fishermen and farmers more and more.\"\n\n\"They are nice,\" Pierre agreed, \"but wild. Especially the fishermen.\nOh, so wild! Out in the lake they go, afraid of nothing; but those that\ndo not drown return with multitudes of fish.\"\n\n\"Do many drown?\"\n\n\"Very many, but you cannot kill a fisherman. They say that the lake\nsends back two for every one it takes, and maybe that is so. At any\nrate, when a fisherman drowns, two more always appear. I would go\nfishing myself were it not that I am afraid. Are you hungry, M'sieu?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Ramsay answered frankly.\n\n\"Then I will get you something to eat.\"\n\nPierre LeDou disappeared. Ramsay lay back on the bed to think. Now this\nhalf-wild, half-tame country into which he had come was assuming a\ndefinite pattern. Some, like Pierre LeDou, had been attracted by the\nendless wealth offered, and had found only a back-breaking job with\nDevil Chad or his counterpart. Others, and Ramsay thought of Hans Van\nDoorst and Pieter Van Hooven, were finding wealth.\n\nIt was not wealth that could be measured in terms of money; probably the\ncrazy Dutch fisherman and Pieter Van Hooven had little money, but just\nthe same it was wealth. Rather than toil meekly for someone else and\nobey a master's every wish, they had chosen to discover for themselves\nthe true richness of this endlessly rich land and they were discovering\nit. So some were afraid and some were not; and those who were not seemed\nto enjoy life at its fullest. And, as usual, there was the arrogant\noverlord, Devil Chad, who wanted everything for himself and who would\ntake it if he could. He did not care what he did or whom he killed, as\nlong as he got what he wanted.\n\nPierre LeDou came back, bearing a bowl on a wooden platter. Ramsay\nsniffed hungrily. The bowl was old and cracked, but like everything else\nin the house it was scrupulously clean, and the odors wafted from it\nwould tempt the appetite of a dying man. Pierre put the bowl and a\nwooden spoon down where Ramsay could reach them, and Ramsay saw a meat\nstew in which fluffy dumplings floated.\n\n\"It is not much,\" the little Frenchman apologized. \"Venison stew with\ndumplings, and that is all. Would you like some spirits to go with it?\"\n\n\"Uh!\" Ramsay remembered the fiery liquor. \"No thanks. I would like some\nwater.\"\n\n\"I can offer you milk.\"\n\n\"That will be fine.\"\n\nPierre disappeared, and returned with a bowl of milk and a beaker of the\nstrong whisky. He gave the bowl to Ramsay and held the whisky aloft.\n\n\"Your health, M'sieu,\" he said.\n\nHe drained the beaker without even quivering, and Ramsay suppressed a\nshudder. Dipping the spoon in his venison stew, he tasted it. It was\nrich, with all the expertness of French cuisine behind it, and\ndelicious. Ramsay took a chunk of venison in his mouth and chewed it\nwith relish. Venison, fish and whatever else they could get out of the\ncountry doubtless meant much to the people who lived here.\n\n\"How long have you worked in the tannery?\" he asked Pierre.\n\n\"Five years,\" the little Frenchman said. \"Five long years. I shall work\nthere much longer if God is kind.\"\n\n\"May He always be kind to you!\" Ramsay said feelingly.\n\n\"My thanks to you, M'sieu Ramsay. And now, with your permission, I shall\nretire. I suggest that you sleep, for you look very weary. Should you\nwant anything you have only to call.\"\n\nRamsay fell into a restful slumber from which he was awakened by the\nsound of people stirring. The early morning sun, just rising, caressed\nthe curtained window softly and a sleepy bird twittered outside the\nwindow. There was the sound of lifted stove lids and of people stirring.\nRamsay dozed off, then sprang guiltily awake and jumped out of bed.\n\nHe felt good, with only an occasional twinge of pain here and there.\nHastily he pulled on his trousers and shirt, laced his shoes and\nsmoothed his rumpled hair with his hand. When he had made himself as\npresentable as he could, he went into the other room.\n\nThough the hour was still early and the sun not yet fairly up, Pierre\nLeDou had already left for his work in the tannery. His pleasant wife\nwas pouring hot water from a pan on the stove into a big wooden bowl,\nevidently the receptacle in which dishes were washed. She turned around.\n\n\"Good morning!\" Ramsay said cheerfully.\n\n\"Good morning, M'sieu.\" Then she cautioned him. \"Should you be out of\nbed?\"\n\n\"I feel fine.\" Ramsay grinned. \"Strong as a bull and twice as hungry.\"\n\n\"Then I will prepare you something to eat. If M'sieu cares to do so, he\nmay wash just outside the door.\"\n\n\"Thanks.\"\n\nRamsay went out the door. To one side, in front of the house, there was\na big wooden bowl and two wooden pails filled with water. A well-worn\ntrail threading away from the door obviously led to a well or spring.\nHanging on a wooden peg driven into a hole, drilled in the cabin's wall,\nwere a clean towel and washcloth. Even the door's hinges, cleverly\ncarved pins that turned on holes drilled into wooden blocks attached to\nthe cabin's wall, were wood. Evidently, in this country, wood\nsubstituted for metal.\n\nRamsay filled the bowl with water, washed himself and went back into the\ncabin. Pierre LeDou's wife was bending over a skillet from which came\nthe smell of frying fish. Ramsay sniffed hungrily, and licked his lips.\nShe turned the fish, let it cook a little while longer, and put it on\nthe table, along with feather-light biscuits, butter and cold milk.\nRamsay ate hungrily, but tried to curb his appetite so he would also eat\ndecently, and as he ate he talked.\n\n\"Why,\" he asked Pierre LeDou's wife, \"did your husband bring me here?\"\n\n\"You were hurt and needed help,\" she said simply.\n\nIn sudden haste Ramsay felt his pocket, and discovered that the two\nsilver dollars were gone. He remembered that he had lost them while he\nfought with Devil Chad, and a flood of embarrassment almost overwhelmed\nhim.\n\n\"I--I have no money to pay you,\" he said awkwardly.\n\nFor the first time she looked reprovingly at him. \"We did not ask for\nmoney, M'sieu. One does not.\"\n\nRamsay knew another awkward moment and a little shame. \"It is very good\nof you,\" he said.\n\nShe said, \"One does not neglect a fellow human.\"\n\nRamsay finished eating and pushed his dishes back. Pierre LeDou's wife,\nwho had already finished washing the rest of the dishes, put Ramsay's in\nthe dish water and left them there. She smiled at him. \"It would be well\nif you rested.\"\n\n\"I'm not tired. Really I'm not.\"\n\n\"You should rest. Badly were you hurt.\"\n\n\"Let me sit here a while.\"\n\n\"As long as you sit.\"\n\nShe went to a cupboard and took from it a big ball of strong linen\nthread. From the table she caught up a small board. Wrapping the thread\ntwice around the board, she knotted it. Slipping the thread from the\nboard, she hung the loop she had made on a wooden peg and made a new\nloop. Her hands flew so swiftly that in a few moments she had seventeen\nof the meshes, all joined together.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" Ramsay inquired interestedly.\n\n\"Making a gill net,\" she explained. \"It was ordered by Baptiste LeClair,\na fisherman, and is to have a four and a half-inch mesh. So we use a\nmesh board that is exactly two and a quarter inches wide and wrap the\nthread twice around. Now I have seventeen. See?\"\n\n\"I see.\"\n\nShe strung the seventeen meshes on a wooden rod, placed two chairs far\nenough apart so that the meshes stretched, tied the rod to them and\nbegan knitting on the net she had started. \"The net is to be seventeen\nmeshes, or seventy-six and one-half inches, wide. Now I lengthen it.\"\n\nUnder the boy's interested eyes the gill net grew swiftly, and as it\nlengthened she wrapped it around the rod. Ramsay watched every move.\n\"How long will it be?\" he queried.\n\n\"One net,\" she told him, \"is about two hundred and fifty feet long. But\nusually several are tied together to form a box of nets. A box is about\nfourteen hundred feet.\"\n\n\"Isn't that a lot?\"\n\nShe smiled. \"A crew of three good men, like Hans Van Doorst or Baptiste\nLeClair, with a good Mackinaw boat can handle two boxes.\"\n\n\"Could you make this net longer if you wished to?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes. It could be many miles long. Two hundred and fifty feet is a\ngood length for one net because, if it is torn by strong water or heavy\nfish, it may be untied and repaired while the rest may still be used.\"\n\n\"What else must you do?\"\n\n\"After the net is two hundred and fifty feet long, I will use fifteen-\nor sixteen-thread twine through from three to six meshes on the outer\nedge. This, in turn, will be tied to ninety-thread twine which extends\nthe full length.\"\n\nRamsay was amazed at the way this quiet little woman reeled off these\nfigures, as though she were reciting a well-learned lesson. But he\nwanted to know even more. \"How do they set such a net?\"\n\n\"The fishermen gather small, flat stones, about three to the pound, and\ncut a groove around them so that they can be suspended from a rope.\nThese are called sinkers, and are tied to the net about nine feet apart.\nFor floats they use cedar blocks, about two feet long by one-quarter of\nan inch thick and an inch and a quarter wide. They bore a small hole\none inch from the end, then split the block to the bored hole. The\nfloats--and the number they use depends on the depth to which they sink\nthe net--are pushed over the ninety-thread twine.\"\n\n\"Let me try!\" Ramsay was beginning to feel the effects of idleness and\nwanted action.\n\n\"But of course, M'sieu.\"\n\nRamsay took the mesh board in his hand and, as he had seen her do,\nwrapped the thread twice around it. But, though it had looked simple\nwhen she did it, there was a distinct knack to doing it right. The mesh\nboard slipped from his fingers and the twine unwound. Madame LeDou\nlaughed. \"Let me show you.\"\n\nPatiently, carefully, she guided his fingers through the knitting of a\nmesh, then another and a third and fourth. Ramsay felt a rising elation.\nHe had liked the _Spray_ when he saw her and now he liked this. Fishing,\nfrom the making of the nets to setting them, seemed more than ever a\ncraft that was almost an art. He knitted a row of meshes across the gill\nnet, and happily surveyed his work.\n\nAt the same time he remained aware of the fact that she could knit three\ntimes as fast as he. Ramsay thrust his tongue into his cheek and grimly\ncontinued at his work.\n\nAfter an hour Madame LeDou said soberly, \"You do right well, M'sieu. But\nshould you not rest now?\"\n\nRamsay said, \"This is fun.\"\n\n\"It is well that you enjoy yourself. Would you consider it uncivil if I\nleft you for a while?\"\n\n\"Please do what you must.\"\n\nShe left, and Ramsay continued to work on the net. As he did, his skill\nimproved. Though he was still unable to knit as swiftly as Madame LeDou,\nhe could make a good net. And there was a feel, a tension, to the\nthread. Within itself the thread had life and being. It was supple,\nstrong and would not fail a fisherman who depended upon it.\n\nMadame LeDou returned, smiled at him and went unobtrusively about the\ntask of preparing a lunch. So absorbed was he in his net-making that he\nscarcely tasted the food. All afternoon he worked on the net.\n\nMadame LeDou said approvingly, \"You make a good net, M'sieu. You have\nknitted almost four pounds of thread into this one. The most skilled\nnet-makers, those who have had years of experience, cannot knit more\nthan six or seven pounds in one day.\"\n\nTwilight shadows were lengthening when Pierre LeDou returned. The little\nman, as always, was courteous. But behind his inherited Gallic grace and\nmanners lay a troubled under-current. Pierre spoke in rapid French to\nhis wife, and she turned worried eyes on their guest. Ramsay stopped\nknitting the net.\n\nAll afternoon there had been growing upon him an awareness that he could\nnot continue indefinitely to accept the LeDou's hospitality, and now he\nknew that he must go. The pattern had definite shape, and the reason\nbehind Pierre's uneasiness was not hard to fathom. Devil Chad was the\nruler, and Devil Chad must rule. Who harbored his enemy must be his\nenemy, and Pierre LeDou needed the job in the tannery. Should he lose\nit, the LeDous could not live.\n\nWith an air of spontaneity, anxious not to cause his host and hostess\nany embarrassment, Ramsay rose and smiled. \"It has been a most enjoyable\nstay at your home,\" he said. \"But of course it cannot continue. I have\nwork to find. If you will be kind enough to shelter me again tonight, I\nwill go tomorrow, and I shall never forget the LeDous.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER FOUR\n\n_TROUBLE FOR THE_ SPRAY\n\n\nEarly the next morning, when Pierre departed for work, Ramsay bade\nfarewell to Madame LeDou and left their house with his kind host. He did\nso with a little reluctance, now that all his money was gone and the\nfuture loomed more uncertainly than ever. At the same time there was\nabout him a rising eagerness and an unfulfilled expectation.\n\nIt seemed to him that, since swimming ashore from the sinking _Holter_,\nhe had ceased to be a boy and had become a man. And a man must know that\nall desirable things had their undesirable aspects. This country was\nwonderful. If, to stay in it, he must come to grips with other men--men\nas strong and as cruel as Devil Chad--and with nature too, Ramsay felt\nhimself willing to do that.\n\nAs soon as the two were fifty yards from the LeDou home he purposely\ndropped behind Pierre and leaned against a huge hemlock until the little\nman was out of sight. Pierre had said nothing and Ramsay had not asked,\nbut the latter knew Devil Chad had told the Frenchman that, if he valued\nhis job in the tannery, he must no longer shelter Ramsay. The boy had\nno wish to further embarrass his host or to jeopardize his job by being\nseen with him. Therefore he leaned against the tree until Pierre had had\ntime to reach and enter the tannery.\n\nSlowly Ramsay left his tree and walked down the same path that Pierre\nhad followed. Badly as he needed a job, it was useless to try to get one\nin the tannery. He slowed his pace even more as he walked past the\nbuilding. He had been beaten by Devil Chad, and he might be beaten a\nsecond time should they fight again; but he was not afraid to try. His\nbody had been hurt, but not his courage.\n\nAlmost insolently Ramsay stopped where he could be seen from the\ntannery's open door, and waited there. He was aware of curious,\nhalf-embarrassed glances from men hurrying into the place, and then they\navoided looking at him. Finally a man stopped. He spoke to a man who\nhalted beside him.\n\n\"All right, Jules. Get in an' start to work.\"\n\nHe was a straw boss or foreman, Ramsay decided, and his voice betrayed\nhis New England forebears. An older man, with hair completely gray, like\nall the rest he was wrinkled and weathered. Physically he was lean and\ntough, but he did not seem belligerent or even unkind. When the last\nworker had entered the tannery, he turned to Ramsay.\n\n\"You needn't be afraid, son. Mr. Chadbourne went to Milwaukee last\nnight.\"\n\n\"I'm not afraid. I was just wondering if he wouldn't come out for a\nsecond start.\"\n\n\"Look, son,\" the other's air was that of an older and wiser person\ntrying to reason with an impetuous boy, \"you haven't got a chance. The\nbest thing you can do is get out of town before Mr. Chadbourne comes\nback.\"\n\n\"Maybe I like this town.\"\n\n\"You can only cause trouble by staying here.\"\n\n\"I've been in trouble before, too.\"\n\nThe older man shrugged, as though he had discharged his full\nresponsibility in warning Ramsay, and said, \"It's your funeral, my boy.\nStay away from the tannery.\"\n\n\"You needn't worry.\"\n\nRamsay strolled on down the dusty street, and in spite of himself he was\na little relieved. If Devil Chad had gone to Milwaukee, probably to\narrange for another shipload of hides, it was unlikely that he would be\nback before night at the earliest. Ramsay would not have to fight again\ntoday; presumably he was free to do as he pleased without any fear of\ninterruption. He thrust his hands into empty pockets and, to cheer\nhimself up, started to whistle.\n\nA fat Indian, dressed in ragged trousers, which some white man had\nthrown out, and an equally-tattered black coat which he could not button\nacross his immense, naked stomach, grinned at him. Ramsay grinned back\nand winked. His friends in New York had been awe-stricken at the very\nthought of venturing into the wild Midwest where, they thought, scalping\nparties occurred every few hours and no white man was safe from the\nsavages. Ramsay had enjoyed himself by elaborating on the part he would\nplay when such a war party came along. But he had discovered for\nhimself, before he left Chicago, that the Indians in this section of\nWisconsin were harmless. When they could they sold bead work and\nbasketry to the settlers and they were not above stealing. But they were\nnot warlike.\n\nRamsay strode past another building, a big one with two separate floors\nand an attic. Its chimney belched smoke, and from within came the whine\nof saws and other machinery. In front of the building were stacked a\ngreat number of barrels, made of white pine and with hoops formed from\nthe black ash tree. Ramsay hesitated a moment and entered.\n\nThree Points was obviously a raw frontier town, but definitely it was\nnot as raw as Ramsay had expected it to be. Obviously there was at least\none industrial plant in addition to the tannery. It seemed to be a\ncooper's shop, engaged in the production of barrels, and it might hold a\njob for him. He stopped just inside the door, trying to adjust his ears\nto the scream of a big circular saw that was powered by a steam engine.\nBeyond were lathes and various other machines, and a great many wooden\npails were piled against the far wall. This factory, then, made both\nbarrels and pails.\n\nPresently a middle-aged man, with the neatest clothing Ramsay had yet\nseen in Three Points, came out of an office and walked toward him. He\nshouted to make himself heard above the screaming saw, \"Yes?\"\n\n\"Are you the manager here?\" Ramsay shouted back.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Need any men?\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\nRamsay grinned faintly. The factory, if not bedlam, was close to it. It\nwas incredible that anyone at all could carry on an intelligent, or\neven an intelligible, conversation inside it. Ramsay shouted, \"Let's go\noutside!\"\n\nThe other followed him out, and far enough from the door so they could\nhear each other. Ramsay turned to his companion, \"My name's Ramsay\nCartou and I'm looking for a job. Do you have any to offer?\"\n\nThe manager looked soberly at Ramsay's battered face, then with the toe\nof his shoe he began tracing a circle in the dirt. He hesitated. Then,\n\"I'm afraid not.\"\n\nRamsay felt a stirring anger. Definitely there was more work in Three\nPoints than there were men to do it. The town had need of strong\nworkers. For a moment he looked steadily at the manager, who looked\naway. Then he swallowed and tried a new tack, \"What do you do with all\nthe barrels?\"\n\n\"Most of them go to fishermen who use them to ship their catches to\nChicago. The pails are shipped by boat to wherever there is a market for\nthem.\"\n\n\"And you can't give me a job?\"\n\n\"That's right.\"\n\n\"Why?\" Ramsay challenged.\n\n\"We--we have a full crew.\"\n\n\"I see. Now will you answer one question?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"Does 'Mister' Chadbourne own this place too?\"\n\n\"He has a financial interest ...\" The other stopped short. \"See here,\nyoung man! I have told you that I cannot offer you a job and that should\nbe sufficient!\"\n\n\"I just wanted to know why,\" Ramsay said.\n\nHe turned and walked away from the cooper's shop. His chin was high,\nand anger seethed within him. Devil Chad, apparently, owned most of\nThree Points and a lot of other things between that and Milwaukee. If\nthere was an opportunity to earn a dollar, honest or dishonest, Devil\nChad was seizing that opportunity. Obviously the manager of the cooper's\nshop had heard of his fight with Ramsay--in a small community like this\neveryone would have heard of it--and was afraid to give him a job.\nRamsay resumed his tuneless whistling.\n\nPlainly he was going to get nowhere in Three Points. But definitely he\nhad no intention of running away with his tail between his legs, like a\nwhipped puppy. He liked this lakeshore country and he intended to stay\nin it. If he had to fight to do that, then he would fight.\n\nBetween the rugged trunks of tall hemlock trees he caught a glimpse of\nthe lake, sparkling blue in the sunshine and gently ruffled by a soft\nsouth wind. He turned his steps toward it, and now he walked eagerly.\nThe lake was magic, a world in itself which never had been tamed and\nnever would be tamed. He shivered ecstatically. This was what he had\ncome west to find. Devil Chad and his tannery, the town of Three Points,\nand even Milwaukee paled into nothingness when compared to the lake. He\nbroke from the last trees and saw Lake Michigan clearly.\n\nA heavy wooden pier extended out onto it, and a sailing vessel was tied\nup at one side. Ramsay read her name. She was the _Brilliant_, from\nLudington, Michigan, and a line of men were toiling up a gangplank with\nheavy bags which they were stacking on the pier. On the pier's other\nside a steamer, a side-wheeler like the _Holter_, was loading leather\nfrom Devil Chad's tannery. She was the _Jackson_, a freighter that\ncarried assorted cargoes between Three Points, Milwaukee and Chicago.\n\nRamsay strolled out on the pier and brightened when the cold lake air\nstruck his face. It was impossible to be on the lake, or near it, and\nfeel stolid or dull. It provided its own freshness, and Ramsay thought\nit also furnished a constant inspiration. He watched the sweating men\ncontinue to bring loaded bags up from the sailing vessel and approached\nnear enough to ask a burly deck hand, \"What's this cargo?\"\n\nThe man looked surlily at him. \"What's it look like?\"\n\n\"Diamonds.\" Ramsay grinned.\n\n\"Well, it ain't. It's salt.\"\n\n\"What the blazes will anyone do with so much salt?\"\n\n\"Eat it,\" the deck hand grunted. \"People hereabouts like salt.\" Then he,\ntoo, grinned. \"Naw, it's for fishermen. They got to have somethin' to\nsalt their catches in.\"\n\n\"Oh. I see.\"\n\nRamsay added this bit of information to the lore he had already\ngathered. Obviously fishing consisted of more than just catching fish.\nActually taking the fish, of course, was the most exciting and romantic\npart. But the fishermen could not ply their trade at all without women\nlike Madame LeDou who made their nets, a shop like the Three Points'\ncooper's shop which provided the barrels into which the fish were\npacked, or vessels like the _Brilliant_ which brought salt that kept the\nfish from spoiling.\n\nRamsay stayed on the pier until the _Brilliant_ was unloaded, and\nlicked his lips while he watched her crew eating thick sandwiches. They\ntook a whole loaf of bread, sliced it lengthwise, packed the center with\nmeat, cheese, fish and anything else they could lay their hands on, and,\naccording to their taste, washed it down with cold lake water or beakers\nof whisky. Ramsay looked away.\n\nMadame LeDou had provided him with a substantial breakfast, but this was\nan invigorating country wherein one soon became hungry again. Ramsay\npatted his empty stomach.\n\nProbably Madame LeDou would give him something to eat should he go back\nthere, but he had already posed enough problems for the LeDous. Besides,\nhe did not like the idea of asking for food. He left the pier to walk\npast the Lake House, Three Points' only hotel. Savory odors of cooking\nfood wafted to his nostrils and made him drool. He walked past the Lake\nHouse, then turned to walk back. He trotted up the steps and sat down at\na table spread with a white cloth.\n\nA hard-eyed woman, wearing a brown dress over which she had tied a neat\nwhite apron, came up to him. Ramsay leaned back. He had decided to make\nhis play, and he might as well play it to the end.\n\n\"What does the menu offer?\" he asked almost haughtily.\n\n\"Whitefish at fifteen cents, venison at fifteen cents, a boiled dinner\nat ten cents.\"\n\n\"What? No steak?\"\n\n\"The steak dinner,\" the woman said, \"costs thirty cents. With it you get\npotatoes, coffee, salad and apple pie.\"\n\n\"Bring it to me,\" Ramsay said. \"And please be prompt. My time is\nvaluable.\"\n\n\"As soon as possible,\" the woman said.\n\nRamsay relaxed in his chair. A half-hour later the waitress brought him\na broiled sirloin, so big that it overflowed the platter on which it\nrested. There were crisp fried potatoes, coffee--a rare beverage in this\ncountry--cream, a salad and a huge wedge of apple pie. Ramsay ate\nhungrily, then the waitress approached him.\n\n\"Will you pay now?\"\n\n\"It is a lot,\" said Ramsay, who could not have swallowed another crust,\n\"to pay for such a puny meal.\"\n\n\"I told you the price before you ordered.\"\n\n\"It doesn't matter,\" Ramsay waved a languid hand. \"Especially since I\nhave no money. What do we do now?\"\n\nRamsay stood in the kitchen of the Lake House, and by the light of an\noil lamp piled the last of what had been a mountain of dishes, into warm\nwater. There must, he thought, have been thousands of them, but there\nwere only a few more and he dropped one of those. Instantly the woman\nwho had served him popped into the kitchen.\n\n\"Must you be so clumsy?\"\n\n\"It is the only dish I have broken out of all I have washed,\" Ramsay\nsaid. \"Don't you think I have paid off my dinner by this time?\"\n\n\"You knew the price before you ordered.\"\n\n\"The way you've had me working since, I earned the whole cow. Haven't I\nrepaid you, with perhaps a bonus of a sandwich for supper?\"\n\n\"Sit down, kid,\" the woman said gruffly.\n\nShe brought him a sandwich, huge slices of fluffy homemade bread between\nwhich thick slices of beef nestled, and a bowl of milk. Ramsay ate\nhungrily, and after he had finished his hostess talked to him. \"You're\nthe youngster Devil Chad beat up, aren't you?\"\n\n\"I tripped,\" Ramsay said grimly.\n\n\"Devil Chad trips 'em all. You're crazy if you think you can get away\nwith anything. Best thing you can do is leave.\"\n\nRamsay said, \"I guess I'm just naturally crazy.\"\n\nThe woman shrugged. \"I'm tellin' you for your own good, kid. You'll get\nnowhere in Three Points as long as Chad don't like you. Why not be a\nsmart little boy and beat it back to wherever you came from?\"\n\nRamsay said, \"That isn't a good idea.\"\n\n\"You're a stubborn kid, ain't you?\"\n\n\"Mule-headed,\" Ramsay agreed. \"Even worse than a mule.\"\n\n\"Well, if you won't take good advice, there's not much I can do. Would\nyou like to sleep here tonight?\"\n\n\"Nope. I'll be going now, and thanks for the steak.\"\n\n\"Well ... Good luck, kid.\"\n\n\"Thanks.\"\n\nRamsay walked out into the darkness and drew his jacket tightly about\nhim. The lake shore was cold by day, much colder by night when there was\nno sun to warm it. He had brought extra clothing, but all his personal\nbelongings had gone down with the _Holter_. He looked dismally at the\ndark town--Three Points seemed to go to bed with the setting sun--and\nwandered forlornly down toward the lake front. Both the sailing vessel\nfrom Ludington and the _Jackson_ were gone.\n\nA little wind was driving wavelets gently against the shore, and the\nlap-lap of their rising and falling made pleasant music in the night.\nRamsay wandered out on the pier, where the stacked bags of salt were\ncovered with tarpaulins. He looked furtively around.\n\nNobody else was on or even near the pier, and it seemed unlikely that\nanyone would come. He curled up close to the bags of salt and drew the\nflowing end of a tarpaulin over his body. He pillowed his head on a\nprotruding bag and snuggled very near to the stack.\n\nThe pier was hard, but he had slept on hard beds before and the barrier\nof salt broke the wind's force. The tarpaulin, of heavy duck, made a\nwarm blanket. In spite of the odds he faced, Ramsay felt a wonderful\nsense of well-being and peace. He went quietly to sleep.\n\nWhen he awakened, soft gray dawn was stealing like a fawn out of the\nsummer sky. Three Points, not yet awake, slumbered in the dim morning.\nRamsay crawled out from beneath the tarpaulin and rose to look at the\ntown.\n\nNobody gave up any battles; but nobody knocked his head against a stone\nwall or strove against hopeless odds. Even the little black horse had\nnot done that. He might just as well see things as they were. Devil Chad\nruled Three Points and, with his present resources, Ramsay could not\nfight Devil Chad. But it was certain that Chad could not rule all of\nMilwaukee, too, and Milwaukee would need workers. He could go back\nthere, get a job and plan his future after he had it.\n\nA sudden inspiration seemed to fall right out of the brightening sky.\n\nThe Van Hoovens! Pieter Van Hooven had told him to come back should he\nfail to find what he expected in Three Points, and Pierre LeDou had\nassured him that Devil Chad did not walk so freely among the farmers and\nfishermen. Maybe Pieter could give him a job, at least something that\nwould offer security until he was able to get himself oriented; and if\nhe could, Ramsay wanted to stay in this part of the country. It was\nbetter than Milwaukee.\n\nBriskly he left the pier and struck down the sand beach. Now that he had\ndecided to take this step, he felt lighter and happier. Maybe he would\nand maybe he would not have liked working in the tannery, even if that\nhad been ruled by some other man than Devil Chad, but he knew that he\nwould like the Van Hoovens and their way of life.\n\nHe moved fast, staying far enough up on the beach so he need not step in\nwet sand but near enough the water so he could walk on sun-baked sand\nover which high water had already rolled. That was packed hard, almost\nto the consistency of concrete.\n\nThe sun was well up when he came again to the Van Hooven's pleasant\nhome. Resolutely he walked up and knocked on the back door.\n\nA second later it opened, and Marta Van Hooven flashed a warm smile of\nwelcome. \"Oh! Come in.\"\n\nPieter, who had already finished his milking and was now seated at the\nbreakfast table, said, \"Hello.\"\n\n\"Hello,\" Ramsay said. \"I thought I'd stop in and see you on ...\" He\nfumbled. \"On my way back to Milwaukee.\"\n\nPieter looked seriously at him. \"You're not going to work in Three\nPoints?\"\n\n\"No,\" Ramsay said bluntly. \"Mr. Chadbourne and I did not see eye to eye.\nIn fact, three minutes after we met our fists were flying in each\nother's eyes.\"\n\n\"You fought Devil Chad?\"\n\n\"I did, and got well-beaten.\"\n\nPieter said quietly, \"Some day somebody will kill him.\"\n\n\"Some day somebody might.\"\n\n\"Eat,\" Pieter invited. He pushed a platter of eggs at the boy and forked\na thick slice of home-cured ham onto his plate. Then he placed the dish\nof yellow butter where Ramsay could help himself and put a plate of\nfeather-light fresh-baked rolls where he was able to reach it. Marta\ncame softly in from the kitchen with a bowl of cold milk.\n\nRamsay ate, primly at first, then gave way to his enormous appetite.\nPieter served him another slice of ham. The boy took two more eggs and\nanother roll, which he spread lavishly with butter. Sighing, unable to\nswallow another crumb, he pushed his plate back. Pieter looked gravely\nat him. \"Do you have to go to Milwaukee?\"\n\n\"No, I just thought I might find a job there.\"\n\n\"You can,\" Pieter assured him. \"But if a job is what you want, a job is\nwhat I can give you. I can't pay you any money, at least until we have\nsold our fall crops, because we haven't any. But I can give you all you\ncan eat, a good bed to sleep in, and I have some clothes that will fit\nyou.\"\n\nRamsay said deliberately, \"Devil Chad won't like you for that.\"\n\n\"Around here,\" and there was no air of braggadocio in Pieter's words,\n\"we don't much care what Devil Chad likes.\"\n\nRamsay looked hard at his host, and then the two young men grinned at\neach other.\n\n\"You've got yourself a man,\" Ramsay said. \"What do we do first?\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHidden from the house by a jutting shoulder of land, Ramsay stood beside\nthe small lake on Pieter Van Hooven's property and peeled off his\nclothes. All day long, interrupted in mid-morning by Marta, who brought\nhim a substantial lunch, at noon by a huge and delicious dinner and\nagain in mid-afternoon with a lunch, he had toiled in Pieter Van\nHooven's sprouting corn.\n\nAll day long the sun had beaten down and, though the lake shore was cool\nenough, a man doing hard physical labor could easily work up a sweat.\nBut it was good. Ramsay had felt the sun's rays penetrate to and warm\nthe very marrow of his bones. In spite of the hard labor he had been\ndoing, few times in his life had he felt as agile and supple and wholly\nalive as this.\n\nHe plunged headlong into the lake and came up gasping. The water was\ncold, though not nearly as cold as the big lake; and after Ramsay's body\nwas adjusted to it, a delicious glow ran through his whole physical\nbeing. He dived again, then climbed up on the soft grass to let the\nlowering sun dry him before he put his clothes on.\n\nHe dressed slowly, happily, and now all his cares were behind him. This\nwas the place for him, and no longer did he have the slightest doubt\nthat he was going to like everything about it. Fresh and vigorous, the\nday's toil washed away, he walked slowly down to Lake Michigan and\nstared across it. Supper in half an hour, Pieter had said when he had\nadvised Ramsay to stop work and have a swim, and no more than half that\ntime had elapsed. The rest could profitably be spent in just looking at\nthis endlessly fascinating water.\n\nRamsay stared across the lake. More than ever it seemed a live creature\nand one of many moods. Ramsay had seen it roaring-mad, and now he saw it\ngentle as a lamb. There was scarcely a ripple anywhere. Absorbed in the\nlake, Ramsay was aware of nothing else until a horse snorted very close\nto him. When he whirled, he knew that he had seen the same horse and\nrider before.\n\nIt was the body-watcher, Joe Mannis, and he was riding the\nblack-and-white horse which he had ridden when he had warned Ramsay away\nfrom the drowned Captain Schultz and the deck hand. The huge cowboy hat\ntilted precariously on his head and the blue jeans, apparently unwashed\nin a good many months, clung tightly to his legs. Thick black hair\nescaped from beneath the hat, and he looked Ramsay up and down. \"What\nare you doin' here?\"\n\n\"What's it to you?\"\n\n\"Well, nothin' I expect. Nothin' at all. But just don't bother me again\nwhen I'm workin' at my trade.\"\n\n\"I won't,\" Ramsay promised, \"unless I have a couple of pistols, too.\"\n\n\"Just don't bother me when I'm workin' at my trade,\" the other repeated,\n\"an' we'll get along fine.\"\n\n\"You think so?\" Ramsay snapped.\n\nMissing the challenge implied in Ramsay's words, Joe Mannis trotted his\nhorse up the sand beach toward Three Points. Ramsay looked without\ninterest at his retreating back. Joe Mannis was an unsavory man, he\ndecided, but unlike Devil Chad, he was a stupid man. Only when backed by\nhis pistols would Joe be much of a threat.\n\nRamsay pushed his drying hair back with his hands and went around to the\nrear of the Van Hooven house. That was also a custom, it seemed. Formal\nvisitors, if there were any, might enter by the front door; but everyone\nelse went around to the rear. Obviously the visitor who had arrived\nwhile Ramsay bathed and stood on the shore, was not formal.\n\nHe was a tall, gaunt man with a thin face and a hooked nose. Except for\na white shirt, the collar of which was adorned by a bright ribbon that\ncould hardly be called a tie, from his stovepipe hat to his shoes he was\ndressed entirely in black. An outlandish rig, a four-wheeled cart with a\nfringed top supported on four posts, stood in the yard. Its curtains\nwere rolled up, and the cart seemed to contain everything from wash tubs\nto pins. Pieter and the stranger were unhitching a gray horse that stood\npatiently between the cart's shafts.\n\nPieter called the boy over, \"Ramsay, this is Mr. Hammersly.\"\n\nMr. Hammersly, so-called, turned and thrust forth a huge hand. \"Tradin'\nJack,\" he amended. \"Tradin' Jack Hammersly. You need anythin', I got\nit. Fairer prices as you'll find in Three Points, Chicago, or Milwaukee.\nNeed a box of candy for that girl of yours, Ramsay?\"\n\n\"I haven't any girl,\" Ramsay said.\n\n\"You'll have one,\" Tradin' Jack declared. \"Every young buck like you\nneeds a pert doe. Can't get along without 'em, I always say. Yup, you'll\nhave one. When you get one, remember Tradin' Jack.\"\n\n\"I will,\" Ramsay promised.\n\nWhile Tradin' Jack washed up at the stand beside the back door, Pieter\nled the gray horse to the barn, stripped it of its harness and loosed it\nwith the little black horse. The two animals touched friendly noses.\n\nPieter returned, and all three went in to the groaning table which Marta\nhad ready. It seemed a natural thing here, Ramsay observed, to expect\nall passing wayfarers to share whatever there was to be had. Gracefully\nTradin' Jack lifted the tails of his long black coat and sat down.\n\n\"Left Milwaukee day before yesterday,\" he said. \"Stopped off to see the\nBlounts, down at Blounts' Landin'....\"\n\nMarta and Pieter Van Hooven gave rapt attention, and even Ramsay found\nhimself interested. Aside from being a trader, it appeared that Tradin'\nJack Hammersly was also a walking newspaper. He knew everything about\neverybody between Three Points and Milwaukee, and between Milwaukee and\nKenosha. Endlessly he related tales of new babies, new weddings and new\nengagements. Tradin' Jack knew that Wilhelm Schmidt's horse had the\ncolic but probably would recover, and that Mrs. Darmstedt, that would\nbe the wife of Pete Darmstedt, had shot a black bear right in her own\nfront yard.\n\nThere was nothing about the people he did not know and not much that he\nwas unwilling to tell. Finished, he got down to business. \"Any eggs for\nme, Marta?\"\n\n\"Twenty dozen,\" she said, \"all fresh.\"\n\n\"Fourteen cents a dozen,\" Tradin' Jack said promptly.\n\n\"Yaah,\" Marta, too, was bargaining now, \"I can get that in Three\nPoints.\"\n\n\"Take it in trade an' I'll allow you fifteen,\" Tradin' Jack said. \"Got\nto keep my customers sweet.\"\n\nBefore he went to bed Tradin' Jack arranged with Pieter to have a\nbutchered pig ready for him when he returned from Three Points the day\nafter tomorrow. Two and a half cents a pound he would pay, or two and\nthree-quarters if Pieter would take it in trade. He left with the Van\nHoovens a tempting array of calico, ribbons, needles, pins, a new axe\nand hammer, a box of nails and other things which were always useful and\nalways needed.\n\nThe next morning Ramsay roused himself out of bed at dawn to find\nTradin' Jack already gone. He had sensed the storm that was approaching,\nPieter said, and, if possible, he wanted to get into Three Points before\nit struck. Ramsay felt a strange uneasiness and an unrest. Going\noutside, he saw that yesterday's blue skies had given way to ominous\nmasses of gray clouds. His uneasiness mounted.\n\nSomething terrible was being brewed within the giant lake, and shortly\nit would erupt. A strong wind sent high waves leaping up onto the\nshore. They fell back, only to be replaced with more waves. Ramsay\nshuddered.\n\nIf there was terror in this, there was also grandeur. The lake, angered,\nwas a fearful and wonderful spectacle. It was a gargantuan thing which\nseemed to writhe in an agony which, somehow, was created by itself. A\nfew drops of rain pattered down. The wind blew harder.\n\nPieter and Ramsay went to the barn to repair tools, and neither spoke as\nthey stared through the barn's open door. The waves were raging now,\nlaunching endless attacks on the shore and always rolling back.\n\nSuddenly Ramsay leaped to his feet and stifled a cry. Far out in the\nlake's surging gray masses he thought that he had seen something pure\nwhite. But he could not be sure. A moment later he saw it again. A sail!\nThen he was able clearly to identify a little peanut shell of a boat.\n\nShe was the _Spray_, and she was in serious trouble.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER FIVE\n\n_RESCUE_\n\n\nA fresh gust of wind sent the waves leaping higher, and for a moment\nonly the furious lake could be seen. Ramsay rose, and Pieter rose beside\nhim; and both went to the barn door. They stood alert, still not\nspeaking and not even certain of what they had seen. Then they saw it\nagain.\n\nBeyond any possible doubt it was the _Spray_, and she was working\nvaliantly to get into shore. Ramsay swallowed a lump in his throat. He\nhad first seen the _Spray_ as a dancing bit of gaiety on a lake as\nstormy as this one, and then she had seemed so sure of herself and so\ncapable. Now she was like a shot-wounded duck which, no longer able to\nrise in graceful flight, must lie on the water and flutter desperate\nwings. For another tense moment Ramsay and Pieter stood side by side.\n\nBy inches the _Spray_ was fighting her way toward shore, but a glance\nwas sufficient to reveal the tremendous odds against her ever making\nsafety. Still, even in this terrible dilemma, there was a spirit about\nher which the _Holter_ never had and never could have. The two men on\nthe _Spray_--and did not the crazy Dutch fisherman usually carry a crew\nof four?--seemed to be working calmly and easily. There was, from this\ndistance, no trace of the near-panic that had reigned when the _Holter_\nwent down.\n\nRamsay knew a moment's intense gratification. This was part of the\ndream, part of the picture he had engraved in his heart when he first\nsaw the _Spray_ and her skipper. When they challenged the lake, they\naccepted it in all its aspects. Now they were behaving as all fishermen\nshould behave. Before they could even begin to follow their trade they\nmust make an unbreakable pact with their fortune on the water, be it\ngood or bad.\n\nThen the trance was broken. Out on the lake, within sight of Pieter and\nRamsay, men were about to die. They must not die if there was any way to\nhelp them. As though their eyes were guided by one common impulse, both\nmen looked toward Pieter's small boat.\n\nIt was a clumsy craft, strongly-built of heavy timbers which Pieter\nhimself had hand-sawed in his spare time. Usually, when Pieter wasn't\nusing the boat, it was pulled high enough on the beach so storm-driven\nbattering rams of waves could not touch it, and so it was now. Side by\nside, with no need to speak, Pieter and Ramsay left the barn and raced\ntoward the boat.\n\nWind-driven rain soaked their clothing before they had gone ten feet,\nbut they paid no attention to it. Kneeling, one on either side of the\nfourteen-foot boat, they strove to push it back into the lake. Pieter\nshouted to make himself heard above the roar of the wind and the\nsmashing waves. \"Wait!\"\n\nRamsay stopped pushing while Pieter took the long oars out of their\nlocks and laid them lengthwise in the boat. The boy nodded approvingly.\nAs things were, it seemed all but impossible to launch the boat. If they\nlaunched it and lost an oar in the high seas, they were doomed to\ndisaster, anyhow.\n\n\"Now!\" Pieter shouted.\n\nThe boat scraped a deep furrow in the wet sand as, with a concerted\neffort, they pushed it backwards. Not looking at the savage combers,\nRamsay gave all his attention to the boat. They would have to work with\nall possible speed to get it into the lake and the oars in place,\nbecause the waves were rising to enormous heights now. He felt the\nboat's square stern touch water.\n\nThen an irresistible giant, a force that would bear no interference,\ntook hold and shoved the little craft almost as far up on the beach as\nit had been when they tried to launch it. Leaving the boat half-filled\nwith water, the smashing wave washed away from the wet sand.\n\nRamsay stood erect to catch his breath. They had given all their\nstrength to backing the boat into the lake, and as they were about to\nsucceed it had been plucked from their hands as easily as a strong man\nmight snatch a flower from the hands of a baby. He glanced out across\nthe water to assure himself that the _Spray_ was still floating, then\nlooked desperately at Pieter.\n\n\"Nose first!\" Pieter said. \"Turn it around!\"\n\nHe shouted to make himself heard, but there was about him an almost\nmaddening calmness as he worked. Ramsay restrained his impatience. They\nmust not lose a second's time; but if they were going to do this at all,\nit must be done exactly right. Both on one side of the boat, they\nraised it to let the water spill out.\n\nIn spite of his drenched clothing and the cold air that blew in from the\nlake, Ramsay was sweating. Pieter's boat had been built by a farmer, not\na fisherman. It was all right on a calm day when Pieter wanted to go\nfishing, but certainly it had never been built to weather storms. So\nheavy was the craft that the combined strength of two men was needed to\ntip the water from it.\n\nThey let the boat drop heavily back on its side, and the oars fell out.\nStill calmly, refusing to become excited, Pieter picked them up and\nplaced them in the oar locks. Again Ramsay understood. Both men knew\nthis for a furious storm but both had underestimated its fury. At the\nbest, should they be able to get the boat into the lake, they would have\na split second to float her and the oars had to be ready. It was better\nto take a chance on losing an oar than to have the boat driven back onto\nthe beach.\n\nKneeling, Ramsay felt his muscles stand out like stretched cords as he\ngave every ounce of strength to turning the boat around. He was sweating\nagain--and short of breath. Only the pressing urgency and the great need\nfor immediate action gave him the strength to continue.\n\nThen the craft seemed to move a little easier, and Ramsay glanced around\nto see Marta working beside them. Noting them from the house, and\nunderstanding their mission, she had thrown a shawl about her shoulders\nand raced out to help. With almost maddening slowness the boat turned\nuntil its curved nose faced the lake.\n\nRamsay on one side and Pieter on the other slid it down the wet sand\ntoward the water. The boy bit his lip fiercely to help keep control of\nhimself. Nothing must go amiss here, and a wrong or panic-stricken move\ncould mean disaster. Because this launching demanded machine-like\nprecision, Ramsay fought to control the fire in his brain. Carefully he\nthought out each exact step.\n\nGet the boat into the lake until it floated. Then leap in beside Pieter,\ngrab an oar and time his strokes to Pieter's. Fight their way out to the\nstricken _Spray_ and rescue those aboard her.\n\nIt seemed a simple matter, but never before in his whole life had Ramsay\nfaced anything more complex. It couldn't be done, his mind said, while\nat the same time something else told him that it could and must be done.\nHe glanced around and curiously, as though the picture were registering\nsomewhere other than in his own eyes, he saw Marta Van Hooven.\n\nShe was standing at the edge of the lake, her dress and shawl sodden-wet\nand her rain-soaked blond hair clinging like a seal's fur to her head\nand shoulders. One hand covered her mouth, as though to stifle a cry\nthat was half-born there, and in her eyes were a great pleading and a\ngreat prayer as she watched her husband. But the cry did not find life.\nShe uttered no sound. While she did not want Pieter to go, at the same\ntime she knew that he must. Only if help came did anyone left alive on\nthe _Spray_ have even a faint chance of staying alive.\n\nThen they were in the lake, and a mighty wave burst like a water-filled\nbomb about them. It staggered Ramsay and sent him reeling, but it did\nnot unnerve him. Because he had practised in his own imagination what he\nmust do from here on in, he could do it.\n\nHe felt cold water creeping about his shoes and then up around his\nknees. The boat which they had been dragging steadied itself as they\nreached water in which it could float. Through the blinding spray that\nlashed at them Ramsay looked across at Pieter. He saw him only\nindistinctly, but it was as though they read each other's thoughts. At\nexactly the same moment they flung themselves into opposite sides of the\nrower's seat and each grabbed an oar. The boy bent his back to the\nman-killing job of rowing.\n\nThe boat was sluggish, and again half-filled with water. But it floated,\nand as soon as they were free of the mighty waves that smashed against\nthe beach it floated a little more easily. Ramsay looked back across the\nsteel-gray turmoil to see the Van Hooven farm, and Marta still on the\nshore. Then he returned all his attention to the task at hand.\n\nThe lake was an insane thing, bent on destruction. They went into the\ntrough of a wave and rose on the next one. Ramsay risked a fleeting\nbackward glance to see the _Spray_, much nearer the shore and still\nafloat.\n\nSuddenly they were in an almost-calm stretch of water. Ramsay felt cold\nfear run up and down his spine. He had met this on the sinking _Holter_,\nand now here it was again. Almost fearfully he glanced sidewise at\nPieter, but he could not speak because the screaming wind would have\ndrowned his words as soon as he uttered them. His eyes grew big.\n\nJust behind, and again on the right side, an apparition drifted out of\nthe depths. It was a ghost figure, a thing born of nightmares. Ramsay\ngasped. The White Sturgeon nosed to the surface, drifted lazily for a\nmoment and disappeared back into the watery depths out of which it had\ncome.\n\nRamsay risked a sidewise glance at Pieter, whose face remained\nundisturbed, and he swallowed the lump in his own throat. Sailors might\nfear the White Sturgeon, but if Pieter did, he was not showing his fear.\nThe boy told himself again that the sturgeon was a fish, nothing more or\nless than a great fish which, through some freak of nature, was colored\nwhite. But it did seem to appear only when death and destruction stalked\nthe lake. He forced such thoughts from his mind.\n\nThey were again in storm-lashed water, striving to keep their boat\nstraight and headed toward the _Spray_. Vast waves bore down upon them,\nplunging the little craft into their cold troughs and then shooting it\nup as though it were a plaything. From the crest of the waves Ramsay\ncould still see the _Spray_. He worried. Now there seemed to be only one\nman aboard her.\n\nThere was a sharp, sickening crack and the sound of splintering wood,\nthat rose above the roar of the wind and the surge of the waves. The\nboat slewed sideways, and for the first time Pieter Van Hooven's face\nbetrayed emotion. He brought in the stump of oar remaining in his hand\nand, at the risk of upsetting the little boat, leaned across the seat to\nsnatch Ramsay's oar from its lock. With that in his hand, he made a\nprecarious way to the stern. He thrust the oar over the rear seat,\ntrying to use it as a rudder, and the boy strove to overcome the fear he\nfelt.\n\nThe White Sturgeon, the sailors' superstition said, always brought\ndisaster. If you see it, the little deck hand had told Ramsay, you can\nstart praying right afterwards. For one terror-filled moment their\npredictions seemed correct. Twice Ramsay had seen the White Sturgeon;\neach time he had been in immediate danger of death. Then superstition\nsubsided and reason came back to his aid.\n\nCrouching in the back seat, with only one oar, Pieter Van Hooven was\ndoing his best to fight the angry lake. Though he was a farmer,\nobviously he knew something of seamanship.\n\nFor a brief moment, just long enough to keep from capsizing, he kept the\nlittle boat headed into the onrushing waves. When he turned it, he did\nso skilfully. Working the oar only with the strength in his hard-muscled\narms, he headed back towards shore. A mighty wave smashed the stern,\nthrowing cold water over them and across the tiny craft. Ramsay moved\nfrom side to side, doing all he could to help Pieter by shifting his\nweight to where it was needed most. The boat was three-quarters filled\nwith water. Never made for a heavy sea, now it was an almost dead thing.\nBut so strong were the waves and so powerful the wind, that they were\ndriven at almost motor speed back into the beach. Ramsay had one glimpse\nof Marta.\n\nPieter lost the little control he had. Turning sidewise, the boat lifted\nlike a matchstick on the crest of a giant wave and spun dizzily down\ninto the trough. It was lifted again, and just before it turned over\nRamsay flung himself clear. As he did, he saw Pieter go over with him.\n\nHe dived as deeply as he could, knowing that the boat would come\ncrashing down and knowing also that it would kill him if it struck him\non the head. Far into the lake he went, swimming under water and groping\nhis way. He surfaced to see the craft to one side and a bobbing object,\nwhich he thought was the head of Pieter Van Hooven. A second later a\ntremendous wave deposited him on the sandy beach.\n\nHe lay gasping, all the breath knocked out of him, and he wished\ndesperately to get out of the path of the waves that were breaking over\nhim. But it seemed impossible to move. His mind urged him to go, but he\nlacked the physical strength to obey. Then he felt a pair of hands in\nhis armpits, and his body was dragged over the scraping sand. Ramsay\nlooked up to see the frightened face of Marta Van Hooven.\n\n\"Can you move?\" she pleaded.\n\n\"Gi--give me a minute!\"\n\nFor what seemed an interminable time, but could not have been more than\ntwenty seconds, Ramsay lay still. He turned over so that he lay face\ndown, and lifted himself with his arms. His legs and feet were made of\njelly. Vaguely he was aware of Marta and Pieter Van Hooven, one on each\nside, lifting him to his feet. A second later his strength returned.\n\nKeening in from the lake, the wind made him stagger backwards. Reaching\nmountainous heights, the breaking waves shattered themselves far up on\nthe beach. Ramsay looked across them. About two hundred yards out, the\n_Spray_ was completely crippled. Trailing from her broken mast, the\nsail bled water into the angry lake. Down at the bows, the fisherman's\nboat seemed hung up on a rock or reef. Every second wave that washed in\nbroke completely over her and hid her from view. But the single man\nremaining on board still worked calmly with the broken half of an oar,\nto free the _Spray_ from her prison.\n\nRamsay allowed himself another split second. The entire dream was coming\ntrue. There were some men who, to the last, could meet the challenge of\nthe lake with grace and spirit. The man on the _Spray_, identified even\nat this distance as Hans Van Doorst, had not given up.\n\nThe boy whirled on Pieter Van Hooven. \"A coil of rope!\" he ejaculated.\n\nWithout waiting to see whether or not Pieter followed his instructions,\nhe raced for the barn. Snatching a bridle from its wooden peg, he went\nmore slowly toward the corral where the little black horse was confined.\n\nThis had happened once before and it might happen again. A man's\nstrength was as nothing in the raging lake, but a horse was many times\nas strong as a man. The black horse had brought him safely in when all\nthe others had drowned.\n\nThe little horse arched his neck and flicked his ears when his young\nfriend approached and patted him.\n\n\"Easy,\" Ramsay said reassuringly. \"Take it easy, Black.\"\n\nThe little horse rested his head over the boy's shoulder for a moment,\nthen the latter stepped back to slip the bit into Black's mouth, put the\nbridle over his ears and buckle the throat latch. The horse followed\nwillingly behind him as he pushed the corral's gate aside.\n\nHe mounted, and Black reared and pranced, just to prove that he could.\nRamsay tried not to look at the lake, but he couldn't help looking. When\nhe did, very lonely in the gray waves, he saw the reef- or rock-bound\n_Spray_. The lone fisherman still could be seen, working to free his\ncraft.\n\nRamsay leaned forward to pat the little horse on the neck. \"We can do\nit,\" he murmured. \"Let's prove it.\"\n\nHe took the bridle reins in his hand and trotted Black toward the\nfoaming lake. Pieter, his eyes grave, tossed him a coil of half-inch\nrope. Ramsay had one glimpse of Marta's anguished face. He slipped the\ncoil of rope over his shoulder and did not look back.\n\nAs they approached the lake, the horse hesitated, to paw the sand with a\nfront hoof. He looked around to eye the rider on his back, and again\nRamsay leaned forward. \"All right,\" he said. \"Go on.\"\n\nThe horse accepted his words but, more than that, his confidence. Guided\nby the bridle's touch, he walked willingly into the pounding lake.\nAnother water bomb exploded about them. They submerged, but Black came\nup swimming strongly. Ramsay kept soft fingers on the bridle reins, not\nwanting to exert any pressure or do anything else that might divert the\nhorse from the job at hand.\n\nTossing his head, Black sneezed to empty his nose of water that had\nwashed into it. He was timing himself capably and almost perfectly to\nmeet the waves at their place of least resistance, and he rose and fell\nwith them. From the crests Ramsay could see the _Spray_. From the\ntroughs he could see nothing. A lump rose in his throat.\n\nThe _Spray_ was indeed sadly wounded. Only part of her stern showed\nabove water. Hans Van Doorst still worked with a broken oar to free his\nboat, and as soon as he came near enough Ramsay knew that he had been\nright.\n\nThe Dutch fisherman had been one with the lake when Ramsay first saw\nhim, and he was one with it now. Unafraid, he fought the lake as\ngracefully as a swordsman. Perched on the broken stump of mast, the sea\ngull fluttered his wings and clicked his mandibles.\n\nRamsay gauged the situation as precisely as he could. If he could throw\nhis rope over the stranded _Spray_, the little horse might be able to\npull it from its anchor and back to shore. Ramsay saw Hans Van Doorst\nturn to watch him. The fisherman waved a friendly hand.\n\nStill guiding Black lightly, imposing no undue strain on the reins or\nbit, Ramsay steered him across the _Spray's_ sunken prow. He let the\nreins hang slackly on the horse's neck and took the coil of rope from\nhis shoulder. As precisely as he could, he cast and watched the rope\nsnake through the air.\n\nA sick feeling arose in the pit of his stomach and he moaned audibly. He\nhad calculated the distance correctly but he had not allowed for the\nstrength of the wind. The rope missed Hans Van Doorst's outstretched\nhands by two feet and fell into the angry lake. Of his own volition,\nBlack turned back toward shore. Ramsay saw the squawking sea gull bounce\na couple of feet into the air and spread his long wings. Grasping the\nreins, for the first time the boy used strength as he strove to turn the\nhorse back. He glanced over his shoulder to see what might be done next,\nand gasped.\n\nHans Van Doorst had gone to the raised stern of his wrecked boat to give\nhimself a running start, and as Ramsay looked, he dived. Leaping as far\nas possible from the _Spray_ to avoid striking the rock, he hurled\nhimself into the storm-lashed lake, straight at his would-be rescuers.\nFor a few seconds that seemed like hours, he disappeared into the\nchurning depths, but when he surfaced he was squarely behind Ramsay and\nhe used both hands to grasp the horse's tail.\n\nBlack turned back toward shore. He swam more strongly now because he was\ngoing with the wind instead of against it, and his double burden did not\nseem unduly heavy. Ramsay saw Pieter and Marta Van Hooven, Pieter's hand\nprotectingly over his wife's shoulder, as they waited to see what would\nhappen.\n\nThe last wave burst around them and they were back on shore. Instantly\nRamsay slid from the little horse's back and looked around. A nausea\nseized him. Hans Van Doorst was no longer in sight. Ramsay had tried and\nfailed. He glanced toward the _Spray_, as though he expected to see the\ncrazy Dutch fisherman still there, and knew only that waves were\nsmashing the boat into kindling wood.\n\nThen, as though he had literally risen from the lake, Hans Van Doorst\npicked himself up from the wreckage of a breaking wave and walked\nashore. His tame sea gull fluttered out of the sky to alight on its\nmaster's shoulder. The Dutchman reached up to stroke his pet as he\nlooked at Pieter and Ramsay. \"None but me and Captain Klaus?\" he asked.\n\n\"None, Hans,\" Pieter said.\n\nFor a moment an infinite sadness, a melancholy born thousands of years\nago in the first fisherman who had seen his mates lost, pervaded the\nDutchman. But it was only for a moment. Pieter and Ramsay walked to his\nside and offered their assistance. He declined it.\n\n\"I'll walk,\" he said.\n\nRamsay felt a great warmth for and a vast sympathy with this man who,\nwhile daring all and losing all, could remain so very human. Marta\nhovered solicitously near as they all went up to the house and wore\ntheir dripping clothes into her immaculate kitchen. Hans Van Doorst sat\ndown, tried to fold his arms across his chest, and winced.\n\n\"You're hurt!\" Marta cried.\n\n\"It is nothing.\" The Dutch fisherman looked at the three. \"It happened\nout on the lake. We struck something, I do not know what. Perhaps the\nhalf-submerged hull of a sunken ship. Then we were in trouble.\"\n\nMarta was stooping beside him, gently unbuttoning his soaking-wet shirt.\nHans Van Doorst looked fondly down at her wet and bedraggled hair, and\nhe offered no protest as his upper body was bared. There was a vast,\nugly scar on the right side of his chest, and when Marta touched him\nthere his ribs moved. The Dutchman sat very straight in his chair.\nThough he must have felt pain, he showed none.\n\nRamsay and Pieter stood aside while Marta worked expertly. Ripping one\nof her snow-white sheets into strips, she wound a bandage tightly around\nHans Van Doorst's broken ribs. Ramsay and Pieter looked significantly at\neach other. Such an injury _might_ have resulted when wind or a heavy\nwave flung the fisherman against something. Probably it had happened\nwhen Hans flung himself forward in an effort to rescue a shipmate.\n\nMarta finished her bandaging and stepped back. \"You rest now.\"\n\nHe grinned at her. \"Fishermen have no time for rest.\"\n\n\"Do as she says, Hans,\" Pieter urged.\n\n\"Come,\" said Marta. She went to a bedroom, opened the door and waited\nexpectantly.\n\nHans Van Doorst spread eloquent hands. \"Who can argue with a woman?\" he\nasked. \"Especially a Dutch woman?\"\n\nHe rose, went into the room, and closed the door behind him. Ten minutes\nlater, Marta opened the door a crack and peeked in. She entered, and\ncame out with Hans Van Doorst's clothing.\n\n\"He sleeps,\" she announced. \"Like a man worn out he sleeps.\"\n\nRamsay changed his wet clothes for some dry ones Pieter had given him\nand went out to catch Black. From the house's ridge pole, Captain Klaus,\nHans Van Doorst's tame sea gull, squawked at him. Ramsay grinned back,\nwalked up to the little horse, rubbed him down, and put him back in the\ncorral. He did the rest of his chores, and when he went into the house\nfor dinner Hans Van Doorst was seated at the table.\n\n\"I told him!\" Marta scolded. \"I told him to stay in bed and I would\nbring him his food. But can I talk reason to a Dutchman?\"\n\n\"Marta,\" Hans Van Doorst said softly, \"there is fishing to be done.\"\n\nEager interest glowed in Pieter's eyes. \"Are you going again, Hans?\"\n\n\"I am a fisherman.\"\n\n\"You are crazy,\" Marta corrected. \"One day you will kill yourself on\nthat lake.\"\n\nAgain the sadness, the inborn melancholy, sat like a mask on the Dutch\nfisherman. But only for a moment.\n\n\"Marta,\" he said, \"fishermen do not die in bed.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER SIX\n\n_NEW VENTURE_\n\n\nRamsay stirred sleepily and raised a restless hand to shield his eyes\nfrom the morning sun. Almost the whole night through, until the first\nwaking birds had begun to chatter just outside his window, he had lain\nrestlessly awake. Just thinking of Hans Van Doorst, and fishing, had not\npermitted him to sleep.\n\nNow, with the sun high, he was at last deep in slumber. Ramsay could not\nknow that Pieter had arisen shortly after the first birds and had the\nmilking all finished, or that Hans Van Doorst sat in the kitchen, eating\nthe hearty breakfast which Marta had prepared for him. He knew only that\nhe seemed to be hearing strange sounds.\n\nThere were throaty chucklings and gurglings and low-pitched laughter,\nand all of it was punctuated by raucous squawks. Troubled, Ramsay rolled\nover in bed and covered his head with the quilt. Even that did not shut\nout the sounds, and finally he came fully awake. Sleepy-eyed,\ntousle-haired, he sat up in bed.\n\nFor a moment he could not define the sounds, which seemed to originate\nvery near the roof of the house, and he was puzzled. Then he identified\nthe various noises a sea gull makes. Ramsay slipped out of bed, pushed\nthe double windows open, and looked into a calm morning.\n\nThere was a rustle of wings overhead and a flutter of feathers. Captain\nKlaus took strong wing to circle the house. He swung back to alight on\nthe window ledge, and tilted his head sidewise while he regarded Ramsay\nwith bright, intelligent eyes. \"_Qu-uark!_\" he chattered.\n\nRamsay grinned, but when he put out a hand to touch him Captain Klaus\nagain took flight and sailed down to the now-calm lake. He alighted on\nthe shore, folded his wings across his back, and walked down the beach\nuntil he found a storm-killed perch. With the fish in his bill, he flew\nback to the house's ridge-pole to eat his breakfast while he awaited the\nreappearance of Hans Van Doorst.\n\nA little bit embarrassed, Ramsay dressed hurriedly. The working day in\nthis country began with dawn and ended with dark. Everything that needed\ndoing--and there was much to be done--had to be crowded into such\ndaylight as there was, and there was never enough. Hurrying down the\nsteps leading to the kitchen, he saw Hans Van Doorst at the table. Marta\ngreeted him pleasantly, \"Good morning.\"\n\n\"Good morning,\" Ramsay replied. \"I overslept! I didn't mean to. Why\ndidn't somebody call me?\"\n\n\"Yaah!\" Marta laughed. \"Pieter said not to. You earned your sleep,\nPieter said. Sit down with Hans and have some breakfast.\"\n\nHans said, \"Men who are not hungry are sick. Sit down.\"\n\nRamsay sat, and felt a free and easy sense of comradeship, as though he\nand the Dutch fisherman had something in common. They felt alike and\nthought alike. Hans Van Doorst had thanked Ramsay with his eyes for\nrescuing him, but not once had he spoken of it and not once had he\nmentioned the wreck of the _Spray_. The boy was grateful for that; he\nknew that he would be embarrassed if his part in yesterday's incident\nwere brought into the limelight.\n\nMarta busied herself at the big wood-burning stove, and Ramsay\nspeculated on the difficulties involved in just getting such a stove\ninto this country. Marta laughed. \"While I make you the breakfast, you\nlisten to the crazy tales the crazy fisherman tells you.\"\n\nHans turned his twinkling eyes on Ramsay. \"Marta is a good girl,\" he\nsaid. \"A good Dutch girl. She thinks all men are crazy.\"\n\n\"They all are,\" Marta said. \"Especially you. What you need is a good\nfarm and stay away from that wild lake.\"\n\n\"Farms and me wouldn't get along, Marta.\" Hans laughed. \"I told you I'm\na fisherman.\"\n\n\"Yaah? You lost everything with the _Spray_. How are you going to go\nfishing again?\"\n\nHans spread his two powerful hands. \"These are what I had when I\nstarted. These are what I have now.\"\n\n\"You need money, too. Money for nets, money for ...\"\n\nThe door opened and Pieter came in for breakfast. Hanging his light\njacket on a wooden peg in the hallway, he took his seat at the table.\n\"Why does Hans need so much money?\" he asked.\n\n\"He says he's going fishing again.\" Marta sniffed. \"I've been telling\nhim that he should get a farm, and we can put him up until he gets one,\nand ...\"\n\n\"Are you really going fishing?\" Pieter broke in.\n\n\"That I am. I'm a fisherman. Now look, Pieter, you get up at dawn to\nmilk your cows. No? To be sure, you get all the milk you can drink; but\nif you're lucky, Tradin' Jack Hammersly gives you maybe half of what\nyour butter's worth. All winter long and all summer long you work for\nthose cows. A fisherman, now, he works for four months, just\nfour. . . .\"\n\nPieter said, \"It sounds good!\"\n\n\"Pieter!\" Marta broke in sharply. \"You are _not_ going fishing!\"\n\nPieter wriggled uncomfortably. \"Well,\" he said, \"I can at least listen\nto what the man says, can't I?\"\n\n\"One haul of the nets,\" Hans continued, \"and maybe one thousand, maybe\ntwo thousand pounds of whitefish. Never less than five hundred. For that\nyou get six cents a pound in the Chicago market. You don't earn that on\nyour farm, and besides, fishing is a lot more fun. A smart Dutchman\ndon't have to tend cows.\"\n\n\"_Uaah!_\" Pieter breathed.\n\n\"Pieter!\" Marta said.\n\nRamsay listened, dazzled by the prospects of a fisherman's life as\ncompared to any future a farmer might have. Determinedly Marta brought a\nhuge dish of wheat cakes and sausage over and thumped it firmly down on\nthe table.\n\n\"Eat!\" she commanded.\n\nThe three gave all their attention to the food, and they did not speak\nwhile eating. Then Hans pushed his chair back.\n\n\"If I am going to fish again, I must start,\" he announced. \"First I\nwill go down and see if there is any salvage.\"\n\n\"We'll help you!\" Pieter exclaimed. \"My boat was not badly smashed. A\nlittle work and it will be good as new.\"\n\n\"Pieter!\" Marta said. \"You are not going fishing!\"\n\n\"Now I ask you,\" Pieter said plaintively, \"is helping a man pick up his\nown property, his very own property, is that fishing? Could anyone even\nthink it was fishing? No. Come on.\"\n\nThe three left the kitchen and walked down to the lake. Calm after the\nstorm that had raged across it, only little waves were washing in.\nRamsay looked out at the rock, as though half expecting to see the\n_Spray_ still there, and saw nothing. Pieter gave a triumphant little\nexclamation and waded into shallow water to pick up something that\nbobbed back and forth.\n\nIt was the carved Valkyrie maiden that had been the _Spray's_\nfigurehead. Exquisitely and almost perfectly hand-carved, the wooden\nstatue leaned forward, as though she would embrace the whole lake to her\nbosom.\n\nHans Van Doorst's eyes were soft as he took it from Pieter. \"My\nsweetheart!\" he murmured.\n\nCaptain Klaus winged down from the ridge pole of the house to alight\nnear them. Clucking softly to himself, happy because Hans was once more\nwith him, he followed the three men down the beach. Ramsay found a coil\nof rope, then another, and farther on was the _Spray's_ torn sail.\nRamsay pointed out onto the lake.\n\n\"About there is where we saw the White Sturgeon,\" he said.\n\n\"I know,\" Hans Van Doorst murmured. \"We saw him a half-dozen times.\"\n\nRamsay looked at him, puzzled. Then, \"The sailors told me he always\nbrings bad luck.\"\n\n\"The sailors!\" Hans scoffed. \"They know nothing about anything except\nmaybe how to stuff themselves with good whitefish that the fishermen\nbring them! The White Sturgeon noses his way to the top when a storm\ncomes, so he is bad luck? Do not believe it! He is good luck! He comes\nto the top so that he may show fishermen the way back to shore!\"\n\nRamsay grinned appreciatively. This, in spite of the fact that the Dutch\nfisherman's idea of the White Sturgeon bringing good luck was as\nsuperstitious as the sailors' notion that he always brought bad, fitted\nin. It was what Hans should have said.\n\n\"How big is that sturgeon?\" Ramsay asked.\n\n\"The Grandfather of all lake fish,\" Hans Van Doorst asserted solemnly.\n\"Have you not noticed that, like all grandfathers, he is white? In\ntruth, I have never seen a bigger fish anywhere.\"\n\n\"Another coil of rope!\" Pieter said, pouncing on it.\n\nHans, who had grinned happily with each new find, did not even look\naround. Ramsay looked at him questioningly. Anything but stolid, the\nDutch fisherman had been bubbling over at the prospect of going fishing\nagain. Now he seemed melancholy, immersed within himself, and his whole\nattention was given to the lake.\n\nRamsay followed his gaze, but saw little. True, a vast number of small\naquatic worms had been washed ashore by the pounding waves. There must\nhave been countless millions of them, so many that they formed a living\ncarpet as far up the beach as the waves had washed. The wriggling,\nwrithing mass was now disentangling itself, and the worms that could\nwere crawling back into the lake. A number of sea gulls and a number of\nland birds were gorging themselves, and new birds arrived by the flock.\nThey scarcely made a dent in the multitude of worms. Ramsay looked again\nat Hans Van Doorst.\n\n\"Never, never!\" the fisherman breathed.\n\nPieter, too, swung to look curiously at him. \"What's the matter, Hans?\"\n\n\"I went on the lake when I was a boy of thirteen,\" Hans Van Doorst said.\n\"That was fourteen years ago, in 1852. I thought I had seen much, but\nnever have I seen this!\"\n\n\"What?\" Ramsay asked impatiently.\n\n\"Look around you,\" Hans said. \"What do you see?\"\n\n\"Worms.\"\n\n\"Not worms! Food for whitefish! With these millions washed up, can you\nnot imagine the vast amount remaining in the water? We are all rich\nmen!\"\n\n\"You think so?\" Pieter queried.\n\n\"There is no doubt of it! The whitefish go where their food is! There\nmust be countless tons of whitefish here at your very door step, and\nhere is where we shall fish!\"\n\n\"Do whitefish eat only worms?\" Ramsay asked.\n\n\"No. They feed on other things, too, notably their own spawn or that of\nother fish. But enough of this idle talk! I must have a net so we can\nstart fishing at once! Pieter, I would borrow your horse and cart!\"\n\n\"The cart you may have,\" Pieter said. \"The horse belongs to Ramsay.\"\n\n\"Go ahead and take him,\" Ramsay urged.\n\nHans tripped like a dancer to the barn, caught the little horse, and\nbacked him between the shafts of Pieter's two-wheeled cart. Bubbling\nlike a boiling kettle, entirely happy, he started at a fast trot up the\nsand beach to Three Points. With a startled squawk, Captain Klaus\nhurried to catch up. The tame sea gull settled affectionately on the rim\nof the cart's seat.\n\nAs Ramsay watched him go, he felt a vast envy of the light-hearted\nfisherman. If ever he could go away like that, he thought, he would have\nlived life at its fullest. Not until he looked around did he discover\nthat Pieter was watching too, and his eyes were wistful.\n\n\"There is work to be done!\" Marta called.\n\nThey flushed and walked towards the barnyard, where Marta was tending\nher poultry. Geese, chickens and ducks swarmed around her and pigeons\nalighted on her shoulders. She kept her eyes on the men.\n\nAs Ramsay and Pieter cleaned the cowbarn, both remained strangely\nsilent. Both thought of the Dutch fisherman. Then Pieter, who had\npromised to have a dressed pig ready for Tradin' Jack Hammersly, started\nhoning a razor edge on his butchering tools. Ramsay picked up a hoe,\npreparatory to returning to the corn-patch.\n\n\"You think he'll get a net?\" Pieter asked.\n\n\"I hope so!\"\n\nMoodily, scarcely seeing or knowing what he was doing, Ramsay chopped at\nweeds that had stolen a home in the growing corn. The work suddenly\nlacked any flavor whatever. Millions of worms, whitefish food, washed up\non the beach and the bay in front of Pieter's swarming with whitefish!\nThat's what the Dutch fisherman had said. Marta brought his mid-morning\nlunch, and her eyes were troubled.\n\n\"Do you think Hans will get what he wants?\" she asked.\n\n\"I don't know. Marta, why don't you want Pieter to go fishing?\"\n\n\"You heard what he said. Last night he said it. Fishermen do not die in\nbed. Those were his words.\"\n\n\"Just talk. The lake's safe enough.\"\n\n\"Yaah? Is that why Joe Mannis can make more money than anybody else\naround here, just watchin' bodies? Aah! I worry about my man!\"\n\nRamsay said gently, \"Don't worry, Marta.\"\n\nMarta returned to the house and Ramsay continued working. In back of the\nbarn Pieter had his butchered pig strung up on a block and tackle, and\nthe two men looked at each other. Both were waiting for Hans Van Doorst\nto return.\n\nAbout a half-hour before noon Captain Klaus soared back to his\naccustomed place on the house's ridge pole. A moment later the little\nblack horse appeared on the beach, and Hans drove to the barn.\n\nRamsay and Pieter, meeting him, stifled their astonishment. When Hans\nleft them, to all outward appearances he had been a normal person. Now\nblood had dried on his nose and his right eye was puffy and streaked\nwith color. Anger seethed within him.\n\n\"There is no honor any more!\" he said bitterly. \"And men are not men!\"\n\n\"What happened?\" Ramsay inquired.\n\n\"What happened? I went to Three Points to get us a pound net! Carefully\ndid I explain to that frog-mouthed Fontan, whose wife knits the best\npound nets on Lake Michigan, what I wanted. I know pound nets cost five\nhundred dollars, but I was very careful to prove that we have untold\nriches just waiting to be caught! As soon as we made some catches, I\nsaid, we would pay him his money, plus a bonus for his trouble. Fontan\nbecame abusive.\"\n\n\"Then what?\" Pieter said.\n\n\"He hit me twice. Because of these thrice-cursed broken ribs I cannot\nmove as swiftly as I should. Then I hit him once, and the last I saw of\nhim he was lying on one of his wife's pound nets. After that came the\nconstable who, as everybody knows, is merely another one of Devil Chad's\nplaythings, and said he would put me in jail. It was necessary to hit\nthe constable, too.\"\n\nHans Van Doorst leaned against the side of the barn, glumly lost in his\nown bitter thoughts. Coming from the house to meet Hans and sensing the\nmen's moodiness, Marta fell silent beside her husband. Ramsay unhitched\nthe little black horse, put him back into the corral, and hung the\nharness on its wooden pegs.\n\nAfter five minutes, Pieter Van Hooven broke the thick silence. \"I do not\nknow whether or not it will be any good, perhaps not. But last year a\nfisherman came here in a very small boat. He was going to Three Points,\nhe said, to get himself a larger boat and he had to make time. I do not\nknow what happened to him, for he never came back and I have not seen\nhim since. Probably Joe Mannis got him. But before he took his leave he\nasked me to store for him a box of nets and ...\"\n\n\"A box of nets!\" Hans Van Doorst's melancholy left him like a wind-blown\npuff of feathers. He put an almost passionate arm about Pieter's\nshoulders. \"All is lost! All is gone! Then this--this miracle worker! He\ntalks of a box of nets! Tell me, Pieter! Tell me it is still there!\"\n\n\"It must be, for it was never taken away,\" Pieter said.\n\n\"Then let us get it! Let us get and look at it before I faint with\nexcitement!\"\n\nPieter and Hans disappeared in the barn, and a moment later they\nreappeared with a long, deep wooden box between them. Having lain in the\nbarn for a year, the box and its contents were thick with dust and\nspiders had woven their own gossamer nets everywhere. Hans Van Doorst\npatted the dust away. He looked with ecstatic eyes, and he unfolded a\nfew feet of the net. Ramsay saw that it was similar to the gill net\ninsofar as it had stones--sinkers--on one side and a place for floats on\nthe other. Made of sixteen-thread twine, the net had a three-inch mesh.\n\n\"A seine,\" Hans Van Doorst pronounced, \"and a well-made seine, though it\nwas not made in Two Rivers. It was brought here by one of the Ohio\nfishermen, for that is the way they tie their meshes. Let us see some\nmore. I would say that it is about eight hundred feet long. That is not\nample; we still need good pound nets, but with it we may again go\nfishing. Help me, Pieter.\"\n\nPieter and Hans dragged the box to a small tree, tied one end of the\nseine to the tree's trunk, and began to unwind the net toward another\nlittle tree. Ramsay saw how shrewdly the Dutch fisherman had guessed.\nThe trees, within a few feet one way or the other, were just about eight\nhundred feet apart and Hans Van Doorst tied the other end of the seine\nto the far tree. He stood still, a small happy grin lighting his face,\nand looked at their discovery.\n\nSlowly, with Ramsay, Marta and Pieter trailing him, he started to walk\nthe length of the seine as it lay on the ground. He kept his eyes\ndownward, and as he walked along he talked almost to himself. \"A good\nseine, yes, a good seine, but it has received hard use. Here is almost\nfive feet where it scraped among sharp rocks, and the mesh is worn.\nUnder a heavy load of fish, it will break. That hole was made by a\nsunken log or other object, for you can see that it is a clean tear.\nThis one was made by a huge fish, probably a sturgeon, for just see how\nthe mesh is mangled where he lunged time after time against it. Now this\n. . .\"\n\nSlowly, missing no inch of the seine, he traveled the length of it, and\nas he traveled he marked every hole and weak spot by telling himself\nabout it. Reaching the end, he stood nervously tapping a finger against\nhis forehead. \"My hands are more accustomed to pulling seines than\nmending them,\" he told the three. \"Still, if we are to make the catch we\ncan make, this seine must be mended. I will try to mend it.\"\n\n\"I worked on a net in Three Points!\" Ramsay said eagerly. \"I stayed for\na while with Pierre LeDou, and because there was nothing else to kill\ntime, I helped Madame LeDou knit a gill net! This cannot be too\ndifferent!\"\n\n\"You!\" For a moment Ramsay thought Hans was going to kiss him. \"So!\nEverything works our way! Yaah? You fix the seine!\" His face fell. \"No.\nWe must have new twine. Now where will I get it?\"\n\n\"I have some,\" Marta spoke up. \"Good linen twine, easily a match for\nanything in this seine.\"\n\n\"And you would give it?\" Pieter asked incredulously.\n\nMarta shrugged. \"You're going fishing, anyway, and I'm going with you.\nMen always want all the fun.\"\n\nThe smile Hans turned on her was rare. \"A good Dutch girl,\" he said.\n\"Thank you, Marta.\"\n\nPieter and Hans cut tripods--three poles strung together at the top to\nform a standard--and at necessary intervals raised the seine to them so\nthat it was completely off the ground. Like a huge tennis net, broken\nonly by the tripods, it stretched between the two trees. Ramsay stood\nbeside it with a one and one-half inch meshboard--this mesh was three\ninches--and a ball of the fine linen twine which Marta had given him.\n\nHe worked as fast as he could, while at the same time he did not\nsacrifice efficiency. More than ever fishing seemed to be an art within\nitself, and if the seine were not perfectly made, then it was better\nleft alone. A slipshod or hasty knot could cost them a hundred pounds of\nfish, or even the seine itself. As Ramsay went along, he judged for\nhimself which parts needed repairing. Any mesh that seemed to be worn\nmust be replaced; a whole school of fish might follow each other through\na single hole.\n\nFor half an hour Hans stood watching him. Then, satisfied that Ramsay\nknew what he was about, he went off to cut new floats and place them on\ntop of the seine. A dozen times he went down to study the bay, looking\ncarefully and judging for himself the depth at which they would find the\nlargest schools of whitefish. Coming back, he adjusted the stone sinkers\naccordingly.\n\nAbsorbed in his work, Ramsay gave no thought to the passage of time\nuntil Marta called him for supper. As soon as he had finished eating, he\nreturned to the net. Darkness deepened and still he worked on.\n\n\"Ach!\" Marta said. \"You'll kill yourself working! Can you not come in\nnow?\"\n\n\"Just a little while. Bring me a lantern.\"\n\nRamsay heard Hans Van Doorst murmur, \"A fisherman, that one,\" and a\nyellow lantern glowed behind him. It was nothing more than a tallow\ncandle set in a glass case but, Ramsay thought, he really didn't need a\nstronger light. So sensitive had his fingers become to the feel of the\nnet, and so expert was he in knitting new meshes, that, almost, he would\nhave been able to do it with his eyes closed. He worked on while, held\nalternately by Hans and Pieter, the lantern moved with him. He forgot\nthe ache in his fingers and the weariness in his body. He knew only that\nthe sooner the net was in good working order, the sooner they could go\nfishing.\n\nThe pre-dawn birds were again singing when Ramsay finally bumped against\nsomething and, so absorbed had he been in his work, it took him a moment\nto realize that it was the other tree. He held the mesh board in fingers\nwhich, strangely and suddenly, seemed to lack all nerve or feeling. He\nblinked almost stupidly and stepped back.\n\nWhen he spoke, his words sounded almost silly. \"Well,\" he said, \"there\nit is.\"\n\n\"There indeed it is!\" Hans chuckled. \"And there it will be until, as\nsoon as possible, we get it into the water. Come now and sleep, for with\nthe morning's sun I would have you go with me.\"\n\nRamsay stumbled to his bedroom, took his shoes off, and without removing\nany of his other clothing, fell across the bed. Instantly he was\nsubmerged in exhausted slumber from which he was awakened by a gentle\nhand on his shoulder.\n\n\"Come now,\" a voice said.\n\nRamsay sat up with a start, to see Hans Van Doorst looking down at him.\nAgain with a guilty feeling, he knew that he had slept far beyond the\ntime when any worker in this country should sleep. Hastily he sprang out\nof bed. \"I'll be right with you!\"\n\n\"Compose yourself,\" said Hans Van Doorst, who had awakened him. \"There\nis no need for any mad rush. I thought you might wish to help me.\"\n\n\"Oh, sure!\"\n\nRamsay grinned faintly when he discovered that, except for his shoes, he\nwas fully dressed. He put his shoes on and tied them, went outside to\nwash at the wash stand, and came in to eat the breakfast Marta had\nready. Scarcely noticing what he ate, he gulped it down.\n\n\"Easy,\" Marta cautioned. \"The stomach complaint you will be giving\nyourself!\"\n\n\"I must hurry! Hans is waiting for me!\"\n\n\"With men it is always hurry, especially when they go to do what they\nwish to do anyway. Aah! Only a man would give up a good farm to go\nfishing!\"\n\n\"Pieter has not given up his farm,\" Ramsay pointed out.\n\n\"He will,\" Marta prophesied. \"He will, and he will go fishing with you\nand that crazy Hans.\"\n\n\"Oh, Marta, don't be so sad about things! It ...\"\n\nShe was sunny again. \"Go along now. Hans is waiting.\"\n\nHans had Black hitched to the cart and was waiting outside the door. His\nwings calmly folded, Captain Klaus sat on the back of the seat. Ramsay\nclimbed up, and Hans slapped the reins over the horse's back. They\nstarted up the sand beach--there was a corduroy road but the sand was\nsmoother--toward Three Points.\n\nRamsay grinned impishly as they drove through the town, because he felt\nthe questioning glances of the towns people. Devil Chad controlled all\nthis, and Devil Chad had made it very clear that Ramsay was not wanted\nin Three Points. Maybe Hans wasn't wanted either but, as Pierre LeDou\nhad pointed out, the fishermen and farmers cared little what anyone else\nthought. Ramsay looked about, hoping to see Devil Chad, but he was\nnowhere in sight. A little disappointed, he relaxed beside Hans.\n\nThey drove through the village and up a rutted little road that wound\namong gloomy hemlocks. Ramsay saw a doe with a fawn at her side, staring\nat them. As they drew near the doe raised her white tail over her back\nand disappeared. Hans grinned at her.\n\n\"They shoot the mammas with the babies,\" he said, \"just like they do the\npapas with the horns. There is no more right in that than there is in\nnetting a spawning fish.\"\n\n\"You mean because the babies will die?\"\n\n\"Yaah. Then, after there aren't any more deer, people just do not\nunderstand it. Some awful disease, they say, carried them off. They do\nnot know that their own lack of sense carried them off. It is the same\nwith fish. Those who seine in the spawning season kill maybe two hundred\nfor every one they take. When there are not any more fish, they will\ninvent a terrible disease that carried them off.\"\n\nRamsay felt a little alarm. \"Do you think there won't be any more?\"\n\n\"The whitefish,\" Hans pronounced, \"cannot last in numbers such as you\nfind them in now. That is because so many of them are being caught. For\nmaybe ten thousand years they are filling the lake until now no fish is\nmore numerous. Yaah, for many years they were a food staple of the\nIndians. I myself have seen Indians spearing them, or shooting them with\nbows and arrows. Tribes came from as far as the Mississippi River to\nfish here. But a net fisherman takes more in one season than a whole\ntribe of Indians used to, and often the fishermen cannot even take care\nof what they catch. I have seen whitefish, good eating whitefish,\nstacked like cordwood along the beach and left to rot there. I have seen\nthem fed to pigs. The best fishing along Lake Erie is already gone, due\nto such excesses. That is why fishermen from Ohio come here.\"\n\n\"Will fishing end?\" Ramsay inquired.\n\n\"That I do not think. Considering it from all angles. Now a fisherman\nwill catch perhaps a thousand whitefish, and maybe a hundred sturgeon,\nfor every trout. Why? Because the whitefish and sturgeon eat trout spawn\nis part of the reason. When the whitefish and sturgeon are gone, the\ntrout will multiply until they are the big catch. If the trout are taken\nor die out, there will be something else. No. There will always be\nfishing here, but it will be better when men learn to fish wisely and\nnot to take anything in the spawning season.\"\n\n\"When is that?\" Ramsay inquired.\n\n\"Whitefish and trout both spawn in the fall, from the fifteenth of\nOctober until the fifteenth of December. The sturgeon, I think they are\na river fish and that they go up the rivers to spawn. If ever the rivers\nare closed, there will be many fewer sturgeon.\"\n\nThe gloomy little road swerved back toward the lake. They broke out of\nthe trees, and Ramsay saw the water again. Built into it, at this point,\nwas a rambling wooden pier. There was a house and a fishing shanty. Tied\nto a stake in a patch of green grass, a sad-eyed brown cow munched\nplacidly on a five-pound whitefish. Tied to the pier, a saucy\ntwenty-six-foot Mackinaw boat, much like the _Spray_, bobbed up and\ndown. Nearer the beach was another boat, evidently a sadly worn one.\nNets of various kinds were strung on reels close to the lake.\n\nThe house's door opened, and a ferocious little black dog snarled\ntoward them. Showing white teeth, foaming at the mouth, he hurled\nhimself straight at the visitors. Hans laughed and swung down from the\ncart, and as soon as he did the little black dog leaped about him to wag\nan almost furious welcome. Hans grinned and knelt to tickle the dog's\nears.\n\n\"Like most Frenchmen, you can do nothing unless you do it violently,\" he\nsoothed. \"Where is your master?\"\n\nThe house's door opened and a man, whom at first Ramsay thought was a\nboy, flung himself out. Barely five feet tall, he was dressed in\nbreeches, leather leggings with colored fringes and a shirt that seemed\nto sport every color in the rainbow. He threw himself at Hans.\n\n\"_Mon ami!_\" he screamed. \"My friend! It has been so long, so very long\nsince you honored us with a visit! Tell me what has kept you away for so\nvery long?\"\n\n\"Baptiste,\" Hans said, \"meet one of my new partners, Ramsay Cartou.\nRamsay, Baptiste LeClaire.\"\n\nBaptiste wrung Ramsay's arm as though it were a pump handle and in spite\nof his small size, he was very strong. He looked frankly at the boy.\n\n\"You have,\" he asked, \"bought an interest in the _Spray_?\"\n\n\"The _Spray_ is no more,\" Hans informed him. \"She went back to the\nlake.\"\n\n\"Oh.\"\n\nFor a moment Baptiste was very sober. Then both men laughed, as though\nthey shared some huge secret which nobody else could ever understand.\nBaptiste exploded.\n\n\"What is it you need, my friend? My boats, my nets, my pier, my life?\nName it and it is yours!\"\n\n\"No,\" Hans said. \"What we need is barrels. Good oaken barrels with\npliant black ash hoops. We also need salt. We have a net and we have a\nboat.\"\n\n\"That is all you need?\" Baptiste seemed disappointed.\n\n\"That is all.\"\n\nBaptiste turned and in rapid-fire French directed orders at three men\nwho were lingering near. At once they began to take barrels built to\nhold two hundred pounds of fish from a huge pile near the fishing shanty\nand to stack them on Baptiste's boat. Ramsay read her name, _Bon Homme_.\nBaptiste LeClaire turned to his visitors.\n\n\"Now that you are here,\" he said, \"share the hospitality of my poor\nhome.\"\n\n\"With pleasure,\" Hans agreed.\n\nThey went into the house to meet Baptiste's wife, a sparkling little\nblack-eyed French woman. Producing the inevitable jug, Baptiste filled\nthree gourds with fiery whisky. Hans and Baptiste drained theirs with\none gulp. Ramsay nursed his, both men laughed at him. But the boy could\npartake of the delicious fish stew which Baptiste's wife prepared.\n\nA half-hour after Ramsay and Hans returned to the Van Hooven farm, a\nwhite sail bloomed out in the bay. She was the _Bon Homme_, loaded\nhalfway up the mast with barrels and salt. Hans Van Doorst rubbed his\nhands in undisguised glee.\n\n\"Now,\" he chuckled, \"we go fishing!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER SEVEN\n\n_PARTNERS_\n\n\nRamsay was puzzled. Hans Van Doorst had arisen even before the first\nfaint streaks of dawn cracked the night sky and without waiting for\nanyone else to get up, or for breakfast, he had gone out to work. He was\nnot fishing, for he had assured Ramsay that there would be no fishing\nuntil all could take part. Furthermore, Hans had said, the fishing would\nneed all of them. One man alone could not take enough fish to make it\nworthwhile.\n\nStill, Hans had gone out before it was properly light enough to see.\nRamsay had heard Captain Klaus greet his master from the top of the\nhouse. What anyone would be doing out of bed at such an early hour\nremained a mystery. In the dim morning light, descending the steps to\nthe kitchen, Ramsay continued to wonder why Hans had gone out when he\ndid. He greeted the Van Hoovens, who were already washed up for\nbreakfast, and Marta went to the back door to call, \"Hans!\"\n\nCaptain Klaus' hoarse squawk broke the morning stillness, and a second\nlater there was an answering call from Hans. He was down at the beach,\ndoing something there, and presently he came in.\n\nRamsay grinned appreciatively at his appearance, for the Dutch\nfisherman's cheeks glowed like the rising sun. His eyes sparkled, and a\nperpetual chuckle seemed to gurgle in his throat. Plainly Hans had been\ndoing some invigorating work, but it was work in which he took a vast\npleasure. Anything onerous could not possibly put such a shine upon\nanyone at all. Hans washed at the basin outside the door.\n\n\"Ah!\" he breathed as he sat down to the huge breakfast Marta had\nreadied. \"This looks good!\"\n\n\"I should think a stale crust would look good to anyone who puts in a\nhalf-day's work before anyone else stirs,\" Marta said.\n\n\"It would!\" Hans agreed, helping himself to half a dozen eggs and an\nequal number of bacon slices. \"It would, and many a time I have dined on\nonly a crust! But fare such as this! Fit for the angels! I'm the\nluckiest fisherman alive, I think!\"\n\n\"Also the most oily-tongued,\" Marta added. Nonetheless she was pleased.\n\"I suppose, when we are all wealthy from fishing, you will hire a cook\nfor me?\"\n\n\"Not I!\" Hans said. \"Never I! Hiring anyone but you to do our cooking\nwould be as out of place as hiring Joe Mannis instead of a preacher to\ndo our praying! No, Marta! Not elsewhere in Wisconsin is there one who\nequals your skill with cookery!\"\n\nPieter, who often tried to beguile his wife but seldom succeeded,\nlaughed. Marta blushed. While Hans devoured what he had already taken,\nthen served himself to three more eggs, Ramsay ate almost feverishly.\nToday was the big day, the time all of them had been waiting for,\nbecause today they went fishing. Ramsay finished and waited with\nill-concealed impatience while Pieter and Hans mopped their plates with\ncrusts of bread. All three went outside.\n\nSquawking and chuckling, as though at some huge joke, Captain Klaus\nwinged down from the rooftop to alight on his master's shoulder. He\ntilted, flapping his wings to balance himself, and caressed Hans' cheek\nwith his hard, cold bill, even while he kept up a running fire of sea\ngull chatter. Hans reached up to stroke his pet.\n\nRamsay looked down at the beach, and saw two structures which had not\nbeen there yesterday. Hans must have built them this morning. They were\nwindlasses, made of peeled logs, and about eight hundred feet apart. One\nwas the conventional windlass--a drum mounted on two uprights and with a\ncrank that could be turned by hand. The spindle of the other--all these\nlake men could work miracles with logs or anything else at their\ncommand--was set vertically in a stone and log foundation and it had a\nlong, stout shaft protruding from its center. Ramsay looked\nquestioningly at Hans.\n\nThe Dutch fisherman shrugged. \"It is simple,\" he explained. \"We have but\none horse. Therefore, we men work the one while the horse turns the\nother. Marta can lead it.\"\n\nRamsay was incredulous. \"You mean we'll take so many fish that a horse\nwill be needed to drag them in?\"\n\nHans' throaty chuckle sounded. \"If we do not,\" he said, \"from now on\nforever you may say that Hans Van Doorst is not a fisherman. Say that he\nis just a little boy who plays at fishing.\"\n\nWith a fisherman's skill, Hans was coiling a rope. He settled it\ncarefully in the bottom of the boat, so that it wouldn't kink or snarl\nwhen paid out, and was alert to avoid stepping on or tangling it in\nanyway. Folded exactly as Hans wanted it, with all the floats on one\nside and all the sinkers on the other, the net was overhauled on the\nstern of the boat. Another coil of rope lay on the net, and Hans tied\none end of that to the spindle of the horse-powered windlass.\n\nThen he looked happily at Pieter and Ramsay. \"Now,\" he said, \"I need an\noarsman.\"\n\n\"I'll row!\" Ramsay offered eagerly.\n\n\"Go ahead.\" Pieter grinned.\n\nSo expertly that he scarcely ruffled the water and did not even disturb\nhis net or rope, Hans launched the boat. He waded in up to his knees,\npaying out more rope as he did so, and held the boat steady until Ramsay\nwaded out beside him and climbed into the rower's seat.\n\nRamsay tried to board cautiously, skilfully, as he had seen Hans do.\nObviously a great deal of careful work had gone into folding the net and\ncoiling the rope. Everything had to be done exactly right, and one\nclumsy or ill-timed move could make a hopeless snarl out of all. Still,\nHans seemed confident and sure of himself. Probably, Ramsay thought, he\nhad done this so many times that doing it was almost second nature. The\nboy looked expectantly at Hans.\n\n\"Straight into the lake,\" the Dutch fisherman directed. \"Keep a straight\nright-angle course to the windlass; you can do that by sighting yourself\nfrom it. Row as swiftly as you wish.\"\n\nWith strong, surging strokes of the oars, Ramsay sent the ponderous boat\nout into the quiet lake. He watched Hans carefully, trying to note\neverything he did, and his respect for fishermen grew. The Dutchman sat\nalmost carelessly in the stern, to all outward appearances not even\ninterested in what he was doing. But, as they continued out into the\nlake, the rope continued to slip smoothly over the stern. There was\nnever a tangle or even a kink. It looked easy, but net-weaving had\nlooked easy too before Ramsay tried it. Beyond any doubt, it took skill\nand long familiarity with the job to handle six or eight hundred feet of\nrope in such a fashion and do it perfectly.\n\nThey came near the end of the rope and Ramsay slowed his strokes a\nlittle. The laughing Dutch fisherman turned to him.\n\n\"Sharp left,\" he directed. \"Stay about this far out in the lake and row\na bit more slowly. Now we set the seine.\"\n\nRamsay followed instructions, watching the beach line to make sure that\nhe stayed the proper distance out, and Hans began sliding the seine over\nthe stern. He did it smoothly, gracefully, as he did everything\nconnected with fishing. Ramsay nodded approvingly to see how well Hans\nlaid his net and how expertly he had guaged the place in which it was to\nbe laid. Instead of curling toward the beach, the seine, obviously\ncontrolled by a current that swept into the lake, billowed outward.\n\n\"Does the lake have different currents?\" Ramsay asked interestedly.\n\n\"That it does. When the wind blows toward shore, of course waves wash up\non the shore. But the lake, she moves in a thousand different ways, and\nthe currents that appear on the surface are not always like those that\nsurge beneath the surface. Ah, yes! Many moods has Lake Michigan and,\"\nHans grinned, \"not many of them are placid moods.\"\n\n\"How could you tell that a current to hold the seine was right here?\"\n\n\"I felt it when I had hold of your horse's tail.\"\n\nRamsay pondered that information. The current holding the net certainly\nwas not perceptible from the surface. It would not be evident at all,\nexcept to one who had a thorough understanding of such things and was\nable to sense the most minute change in the water that lay about him. Of\ncourse, the stones, the sinkers, probably helped hold the seine in place\ntoo.\n\nFoot by foot, the seine slipped into the lake and a long line of it\nstretched at an angle toward the boat. Ramsay tried to judge for himself\nhow far the net was going down. He could not because he had had too\nlittle experience in fishing, but he was sure the seine rested exactly\nwhere Hans wanted it to rest.\n\nWithout seeming to move, Hans leaned over to pick up the other coil of\nrope. Smoothly he tied it, and the last few feet of seine slid over the\nboat's stern to disappear in the lake. Ramsay waited expectantly for\ndirections. They came.\n\n\"Straight as you can towards the other windlass,\" Hans said. \"Then we\nare all ready.\"\n\nAgain Ramsay turned at a right angle toward the other windlass. Now he\nbegan to understand the setting of a seine. There were the two\nwindlasses, the two six-hundred-foot ropes and the seine running\nparallel to the beach. Now, Ramsay supposed, they would beach the boat,\ntie this rope to the other windlass, and be ready to haul in the seine.\nIf they did not make a good catch, they could lengthen the ropes and put\nthe seine farther out in the lake. Also, by adding more sinkers or\nsubtracting some, they could raise or lower the seine. Ramsay tried to\nmake some observations about the water in which they were fishing.\n\nIt was comparatively shallow, though at all places except very near the\nshore it would float a fair-sized ship. Also, it seemed to have a rather\nsmooth bottom. In addition, though the bay could at times be angry, it\nwas more sheltered than some places. Storms here probably would at no\ntime reach the heights of fury that they reached on the open lake.\nBecause he was anxious to learn as much as he could about fishing,\nRamsay asked some questions. \"Are whitefish usually found in shallow\nwater?\"\n\n\"Almost always,\" Hans said. \"Though they need not necessarily always be\nfound close to shore. I myself know of reefs where we will be sure of\nwonderful catches as soon as we get some pound nets, and some of them\nare a mile or more out.\"\n\n\"Then the lake bottom varies?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes! To get an idea of what the bottom of the lake is like, take a\nlook at the land about you. Here you find a hill, or a succession of\nrolling hills. Here is a stretch of flat prairie. There are deep gulches\nand bluffs. You will find clay, sand, loam, small stones, boulders. As\nI've already said, the lake's bottom is almost exactly like the land\nabout it.\"\n\n\"What's the deepest part?\"\n\n\"Baptiste LeClaire and I once sounded a place off the Wisconsin\npeninsula. We touched bottom with a thousand feet of line, and I think\nthat may be the deepest place in Lake Michigan, though I cannot be sure.\nI have not sounded every place in the lake and, for that matter, neither\nhas anyone else.\"\n\n\"Are there deep-water fish?\"\n\n\"The trout ordinarily seeks deep water, though they may be found in\nshallows in the spring. However, there are not enough trout to be worth\na fisherman's while. Some day this may change.\"\n\n\"Is there any way to set a net so a fisherman may be sure of a good\ncatch?\"\n\n\"Not once in ten times, if he is just beginning, can a fisherman be\ncertain of a good catch, or of any catch. The tenth time is the\nexception. I am sure, for instance, that there must be a vast number of\nwhitefish in this bay, because the food for them is here. Otherwise, the\nfisherman must be taught by experience, or by another fisherman, where\nto set his nets so that he will make a good catch. Watch it now. We are\nabout to land.\"\n\nThe nose of the little boat bumped gently against the sand beach, and\nHans stepped out into knee-deep water. Paying no attention to his\nsoaking-wet shoes and trousers, he uncoiled the rope as he walked up the\nbeach and tied it through a hole which he had drilled in the spindle of\nthe hand windlass. More gingerly, not afraid of getting wet but not\nanxious to do so, Ramsay stepped to the nose of the boat and leaped\nonto the dry beach.\n\nPieter and Marta joined them, and all turned puzzled glances on Hans;\nthey knew almost nothing about the technique of fishing and must look to\nhim. Ramsay watched the fisherman test the taut rope with his hand, and\na little smile of satisfaction flitted across his face.\n\nExcited himself, Hans looked at the even more excited people about him.\n\"Relax.\" He grinned. \"The seine is not going anywhere, and we will soon\nsee what we have caught. Ramsay, do you want to harness the horse and\nbring him down?\"\n\n\"Sure.\"\n\nRamsay trotted to the barn, anxious to be doing anything that would help\nrelieve the seething tension within him. Everything he had done this\nmorning--indeed, everything he had done since meeting Hans Van\nDoorst--had been fascination itself. Now, if Hans' predictions were\nright, and the Dutch fisherman seemed so absolutely sure of himself,\nthey would soon be in the fishing business. Ramsay laid a friendly hand\non Black's mane, and the little horse followed willingly into the barn.\nHe stood quietly to be harnessed. Ramsay fastened a singletree to the\nharness tugs and hooked a strong chain onto it.\n\nPartaking of the humans' excitement, Captain Klaus winged low over the\nbeach, crying and squawking as he wheeled and dipped in graceful\ncircles. Ramsay grinned at him. Of all the pets a fisherman might have,\nsurely a sea gull was the most fitting.\n\nRamsay led Black toward the far windlass, the one the horse was to work,\nbecause Hans, Pieter and Marta had gathered about it. Captain Klaus\ncame out of the sky to alight on top of the windlass, and the horse\nscraped a restless front hoof across the sand beach. Ramsay looked\ninquiringly at Hans, who frowned and stepped back, then turned to the\nboy. \"We need a longer chain,\" he decided. \"Will you get one?\"\n\n\"Sure.\"\n\nRamsay ran back to the barn and returned with the longest chain Pieter\nhad. Hans hooked it to the windlass shaft, laid it out flat, and then\nconnected it to the chain Ramsay had already brought. The boy nodded\nunderstandingly. The rope dipped into the lake, then rose to the\nwindlass spindle. The chain had to be long enough so that the horse, in\nwalking around and around, could step over the rope.\n\nHans turned to Marta. \"When I give the word,\" he said, \"lead the horse\nin a circle around the windlass. Lead him slowly; we do not want the\nseine to come in too fast. Try to maintain a steady pace, and we will do\nour best to suit ours to yours. Both ends of the seine must come in\nevenly.\"\n\n\"Yaah!\" In spite of her dire forebodings about fishermen, Marta's eyes\nwere shining like stars. \"Yaah! I can do it.\"\n\n\"Good,\" Hans said gently. \"I know you can. Ramsay, you and Pieter come\nwith me.\"\n\nThe three men took their places by the other windlass, and Ramsay tried\nto suppress a growing excitement. He waited tensely, both hands on the\ncrank; Pieter was on the other side of the windlass.\n\nLooking once more at the taut rope stretching into the lake, Hans Van\nDoorst raised his voice, \"All right, Marta!\"\n\nGrasping the cheek strap of the little horse's bridle, Marta began to\nlead him slowly around and around. Tense, sweating a little, Ramsay took\na fierce grip on the windlass crank and looked at Hans. The Dutch\nfisherman, his eyes on Marta, timed the turning of the windlass. \"Now!\"\nhe said.\n\nRamsay strained with every muscle and nerve, and great beads of sweat\ndripped from his forehead. Hans had built well and with a full\nappreciation of leverage and tension; nevertheless, the windlass was\nhard to turn. The seine itself would be responsible for part of that.\nDry, one man could carry it. But when lake water penetrated every one of\nits hundreds of meshes, the seine would surely weigh much more. However,\nno net of any description could within itself weigh this much. Hans must\nhave guessed correctly. There were endless fish in the bay and the\nincoming seine must be loaded with them.\n\n\"Faster!\" Hans exclaimed.\n\nRamsay gritted his teeth and turned the windlass faster. He shot a\nfleeting glance at Marta, who was still leading the horse slowly. Even\nso, Black was going too fast. The combined strength of three men was no\nmatch for the strength of a horse. Hans' bellow split the air, \"Marta,\nstop!\"\n\nMarta halted the little horse and Ramsay leaned his weight against the\nwindlass' crank so that they would not lose what they had already\ngained. He gulped in great, refreshing breaths. Hans asked, \"Can you\nhold it?\"\n\nRamsay and Pieter nodded, and Hans walked down to talk with Marta. She\nmust lead the horse even more slowly, for the men could not keep up with\nhim. If both ends of the seine were not pulled in evenly, if the net was\ntilted or bent, the catch could well be lost.\n\nRamsay straightened as Hans came back to take hold of the crank. \"All\nright,\" he said.\n\nRamsay turned, setting his shoulder to the windlass while his breath\ncame in excited little gasps. The rope, tight as a stretched wire,\nsloped into the lake. Though it was stoutly built of heavy logs, the\nwindlass trembled on its frame. The crank became harder to turn and the\nwet rope wrapped like a clinging hair about the spindle. Ramsay gasped.\n\nOut in the lake, just beyond the shallow water at the edge of the beach,\nthe seine's floats showed. The seine itself was bent like a bow, its two\nends straining toward the windlasses while the center arched into the\nlake.\n\nThe gleam of silver in the seine seemed to cast a soft radiance over the\nlake and the beach, and even a powerful current could not have bowed the\nseine in such a fashion. Ramsay set his shoulder to the windlass and\nhelped give it two more turns. Down at the other windlass, Marta was\nwatching them. She, too, had learned. The men could not keep up with the\nhorse, so she was adjusting the horse's speed to them.\n\nFarther up the seine came, so that some of the sinkers were dragging in\nthe shallows. The floats were bowed over, forming a sort of half-sack,\nand the center of the seine still arched back into deep water. Ramsay\nsaw a tight little grin appear on Hans Van Doorst's face. Pieter was\nlooking incredulously at the loaded net.\n\n\"A little more!\" Hans pleaded. \"Just a little more! Get the center up!\"\n\nThey took two more turns, brought the center of the seine into shallow\nwater, and Hans latched the windlass. With a wild whoop, the Dutch\nfisherman raced down to the lake and stooped to grasp a\nhundred-and-fifty-pound sturgeon caught in the net. Hans dragged it up\nonto the beach, left it there, and returned to get a bigger one.\n\n\"Nets unload!\" he sang out.\n\nRamsay ran forward, heedless of water that surged about his knees. He\nstumbled, fell headlong, and arose sputtering. But, now that he was\nsoaking-wet anyway, it no longer made any difference. He grabbed a\nsix-pound whitefish in each hand and threw the pair far up the beach. He\ngrinned as he watched Pieter drag another big sturgeon out of the seine,\nand grabbed two more whitefish.\n\n\"Yaah! For once men work with a real will!\"\n\nRamsay turned around to see Marta, her spray-wet hair plastered close to\nher head. Her feet were spread almost defiantly apart, and the smile on\nher lips and the laugh in her eyes were proof of the fact that she was\nnow whole-heartedly with them. Fishermen risked a lot. But who didn't\nrisk when they played for big stakes? Lake Michigan was there, until now\nan almost untapped source of wealth; and if nobody dared to get this\nhoard, it would remain forever in the lake. Somebody had to try. In that\nmoment, as never before, Ramsay knew that they were in the fishing\nbusiness.\n\nOnly vaguely was he aware of Pieter and Hans working beside him, and he\ndid not know how long it took to get all the fish out of the seine. He\nknew only that suddenly the net sagged emptily. He took two small\nwhitefish out of it, threw them back into the lake, and watched them\nswim away; then he looked at Hans Van Doorst.\n\n\"Let us bring the net up to dry,\" Hans said.\n\nThey reeled in the windlasses and stretched the soaking seine between\nthem. Ramsay turned for a look at the beach, and he could not see it\nbecause the sand was covered with fish. Hans had been right. The bay in\nfront of the Van Hooven home was a very paradise for fish. Countless\nsturgeon and whitefish lay on the beach. Ramsay heard Hans say, \"Now we\ngo to work.\"\n\nHans hitched the little horse, brought the cart down to the beach, and\nbegan throwing whitefish into it. The bigger, heavier sturgeon, of\ncourse, Hans had to lift into the wagon box. When they had a load, he\ndrove to the stacked barrels left by Baptiste LeClaire. Ramsay watched\ninterestedly.\n\nA little trickle of water wound into the lake at this point, and Hans\nhad dammed it in such a fashion that a miniature cataract fell over the\nstones and mud which he had placed in the water course. Beside this were\na big, flat wooden dish, evidently also made by Hans, and several sacks\nof salt. The Dutchman produced three razor-sharp fish knives, more\nsalvage from the _Spray_, and turned to Pieter. \"Do you want to bring\nthe rest of the fish up?\"\n\n\"Yaah. I'll do that.\"\n\nHans caught up a six-pound whitefish and, seeming to use his knife very\nlittle, he cut its head off. Leaving the fish unscaled, he sliced it\ndown the backbone to the end of the tail and spilled the viscera out. He\nwashed his fish in the dam's tiny spillway and, filling the wooden dish\nwith salt, he rolled the split whitefish in dry salt. Then he placed it\ncarefully in a two-hundred-pound barrel.\n\nRamsay caught up a fish and a knife and tried to imitate exactly Hans'\nprocedure. But, though he thought he was doing everything precisely as\nthe Dutchman had done it, he was much slower. Hans had two more fish\nready and in the barrel before Ramsay was finished with one. Grimly\nRamsay worked on. If this was a part of fishing, it was a part he must\nand would learn. He picked up another fish and, as he worked, he gained\nskill.\n\nAs soon as one barrel was filled, Hans threw a couple of hands full of\nsalt on top, fitted a head to it and clamped it down with a black ash\nhoop. Again Ramsay nodded understandingly. He had supposed that a brine\nsolution in which to pack the fish must be prepared, but evidently none\nwas necessary. Enough water remained on the fish to form their own\nbrine. Packed in such a fashion, they would keep for many months.\n\nPieter brought another load of fish and another, and then set to work\nwith a fish knife to help clean the catch and pack it. The big sturgeon,\nof course, had to be cut into suitable strips and salted before they\nwere packed. Some of them were filled with roe--caviar--and Pieter\ncarted pails full of that to feed Marta's poultry. The remainder of the\nwaste was loaded into the cart and hauled far away from the scene of the\npacking. Then Hans scrubbed everything carefully. Fishermen who packed\nfood for human consumption must be very clean.\n\nThe sun was down and the moon up before they finished, but when they\nwere done they had packed seven barrels--fourteen hundred pounds--of\nwhitefish and three barrels of sturgeon. It was a rich haul. Though they\nhad worked for almost seventeen hours, each of them had earned more\nmoney than the average worker in Devil Chad's tannery received in a full\nmonth.\n\nRamsay sighed as he cleaned and honed his fish knife, and Hans said,\n\"The moon is bright and right for working, and we need a pier.\"\n\n\"A pier?\"\n\n\"Yaah. Else how will a boat put in to pick our catch up? I work for an\nhour or so.\"\n\nRamsay, thinking of his comfortable bed, stumbled down to the lake to\nhelp Hans put in an hour or two on the pier.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER EIGHT\n\n_ACTION_\n\n\nRestlessly Ramsay picked up a big whitefish and cleaned it. Salting it,\nhe threw the fish into a barrel and picked up another. A freckle-faced\nurchin about ten years old stood near, watching him. The youngster was\nJohnny O'Toole, son of Shamus O'Toole. In the summer Shamus did odd\njobs. In winter, when boats could not run, he drove one of the sleds\nthat carried leather from Three Points to Milwaukee and cattle hides\nfrom Milwaukee to Three Points.\n\n\"You goin' to fix a sturgeon?\" Johnny demanded.\n\n\"Sure,\" Ramsay said absently. \"Pretty soon.\"\n\nRamsay's eyes kept straying out on the lake, past the solid wooden pier\nwhich Hans, Pieter and Ramsay, had erected. The past days, it seemed,\nhad been nothing but work. Up with the dawn and out to make another\ncatch of fish. Pack the catch, and spend any time that remained working\non the pier. Weeds were sprouting as high as the corn, oats were heading\nuntended and unheeded on their stalks, and the farm was getting only the\nskimpiest attention. All this because they had decided to gamble on\nfishing.\n\nWhen the _Jackson_, summoned by Hans, had nosed into their pier, she had\ntaken on board a hundred and twenty barrels--twenty-four thousand\npounds of whitefish--and forty thousand pounds of sturgeon. The\nwhitefish, Hans had assured them, would bring not less than five cents a\npound in the Chicago market and the sturgeon were worth three cents a\npound. When they had their money they would be able to buy a pound net,\na pound boat, more salt and barrels, and be ready for fishing on a\nreally big scale.\n\nRamsay's eyes kept darting toward the lake. The _Jackson's_ skipper had\nsaid that, depending on how much cargo he had to take on in Chicago and\nthe number of stops between Chicago and Three Points, the ship would be\nback Tuesday or Wednesday. This was Tuesday, and Ramsay could not\ncontrol his impatience.\n\n\"Fix a sturgeon,\" Johnny pleaded. \"Fix a sturgeon now.\"\n\n\"I ... All right, Johnny.\"\n\nRamsay began to dismember a hundred-pound sturgeon, and Johnny O'Toole's\neyes danced. He stood anxiously near, trying to remember his manners,\nbut his impatience triumphed. \"Gimme his nose, will ya? Can I have his\nnose?\"\n\n\"Sure, Johnny.\"\n\nRamsay, who had learned a lot about dressing fish since his first\nhalting attempts, sliced the sturgeon's nose off with one clean stroke\nof his knife. The nose was round as a ball, and as rubbery, and every\none of the numberless freckles on Johnny O'Toole's face danced with\ndelight when Ramsay tossed it to him.\n\nImmediately, Johnny began bouncing the sturgeon's nose up and down on\nthe hard-packed ground. He had only to drop it, and the nose bounded\nhigher than his head. This was the rubber ball, and sometimes the only\nplaything, of children who lived among the commercial fishermen of Lake\nMichigan. Johnny began throwing the nose against a tree, catching it in\nhis hand as it rebounded to him.\n\nRamsay--Hans and Pieter were down at the lake, strengthening the\npier--picked up another sturgeon and filled a barrel. He sprinkled the\nusual two handfuls of salt on top of the filled barrel, fitted a head to\nit, and bound it tightly with a black ash hoop. Ramsay looked at the two\nsturgeon remaining from this morning's catch, and decided that they\nwould just about fill a barrel. He rolled one of their dwindling supply\nover.\n\n\"Can I have their noses, too?\" Johnny begged. \"Can I? Huh?\"\n\n\"Sure, Johnny.\"\n\n\"Gee! Thanks!\"\n\nJohnny O'Toole began to play with his four sturgeon noses, sometimes\nbouncing all of them at once and sometimes juggling them. Ramsay\ncontinued to steal glances at the lake. If everything worked out the way\nHans said it would, they would have ... Ramsay dared not think of it,\nbut, even after they paid the skipper of the _Jackson_ for hauling their\ncatch to Chicago, there would be a great deal.\n\n\"I'd better be goin',\" Johnny O'Toole said. \"My Pa, he whales me if I\nstay out after dark. Thanks for the sturgeon noses. I can trade two of\n'em to my brother for a knife he's got.\"\n\n\"You're welcome, Johnny. Come back when we have some more sturgeon.\"\n\n\"I'll do that!\"\n\nBouncing one of the sturgeon noses ahead of him, Johnny O'Toole started\nup the beach toward Three Points. Ramsay watched him go, then cleaned\nthe last of the sturgeon, put them in a barrel and sealed it. As the\nevening shadows lengthened, he looked again at the bay. The _Jackson_\nstill had not put in, and he gave up. The ship would not be here until\ntomorrow. He left the barrels where they were and went toward the house.\n\nTradin' Jack Hammersly's four-wheeled cart was again in the yard, its\ncurtains rolled up to reveal the trader's tempting array of wares. His\ngray horse was in the corral with the little black, and Tradin' Jack\nHammersly's stovepipe hat was decorously placed on the bench outside the\ndoor. Ramsay grinned faintly as he washed up. The Trader was an\neccentric character, and Ramsay suspected that his eccentricities were\nplanned; they made good advertising. But he was likeable, and now they\nwould get more news. Ramsay went into the house.\n\n\"Hi, Ramsay,\" Tradin' Jack greeted him. \"How about a pretty ribbon for\nthat girl of yours?\"\n\n\"I still haven't any girl.\"\n\n\"Slow,\" Tradin' Jack asserted. \"So much time you have spent around here\nan' still no girl. Too slow.\"\n\n\"I'll get one,\" Ramsay promised, \"but I've been too busy fishing to look\nthe field over.\"\n\nTradin' Jack nodded sadly. \"Yes. I heard it. That's what I did, heard\nit. So you go fishin'. So what happens? Can a trader trade fish? No. He\ncan't. Fish you sell in Chicago. Fishermen are the ruination of\ntraders.\"\n\n\"Not everybody will go fishing,\" Pieter pointed out. \"Enough will stay\nat farming to keep you supplied. Besides, with all the money the\nfishermen are going to earn, they can buy a lot more of your goods.\"\n\n\"That's so,\" Tradin' Jack agreed. \"That's so, too, but a man's got to\ntake everything into account. If he wants to stay in business, he has\nto. Got any eggs for me, Marta?\"\n\n\"Yaah! Crate after crate.\"\n\n\"I'll take 'em. Take 'em all. Fourteen cents a dozen. Fourteen and a\nhalf if you'll take it in trade.\"\n\nHis mind on the _Jackson_, which even now should be churning its way\ntoward them, Ramsay only half-listened as Tradin' Jack rattled on about\nthe various events which, combined, went to make up life on the west\nshore of Lake Michigan. Remembering little of what he had heard, Ramsay\nwent upstairs to bed. Snuggling down into the soft, feather-filled\nmattress, he tried to stay awake and could not. The work was always too\nhard and the days too long to forego even one minute's slumber.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe sun was only half-awake when Ramsay got up, breakfasted and went\nback to the place where they cleaned their fish. Everything that could\nbe was packed and the grounds were clean, but yesterday they had ripped\na ragged gash in the seine and now that needed repair. Ramsay, assisted\nby Hans, set to work with a ball of linen twine. He lost himself in what\nhe was doing. The important thing, if they wanted fish, was to get the\nnet into the water and use it. Even one half-hour must not be wasted.\n\nRamsay was jerked out of his absorption in the net by two shrill blasts.\nHe sat up, and sprang to his feet as the blasts were repeated. Looking\nin the direction of the pier, he saw the _Jackson_, her wheel churning\nup a path of foam, nosing toward the mooring place. Pieter appeared, and\nMarta. All four raced to the pier, and they reached it before the\napproaching steamer did. Ramsay and Hans secured mooring lines which a\ndeck hand threw to them, and Captain Williamson of the _Jackson_ came\ndown a short ladder.\n\nHe was a bustling little man who wore a blue-and-gold uniform which,\nRamsay thought, would have graced an admiral in any navy. But he was\nefficient and he knew the lake. For eleven years he had been running the\n_Jackson_ between Three Points and Chicago without getting her into or\neven near trouble.\n\nCaptain Williamson took a white sheet and a wallet from an inner pocket,\nand he read from the sheet, \"Twenty-four thousand pounds of whitefish\nyou gave me. It brought five cents a pound, or twelve hundred dollars,\nless a cent a pound for the hauling. Here you are, nine hundred and\ntwenty dollars.\"\n\nFrom the wallet he extracted a sheaf of bills and handed them to Hans.\nRamsay looked questioningly at him. \"The sturgeon?\" he asked.\n\n\"Ha!\" Captain Williamson snorted. \"There's enough sturgeon layin' on the\nChicago pier to run the whole city for the next six weeks. Nobody's\nbuying it but, since I hauled, I have to be paid. See you later,\ngentlemen.\"\n\nCaptain Williamson scrambled back up his ladder, which was hauled in\nafter him. Snorting like an overworked draft horse, the _Jackson_ backed\naway from her mooring, made a wide circle into the lake, and puffed on\ntoward Three Points. Ramsay looked incredulously at the money in Hans'\nfist, slow to realize that, even if they split it among the four of\nthem, it would be more than half a year's wages for each and they had\nearned it in less than two weeks. Then he looked at Marta's face and\nburst out laughing.\n\nFrom the first, Marta had been with them only half-heartedly and only\nbecause Pieter could not be swayed from fishing. Now, seeing enough\nmoney to buy a farm, and with tangible evidence that fishing paid well,\nshe had swung completely to their side. Pieter and Hans joined in\nRamsay's laughter while Marta looked puzzled. She was, as Hans had\ndeclared, a good Dutch girl. Definitely she was not avaricious, but no\ngood Dutch girl could fail to be impressed by the sight of so much\nmoney. Hans clasped the bills firmly and looked at his partners. \"What\ndo you say?\" he asked.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" Ramsay inquired.\n\n\"Pound nets we need, pound boats. Men to help us set them. More salt and\nmore barrels. We owe Baptiste. Or shall we divide what we have and keep\non fishing with the seine?\"\n\n\"Will it take so much to buy those things of which you speak?\" Marta\ninquired.\n\n\"This and more, if we really want to take fish.\"\n\n\"Then let's do it!\" Marta declared.\n\n\"Pieter?\" Hans inquired.\n\n\"Fishing beats farming.\"\n\n\"Ramsay?\"\n\n\"I came here to fish.\"\n\n\"Come with me.\"\n\nHans hitched the little black horse, and Ramsay climbed up on the cart\nbeside him. Captain Klaus, hurrying frantically from his perch atop the\nhouse, alighted on the cart and caressed Hans with his bill. The Dutch\nfisherman whistled happily as he drove along, and Ramsay grinned. This\nwas the way to get things done; work every second of every day to catch\nfish and then, without even thinking twice about it, invest everything\nthey had earned in more equipment so they could catch even more fish.\nCaptain Klaus winged off the cart to go and see what some of his wild\nrelatives along the lake shore were doing.\n\nRamsay turned to Hans, \"How big is this pound net?\"\n\n\"Ha! You have never seen one?\"\n\n\"Never.\"\n\n\"Soon you will. Very soon you will. There are a lot of pieces in each\nnet and, all together, they weigh about six hundred and fifty pounds. It\nwill cost, I think, about thirty cents a pound, or perhaps two hundred\ndollars for each net. Then we shall need at least one pound boat, and\nthat will cost an additional two hundred dollars. We shall need more\nrope, perhaps two hundred and fifty pounds, at a cost of about nine\ncents a pound. Then we shall have to hire men to help us drive spiles\nfor the net. We need more barrels, more salt. The money we have here\nwill provide us with no more than one net.\"\n\n\"How many should we have?\"\n\n\"I think that you, I and Pieter could handle three on part time. We\ncould very well use seven or eight if we gave full time to pound nets.\nHowever, as soon as we get three in working order--and meanwhile we will\ncontinue to seine--we will build a good Mackinaw boat, like the _Spray_,\nand use gill nets, too.\"\n\nRamsay whistled. \"We're really getting in deep!\"\n\n\"Ah, yes!\" Hans said gleefully. \"But the fishing, it is a business! It\nis the only business for a man!\"\n\nRamsay pondered thoughtfully. Devil Chad, who lately had seemed remote,\nwas now near and his presence could be felt. Probably, to anyone who\nknew Devil Chad, it would be impossible to go into Three Points without\nsensing his nearness. If Devil Chad had set out to control everything,\nthen why hadn't he made an attempt to control fishing? Certainly it was\nprofitable. Ramsay dismissed the thought. Maybe Devil Chad had his hands\nfull and lacked the time to intrude on the fisheries. It still seemed\nstrange that he would lack time to intrude on anything that offered an\nhonest, or even a dishonest, dollar.\n\nCaptain Klaus came winging back to the cart and perched on the\nDutchman's shoulder. Hans turned the little horse down a dim road, one\nRamsay had not yet noticed, on the edge of Three Points, and they came\nout on the borders of a river that emptied into the lake.\n\nThere was a large shed with a chimney that leaned at a crazy angle and\nbelched a thin trickle of smoke. Hans halted the little horse, who\nimmediately lowered his head to nibble at one of the few patches of\ngreen grass growing on this sand beach. Ramsay turned his head to look\nat the place.\n\nLumber of various sizes and cuts was stacked all about it, and there was\na pile of uncut logs left to season. Ramsay saw the gleam of a saw and\ncaught the scent of a wood-fired boiler. Now the saw's shrill roar was\nstilled and the boiler's fires were banked. Ramsay looked at the dozen\nboats that were drawn up on the river bank. They were sturdy, fourteen\nto sixteen feet long, and propelled wholly by oars. At the back of each\nwas sort of a small winch. There were broad seats and long oars. Ramsay\nturned to face the man who emerged from the shed.\n\nHe was tall, blond and so big that he was almost fat. But his quick eyes\nwere not those of a dull-witted fat man, and his big hands tapered into\nslim, expressive, artist's fingers. A ready smile seemed engraved on his\nthick lips, and his blue eyes lighted readily. \"Hans!\" he exclaimed.\n\n\"Hello, Tom,\" Hans said.\n\n\"What the dickens! I thought you'd gone off some place!\"\n\nHans laughed. \"Not me! I wish you to meet one of my new partners, Ramsay\nCartou. Ramsay, Tom Nedley. He is an artist with the wood and could make\nfine violins, but he prefers to pass his time on this river bank, making\npound boats for indigent fishermen.\"\n\n\"Glad to know you.\" Tom wrung Ramsay's hand. \"What are you up to?\"\n\n\"We have come,\" Hans announced, \"to get a pound boat.\"\n\n\"Sure. Take your pick.\"\n\n\"We,\" Hans said grandly, \"have the money to pay for it.\"\n\n\"Gosh! I heard you lost the _Spray_?\"\n\n\"That we did,\" Hans conceded, \"and three good men with it. But we shall\nbuild another boat as good. Can you, by the way, supply me with a good\noaken keel and cedar planking?\"\n\n\"Sure. I'll even show you where there's some big cedar stumps that'll do\nfor the ribbing.\"\n\n\"I already know,\" Hans said. \"What we wish to have you do now is deliver\na good pound boat to Pieter Van Hooven's place. Two hundred dollars?\"\n\n\"Yup. But if you haven't the money ...\"\n\n\"We have it,\" Hans assured him. He counted out some money and pressed it\ninto Tom Nedley's hands. The big boatmaker looked both embarrassed and\npleased. \"Gosh! Thanks! Got your spiles driven?\"\n\n\"Nope.\"\n\n\"For that you need two boats.\"\n\n\"Of that I am aware. But we do not have money to buy two.\"\n\n\"I'll get my brother, my cousin and their sons,\" Tom Nedley offered. \"Be\ndown in the mornin'.\"\n\n\"For that we will pay you.\"\n\n\"Aw, Hans ...\"\n\n\"Take it.\" Hans grinned. \"We are certain to get rich fishing but, if we\ndon't, you will have something.\"\n\n\"Aw shucks ...\"\n\n\"Take it!\"\n\n\"We'll be there.\"\n\n\"Thanks,\" Hans said.\n\nMounting the cart, he turned the horse around and at a smart trot drove\nup into the village. Ramsay sat proudly erect, feeling strength like\nthat of a young bull arise within him. This was the village from which\nhe had been driven in disgrace by Devil Chad, but it was a village he\ndared return to. Any time he felt like it he would return to Three\nPoints, and let Devil Chad meet him if he dared. Hans stopped the horse\nin front of a cottage which might have been an exact duplicate of the\none occupied by Pierre and Madame LeDou.\n\nLetting the horse stand, Hans leaped from the cart and faced Ramsay.\n\"This,\" he announced loudly, \"is the home of Frog-Mouth Fontan, whose\ngood wife is about to sell us a pound net. Frog-Mouth, by the way, is\none of Devil Chad's closest friends.\"\n\nAs though summoned by the voice, one of the very few tall Frenchmen\nRamsay had ever seen appeared at the door. His mouth, the boy noticed,\nwas oddly like that of a frog. As soon as he recognized his visitor, he\nemitted an enraged bellow and charged.\n\nHans grinned, stepped aside, and swung. But Frog-Mouth Fontan was an\nexpert fighter, too. He dodged, pivoted and dealt two swift blows that\nset Hans' head to rocking. Then the Dutchman found the range, and sent\nhis pile-driver fist into Frog-Mouth's jaw. He hit again, and a third\ntime. Frog-Mouth Fontan staggered, weaved backwards, and with a silly\ngrin on his face sat down against the cabin. He continued to grin\nfoolishly, staring into the bright sun. A small, dark woman without any\nteeth appeared at the door. She looked at her husband, then spat at him.\n\"_Cochon!_\" she said. \"Pig!\" She looked at Ramsay and Hans. \"What do you\nwant?\"\n\n\"One of your excellent pound nets, Madame Fontan,\" Hans murmured\npolitely.\n\n\"Do you have the money to pay for it?\"\n\n\"We have it.\"\n\n\"Load the net.\"\n\nRamsay helped Hans lift the folded net, four pieces of\nthree-and-a-quarter-inch webbing, two pieces of six-and-a-quarter-inch,\nand seven pieces of eight-and-a-half-inch, onto the cart. The latter\nsagged beneath almost seven hundred pounds of net, and the little horse\nlooked questioningly around. But he stepped out obediently when Hans\nslapped the reins over his back, and Captain Klaus squawked over them as\nthey returned to Pieter's farm.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe next morning Ramsay stared in astonishment at a unique craft coming\ndown the lake. Five men, one of whom was Tom Nedley, manned the\noutlandish rigging, and it was propelled by two sets of oars. Ramsay\nstrolled down to meet it, and noticed some spiles--poles--about\nthirty-five feet long, that were piled on the beach. Evidently Hans had\ncut them, or had them brought down, after he and Ramsay returned home.\nThe craft, and as it drew near, Ramsay saw that it was two sixteen-foot\npound boats, bound together by stout planks front and rear, nosed into\nthe pier. The crew disembarked, and Tom Nedley introduced Ramsay to his\nbrother, his cousin and their two strapping sons. Ramsay turned a\ncurious gaze on the boats.\n\nThey were lashed solidly together by planks that kept them about fifteen\nfeet apart. On top of the planks was raised a sort of scaffolding,\nconnected by a heavy beam whose nether surface was about twenty feet\nfrom the water. Suspended from the beam was a four-pulley block with a\nrope through each pulley, and the ropes supported an iron drop hammer.\nThere was another pulley whose use Ramsay could not even guess.\n\nShouting and scrambling as though this were some sort of picnic\nespecially arranged just for them, Tom Nedley's boisterous crew threw\nthe spiles in the water and floated them out to the boats. They tied\nthem to the stern, then set up a concerted shouting. \"Hans! Hey, Hans!\nPieter!\"\n\nGrinning, Hans and Pieter, who had lingered over their breakfast after\nRamsay was finished, appeared from the house. Tom Nedley's brother said\nplaintively, \"Twenty minutes of six! Half the day gone already! Don't\nyou fellows ever do anything except sleep?\"\n\n\"Yaah!\" Hans scoffed. \"Who is so filled with ambition?\" He looked at the\noarsman who had spoken and leaped lightly into the boat. \"Now we will\nsee who is the best man.\"\n\nRamsay jumped on board just in time to keep from being left behind, and\nHans bent his mighty back to the oars. In the second boat the other\noarsman tried to match Hans' pace, and the unwieldy craft spurted away\nlike a frightened deer. Trailing behind, the spiles left a path of\nbubbly ripples.\n\nOut of the bay they went and into the open lake. Then they turned south,\nobviously Hans had some destination in mind. At any rate, he seemed to\nknow exactly where he was going. They stopped rowing on a reef about a\nmile from shore, and one of the men retrieved a spile.\n\nTom Nedley spoke to Ramsay. \"Feel strong?\"\n\n\"Sure thing.\"\n\n\"Good. We'll need some strong men around here. Wait until they're set,\nan' then I'll show you what to do.\"\n\nHans and another man up-ended the spile and probed toward the lake\nbottom with it. They hung it on the other pulley and, when it was in\nplace, the end was about three feet below the drop-hammer. Hans fastened\nit to the pulley, steadied it with his hands and sang out, \"Let her go!\"\n\nTom Nedley handed a long rope to Ramsay, bade him hold it tight, and two\nmen in the other boat took the other two ropes. Jerking the rope in his\nhands, Tom Nedley tripped the latch holding the drop-hammer, and\ninstantly Ramsay felt the weight.\n\nHe hung on very tightly and was reassured by Tom Nedley's quiet, \"You'll\nsoon get the hang of it. When I give the word, let the hammer fall just\nhard enough to hit the spile. Stop it, of course, before it hits the\nboys steadyin' for us.\"\n\nRamsay waited, his eyes on Tom Nedley. The big man said, \"Now!\"\n\nThe hammer dropped squarely but not completely, because Ramsay tried to\nstop it too soon. Again Tom Nedley reassured him.\n\n\"Just let her fall,\" he urged, as he helped raise the hammer back into\nposition. \"There's plenty of time to stop her, but don't be careless.\nThat hammer weighs a hundred and seventy five pounds, an' I doubt if\neven Hans' head would take that much fallin' on it.\"\n\nThis time Ramsay got the rhythm. The hammer dropped swiftly, squarely\nand with full force. It seated the spile in the lake bottom, so that\nthere was no longer any necessity for holding it. Hans and the other\nstepped back. Again and again Ramsay helped drop the hammer, until the\npole was driven about eight feet into the lake bottom and perhaps four\nfeet remained above the surface. It had been about thirty-six feet to\nstart with, therefore the water at this place was twenty-four feet deep.\nIt should be right for whitefish.\n\n\"Let me take that rope a while,\" someone said.\n\nGladly Ramsay relinquished his rope to Pieter, and rested his aching\nshoulders while he watched interestedly. The piles were being driven in\na geometrical pattern, a sort of square, and Ramsay understood that the\nfirst nine were to hold the pot, the actual trap. Measuring carefully,\nthe boats moved away and more spiles were driven. These were for the\nhearts of the net. Finally, running straight toward shore, spiles were\ndriven in a pattern that resembled the forks of a 'Y.' To these would be\nattached the tunnel, the webbing that guided fish through the hearts of\nthe pound net and into the pot.\n\nRamsay straightened, easing his aching shoulders. It was hard work, very\nhard, to lift the hammer and let it fall for hours on end. But now the\nspiles for one pound net were driven. The boy turned to Hans. \"Gee whiz!\nHow about moving all this?\"\n\n\"You don't move a pound net except, of course, to take up the webbing\nwhen the lake freezes. Otherwise, we'll leave this right where it is. It\nis possible to fish a pound net in the same location for fifty years or\nmore.\"\n\n\"What's next?\"\n\n\"Set the net. I think there is still time.\"\n\nThey rowed back to the pier, where Marta, who had taken over the\ntreasurer's post, paid Tom Nedley and his crew. The big man grinned his\nthanks.\n\n\"You need us again, you know where to find us.\"\n\n\"We'll probably take you up on that,\" Hans said.\n\nThe ropes binding the two boats were loosened and the scaffold taken\ndown. Leaving the boat Hans had bought, Tom Nedley and his helpers piled\ninto the other one and started rowing up the lake. Hans, Pieter and\nRamsay went to the pound net.\n\nThe pot, the trap, was loaded first. Then came the flaring, heart-shaped\n'hearts,' and finally the leads, or tunnel. Setting himself to the oars,\nHans rowed back to where they had driven the piles. He tied the lead,\nthe beginning of the tunnel, to the spile. A five-pound stone fastened\nto the bottom rope carried it down into the lake. Giving the oars to\nRamsay and cautioning him to travel slowly, Hans fastened the lead to\neach spile and sank it with stones. The flaring hearts were set in the\nsame way.\n\nComing to the pot, Hans first fastened a four-foot chain with an\nattached pulley to the pile. Then he tied a rope, double the depth of\nthe water and with some allowance for shrinkage, to the bottom of the\npot. He did this on each spile, and they put the whole pot into the\nwater. Ramsay began to understand.\n\nIn effect, they had set a gigantic fly-trap. Any fish that came along\nwould be guided by the tunnel into the hearts, and then into the pot.\nShould any escape, the flaring sides of the hearts would keep them\ntrapped and, nine times out of ten, send them back into the pot instead\nof out through the tunnel.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nRamsay labored under the weight of a two-hundred-pound sturgeon which\nhad been dragged in by the seine. Hans and Pieter hadn't wanted to\nbother with sturgeon because there was no market for them, anyhow, but\nRamsay had permitted them to throw none back into the lake. Cradling his\nslippery prize across his chest, as though it was a log, he carried it\nto the pond and threw it in. For a moment the sturgeon swam dazedly on\nthe surface, then flipped his tail and submerged. Ramsay gazed into the\npond. It was alive with sturgeon weighing from seventy-five to almost\nthree hundred pounds. There were so many that, to supplement the food in\nthe pond, they were feeding them ground corn.\n\nRamsay stripped off his wet clothes and dived cleanly into the pond.\nWater surged about him, washing off all the sweat and grime which he had\naccumulated during the day. He probed along the pond's bottom, and felt\nthe smooth sides of a sturgeon beneath him. It was only a little one.\n\nHe swam on until he had to surface for air, and dived again. Across the\npond's murky depths he prowled, his white body gleaming like some great\nworm in the water. Finally he found what he was looking for.\n\nIt was a big sturgeon, and it was feeding quietly. Moving as slowly as\npossible, Ramsay rubbed a hand across its back. Suddenly he wrapped both\narms about the fish and took a firm grasp with his bare legs.\n\nFor a moment, while the dull sturgeon tried to determine what was\nhappening, there was no movement. Then the big fish awakened to danger\nand shot to the surface. With all the speed of an outboard motor he\nsliced along it, and a moment later he dived again. Grinning,\nexhilarated, Ramsay swam back to shore and dressed.\n\nTradin' Jack Hammersly's rig was in the yard, and Ramsay heard the man\nsay, \"Marta, what you been feedin' your hens?\"\n\n\"The best!\" Marta said indignantly. \"The very best!\"\n\n\"The best of what?\"\n\n\"Why grain, and scraps, and ...\"\n\n\"And sturgeon roe?\"\n\n\"Why--yes.\"\n\n\"What I thought,\" Tradin' Jack sighed. \"Ye'll have to stop it. Ever'\ncustomer as got some of your eggs told me they taste like caviar!\"\n\nA moment later there was a rapid-fire sputter of French expletives. His\nface red, seeming about to explode, Baptiste LeClaire raced around the\ncorner of the house.\n\n\"Get your guns!\" he screamed when he saw Ramsay. \"Get your knives and\nclubs too! Get everything! We have to kill everybody!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER NINE\n\n_PIRATES_\n\n\nBaptiste was dancing up and down, flinging his arms like the blades of a\nwindmill and screaming in French. Ramsay wrinkled his brow. He had\npicked up some French, but not enough to translate the torrent of words\nthat rolled out of the agitated man's mouth. And never before in his\nlife had he seen anyone so mad. Baptiste was invoking every evil he\ncould think of, a most generous portion, upon someone's hapless head.\nRamsay made a move to stop him.\n\n\"Wait. I can't follow you....\"\n\nA few English words, among which Ramsay recognized pig, dog and son of a\nrotten fish, mingled with Baptiste's violent Gallic tirade. He continued\nto wave his arms and yell. Ramsay waited helplessly, unable to\nunderstand or to do anything. Attracted by the clamor, Hans, Pieter,\nMarta and Tradin' Jack appeared.\n\nVery quietly Hans advanced to Baptiste's side. \"What is it, my friend?\"\n\nAlmost tearfully, grateful because, at last, he had someone able to\nunderstand, Baptiste turned his machine-gun rattle of French on Hans.\nRamsay watched the Dutch fisherman's face tighten, and then it was set\nin white-hot anger. He waited for Baptiste to finish, and asked in\nEnglish, \"Do you know who did it?\"\n\n\"No.\" Having worn himself out, Baptiste lapsed naturally into English,\ntoo. He turned his hot, angry face on the others.\n\nHans spoke again. \"Go to Madame Fontan in Three Points,\" he said to\nBaptiste. \"Tell her that I, Hans Van Doorst, said that you are to have\nthe nets you need. If she has not enough woven, get them elsewhere.\nMadame LeDou makes excellent seines and gill nets. Go to the store for\nthe rope you need, and tell them I will pay for everything. We ourselves\nwill come to help you drive new spiles and make new sets.\"\n\n\"It is good of you,\" Baptiste's face was still flaming with rage, \"but\nwe cannot let the matter rest there.\"\n\n\"Nor can we,\" Hans' tone was calm and reasoning, \"go about shooting\npeople when we do not know who to shoot.\"\n\n\"Pah! I know! It is Devil Chad!\"\n\n\"Have you proof of that?\"\n\n\"The proof is self-evident. Who but Devil Chad would dare do such a\nthing?\"\n\n\"Did you see him?\"\n\n\"Does one see the wise fox when he comes in the night to steal a fat\ngoose? No, I did not see him.\"\n\n\"Listen, my friend. Listen carefully. If this sort of piracy has been\nstarted and we do not end it, we are lost. But ours will be a small\ntriumph if all of us get ourselves hanged. We must proceed with\ncaution.\"\n\n\"I do not like caution.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless, we must now employ it. We cannot rush off with guns and\nshoot because we suspect. Get your nets and whatever else you need, and\nstart anew. When you can bring me proof of the pirates, I myself will be\nthe first to shoot.\"\n\n\"It is the stumbling way.\"\n\n\"It is the only way. If there is to be war, then let there be war. But\nwe cannot strike out blindly. To do that will be to turn every man's\nhand against us. We cannot fight at all if we do not know our enemies.\"\n\nFor a moment the dark-visaged little Frenchman stood uncertainly. Then\nhe looked directly at Hans. \"I will do as you say,\" he agreed. \"But\nshould I catch anyone at my nets, they or I will not live to speak of it\nafterwards.\"\n\n\"The same will happen should I catch anyone at our nets,\" Hans promised.\n\"But let us catch them before we act.\"\n\nBaptiste LeClaire swept his hat off, made a courtly bow, murmured, \"Your\nhealth, Madame and Messieurs,\" and turned back toward the pier. Expertly\nhandled, the _Bon Homme_ sailed gracefully into the lake. Astonished,\nRamsay stared at Hans, and Pieter and Marta reflected his astonishment.\n\n\"What's got him by the ear?\" Ramsay asked.\n\n\"Baptiste,\" Hans said, \"had three pound nets which he tended with pound\nboats. He had a number of gill nets which he visited with the _Bon\nHomme_, a proper gill net boat.\"\n\nHans stared out on the lake, as though seeking the answer to some\nquestion that plagued him. He turned to face the others.\n\n\"Baptiste has no more pound nets. They have all been raised and ripped\nto shreds. The spiles to which he attached them were broken. Of the\ngill nets he once had, one remains. The rest were destroyed. Aside from\nhis years of labor, Baptiste has lost more than two thousand dollars'\nworth of nets.\"\n\n\"Who did it?\" Ramsay gasped.\n\nHans shrugged. \"Someone who has discovered, at last, that there is money\nto be had in Lake Michigan fishing. Someone who will stop at nothing to\nget all of it for himself.\"\n\nThere was conviction in Ramsay's \"Devil Chad!\"\n\nHans shrugged again. \"So Baptiste thinks.\"\n\n\"What do you think?\"\n\nHans swung so fiercely on him that Ramsay retreated a step. \"You heard\nwhat I told Baptiste!\" the Dutch fisherman said. \"We must be certain! It\nis not for us to appoint ourselves judge, jury and executioner! Before\nwe act we must be sure!\"\n\n\"Should we call in the constable?\"\n\nHans said scornfully, \"Devil Chad's man!\"\n\n\"What must we do?\"\n\n\"Watch ourselves,\" Hans declared. \"Hereafter we must leave the nets\nunguarded and the lake without our own patrol, only when we are sure it\nis safe. If someone has come to take from us our right to fish, we must\nbe our own protection. At the same time we must not act blindly. The\nlake is big enough for all. If one has come who would take everything\nfor himself, we fight.\"\n\n\"You know it's Devil Chad.\"\n\n\"I know no such thing.\"\n\n\"Do you suspect him?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Hans answered frankly.\n\n\"Then why not take action?\"\n\n\"Look, boy,\" and Ramsay writhed because never before had Hans addressed\nhim in such a fashion, \"lives are now at stake. Let us be sure before we\nlose ours or take someone else's!\"\n\n\"You are right,\" Pieter approved. \"Yes, you are right.\"\n\nPuzzled, Ramsay looked at his two partners. It was absurd to suppose\nthat either was afraid; they had proven their courage too many times.\nYet, though both thought Devil Chad the raider, both refused to move\nagainst him until they had proof of his piracies. Ramsay thought of\nsomething he had read, 'A man is innocent until proven guilty.' Maybe\nHans and Pieter believed that sincerely, while the hot-headed Baptiste\nwas ready to strike at anything at all.\n\nRamsay felt a rising admiration for his partners. \"What must we do?\" he\nasked.\n\n\"I doubt if they'll strike by day,\" Hans said. \"If they come, it will be\nin the night. We'll make three watches, and alternate on them. That way\nthey cannot surprise us.\"\n\n\"Suppose they come?\"\n\nHans shrugged eloquently. \"Then we will fight and fight hard, for it is\ncertain that no one else will do our fighting for us. Do either of you\nhave a choice as to watches?\"\n\nNobody had a choice. Hans broke three straws of different lengths,\nconcealed them in the palm of his hand, and held them out. They drew,\nand compared straws. Pieter had the shortest, the first watch, Ramsay\nthe second and Hans the third. Hans looked thoughtfully at the\ntwilight-softened lake. \"Pieter, do you want to go out at seven and\nstay until eleven?\"\n\n\"Yaah.\"\n\n\"Good. Ramsay, stay out until about two and awaken me.\"\n\n\"All right.\"\n\nRamsay ate the excellent supper Marta had prepared, listened idly to the\nchatter of Tradin' Jack, who knew what had happened and was nervous\nbecause of it, and went upstairs to bed. In spite of his inner tension\nand his excitement, his head had scarcely touched the pillow when he\ndozed off. A moment later, or so it seemed, Pieter was touching his\nshoulder.\n\n\"It's time.\"\n\n\"I ... Huh? Oh, yes.\"\n\nRamsay came fully awake, and Pieter lighted the candle in his room. Its\nbeams sparkled brightly on the shining barrel of the muzzle-loading\nfowling-piece Pieter carried. Of a huge bore, the gun was charged with\nblack powder and loaded with lead slugs. Ramsay shuddered as he accepted\nit. Such a gun would be sure to work great havoc among anything it was\nshot at, but its recoil alone would probably set a mule back on its\nhaunches.\n\n\"Anything happen?\" Ramsay whispered.\n\n\"Nothing,\" Pieter said. \"Nobody came. The lake is calm and the boat\nawaits you on the beach.\"\n\n\"I'll see you in the morning.\"\n\n\"Good luck.\"\n\nHis shoes in one hand and the shotgun in the other, Ramsay stole quietly\ndown the stairs and out the back door. He stopped to put his shoes on,\nand looked around him.\n\nA pale moon shone through disheveled clouds that gave the sky the\nappearance of a man sadly in need of a hair-cut, and the faintest\nsuspicion of a breeze kicked up small wavelets. Asleep on the ridge\npole, Captain Klaus was a dull, shapeless blob in the night sky. Ramsay\ncradled the shotgun in his right elbow and walked down to the beach.\n\nThe pound boat had wedged itself lightly against the sand. Ramsay put\nthe anchor back in, carefully laid the shotgun on the rower's seat, and\nstood in the stern until he had tilted the craft from its mooring.\nSitting down, with a vigorous stroke of the oars he sent the boat\nfarther into the lake.\n\nIn the bay a fish jumped out of water, and the sound of its falling back\nmade a tinkling splash. Ramsay, dipping his oars quietly, steered toward\nthe first pound net they had set. At intervals he halted to rest on the\noars. There were no sounds save those that should have been present.\nExcept for him and the pound boat, the lake seemed deserted. Lingering\nin the shadows, Ramsay circled the net and saw nothing. He started\ntoward another of their pound nets.\n\nThey had kept the seine busy, taken good catches from their pound nets,\nand turned most of their money back into additional equipment. They were\ngetting ahead and setting themselves up in the fishing business. By next\nyear they should have everything they needed. They would not have to buy\nany nets, or boats, and could begin to enjoy the profits they were\nearning.\n\nRamsay found himself thinking of Devil Chad. Fishing was very hard work,\nand expensive, but whoever did it well could hope for a fine future.\nLake Michigan was a vast reservoir of riches, and they were to be used.\nThere was room for all, but so was there room in Three Points. Devil\nChad wanted that for himself. Who but Devil Chad could now be plotting\nto seize the Lake Michigan fisheries?\n\nRamsay shrugged such thoughts away. Out here on the lake he seemed able\nto think with great clarity, and he knew that Hans and Pieter were\nright. They must not lash out in thoughtless anger and hit at Devil Chad\nbecause he was the logical one to raid their nets. They must have proof,\nand strike as hard as possible when they struck.\n\nRamsay visited all three pound nets, and rowed back to the first one.\nThe lake remained calm and unruffled. When he thought it was two\no'clock--the night was divided into one watch of four hours and two of\nthree each--he went in to rouse Hans. At half-past five, when they ate\nbreakfast, Hans had nothing to report. If pirates were out to get all\nnets, certainly they had not bothered theirs.\n\nLate that afternoon, when the fishing was done and Ramsay, much to the\namusement of Hans and Pieter, had carried six more big sturgeon to the\npond, Hans hitched the black horse and invited Ramsay to go with him to\nThree Points. Captain Klaus, as usual, flew to the back of the cart and\nperched where he could caress Hans with his bill. Hans turned the little\nhorse down the road leading to Tom Nedley's. Ramsay stirred with\ninterest.\n\nBig Tom Nedley came out of his shed, greeted them, and looked doubtfully\nat the little cart. He glanced from it to a long oaken beam that was\nsupported on wooden horses. When he looked again at Hans, his voice and\nmanner were almost accusing. \"You aim to drag that piece of oak?\"\n\n\"You think I'm a fool?\" Hans challenged.\n\n\"Didn't think you'd drag it.\" Tom Nedley seemed relieved. \"There ain't\nanother piece of oak like that one in Wisconsin. How do you aim to get\nit home?\"\n\n\"You have an extra pair of wheels and an axle?\"\n\n\"Sure, but ...\"\n\n\"Ha! Bring me a wrench!\"\n\nThe wrench in his hands, Hans set to work unbolting the clamps that held\nthe body on Pieter's two-wheeled cart. He lifted the body and seat off,\nleaving the horse hitched only to the wheels and the axle that joined\nthem.\n\nHans looked triumphantly at Tom Nedley, and the boatbuilder scratched\nhis head. \"You needn't think you're so smart. I'd of thought of that\nmyself afore I let you drag that timber.\"\n\n\"Why didn't you?\"\n\nWhile Tom brought another pair of wheels, Ramsay looked at the solid\nchunk of oak. About twenty-six feet long, it was very fine-grained and\nit hadn't a crack or flaw throughout its length--fully seasoned, so that\nnot a drop of sap remained in it. Even Ramsay, whose knowledge of wood\nwas limited, could tell that this was an exceptionally fine chunk of\noak. Hans and Tom Nedley seemed to look upon it as they would have\nlooked upon some valuable jewel. Hans patted it affectionately.\n\n\"Stronger than steel!\" he said fondly. \"Can you not imagine what a boat\nthe _Spray II_ will be?\"\n\nTom Nedley said, \"Building from that, you cannot fail.\"\n\nFor a moment Hans was wistful, as though he had gone back in memory to\nthe first _Spray_.\n\nTom Nedley brought another set of wheels, rolled them into place, and\ncovered the bare axle with a soft blanket. He used another blanket to\npad the axle to which the horse was hitched, and Hans steered the horse\ninto position. Hans, Tom and Ramsay lifted one end of the oaken beam\nonto the rear wheels. Ramsay helped lift the other end onto the other\nset of wheels, and stood aside while Hans lashed both with ropes.\n\nRamsay watched interestedly. Hans used his ropes to permit flexibility,\nwhile at the same time he took no chances on their chafing or breaking.\nApparently fishermen could do anything with ropes. Ramsay tied the\nunbolted seat and body to the top of the oaken beam. Hans took the\nlittle horse's bridle and led him carefully back to the road. Mounted on\nits four wheels, the long oaken beam swayed and turned.\n\nLeading the little horse, careful of everything that lay in front,\nbehind and on both sides, Hans set a very slow pace. It was as though\nthe beam were a very fragile thing that might break should it brush even\nthe smallest tree. Actually, if it hit one hard, it would have broken\nany small tree in its path and rocked the larger ones. Hans continued to\ntreat it as though it were a very delicate thing.\n\nDestined to be the keel of the _Spray II_, when they reached Pieter's\nhouse the beam was lovingly set up on three scaffoldings made of\nfour-by-sixes and arranged near the lake. Hans patted it as lovingly as\nhe would have stroked a favorite dog. \"We have a start!\" he said\nhappily.\n\n\"Why do we need another boat?\" Ramsay queried.\n\n\"For setting gill nets,\" Hans replied. \"You are not a fisherman unless\nyou know how to set a gill net, and you cannot set a gill net unless you\nhave a proper Mackinaw boat.\" He petted the oaken beam again. \"As\nresponsive as a canoe it shall be, but as strong as a pound boat! This\none shall not break no matter what happens. The lake will not breed a\nstorm that it will be unable to ride out.\"\n\nThat night Ramsay's was the first watch. He rowed the pound boat from\none to another of their three pound nets. No strange vessel disturbed\nthe lake, no hostile creature approached. Ramsay gave his watch over to\nHans, and slept until dawn. They fished, processed their catch and\nloaded thirty thousand pounds of whitefish onto the _Jackson_ when she\nnosed into their pier.\n\nRamsay went with Hans and Pieter to a place where some mighty cedar\ntrees, that had grown for centuries, had been cut when the snow was\ndeep. Their weathered stumps thrust six feet or more above the green\nfoliage that surrounded them, and Hans chose very carefully. He wanted\nonly those stumps with a fine, closely knit grain, those which, even in\ndeath, showed no cracks or flaws. He found three of which he approved,\nand Ramsay and Pieter used a cross-cut saw to cut them off very close to\nthe earth. Ramsay began to understand the project in Hans' mind.\n\nBecause of weather conditions, pound nets, at the very most, could be\nused for only about three to four months out of every year. The seine,\nthough under no circumstances would Hans fish in the spawning season,\ncould be dragged in until the bay froze. But gill nets could be used\nfor seven or eight months if one had a proper boat, and Hans wanted to\nbuild one that would ride out any storm.\n\nIt was not to be an ordinary Mackinaw boat, but one such as Lake\nMichigan had never seen. Its oaken keel had been chosen with an eye to\nthe heaviest seas and the ice that speckled those seas in spring or\nfall. Though some fishermen used cedar planking for the ribbing of their\nboats, and steamed it until it could be bent into the desired shape,\nHans intended to cut his directly from cedar stumps that had already\nendured five hundred years and ten thousand storms. Then the _Spray II_\nwould be sheathed with the best possible cedar planking and calked with\nthe best obtainable oakum, or rope soaked in tar.\n\nThey would not float her this season. Neither effort nor expense were to\nbe spared in the building of the _Spray II_, and constructing her\nproperly would be a winter's job. But as soon as the ice broke next year\nshe would be ready to float, and they would be ready to set their gill\nnets.\n\nRamsay grinned fleetingly as he tossed bushels of ground corn into the\npond so that the numerous sturgeon he had imprisoned there would have\nenough to eat. It seemed so very long ago that he had thrown in with\nHans and Pieter and decided to become a fisherman, and he still hadn't\ntwo silver dollars to jingle in his pocket. Not one day, scarcely one\nhour had been free of grueling labor. But they had two pound boats,\nthree pound nets, had bought another seine, and with spring they would\nhave the _Spray II_. In addition, there was enough of the season left,\nso that they should be able to catch plenty of fish before either ice\nor the spawning period curtailed operations. That would give them enough\nmoney to buy gill nets, as well as anything else they needed. None of\nthe four partners would come out of this season with money in their\npockets. They would own a sufficient amount of equipment for next year,\nand much of what they earned then would be profit.\n\nThat night Ramsay took the third watch. He rowed softly from one pound\nnet to the other, always keeping in the shadows so that there was small\ndanger of his being noticed. He had been out about an hour, and had two\nmore to go, when he saw a boat approaching.\n\nIt came from the north, Three Points, and its row locks were so well\ngreased that not the faintest sound came from them. The oarsman was\nexpert; he dipped and raised his oars so that there was no splashing.\nRamsay raised the shot gun. He leveled it.\n\nUnseen by the other boatmen, he lurked in the shadows and let them pass.\nRamsay was somewhat surprised to see them give a pound net a wide berth\nand head into the bay. He followed, rowing his own boat silently while\nhe tried to discern the others' intentions. There were at least four,\nand perhaps five, men in the other boat and they were going toward the\npier. Ramsay let them draw ahead, then circled around them and as fast\nas he could without making any noise, he rowed straight toward the\nbeach. Grounding his boat, he stepped out. He was aware of the other\nboat being drawn up cautiously.\n\nHe walked toward the nocturnal visitors until he was within a\nhalf-dozen rods. He could see them now, clustered about the pier. Two\nstarted for the barrels and the barreled fish. There was a faint\nwhispering. Ramsay waited to hear no more.\n\nHad these people been well-intentioned, they would not be so secretive.\nPlainly they were up to no good.\n\nRamsay pointed the shotgun toward the sky--he had no wish to kill\nanyone--braced the stock against his shoulder, and pressed the trigger.\nThe gun belched its load of leaden pellets, and red flame flashed from\nthe muzzle. Ramsay shouted as loudly as he could. \"Pieter! Hans!\"\n\nDropping the shotgun on the sand beach, he rushed forward. The two men\nwho had started toward the barrels and barreled fish came running back.\nRamsay glared his anger.\n\nThough he could not be positive because it was too dark to identify\nanything or anyone positively, he thought that the man who stood just a\nlittle to one side of the rest was Joe Mannis, the body-watcher. Ramsay\nswerved toward him, sent his doubled fist into the other's stomach, and\nheard a mighty '_whoosh_' as he knocked the wind out of his enemy. Up at\nthe house a door slammed.\n\nThen a club or blackjack collided soddenly with the side of Ramsay's\nhead and set him reeling. He stumbled forward, feeling a little foolish\nbecause all the strength had left him. Without being sure that he did\nso, he sat down on the sand and blinked owlishly at the night visitors.\nDimly he was aware of the fact that they were launching their boat and\nthat he must stop them, but he did not know how to do so.\n\nA nightgown flapping about his legs and a tasseled red cap on his head,\nHans Van Doorst appeared on the beach. A pair of trousers hastily\nstrapped about his own nightgown, Pieter followed. Both men looked\nquietly at the retreating boat, which they might have followed and would\nhave followed had not Ramsay needed help. They lifted him to his feet.\n\n\"What happened?\" Hans asked quietly.\n\n\"I ... They came while I was out on the lake, but they didn't bother\nthe nets. They rowed right into the pier, and I don't know what they\nwanted.\"\n\n\"Did you recognize any of them?\"\n\n\"I think Joe Mannis was one.\"\n\n\"Devil Chad?\"\n\nRamsay said positively, \"He was not among them. I would have recognized\nhim.\"\n\n\"Did you shoot at them?\"\n\n\"No, I shot to attract you and Pieter.\"\n\n\"Well, that's all right, too. They won't be back tonight, or likely any\nother night. Come on.\"\n\nThey helped Ramsay into the house, bathed his head and put him to bed.\nHe awoke to a mist-filled morning.\n\nNo breath of air stirred. Visibility was almost non-existent; the mist\nwas so heavy that it almost hid the lake. Ramsay, with all the\nelasticity of youth, had recovered quickly from last night's incident\nand he had a good appetite for the breakfast Marta had prepared.\n\nThen Marta tossed her head defiantly. \"All of you have been away,\" she\nannounced, \"and you have done many things. I have been nowhere and I\nhave not done anything. But today I go to Three Points to shop.\"\n\n\"Sure,\" Pieter said. \"I'll hitch the horse for you.\"\n\nThey cheered Marta on her way and went down to cast the seine. The pound\nnets, having been visited within the past two days, would not again be\nvisited today. Aside from that, they had seined tons of whitefish and\nsturgeon out of the bay in front of Pieter's house. Naturally the\ncatches were growing smaller. If they didn't take the seine too far out,\nand set it shallow, three men could work the windlasses.\n\nThen, just as they were ready to fish, and just about when Marta should\nhave reached Three Points, a man on a lathered horse came pounding down\nthe sand beach. He drew his tired mount up. \"Quick!\" he gasped. \"An\naccident! Marta is badly hurt!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TEN\n\n_THE GREAT FISH_\n\n\nThe great White Sturgeon was not, in the truest sense of the word, a\nnative of the lake. More years ago than any living thing could remember,\nhe had been born, along with thousands of brothers and sisters, halfway\nup one of the many rivers that emptied into the lake. The sturgeon\nremembered little about that time, but just the same it had helped to\nshape him and make him what he was.\n\nThe spawning sturgeon, a vast number of them, had started up the river\ntogether. It was a journey as old as the lake itself. Side by side they\nswam, in such numbers and so many evenly-spaced layers that none of the\nmany Indians who fished along the river was able to thrust his spear\nwithout striking a sturgeon. Preying bears, otter, panthers, lynx and\nother creatures that liked fish, thronged the river's banks and struck\nat the horde as it passed. So little did all their raids combined matter\nthat it was as though they had taken nothing. No creature that wanted\none lacked a sturgeon to eat. But the great mass of fish, impelled by\nthe desperate necessity of laying their eggs in the river, swam on.\n\nOnly when miles were behind them and they were about a third of the way\nto the river's source, did the vast schools start to thin out. Then it\nwas not because their enemies took too many, though they caught a great\nnumber. The schools started to lessen because many, too exhausted to go\nfarther or content with spawning grounds already reached, dropped behind\nto spawn.\n\nFinally only a few, not necessarily the biggest but invariably the most\nvigorous, were left. Day after day, night after night, stopping only to\nrest or feed, they went on up the virgin river. Buck deer, drinking, saw\nthe fleeting shadows pass, snorted and leaped skittishly away. Drinking\nbuffalo raised their shaggy heads and, with water dribbling from their\nmuzzles, stared after the migrating fish.\n\nEverything seemed, in some small way, to sense the mystery that went\nwith the swimming sturgeon. They were part of the abundance of this\nwealthy land, and when they were through spawning, that abundance would\nbe increased. The very presence of the fish was within itself a promise\nthat more were to follow.\n\nFinally there were only half a dozen sturgeon left.\n\nOne was a very strong female whose spawn-swollen body even now contained\nthe egg, the cell, that was to be the great White Sturgeon. Swimming\nclose beside her was an equally vigorous male. All the sturgeon that had\nbeen able to come this far were among the finest and best.\n\nThey stopped in a quiet pool which, within itself, was almost a little\nlake. A third of a mile wide by a mile and a half long, the pool rolled\nsmoothly down an almost level course. It was shaded on either side by\ngloomy pines that marched like soldiers in disordered rank for a very\ngreat distance. There were no grunting buffalo here, though an\noccasional white-tailed deer tripped daintily down to drink from the\nsweet, unpolluted water.\n\nOn either side of the pool was a mat of green sedges and water-lilies,\nand in them a great horde of ducks were rearing their young. They\nskittered foolishly over the water, seeming to pay no attention to\nanything save the sheer joy of being alive. Now and then the water\nbeneath them would dimple and ripple in widening circles towards either\nbank; and when it did, invariably there would be one less duckling.\nNothing paid any attention whatever to such casualties. Life teemed in\nthe pool, and there life also fed on life. It was meant to be, and the\nmighty pike that lived in the pool had to eat, too.\n\nWeary, but far from exhausted, the female carrying the White\nSturgeon-to-be pushed herself into the sedges and lay quietly while she\nrid herself of the burden that she had carried so far. A million or more\neggs she left there, and almost before she was finished two little pike\nthat made their home in the sedges had started gobbling them up.\n\nThe female sturgeon paid absolutely no attention, and neither did her\nmate, when he came to fertilize the eggs. They were here to do, and knew\nhow to do, only one thing. Finished, they had no thought as to what\nmight happen next. The two sturgeon swam back into the pool and rested\nbefore beginning their long return journey to the great lake. But they\nhad chosen wisely and well.\n\nAlmost before the parent fish left, a mink that had long had his eye on\nthe small pike swam quietly down to take one while it was feeding. The\nother one fled. Though other things came to eat them, in due time what\nremained of the spawn hatched. The White Sturgeon was the first to\nappear.\n\nThe baby fish came of strong parents, so that there were almost no\ninfertile eggs, but such inroads had already been made among them that\nnot one in twenty ever knew life. Immediately they were singled out by\nhungry enemies.\n\nThe White Sturgeon should have died first for, though all his brothers\nand sisters were almost the color of the water in which they found\nbirth, he was distinctly different. He was lighter--perhaps a throwback\nto some distant age when all sturgeon were white--and thus he was the\neasiest to see. But he seemed to have been born with compensating\nfactors.\n\nWhen a foot-long bass, a very monster of a thing compared with the baby\nsturgeon, swam among them, they scattered in wild panic. The feeding\nbass had only to snap here and there to get all he wanted, but the White\nSturgeon did not flee with the rest. Instead, he sank down beside a\ncattail and did not move. A tiny cloud of mud-colored water drifted\naround and covered him.\n\nThus, from the very first, the White Sturgeon seemed to have a keener\nbrain, or a sharper instinct, that made up for his distinctive coloring.\nThough he should have been the first to die, he did not die. He learned\nhis lessons well, and saw how many of his brothers and sisters perished.\nThus he discovered how to stay alive.\n\nFor weeks he lived near his birthplace, swimming scarcely two yards from\nit and feeding on minute particles of both vegetable and animal life.\nMost of his time he spent feeding, and he grew very fast. Not until\nencroaching winter drove him there did he move out into the pool.\n\nMost of the ducks were gone before the first thin shell ice formed on\nthe borders of the pool, and those that lingered after that flew out\nwith the first snow. The snow blew in from the north on the heels of an\nunseasonably early winter wind, and the White Sturgeon saw the mighty\npines heaped with feathery snow. Snow lay deep on the ground, and the\ndeer that came down to the pool seemed almost jet-black against its\nvirginal whiteness.\n\nLingering in the shallows, the White Sturgeon held very still. His was\nthe accumulated wisdom of ages. Ancestors almost exactly like him had\nswum in antediluvian seas when huge, scaley monsters roamed the earth,\nand perhaps the White Sturgeon knew that, as long as he held still near\nthe snow-covered bank, he would be hard to see. Or perhaps he merely\nfound the snow, his own color matched at last, interesting.\n\nRight after the snow stopped there was a spell of sub-zero weather that\nthrew a sheathing of ice clear across the pool and froze the shallows to\nthe very bottom. Only then did the White Sturgeon move out of them.\n\nHe did not move far because it was not necessary to move far, and anyway\nthe great pike lingered in the center of the pool. Almost one third jaw,\nthe pikes' mouths were edged with needle-sharp teeth that never let go\nand never failed to rip what they seized. Of the young sturgeon that\nlived until fall, perhaps two hundred and fifty in all, the pike had\nhalf before the winter was well set. The rest were too wary to be easy\nprey.\n\nAll winter long, living on the edge of the ice and finding all the food\nhe needed in the soft mud floor of the pool, the White Sturgeon led a\nsolitary existence. But it was not a lonely life because, as yet, it was\nnot in him to be lonely. All he knew, and all he had to know, was that\nhe must survive. Every effort was bent to that end.\n\nIn the spring, shortly after the ice broke up and moved sluggishly down\nthe river, the White Sturgeon followed it. With him went three of his\nbrothers and two sisters, and if more than that had survived he did not\nknow about them or where they were. Nor did he care. In his life there\nwas no room for or meaning to affection; he traveled with his brothers\nand sisters merely because, like him, they too were going down the\nriver.\n\nThe journey was not at all hurried. The White Sturgeon, who by this time\nknew much more about the various arts of survival than he had known when\nhe left the pool, passed the next winter in another, smaller pool, less\nthan two miles from his birthplace. He chose the pool largely because it\nwas the home of a vast number of fish smaller than he, and they offered\nan easy living to the pike, bass and other things that lived by eating\nfish. Grown fat and sluggish in the midst of super-abundance, these\npredators were not inclined to chase anything that cared to avoid them\nor to work at all for their living. All they had to do was lie still and\nsooner or later the living would come to them.\n\nFor his part, the White Sturgeon had no desire to hurt anything. His\nsole wish was to be left alone, so he could peacefully pursue his own\npath of destiny. He grubbed in the mud for his food and idled when he\nwas not eating. But, because he had a prodigious appetite, he was eating\nmost of the time. As a consequence, he continued to grow very rapidly.\n\nAgain and again, while he pursued his lazy journey down the river, the\nWhite Sturgeon saw the lake sturgeon swim past him as they headed\nupstream toward the spawning grounds. Swimming strongly, they came in\nhuge schools. Spent from the spawning, they swam slowly past him on\ntheir way back to the lake.\n\nVaguely the White Sturgeon identified himself with these fish. Never did\nhe have more than a passing wish to join them. He wanted only to\ncontinue his leisurely trip down the river, and time meant nothing at\nall.\n\nThough the White Sturgeon did not realize it, everything was part of a\nmighty pattern and a vast scheme. Though there had never been a time\nwhen he was not in danger, the river had not been an unkind school.\nThere he had learned how to avoid his enemies and how to become the\npowerful fish which he must be were he to live. Then the river gave him\nhis last test.\n\nHe was near the mouth, only a few miles from the lake, when he suddenly\nfound himself face to face with a monstrous pike. The pike in the pool\nof his birth were big, but they were dwarfed by this one. Out of the\nshadows he came, a long, sinewy thing with the heart of a tiger and the\njaws of a pike. Even wolves' jaws are not more terrible.\n\nThe White Sturgeon did as he always did when danger threatened; he held\nvery still. But this time it was futile because the pike had already\nseen him. Thus the thing which must never happen, did happen. The White\nSturgeon came face to face with danger in its deadliest form. If he\nlived through this, then never again would he have to fear an enemy that\nswam in the water.\n\nSuddenly the pike whirled, flipped a contemptuous tail, and drifted back\ninto the shadows out of which he had come. He was not afraid; no pike is\never afraid of anything, but the White Sturgeon was nearly as large as\nhe and even the pike never killed wantonly, or destroyed that which he\ncould not eat. The White Sturgeon swam on. He had graduated with honors\nfrom the river's school, and he seemed to know it. For the first time\nsince his birth, a mighty restlessness gripped him.\n\nNot again did he linger in the pools, or stop to feed for a week or a\nmonth wherever he found a rich feeding bed. Urgings and commands within\nhim that had been passive were suddenly active.\n\nWith all this, he remained a harmless fish. Never born to battle, he had\nno wish to fight and he did not abandon all his hard-won caution. If the\npike had not hurt him, nothing that swam in the river or lake would hurt\nhim; but the White Sturgeon retained a fear of those creatures not born\nof the water. Aliens, they would not abide by the creed of the water.\nWhile heeding a sudden and great wish to get out of the river and into\nthe lake, the White Sturgeon stayed far from both river banks.\n\nA ghost figure in the murky water, he shot out of the river's mouth and\ninto the cold lake. For a while he sported like a dolphin, rising to\nthe surface, showing his white back, and diving.\n\nAn Indian who was spearing fish from a canoe stared his astonishment.\nTrembling, he sheathed his spear and paddled back to his encampment. He\nhad seen the White Sturgeon, the Ghost Fish, and that night a mighty\nstorm knocked down a big pine near the Indian's camp. Two people were\nkilled when it fell.\n\nKnowing nothing of this, lying contentedly in thirty feet of water where\nhe was aware of the storm only because his fine and deep senses made him\naware of everything that occurred above, the White Sturgeon grubbed for\nfood in the lake's bottom.\n\nThe next time his tribe left the lake to rush up the river, the White\nSturgeon journeyed with them. He went because he must, because it was a\ncall even stronger than hunger and he could not resist it. The strongest\nof sturgeon, he stayed in the fore-front of the spawning horde and still\nremained away from the banks. The few Indians who saw him were so\nastonished that they forgot to strike with their spears, and he never\neven came close to the prowling bears and other beasts that waxed so fat\nwhen the migrating sturgeon came back to spawn.\n\nGuided by the most precise of instincts, the White Sturgeon went exactly\nto that spawning bed in the sedges where he was born, and fertilized the\neggs that a female left there. Wan and spent, caring for nothing, once\nhis main purpose in life had been realized, he turned and swam back into\nthe lake. That was now his home.\n\nAgain and again the White Sturgeon went up the river with his kind. Only\nonce, in all the trips he made, was he in real danger, and that time an\nIndian's spear scratched his side. The Indian, fishing with two\ncompanions, promptly fell into the river and drowned.\n\nThus the legend of the White Sturgeon grew. Born in a red man's fertile\nmind, it was handed from red man to white and distorted in the transfer.\nNow none could trace its origin and none knew exactly how it had begun.\nLake men knew only of the White Sturgeon, and he had learned much of\nmen. But he lived in the present, not the past.\n\nYears had elapsed since Lake Michigan was shadowed only by canoes. Now\nthere were the Mackinaw boats, the pound boats, the churning\nside-wheelers and the rowboats. Because it was his affair to know\neverything that went on in the lake, the White Sturgeon knew them all.\n\nHe knew also that it was good to rest in the lake's gentler places. Not\nin years had he rushed up the river with his spawning comrades. The\nfires of his youth had long since been quenched, and besides, he was now\nfar too big to travel up any river. Perhaps the same quirk of nature\nthat had granted him his pigment had given him his size. Other sturgeon\nwere thought to be huge when they attained a weight of two hundred and\nfifty pounds. The White Sturgeon weighed almost a thousand pounds.\n\nHe was still a gentle creature, though the sudden angers of age were apt\nto seize him, and on the morning that Ramsay, Pieter and Hans were\ncalled to Three Points, the Sturgeon was feeding quietly in the tunnel\nof the first pound net they had set. He stopped feeding when he sensed\nan approaching boat.\n\nIt was a Mackinaw boat, used for setting gill nets, and it was shrouded\nin mist that sat like a fleecy blanket upon the lake. The White Sturgeon\nlay very still. He was not afraid but he had no wish to be disturbed,\nand if he remained very quiet, perhaps he would not be bothered. He was\naware of something coming into the lake and of the boat's withdrawal\ninto the shrouding mist.\n\nThe White Sturgeon decided to move, but when he tried to do so he found\nhis way blocked. A gill net was stretched across the entrance to the\npound net, effectively preventing anything outside from getting in or\nanything inside from getting out, and the White Sturgeon was trapped by\nit.\n\nGently he nosed against the gill net, seeking a way through. When none\noffered, he swam a little ways and tried again. A third, a fourth and a\nfifth time he sought escape. There was none, and the White Sturgeon's\nanger flared.\n\nHe flung himself against the gill net, felt it cling to his mighty body,\nand twisted about. A hundred yards to one side, in a weak place, the net\nripped completely in half. The White Sturgeon threshed and twisted until\nhe had reduced the entrapping folds to a mass of linen thread.\n\nSegments of the ruined net clung to him as he swam away.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER ELEVEN\n\n_FISHERMAN'S LUCK_\n\n\nThe horse that had galloped from Three Points to Pieter's farm in order\nto bring news of Marta's misfortune was too spent to gallop back. Nor\ncould he carry more than one man, even if he had not been spent. Ramsay,\nPieter and Hans left horse and rider at the farm, while they started up\nthe beach. For a short distance they stayed together. Then Ramsay, the\nyoungest and best winded of the three, drew ahead.\n\nA cold dread and a great fear gnawed at him as he alternately walked and\ntrotted. Marta had become like a beloved sister to him, and the\nmessenger carried no news except that she was injured. How or why, he\nhad not said. Ramsay glanced back over his shoulder to see if his\ncompanions were keeping up with him, and discovered that they were lost\nin the mist. In any event the day would have been unpleasant. There was\njust the right weather combination to make it so--a hint of rain\ncombined with warm air to drape the fog over everything. And there was\nno indication that anything would change. Somehow it seemed just the day\nto get bad news.\n\nRamsay lengthened out to trot again, and then increased his trot to a\nrun. He was breathing hard, but far from exhausted, and with a little\nsurprise he realized that he would not have been able to travel so far\nwithout halting, or so fast, when he first came to Wisconsin. A\nfisherman's life had toughened him immeasurably. Once more he slowed\ndown and looked around to see if Pieter and Hans were in sight. They\nwere not. He walked until he was rested, then trotted into Three Points.\n\nAs though there was something in the village that drove it back, the\nmist had not invaded there. It was on all sides so thick that the lake\ncould not be seen and the trees were ghost shapes, half-concealed and\nhalf-disclosed. Most of Three Points was at work, but the few passers-by\non the street glanced curiously at Ramsay as he swung past them. He saw\nthe little black horse, tied to a hitching post in front of the general\nstore.\n\nHe bounded up the wooden steps, pushed the door open and entered. Marta,\nthe lower part of her left leg encased in a clean white bandage, was\nsitting on a chair. She turned astonished eyes on him. \"Ramsay!\"\n\n\"Are you all right?\" he gasped.\n\n\"Why ... Of course, I'm all right!\"\n\n\"You're not hurt?\"\n\n\"A scratch!\" She sniffed disdainfully. \"Just a scratch! I stumbled when\nI stepped out of the cart. Ach! Such a clumsy one I was!\"\n\nThe storekeeper's wife, obviously the one who had bandaged Marta's leg,\nsmiled her reassurance. \"It is not bad,\" she said.\n\n\"Oh!\" Ramsay felt a moment's clumsiness because he could think of\nnothing to say, and again he exclaimed, \"Oh!\"\n\nPanting hard, deep concern written on their faces, Hans and Pieter came\ninto the store. Marta's surprised eyes opened still wider. \"I thought\nyou boys were fishing!\"\n\n\"We--we had to come in for some more twine,\" Ramsay said somewhat\nlamely.\n\n\"Three of you?\"\n\n\"Yaah,\" Hans, never slow to understand, smiled with affected laziness.\n\"You know us men, Marta. There wouldn't one of us stay there and work\nwhile another was loafing in Three Points.\"\n\n\"That's right.\" Slow Pieter finally understood that there was more here\nthan met the eye. \"How'd you hurt yourself, Marta?\"\n\nThe wondering gaze of the storekeeper and his wife were upon them now.\nStill puzzled, Marta glanced covertly at the three men. Ramsay looked at\nthe storekeeper's wife.\n\n\"You should have sent somebody to tell us she was hurt.\"\n\n\"But,\" the storekeeper's wife was completely bewildered, \"she is not\nhurt.\"\n\n\"What's the matter?\" Marta seemed worried now.\n\n\"Nothing,\" Hans answered blandly. \"Nothing at all. We just decided to\nhave a holiday in Three Points.\"\n\n\"Go long!\" Marta scoffed. \"Men! They're bigger babies than babies are!\"\n\n\"Be sure to bring us some twine,\" Hans said.\n\n\"Oh, sure. That I will do.\"\n\n\"Good.\"\n\nAll three men were smiling easily. But as soon as they left the store\nand were out of Marta's sight, the smiles faded and their faces became\ngrim and intent.\n\n\"Who was the man who told us she was hurt?\" Ramsay asked.\n\nPieter shook his head, and Hans said, \"I never saw him before and I\ndon't expect to see him again. Probably he was riding into Milwaukee\nanyway, and somebody gave him a dollar to report an accident.\"\n\nRamsay nodded. Hans, as usual, was logical and there could be only one\nanswer. Somebody was indeed out to capture the fishing on Lake Michigan.\nThey had started by destroying Baptiste's nets and now they were moving\nagainst Ramsay and his friends. But they knew well the prowess of the\nthree and had no wish to strike while they were present. Marta's\nreported accident had been only a ruse to draw them away.\n\nRamsay started toward the sand beach, but Hans laid a restraining hand\non his shoulder. \"Wait!\"\n\n\"We'd better get back and look to our nets.\"\n\n\"There is time, and we'd better not go blindly.\"\n\n\"What are we going to do?\"\n\nHans said grimly, \"Find the constable and ask him to accompany us. Then,\nif there is trouble, and I expect it, we will have the law with us\nrather than against us.\"\n\n\"Suppose the constable doesn't care to come along?\"\n\n\"He'll come,\" Hans promised.\n\nThey strolled down the street, stopping in various places, until they\nfound Jake Hillis, the constable Devil Chad had put in office, in the\nLake House. The woman who had given Ramsay the steak and then made him\nwash dishes to pay for it, looked up and smiled. \"Hello.\"\n\n\"Hi!\" Ramsay grinned.\n\n\"You didn't run, after all.\"\n\n\"Nope. I didn't.\"\n\nThe constable, standing at the bar, turned around to face the three. He\nhooked both thumbs in his belt, letting his fingers dangle. His right\nhand, Ramsay could not help seeing, was not too far from the pistol that\nswung from his belt. There was no readable expression on his face, but\nthe woman, who knew him well, went hastily into another room.\n\nFlanked by Ramsay and Pieter, Hans walked directly up to the constable.\n\n\"We have something,\" he said softly, \"that demands your attention.\"\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"It has to do with nets and a raid upon them.\"\n\n\"I got no authority over what happens on Lake Michigan.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless, we need a good, honest man of the law with us. And we\nwill pay you well enough.\"\n\nJake Hillis shook his head. \"I can't go off on any wild goose chases. My\nduty is to protect this town.\"\n\nHans' voice softened even more. \"I am asking you again to come with us.\"\n\nThe constable's right thumb slipped from his belt and his hand dropped\nto the butt of the revolver. His fingers curled around it. As though by\naccident, Pieter stumbled forward. Strong enough to stop a bull in its\ntracks, Pieter wrapped his own steel fingers around the constable's\nright wrist, and when they disengaged the pistol was in Pieter's hand.\n\n\"Excuse me!\" he said contritely. \"I am so clumsy!\"\n\n\"Well?\" Hans inquired.\n\nJake Hillis looked from one to the other. He was like a drum which\nalmost always must sound the cadence someone else beats. Strength was\nthe only force he recognized, and now he saw himself surrounded by\nstrong, determined men. For a moment he struggled with himself. Then\n\"I'll go,\" he said.\n\nHans responded graciously, \"Thank you. We knew that you would come as\nsoon as you understood the reason in it.\"\n\n\"Here's your pistol.\" Pieter extended the weapon.\n\n\"I got to warn you,\" the constable pronounced, \"that I am going to hold\nyou responsible for anything that happens here while I am away. And I\nbetter tell you that I won't put up with any law-breaking.\"\n\n\"Good!\" Hans said. \"You are a conscientious man!\"\n\nThe mist dipped and twisted about them as they started down the sand\nbeach toward Pieter's farm. Ramsay tried to find answers to the many\nquestions in his mind. Certainly somebody had lured them away from their\nfishing gear. Who had done so? Was Devil Chad involved? If so, why did\nJake Hillis accompany them at all? Certainly the servant would not\nwillingly provoke a fight with the master. If Devil Chad was the leader\nof the pirates, did he trust his minion so little that he had told him\nnothing?\n\nRamsay shrugged: they would have to wait and find out.\n\nReaching the farm, Pieter entered the house to get the shotgun and a\npair of exquisitely carved pistols which Ramsay had never seen before.\nDueling pistols, they looked like, and Ramsay glanced curiously at\nPieter. The man was anything except stolid, yet he never spoke of his\npast and of what had really brought him across the Atlantic Ocean to\nthis wild inland sea. Ramsay dismissed the thought. In this country it\nwas often just as well to forget a man's past or that he had ever had a\npast.\n\nJake Hillis looked narrowly as Pieter handed Hans a pistol, kept one for\nhimself and gave the shotgun to Ramsay. \"I don't hold with shooting\nscrapes!\" he said. \"And I don't want any part of 'em!\"\n\n\"There'll be none,\" Hans assured him, \"unless we are shot at first.\"\n\nThey launched a pound boat, and Hans took the rower's seat. Jake Hillis\nsat beside Pieter and Ramsay crouched to one side. A shiver ran through\nhim. The mist seemed to be settling in even more thickly; they had\nscarcely left the shore when they were unable to see it. From the top of\nthe house, the bedraggled Captain Klaus squawked his protest at such\nweather.\n\nHans rowed swiftly but there was no trace of hesitation in his manner,\nand Ramsay marveled. The mist was heavy enough to cut visibility to\nalmost nothing, but Hans steered as certainly as he would have on the\nsunniest of days. He seemed to know the lake so intimately that, no\nmatter what happened, he could still find his way. They reached the\nfirst pound net, rowed around it. Ramsay sighed with relief.\n\nIf pirates had come to raid, they had not yet touched this net. Ramsay\nshifted his position, and Jake Hillis stirred uneasily. Then, almost\nbeside the boat, the water rippled and the White Sturgeon surfaced for\na moment. Nearly the color of the mist, he lay quietly on top of the\nwater, then dived.\n\nHans' low laughter rippled. \"We have a friend!\" he said.\n\nThey were near the second pound net now, and Ramsay gripped his shotgun\nfiercely. He could see nothing, but something seemed to be present. It\nwas a half-sensed threat, like an unseen tiger crouching in the darkness\nbeside a campfire. They saw the spiles of the second pound net rising\nlike a ghost's fingers. Slowly Hans started rowing around it.\n\nThen Ramsay glanced behind him and snapped the shotgun to his shoulder.\nFrom shorewards another mist-wreathed craft appeared. It was a Mackinaw\nboat, like the _Spray_, and the men on her were only half seen in the\nheavy overcast. Ramsay breathed a warning, \"Watch it!\"\n\nHans let the boat drift and took the pistol in his hand. Almost\ncarelessly, as though there was no hurry about anything at all, Pieter\ndid likewise. Jake Hillis drew his breath sharply. The two boats came\ncloser together, and Ramsay recognized Joe Mannis. There were also three\nnondescript loafers of the riff-raff type who are always found on any\nfrontier and who will do anything for money. But Ramsay centered his\ngaze on the fifth man in the Mackinaw boat.\n\nThere could be no mistaking him, even in the mist. It was Devil Chad.\n\nThe other boat came nearer and was much easier to see. Ramsay felt a\ncold chill seize him. All the men in the boat were armed with shotguns,\nand they could sweep the pound boat from one end to the other if there\nwas to be a fight. Ramsay glanced at Jake Hillis. The constable was\nsitting quietly, tense and strained, but he did not seem to be afraid.\n\nDevil Chad's bellow blasted, \"What are you doin' here?\"\n\nRamsay heard Hans' low laugh and his quiet, \"The man is most uncivil.\"\n\n\"Don't get smart with me!\" Devil Chad threatened. \"You come to rob our\nnet, didn't you?\"\n\nHans, surprised, made a momentary slip. \"Your net?\"\n\n\"Yes, our net! You come to rob it like you robbed all the rest!\" Chad's\nexpressionless eyes pierced Jake Hillis like daggers. \"What are you\ndoin' here?\"\n\nHans answered calmly. \"He is here as our guest, and at our invitation.\nNow let us hear some more about 'your' net.\"\n\n\"You know what I mean! Touch it an' we start shootin'!\"\n\n\"But we haven't touched anything,\" Hans said smilingly. He turned to\nJake Hillis. \"Have we?\"\n\nJake Hillis, too dull-witted for quick evasion, said, \"No, you haven't.\"\n\nCold rage mounted within Ramsay. He swung his shotgun so that the muzzle\ncentered squarely on Devil Chad. If it came to a gun battle, he decided\ngrimly, his arch-enemy would at least be shot at.\n\nHans, unruffled, took command. \"Where is your net? Show us.\"\n\n\"Right here.\"\n\nRamsay heard the mockery in Hans' voice. \"And I suppose that it is a\ngill net?\"\n\n\"How'd you know that?\" Devil Chad challenged.\n\n\"I gazed into my crystal ball,\" Hans said smoothly, \"and I discovered\nthat, when one fisherman wishes to eliminate a competitor, he can\nalways stretch a gill net across the tunnel of a pound net. There is\ncertain to be a battle, and whoever survives controls the fishing.\"\n\nRamsay began to understand. Fishing on Lake Michigan was governed by no\nenforceable law but only by the ethics of the fishermen themselves. Most\nof them were ethical; when one found a good fishing ground, others\nusually respected his rights. But there was no law that said they had to\nrespect them. Should one fisherman care to trespass on the rights of\nanother, he could always find some way to provoke a quarrel. Then,\nregardless of anything else that happened, he could say that he was only\ntrying to protect his property or claim in some other way that his was a\njust quarrel. Few people would be able to prove to the contrary.\n\nThen a blue-and-white buoy, a marker used on a gill net, floated into\nsight. Hans saw it, too, and again his voice was mocking. \"Is that the\nnet you mean?\"\n\nThere were subdued voices on the Mackinaw boat. Joe Mannis put his\nshotgun down and stepped to the bow of the boat with a gaff hook in his\nhand. He lay prone, stabbed with the gaff, and hooked the buoy. Foot by\nfoot he reeled in thirty yards of tattered gill net. Hans' scornful\nlaughter rolled like a barrel through the mist and bounded back in\nechoes. Ramsay, highly amused, echoed Hans.\n\n\"Find your other buoy!\" Hans called. \"Pull it in, take it home, and\nrepair your gill net! But do not again set it on our fishing grounds!\"\n\nThe Mackinaw boat floated into the mist. Ramsay saw the baffled rage on\nDevil Chad's face. But mostly he was aware of the contempt of Hans for\nDevil Chad.\n\n\"Here!\" Hans called. \"You're missing a man!\" He turned to Jake Hillis.\nThe constable glowered back, like a stupid horse.\n\n\"Want to swim over and join your little friends?\" Hans invited.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Well, we brought you out from the sand. We'll take you back to the\nsand.\"\n\nHans' shoulders were shaking with silent mirth as he bent his back to\nthe pound boat's oars. He steered in to the pier they had built, and\nexpertly nosed the boat in to its landing. A mist-draped wraith, Marta,\nawaited them. \"What happened?\" she queried anxiously.\n\n\"Nothing,\" Pieter assured her.\n\n\"A great deal,\" Hans corrected. \"They caught the White Sturgeon, for no\nother fish in the lake could have wrecked a net so completely. I told\nyou we have a friend.\"\n\nHe took a pouch from his pocket, counted five silver dollars from it,\nand dropped them into Jake Hillis' hand. Captain Klaus flew down from\nthe house top to alight on Hans' shoulder. \"_Quark!_\" he squawked.\n\nAs though he understood perfectly, Hans said, \"That is right, my little\none.\" And to Jake Hillis he said, \"If you see them, tell them not to\ncome again.\"\n\nDeliberately turning his back on the constable, Hans stared out over the\nlake. Then Jake Hillis was gone, and somehow it was as though he had\nnever even been with them. Ramsay waited expectantly. Hans turned away\nfrom his intent study of the lake, and he was frowning as though there\nwas some complicated problem which he must solve. Yet when he spoke, his\nvoice betrayed nothing abnormal and there was no sign that he might have\nbeen under the least strain. \"Perhaps it would be well not to fish again\ntoday. That is a shame, for the season draws to a close and we cannot\nfish much longer, anyway. Still, we have done all that it is necessary\nto do, and next year we will be well-situated. We will have gear and\ntackle. I go to work on the boat.\"\n\nRamsay asked, \"Do you think they will come again?\"\n\nHans answered deliberately, \"I do not think so, but no man may say for\ncertain. They are not without determined and intelligent leadership. If\nhe does come again, he will come hard and directly at us. He will not\nbother with the nets. There is no need to keep a patrol on the lake\ntonight.\"\n\nWithout another word Hans turned on his heel and strode off to where the\n_Spray II_ was supported on its blocks. Ramsay went into the barn,\nshouldered a hundred-pound sack of cornmeal, and carried it to the pond\nin which he had imprisoned almost countless sturgeon. With both hands he\ncast the ground corn into the pool, and returned for another sack, and\nanother. Then he stood with the last empty sack limp in his hands, idly\nwatching the pond.\n\nIt had been an exciting summer, the most adventurous and most satisfying\nhe could remember, but it must soon end.\n\nAlready there was a hint of frost in the air, and frost meant that the\nwhitefish would soon spawn. Nothing could persuade Hans to fish in the\nspawning season, when every fish caught meant the loss of perhaps ten\nthat might be. Even if Hans would have fished, autumn meant storms when\nnone but a fool would venture onto the lake in a small boat.\n\nRamsay turned slowly away from the pond. He wandered over to where Hans\nwas working on the _Spray II_. It was to be a Mackinaw boat, somewhat\nlike a canoe, and it was to be used for setting gill nets. These, Ramsay\nunderstood, could be set almost as soon as the ice went out.\n\nHandy with almost any sort of tool, Hans himself had fashioned a wood\nvise that turned on a wooden gear. He had a section of cedar stump\nclamped in the vise, and with a rasp and a fine-toothed saw he was\npainstakingly fashioning a rib for the _Spray II_. Unhurried, a true\nartist, he shaped one side of the rib to the other. When he had\nfinished, it was a perfect thing, so evenly balanced that a feather's\nweight on either side might have unbalanced it. Ramsay wandered away,\nsatisfied. The _Spray II_ was to be no ordinary vessel. There would not\nbe another Mackinaw boat on Lake Michigan to match it.\n\nRestlessly Ramsay worked on the seine until Marta called them. He ate,\nwent to bed, and dropped into his usual instant deep slumber.\n\nAt first he was vaguely irritated because noises in the night disturbed\nhim. Then he identified those sounds as the crying of an alarmed sea\ngull. Captain Klaus, on top of the roof, was vehemently protesting\nsomething. Ramsay became aware of a strange, unreal sunrise reflecting\nthrough his bedroom window.\n\nFully awake, he rushed to the window, and saw that, down on the beach,\nall their boats were burning fiercely.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWELVE\n\n_THE POND_\n\n\nCaptain Klaus made a swooping flight that carried him out toward the\nburning boats. Frightened by a puff of smoke, he flew back to the top of\nthe house and continued to call querulously.\n\nFor a moment Ramsay stood still, petrified by the spectacle. Then his\nshout alarmed the house. \"Hans! Pieter!\"\n\nBy the light that flickered through his window he sprang for his\nclothing and hastily pulled his trousers on. Letting the tails and front\nhang out, he donned his shirt and put shoes on his bare feet. He was\naware of muffled cries echoing from the rest of the house, and a lighted\ncandle flared in the hall.\n\nHe rushed out to meet Hans coming from his bedroom, and a second later\nPieter's door flew open. Only half-awake and less than half-dressed, the\nlatter blinked like a sleepy dog in the candle's little light.\n\nMarta peered uneasily over his shoulder. \"What is it?\"\n\n\"The boats are burning!\" Ramsay gasped.\n\nWith a mighty, outraged lion's roar, Pieter came fully awake and sprang\ntoward the stairs. For one brief second Ramsay was aware of Marta's\nface, dead-white, then he leaped to follow Pieter. Holding the candle\naloft, Hans followed. Again the Dutch fisherman seemed to take complete\ncommand of the situation. There was anger in his voice but no trace of\npanic when he warned the other two, \"Slowly! Go slowly!\"\n\nHis hand on the kitchen door, Pieter halted. Ramsay paused uncertainly\nbehind him, and Hans blew the candle out. The Dutch fisherman had\nweathered so many savage storms that he seemed to know exactly what to\ndo, no matter what the crisis. Ramsay watched and approved. He must\nlearn to be more like Hans and to rule the emergencies that arose rather\nthan let them rule him.\n\nHans spoke again, \"Let us not go like sheep to the slaughter. If they\ncame again, they are probably armed and they may shoot. Pieter, get the\nguns.\"\n\nPieter shuffled off to the dark kitchen and came back. Ramsay felt the\nfamiliar shotgun being pressed into his hands, and he knew that Hans and\nPieter each had a pistol. Because that seemed the thing to do, Ramsay\nwaited until Hans acted. The Dutch fisherman spoke again, and his voice\nremained unruffled. \"We cannot tell who or what is out there. Until we\ndiscover exactly, keep out of the light cast by the burning boats. Do\nnot use your guns unless they shoot first. Then shoot to kill. Come on.\"\n\nSilent as a shadow, Hans slipped into the blackness that reigned at the\nback of the house. Pieter followed, while Ramsay brought up the rear. He\nshivered, but only part of his chill was caused by the cold night. This\nafternoon on the pound boat he had felt only tense excitement. But then\nHans and Pieter had backed him and their presence had been a very real\nthing. Now, in the night, he was almost completely unaware of them. It\nwas as though he stood completely alone.\n\nRamsay felt his way along the rear wall of the house to the corner, and\nthere the darkness was broken by the glare from the burning boats.\nRamsay crept up beside Hans and peered around the corner.\n\nThe mist was gone, and a sharp breeze had sprung up in its wake. Every\nnight, when the fishing was done, or any time at all when they weren't\nbeing used, the pound boats were pulled far up on the shore. Casting a\ncircle of light over the water, the burning boats illuminated the rising\nwaves whose whitecaps broke and fell. A fierce storm was in the making.\n\nRamsay's fear gave way to terrible anger. The wind from the lake would\nhave fanned the flames anyway, but obviously, before they had been set\non fire, the two pound boats had been coated with tar, pitch, or\nsomething else that would burn hard and assure their complete\ndestruction. They were already charred beyond the faintest hope of\nsalvation. Ramsay gritted his teeth.\n\nHans left the house and swung back, away from the lake, on a course that\nwould keep him in the shadows. Ramsay followed, and he was aware of\nPieter following him. There was not the least sign of the raiders or of\nthe boat they might have come in. Ramsay hesitated. Perhaps they had\ndone their work and fled, or perhaps they were lurking in ambush near\nthe burning boats. Five shotguns could be ready to cut down whoever\ncame.\n\nThen Ramsay set all his doubts at rest. He knew what he must do.\n\nThere could no longer be any question but that this was Devil Chad's\nwork. He controlled everything around Three Points that made any money.\nHe was out to gain control of the fishing, too, and he was not a man who\nwould leave any job half-done. Failing to provoke a fight because the\nWhite Sturgeon had ruined his gill net, he had taken the direct\napproach. Beyond any doubt he would be able to produce any number of\nwitnesses who would swear that Hans, Ramsay and Pieter were the\naggressors. Ramsay knew what he was going to do about this.\n\n\"Take the shotgun,\" he whispered, and pressed the weapon upon Pieter.\n\n\"But ...\"\n\n\"Take it,\" Ramsay repeated.\n\nLeaving the shotgun with the bewildered Pieter, he dropped to the ground\nand wormed farther away from the circle of light. Into the shadows he\nwent, then on toward the lake. Now he did not know where Hans and Pieter\nwere or what they were doing, but he was positive that they would take\nany action necessary when the time came. He no longer felt alone.\n\nThis was a thing that could never be settled with guns but must be\nslugged out toe to toe and man to man. The fishing was worthwhile, and\nany man who would get and keep anything worthwhile had to be ready to\nfight for it. If Devil Chad had already fled, tomorrow they must go into\nThree Points and seek him out.\n\nRamsay halted, peering around. He could see nothing clearly. The flames\nhad died down and there was only dimness, filled with varying shadows\nthat were most difficult to identify. But what was that down at the edge\nof the lake?\n\nIt seemed to rise and fall with the rising and falling waves. Most of\nthe shadows were there one second and flitted away the next, but this\ndid not flit away, and after another thirty seconds Ramsay was fairly\nsure that it was a Mackinaw boat, anchored out in the lake. Its crew had\nwaded ashore from it and, when and if they ran, they would wade back to\nit.\n\nRamsay began a slow, steady crawl toward the anchored craft. The burning\npound boats flared brightly, seeming to ring him with a halo of light.\nHe shrank back, certain he could be seen, then as the glare subsided,\ncrawled forward again. If he could see no one in the darkness, neither\ncould anyone see him.\n\nHe was within thirty yards of the lake now, and he no longer gave a\nthought to Hans and Pieter. He was sure only that they would be present\nwhen they were needed and that his way was the right one. There could be\nno compromise with destruction and no lingering aftermath of this\noutrage. Whatever was to be settled had to be settled completely, and\ntonight.\n\nRamsay was certain now that the thing he saw was an anchored Mackinaw\nboat. It remained in the same place, rising and falling with the waves,\nand no nebulous shadow did that. Intent on the boat, he was not aware of\nthe man until he heard his voice, \"Gus, you fool! I said be quiet!\"\n\nRamsay held very still, and a rising exultation flooded him. He had\nheard that voice before, and there was only one just like it. He had\nheard it first when he stood on the _Holter_--that seemed years ago. He\nknew that he lay within feet of Devil Chad, who was indeed waiting in\nambush with his men.\n\nThe angry voice repeated, \"Be quiet! They'll come!\"\n\nRamsay rose and rushed forward, flinging himself into this combat with\nall the fierce joy of a newly awakened warrior. He had given a full\nsummer, an important part of his life, to building up a career which he\ngreatly loved. Now he stood ready to defend it with his muscles, his\nheart and, if need be, his life.\n\nHe saw Devil Chad rise uncertainly to meet him, not knowing whether he\nwas friend or foe. He aimed a mighty kick at the shotgun in the other's\nhands, and he knew that he had knocked it completely out of his enemy's\ngrasp. He felt a fresh burst of wind on his cheek and, strangely, knew\nall about the storm that was brewing on the great lake. He closed with\nhis enemy.\n\nDevil Chad and his men had come to destroy and, if necessary, to kill.\nBut they had counted on Ramsay, Pieter and Hans, charging angrily up the\nsand beach. Outlined against the burning boats, they would be at a\ntremendous disadvantage. A hail of lead from five shotguns could cut\nthem down in almost no time. They had their choice between surrendering\nor dying for what they believed in.\n\nIt had never occurred to Devil Chad or his men that an enemy would dare\ncrawl into their very midst. The darkness that had befriended them now\nbecame their enemy. Nobody dared shoot because nobody could possibly be\ncertain whether he were shooting at friend or foe. Ramsay edged up to\nDevil Chad and swung a tremendous upper-cut to the other's jaw.\n\nHe missed, felt his knuckles graze his enemy's cheek, and stepped back\nfor a new try. Only vaguely was he aware of muffled exclamations that\nbecame shouts and then grunts. He knew that Pieter and Hans had closed\nin. Then it was as though he and Devil Chad were alone.\n\nThis was something that had to be. The seed that made the task necessary\nhad been planted long ago, on the _Holter_. It had taken deep root\nduring the fight in the tannery. Since that time Ramsay had met every\nchallenge the lake had flung at him. Now he would have to prove himself\ncapable of meeting the challenges men flung at him. Then, and only then,\ncould he survive.\n\nRamsay's lips framed a grin. He had taken the risk, and he had won. For\none brief second somebody might have shot him down, then the opportunity\nwas forever gone. Now nobody dared shoot. He found a firm footing on the\nlake sand.\n\nRamsay dodged a terrific blow that would have knocked him flat had it\nconnected, and went back in with his arms swinging. He sunk a left and a\nright to his adversary's midriff and heard Devil Chad's breath whistle\nout of his clenched lips. He drew back to strike again.\n\nLike the bull he was, Devil Chad charged recklessly. He took Ramsay's\nstinging blows without flinching, and the boy had to give ground. But it\nwas not lost ground, and for one brief, glorious second Ramsay stood and\ntraded blows. His head rocked, but he took what the other had to offer\nand returned it in full measure. Then he learned his mistake.\n\nA pair of gigantic arms were flung about his middle. They tightened like\na vise, bending him backward and seeming to compress him into a space\nnot half-big enough. His spine was ready to crack, and lights danced in\nhis head. He gasped for air.\n\nThe many lessons he had been taught by Hans Van Doorst came to his\nrescue. Four months ago, and perhaps even one month ago, the fight would\nhave been ended by that terrific bear hug. But now Ramsay remembered in\ntime that he was not fighting a man alone but a man who was part beast.\nAnd it was never wise to lose one's head. A man must always adapt\nhimself and fight like a beast if he fought with one.\n\nSummoning all his remaining strength, Ramsay drew back his right foot\nand sent his heavy shoe smashing into Devil Chad's shin. The fellow\nrelaxed his hold and staggered back into the darkness.\n\nRamsay stumbled away from him. Devil Chad was a bull, he remembered, and\nhe did not know about matadors. The next time he rushed, the boy stepped\naside and let his opponent's momentum carry him past. Ramsay's strength\nand breath came back.\n\nHe became cool, able to reason coolly. Devil Chad outweighed him by\nfifty pounds, so he must not close again. If he did not, and there were\nno accidents, he, Ramsay, would win this fight. For the first time in\nhis life Devil Chad was fighting his equal.\n\nRamsay felt strength swell within him. It was the strength of the lake,\nand it had flowed into his body through the numberless sturgeon he had\ncarried to the pond and from the many times he had helped bring in the\nseine and from the many fish he had scooped from the raised pound nets.\nHe was no longer a boy but a man.\n\nThe burning pound boats were falling into embers now, and as the light\nthey cast receded the blackness of the night became more intense. Wind\nkeened in from the lake, and the waves assaulting the sand beach made\nthemselves heard.\n\nRamsay waded in, his fists flying. In the darkness he was aware of Devil\nChad coming to meet him, but his deception of his opponent was complete.\nFrom the first, he had had no intention of meeting him squarely.\n\nHe stepped aside, lashing out with both fists as he did so, and felt\nboth of them collide soddenly with Devil Chad's chin. The latter\nbellowed, swung his head and hooked viciously. But he hooked falsely,\nfor Ramsay was not there. His lithe body, dodging and twisting, now here\nand now there, became like the cape that lures the bull to its doom.\nDevil Chad swung and kicked, and often he struck his target. But he did\nnot strike hard enough to bring Ramsay down, and he could not again get\na grip with his giant arms, although he tried desperately.\n\nRoaring wildly, he charged. But it was a blind, mad attack, directed\nalmost completely by rage and desperation.\n\nRamsay licked his upper lip, vaguely aware of the fact that he was\ntasting his own blood but not caring. He felt no pain, and it was oddly\nas though he sat on some high pinnacle from which he could watch himself\nand direct himself. Both his fists lashed squarely into Devil Chad's\nface, driven by all the strength in his hard, young body.\n\nDevil Chad paused, as though bewildered, and Ramsay knew that he was\nstunned. Not stopping, throwing some of his caution to the wind, he\nfollowed up his advantage. His fists worked like cracking whips as he\nstruck again and again. Devil Chad spun around, took two halting steps,\nand sank to one knee.\n\nHe remained there like some carved statue, and again Ramsay licked away\nthe blood that flowed down his face. Now, if he did the correct thing,\nhe would go in and end it with kicking feet. He would beat Devil Chad as\nmercilessly as he had been beaten. But he did not.\n\nHe waited, cool and poised, while the other bowed before him. Only when\nDevil Chad lurched to his feet and struck out drunkenly did Ramsay go in\nagain, and he went in with his fists. He beat a continuous, almost\nunopposed tatto on his enemy's chin. The second time Devil Chad\ncollapsed he measured his full length on the sand, and he did not move\nagain.\n\nRamsay stood watching intently for several moments. He wanted to make\ncertain that he had met his enemy fairly and defeated him fairly. How\nlong he had been fighting he did not know. It seemed like a few seconds,\nbut it must have been much longer. He only knew that he had come out of\nthe battle stronger than he was when he went into it. He called, \"Hans?\"\n\n\"Here,\" the Dutch fisherman answered.\n\nHis voice was strained, but even now there was nothing of desperation in\nit. Rather, it was a joyous voice. Ramsay turned toward it and saw\nscuffling men. He approached them and reached out with groping hands\nuntil he touched another man. It was neither Hans nor Pieter, and as\nsoon as he was sure of that he swung.\n\nHe felt a strong disappointment, for the heat of battle flared strong\nwithin him and, instead of fighting back, the man merely collapsed on\nthe sand. Obviously he had already been manhandled by Hans and had\nlittle strength left. Ramsay looked strangely at him, as though there\nwas something that should not be. Then he became aware of the fact that\ndawn had come and he could see. He turned to help Hans or Pieter,\nwhichever needed it the most, and he turned just in time to see Hans hit\nJoe Mannis so hard that the body-watcher flew into the air, described a\nlittle backward whirl, and fell on the sand.\n\nHans stood, shaggy and huge, breathing hard, but unbeaten and\nunbeatable. Moving over beside him, Ramsay felt that at last he was\nworthy to stand there. Both watched while Pieter teased the single\nremaining man, one of the hired ruffians who had helped set the gill\nnet, then slapped him resoundingly on both cheeks. As though he were\nunworthy of further notice, Pieter whirled on his heel and left his foe.\nThe man went weaving up the beach into the lightening morning.\n\nHans grinned wryly at Ramsay. \"Your face, it looks like a horse stepped\non it.\"\n\n\"You've got a couple of mosquito bites yourself.\"\n\n\"Yaah.\" Hans grinned again.\n\nRamsay said, \"They got our boats.\"\n\nHans said, \"They got our nets, too. Joe Mannis, he told me that when we\nfought. They would get us, he said.\"\n\n\"They didn't.\"\n\n\"No, they didn't.\"\n\nThey turned at a sudden wooden scraping out on the lake, and saw the\nMackinaw boat under way. Beaten and bruised, Devil Chad crouched at the\noars. Hurriedly he sent the boat farther out, toward the open lake. They\nwatched as though this were some foreign sight of no interest whatever.\n\nHans walked over to prod Joe Mannis with the toe of his shoe. \"Get up,\"\nhe said.\n\nJoe Mannis stirred and groaned. He opened his eyes, blinked stupidly and\nraised himself on one hand. There was a deceptive gentleness in Hans'\nwords and tone, but Joe Mannis was not deceived. He knew that Hans meant\nit when he said, \"Come down the beach once more after this storm. You\nwill find something to interest only you. Then never let me see you\nagain. If I do, I will drown you in the lake.\"\n\nHans looked out on the lake, into the gathering storm and at the\nreceding Mackinaw boat. High waves were already clawing at it, and Devil\nChad was not yet out of the bay. Hans said, \"He is not a fisherman. He\nis not even a sailor. I myself would think twice about taking the\n_Spray_ out now.\"\n\nNear the boat something white, something not born of the rolling\nwhitecaps, appeared for a second and disappeared. Ramsay smiled softly.\nHe knew that he had again seen the White Sturgeon. He also knew what Joe\nMannis would find in the morning. Devil Chad.\n\nThe three partners walked back down the sand to the embers of the pound\nboats. They stood near them, warming themselves in the last of the\nfire. Ramsay prodded the sand with his toe.\n\nThey were right back where they had started. A whole summer's hard work\nhad gone to satisfy the greed and lust of one man. What they had left\nwas the seine, the row boat, the forming skeleton of the _Spray II_ and\nthe pier. Ramsay set his jaw. They could do it again. They had done it\nonce.\n\nHe looked toward the Mackinaw boat, and discovered that it had gone out\nof the bay into the open lake. But his eyes were attracted by something\nelse on the horizon.\n\nA moment later he identified it as a plume of smoke. Five minutes\nafterward, storm-lashed but defiant, the _Jackson_ nosed out of the lake\ninto the sheltered bay. Manned by able seamen, sure of herself, the\n_Jackson_ came up to her accustomed place at the pier. Ramsay, Hans and\nPieter caught her mooring ropes.\n\nResplendent in his uniform, little Captain Williamson came down his rope\nladder and strutted on the pier. \"A blow,\" he said, as though a storm on\nLake Michigan meant nothing to him. \"We'll tie up here until it's over,\nthen go back to Chicago. Have you got any fish?\"\n\n\"Some,\" Ramsay admitted.\n\nHe thought of the ten barrels of whitefish that were ready for shipment,\nand he watched Captain Williamson's face fall. The little captain\nemitted a long sigh. \"Some, eh? I was hoping for better news. Chicago's\ngrowing like a weed in the sun, and it's hungry. Most of the fishermen\nmade their last shipments ten days ago. The markets are almost empty,\nand even sturgeon's bringing five cents a pound.\"\n\nFor one brief second the storm clouds parted and the sun shone through.\nThen the sky was again overcast and the storm leaped furiously. Ramsay\nturned his shining face toward Hans and Pieter. The tons of sturgeon in\nthe pond ... At five cents a pound there would be more than enough\nmoney to replace everything and to buy the finest planking for the\n_Spray II_.\n\nRamsay said, \"Save plenty of room on the _Jackson_. We'll need it.\"\n\nOn top of the ridge-pole, Captain Klaus fluttered his long wings and\ncurved his sinuous neck. As though he approved thoroughly he called,\n\"_Quark!_\"\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Books by Jim Kjelgaard_\n\n\nBIG RED\n\nREBEL SIEGE\n\nFOREST PATROL\n\nBUCKSKIN BRIGADE\n\nCHIP, THE DAM BUILDER\n\nFIRE HUNTER\n\nIRISH RED\n\nKALAK OF THE ICE\n\nA NOSE FOR TROUBLE\n\nSNOW DOG\n\nTRAILING TROUBLE\n\nWILD TREK\n\nTHE SPELL OF THE WHITE STURGEON\n\nTHE EXPLORATIONS OF PERE MARQUETTE","title":"The Spell of the White Sturgeon","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":52286}