CHAPTER FOUR
_TROUBLE FOR THE_ SPRAY
Early the next morning, when Pierre departed for work, Ramsay badefarewell to Madame LeDou and left their house with his kind host. He didso with a little reluctance, now that all his money was gone and thefuture loomed more uncertainly than ever. At the same time there wasabout him a rising eagerness and an unfulfilled expectation.
It seemed to him that, since swimming ashore from the sinking _Holter_,he had ceased to be a boy and had become a man. And a man must know thatall desirable things had their undesirable aspects. This country waswonderful. If, to stay in it, he must come to grips with other men--menas strong and as cruel as Devil Chad--and with nature too, Ramsay felthimself willing to do that.
As soon as the two were fifty yards from the LeDou home he purposelydropped behind Pierre and leaned against a huge hemlock until the littleman was out of sight. Pierre had said nothing and Ramsay had not asked,but the latter knew Devil Chad had told the Frenchman that, if he valuedhis job in the tannery, he must no longer shelter Ramsay. The boy hadno wish to further embarrass his host or to jeopardize his job by beingseen with him. Therefore he leaned against the tree until Pierre had hadtime to reach and enter the tannery.
Slowly Ramsay left his tree and walked down the same path that Pierrehad followed. Badly as he needed a job, it was useless to try to get onein the tannery. He slowed his pace even more as he walked past thebuilding. He had been beaten by Devil Chad, and he might be beaten asecond time should they fight again; but he was not afraid to try. Hisbody had been hurt, but not his courage.
Almost insolently Ramsay stopped where he could be seen from thetannery's open door, and waited there. He was aware of curious,half-embarrassed glances from men hurrying into the place, and then theyavoided looking at him. Finally a man stopped. He spoke to a man whohalted beside him.
"All right, Jules. Get in an' start to work."
He was a straw boss or foreman, Ramsay decided, and his voice betrayedhis New England forebears. An older man, with hair completely gray, likeall the rest he was wrinkled and weathered. Physically he was lean andtough, but he did not seem belligerent or even unkind. When the lastworker had entered the tannery, he turned to Ramsay.
"You needn't be afraid, son. Mr. Chadbourne went to Milwaukee lastnight."
"I'm not afraid. I was just wondering if he wouldn't come out for asecond start."
"Look, son," the other's air was that of an older and wiser persontrying to reason with an impetuous boy, "you haven't got a chance. Thebest thing you can do is get out of town before Mr. Chadbourne comesback."
"Maybe I like this town."
"You can only cause trouble by staying here."
"I've been in trouble before, too."
The older man shrugged, as though he had discharged his fullresponsibility in warning Ramsay, and said, "It's your funeral, my boy.Stay away from the tannery."
"You needn't worry."
Ramsay strolled on down the dusty street, and in spite of himself he wasa little relieved. If Devil Chad had gone to Milwaukee, probably toarrange for another shipload of hides, it was unlikely that he would beback before night at the earliest. Ramsay would not have to fight againtoday; presumably he was free to do as he pleased without any fear ofinterruption. He thrust his hands into empty pockets and, to cheerhimself up, started to whistle.
A fat Indian, dressed in ragged trousers, which some white man hadthrown out, and an equally-tattered black coat which he could not buttonacross his immense, naked stomach, grinned at him. Ramsay grinned backand winked. His friends in New York had been awe-stricken at the verythought of venturing into the wild Midwest where, they thought, scalpingparties occurred every few hours and no white man was safe from thesavages. Ramsay had enjoyed himself by elaborating on the part he wouldplay when such a war party came along. But he had discovered forhimself, before he left Chicago, that the Indians in this section ofWisconsin were harmless. When they could they sold bead work andbasketry to the settlers and they were not above stealing. But they werenot warlike.
Ramsay strode past another building, a big one with two separate floorsand an attic. Its chimney belched smoke, and from within came the whineof saws and other machinery. In front of the building were stacked agreat number of barrels, made of white pine and with hoops formed fromthe black ash tree. Ramsay hesitated a moment and entered.
Three Points was obviously a raw frontier town, but definitely it wasnot as raw as Ramsay had expected it to be. Obviously there was at leastone industrial plant in addition to the tannery. It seemed to be acooper's shop, engaged in the production of barrels, and it might hold ajob for him. He stopped just inside the door, trying to adjust his earsto the scream of a big circular saw that was powered by a steam engine.Beyond were lathes and various other machines, and a great many woodenpails were piled against the far wall. This factory, then, made bothbarrels and pails.
Presently a middle-aged man, with the neatest clothing Ramsay had yetseen in Three Points, came out of an office and walked toward him. Heshouted to make himself heard above the screaming saw, "Yes?"
"Are you the manager here?" Ramsay shouted back.
"Yes."
"Need any men?"
"What?"
Ramsay grinned faintly. The factory, if not bedlam, was close to it. Itwas incredible that anyone at all could carry on an intelligent, oreven an intelligible, conversation inside it. Ramsay shouted, "Let's gooutside!"
The other followed him out, and far enough from the door so they couldhear each other. Ramsay turned to his companion, "My name's RamsayCartou and I'm looking for a job. Do you have any to offer?"
The manager looked soberly at Ramsay's battered face, then with the toeof his shoe he began tracing a circle in the dirt. He hesitated. Then,"I'm afraid not."
Ramsay felt a stirring anger. Definitely there was more work in ThreePoints than there were men to do it. The town had need of strongworkers. For a moment he looked steadily at the manager, who lookedaway. Then he swallowed and tried a new tack, "What do you do with allthe barrels?"
"Most of them go to fishermen who use them to ship their catches toChicago. The pails are shipped by boat to wherever there is a market forthem."
"And you can't give me a job?"
"That's right."
"Why?" Ramsay challenged.
"We--we have a full crew."
"I see. Now will you answer one question?"
"Certainly."
"Does 'Mister' Chadbourne own this place too?"
"He has a financial interest ..." The other stopped short. "See here,young man! I have told you that I cannot offer you a job and that shouldbe sufficient!"
"I just wanted to know why," Ramsay said.
He turned and walked away from the cooper's shop. His chin was high,and anger seethed within him. Devil Chad, apparently, owned most ofThree Points and a lot of other things between that and Milwaukee. Ifthere was an opportunity to earn a dollar, honest or dishonest, DevilChad was seizing that opportunity. Obviously the manager of the cooper'sshop had heard of his fight with Ramsay--in a small community like thiseveryone would have heard of it--and was afraid to give him a job.Ramsay resumed his tuneless whistling.
Plainly he was going to get nowhere in Three Points. But definitely hehad no intention of running away with his tail between his legs, like awhipped puppy. He liked this lakeshore country and he intended to stayin it. If he had to fight to do that, then he would fight.
Between the rugged trunks of tall hemlock trees he caught a glimpse ofthe lake, sparkling blue in the sunshine and gently ruffled by a softsouth wind. He turned his steps toward it, and now he walked eagerly.The lake was magic, a world in itself which never had been tamed andnever would be tamed. He shivered ecstatically. This was what he hadcome west to find. Devil Chad and his tannery, the town of Three Points,and even Milwaukee paled into nothingness when compared to the lake. Hebroke from the last trees and saw Lake Michigan clearly.
A heavy wooden pi
er extended out onto it, and a sailing vessel was tiedup at one side. Ramsay read her name. She was the _Brilliant_, fromLudington, Michigan, and a line of men were toiling up a gangplank withheavy bags which they were stacking on the pier. On the pier's otherside a steamer, a side-wheeler like the _Holter_, was loading leatherfrom Devil Chad's tannery. She was the _Jackson_, a freighter thatcarried assorted cargoes between Three Points, Milwaukee and Chicago.
Ramsay strolled out on the pier and brightened when the cold lake airstruck his face. It was impossible to be on the lake, or near it, andfeel stolid or dull. It provided its own freshness, and Ramsay thoughtit also furnished a constant inspiration. He watched the sweating mencontinue to bring loaded bags up from the sailing vessel and approachednear enough to ask a burly deck hand, "What's this cargo?"
The man looked surlily at him. "What's it look like?"
"Diamonds." Ramsay grinned.
"Well, it ain't. It's salt."
"What the blazes will anyone do with so much salt?"
"Eat it," the deck hand grunted. "People hereabouts like salt." Then he,too, grinned. "Naw, it's for fishermen. They got to have somethin' tosalt their catches in."
"Oh. I see."
Ramsay added this bit of information to the lore he had alreadygathered. Obviously fishing consisted of more than just catching fish.Actually taking the fish, of course, was the most exciting and romanticpart. But the fishermen could not ply their trade at all without womenlike Madame LeDou who made their nets, a shop like the Three Points'cooper's shop which provided the barrels into which the fish werepacked, or vessels like the _Brilliant_ which brought salt that kept thefish from spoiling.
Ramsay stayed on the pier until the _Brilliant_ was unloaded, andlicked his lips while he watched her crew eating thick sandwiches. Theytook a whole loaf of bread, sliced it lengthwise, packed the center withmeat, cheese, fish and anything else they could lay their hands on, and,according to their taste, washed it down with cold lake water or beakersof whisky. Ramsay looked away.
Madame LeDou had provided him with a substantial breakfast, but this wasan invigorating country wherein one soon became hungry again. Ramsaypatted his empty stomach.
Probably Madame LeDou would give him something to eat should he go backthere, but he had already posed enough problems for the LeDous. Besides,he did not like the idea of asking for food. He left the pier to walkpast the Lake House, Three Points' only hotel. Savory odors of cookingfood wafted to his nostrils and made him drool. He walked past the LakeHouse, then turned to walk back. He trotted up the steps and sat down ata table spread with a white cloth.
A hard-eyed woman, wearing a brown dress over which she had tied a neatwhite apron, came up to him. Ramsay leaned back. He had decided to makehis play, and he might as well play it to the end.
"What does the menu offer?" he asked almost haughtily.
"Whitefish at fifteen cents, venison at fifteen cents, a boiled dinnerat ten cents."
"What? No steak?"
"The steak dinner," the woman said, "costs thirty cents. With it you getpotatoes, coffee, salad and apple pie."
"Bring it to me," Ramsay said. "And please be prompt. My time isvaluable."
"As soon as possible," the woman said.
Ramsay relaxed in his chair. A half-hour later the waitress brought hima broiled sirloin, so big that it overflowed the platter on which itrested. There were crisp fried potatoes, coffee--a rare beverage in thiscountry--cream, a salad and a huge wedge of apple pie. Ramsay atehungrily, then the waitress approached him.
"Will you pay now?"
"It is a lot," said Ramsay, who could not have swallowed another crust,"to pay for such a puny meal."
"I told you the price before you ordered."
"It doesn't matter," Ramsay waved a languid hand. "Especially since Ihave no money. What do we do now?"
Ramsay stood in the kitchen of the Lake House, and by the light of anoil lamp piled the last of what had been a mountain of dishes, into warmwater. There must, he thought, have been thousands of them, but therewere only a few more and he dropped one of those. Instantly the womanwho had served him popped into the kitchen.
"Must you be so clumsy?"
"It is the only dish I have broken out of all I have washed," Ramsaysaid. "Don't you think I have paid off my dinner by this time?"
"You knew the price before you ordered."
"The way you've had me working since, I earned the whole cow. Haven't Irepaid you, with perhaps a bonus of a sandwich for supper?"
"Sit down, kid," the woman said gruffly.
She brought him a sandwich, huge slices of fluffy homemade bread betweenwhich thick slices of beef nestled, and a bowl of milk. Ramsay atehungrily, and after he had finished his hostess talked to him. "You'rethe youngster Devil Chad beat up, aren't you?"
"I tripped," Ramsay said grimly.
"Devil Chad trips 'em all. You're crazy if you think you can get awaywith anything. Best thing you can do is leave."
Ramsay said, "I guess I'm just naturally crazy."
The woman shrugged. "I'm tellin' you for your own good, kid. You'll getnowhere in Three Points as long as Chad don't like you. Why not be asmart little boy and beat it back to wherever you came from?"
Ramsay said, "That isn't a good idea."
"You're a stubborn kid, ain't you?"
"Mule-headed," Ramsay agreed. "Even worse than a mule."
"Well, if you won't take good advice, there's not much I can do. Wouldyou like to sleep here tonight?"
"Nope. I'll be going now, and thanks for the steak."
"Well ... Good luck, kid."
"Thanks."
Ramsay walked out into the darkness and drew his jacket tightly abouthim. The lake shore was cold by day, much colder by night when there wasno sun to warm it. He had brought extra clothing, but all his personalbelongings had gone down with the _Holter_. He looked dismally at thedark town--Three Points seemed to go to bed with the setting sun--andwandered forlornly down toward the lake front. Both the sailing vesselfrom Ludington and the _Jackson_ were gone.
A little wind was driving wavelets gently against the shore, and thelap-lap of their rising and falling made pleasant music in the night.Ramsay wandered out on the pier, where the stacked bags of salt werecovered with tarpaulins. He looked furtively around.
Nobody else was on or even near the pier, and it seemed unlikely thatanyone would come. He curled up close to the bags of salt and drew theflowing end of a tarpaulin over his body. He pillowed his head on aprotruding bag and snuggled very near to the stack.
The pier was hard, but he had slept on hard beds before and the barrierof salt broke the wind's force. The tarpaulin, of heavy duck, made awarm blanket. In spite of the odds he faced, Ramsay felt a wonderfulsense of well-being and peace. He went quietly to sleep.
When he awakened, soft gray dawn was stealing like a fawn out of thesummer sky. Three Points, not yet awake, slumbered in the dim morning.Ramsay crawled out from beneath the tarpaulin and rose to look at thetown.
Nobody gave up any battles; but nobody knocked his head against a stonewall or strove against hopeless odds. Even the little black horse hadnot done that. He might just as well see things as they were. Devil Chadruled Three Points and, with his present resources, Ramsay could notfight Devil Chad. But it was certain that Chad could not rule all ofMilwaukee, too, and Milwaukee would need workers. He could go backthere, get a job and plan his future after he had it.
A sudden inspiration seemed to fall right out of the brightening sky.
The Van Hoovens! Pieter Van Hooven had told him to come back should hefail to find what he expected in Three Points, and Pierre LeDou hadassured him that Devil Chad did not walk so freely among the farmers andfishermen. Maybe Pieter could give him a job, at least something thatwould offer security until he was able to get himself oriented; and ifhe could, Ramsay wanted to stay in this part of the country. It wasbetter than Milwaukee.
Briskly he left the pier and struck down the sand beach. No
w that he haddecided to take this step, he felt lighter and happier. Maybe he wouldand maybe he would not have liked working in the tannery, even if thathad been ruled by some other man than Devil Chad, but he knew that hewould like the Van Hoovens and their way of life.
He moved fast, staying far enough up on the beach so he need not step inwet sand but near enough the water so he could walk on sun-baked sandover which high water had already rolled. That was packed hard, almostto the consistency of concrete.
The sun was well up when he came again to the Van Hooven's pleasanthome. Resolutely he walked up and knocked on the back door.
A second later it opened, and Marta Van Hooven flashed a warm smile ofwelcome. "Oh! Come in."
Pieter, who had already finished his milking and was now seated at thebreakfast table, said, "Hello."
"Hello," Ramsay said. "I thought I'd stop in and see you on ..." Hefumbled. "On my way back to Milwaukee."
Pieter looked seriously at him. "You're not going to work in ThreePoints?"
"No," Ramsay said bluntly. "Mr. Chadbourne and I did not see eye to eye.In fact, three minutes after we met our fists were flying in eachother's eyes."
"You fought Devil Chad?"
"I did, and got well-beaten."
Pieter said quietly, "Some day somebody will kill him."
"Some day somebody might."
"Eat," Pieter invited. He pushed a platter of eggs at the boy and forkeda thick slice of home-cured ham onto his plate. Then he placed the dishof yellow butter where Ramsay could help himself and put a plate offeather-light fresh-baked rolls where he was able to reach it. Martacame softly in from the kitchen with a bowl of cold milk.
Ramsay ate, primly at first, then gave way to his enormous appetite.Pieter served him another slice of ham. The boy took two more eggs andanother roll, which he spread lavishly with butter. Sighing, unable toswallow another crumb, he pushed his plate back. Pieter looked gravelyat him. "Do you have to go to Milwaukee?"
"No, I just thought I might find a job there."
"You can," Pieter assured him. "But if a job is what you want, a job iswhat I can give you. I can't pay you any money, at least until we havesold our fall crops, because we haven't any. But I can give you all youcan eat, a good bed to sleep in, and I have some clothes that will fityou."
Ramsay said deliberately, "Devil Chad won't like you for that."
"Around here," and there was no air of braggadocio in Pieter's words,"we don't much care what Devil Chad likes."
Ramsay looked hard at his host, and then the two young men grinned ateach other.
"You've got yourself a man," Ramsay said. "What do we do first?"
* * * * *
Hidden from the house by a jutting shoulder of land, Ramsay stood besidethe small lake on Pieter Van Hooven's property and peeled off hisclothes. All day long, interrupted in mid-morning by Marta, who broughthim a substantial lunch, at noon by a huge and delicious dinner andagain in mid-afternoon with a lunch, he had toiled in Pieter VanHooven's sprouting corn.
All day long the sun had beaten down and, though the lake shore was coolenough, a man doing hard physical labor could easily work up a sweat.But it was good. Ramsay had felt the sun's rays penetrate to and warmthe very marrow of his bones. In spite of the hard labor he had beendoing, few times in his life had he felt as agile and supple and whollyalive as this.
He plunged headlong into the lake and came up gasping. The water wascold, though not nearly as cold as the big lake; and after Ramsay's bodywas adjusted to it, a delicious glow ran through his whole physicalbeing. He dived again, then climbed up on the soft grass to let thelowering sun dry him before he put his clothes on.
He dressed slowly, happily, and now all his cares were behind him. Thiswas the place for him, and no longer did he have the slightest doubtthat he was going to like everything about it. Fresh and vigorous, theday's toil washed away, he walked slowly down to Lake Michigan andstared across it. Supper in half an hour, Pieter had said when he hadadvised Ramsay to stop work and have a swim, and no more than half thattime had elapsed. The rest could profitably be spent in just looking atthis endlessly fascinating water.
Ramsay stared across the lake. More than ever it seemed a live creatureand one of many moods. Ramsay had seen it roaring-mad, and now he saw itgentle as a lamb. There was scarcely a ripple anywhere. Absorbed in thelake, Ramsay was aware of nothing else until a horse snorted very closeto him. When he whirled, he knew that he had seen the same horse andrider before.
It was the body-watcher, Joe Mannis, and he was riding theblack-and-white horse which he had ridden when he had warned Ramsay awayfrom the drowned Captain Schultz and the deck hand. The huge cowboy hattilted precariously on his head and the blue jeans, apparently unwashedin a good many months, clung tightly to his legs. Thick black hairescaped from beneath the hat, and he looked Ramsay up and down. "Whatare you doin' here?"
"What's it to you?"
"Well, nothin' I expect. Nothin' at all. But just don't bother me againwhen I'm workin' at my trade."
"I won't," Ramsay promised, "unless I have a couple of pistols, too."
"Just don't bother me when I'm workin' at my trade," the other repeated,"an' we'll get along fine."
"You think so?" Ramsay snapped.
Missing the challenge implied in Ramsay's words, Joe Mannis trotted hishorse up the sand beach toward Three Points. Ramsay looked withoutinterest at his retreating back. Joe Mannis was an unsavory man, hedecided, but unlike Devil Chad, he was a stupid man. Only when backed byhis pistols would Joe be much of a threat.
Ramsay pushed his drying hair back with his hands and went around to therear of the Van Hooven house. That was also a custom, it seemed. Formalvisitors, if there were any, might enter by the front door; but everyoneelse went around to the rear. Obviously the visitor who had arrivedwhile Ramsay bathed and stood on the shore, was not formal.
He was a tall, gaunt man with a thin face and a hooked nose. Except fora white shirt, the collar of which was adorned by a bright ribbon thatcould hardly be called a tie, from his stovepipe hat to his shoes he wasdressed entirely in black. An outlandish rig, a four-wheeled cart with afringed top supported on four posts, stood in the yard. Its curtainswere rolled up, and the cart seemed to contain everything from wash tubsto pins. Pieter and the stranger were unhitching a gray horse that stoodpatiently between the cart's shafts.
Pieter called the boy over, "Ramsay, this is Mr. Hammersly."
Mr. Hammersly, so-called, turned and thrust forth a huge hand. "Tradin'Jack," he amended. "Tradin' Jack Hammersly. You need anythin', I gotit. Fairer prices as you'll find in Three Points, Chicago, or Milwaukee.Need a box of candy for that girl of yours, Ramsay?"
"I haven't any girl," Ramsay said.
"You'll have one," Tradin' Jack declared. "Every young buck like youneeds a pert doe. Can't get along without 'em, I always say. Yup, you'llhave one. When you get one, remember Tradin' Jack."
"I will," Ramsay promised.
While Tradin' Jack washed up at the stand beside the back door, Pieterled the gray horse to the barn, stripped it of its harness and loosed itwith the little black horse. The two animals touched friendly noses.
Pieter returned, and all three went in to the groaning table which Martahad ready. It seemed a natural thing here, Ramsay observed, to expectall passing wayfarers to share whatever there was to be had. GracefullyTradin' Jack lifted the tails of his long black coat and sat down.
"Left Milwaukee day before yesterday," he said. "Stopped off to see theBlounts, down at Blounts' Landin'...."
Marta and Pieter Van Hooven gave rapt attention, and even Ramsay foundhimself interested. Aside from being a trader, it appeared that Tradin'Jack Hammersly was also a walking newspaper. He knew everything abouteverybody between Three Points and Milwaukee, and between Milwaukee andKenosha. Endlessly he related tales of new babies, new weddings and newengagements. Tradin' Jack knew that Wilhelm Schmidt's horse had thecolic but probably would recover,
and that Mrs. Darmstedt, that wouldbe the wife of Pete Darmstedt, had shot a black bear right in her ownfront yard.
There was nothing about the people he did not know and not much that hewas unwilling to tell. Finished, he got down to business. "Any eggs forme, Marta?"
"Twenty dozen," she said, "all fresh."
"Fourteen cents a dozen," Tradin' Jack said promptly.
"Yaah," Marta, too, was bargaining now, "I can get that in ThreePoints."
"Take it in trade an' I'll allow you fifteen," Tradin' Jack said. "Gotto keep my customers sweet."
Before he went to bed Tradin' Jack arranged with Pieter to have abutchered pig ready for him when he returned from Three Points the dayafter tomorrow. Two and a half cents a pound he would pay, or two andthree-quarters if Pieter would take it in trade. He left with the VanHoovens a tempting array of calico, ribbons, needles, pins, a new axeand hammer, a box of nails and other things which were always useful andalways needed.
The next morning Ramsay roused himself out of bed at dawn to findTradin' Jack already gone. He had sensed the storm that was approaching,Pieter said, and, if possible, he wanted to get into Three Points beforeit struck. Ramsay felt a strange uneasiness and an unrest. Goingoutside, he saw that yesterday's blue skies had given way to ominousmasses of gray clouds. His uneasiness mounted.
Something terrible was being brewed within the giant lake, and shortlyit would erupt. A strong wind sent high waves leaping up onto theshore. They fell back, only to be replaced with more waves. Ramsayshuddered.
If there was terror in this, there was also grandeur. The lake, angered,was a fearful and wonderful spectacle. It was a gargantuan thing whichseemed to writhe in an agony which, somehow, was created by itself. Afew drops of rain pattered down. The wind blew harder.
Pieter and Ramsay went to the barn to repair tools, and neither spoke asthey stared through the barn's open door. The waves were raging now,launching endless attacks on the shore and always rolling back.
Suddenly Ramsay leaped to his feet and stifled a cry. Far out in thelake's surging gray masses he thought that he had seen something purewhite. But he could not be sure. A moment later he saw it again. A sail!Then he was able clearly to identify a little peanut shell of a boat.
She was the _Spray_, and she was in serious trouble.
The Spell of the White Sturgeon Page 4
