CHAPTER ELEVEN
_FISHERMAN'S LUCK_
The horse that had galloped from Three Points to Pieter's farm in orderto bring news of Marta's misfortune was too spent to gallop back. Norcould he carry more than one man, even if he had not been spent. Ramsay,Pieter and Hans left horse and rider at the farm, while they started upthe beach. For a short distance they stayed together. Then Ramsay, theyoungest and best winded of the three, drew ahead.
A cold dread and a great fear gnawed at him as he alternately walked andtrotted. Marta had become like a beloved sister to him, and themessenger carried no news except that she was injured. How or why, hehad not said. Ramsay glanced back over his shoulder to see if hiscompanions were keeping up with him, and discovered that they were lostin the mist. In any event the day would have been unpleasant. There wasjust the right weather combination to make it so--a hint of raincombined with warm air to drape the fog over everything. And there wasno indication that anything would change. Somehow it seemed just the dayto get bad news.
Ramsay lengthened out to trot again, and then increased his trot to arun. He was breathing hard, but far from exhausted, and with a littlesurprise he realized that he would not have been able to travel so farwithout halting, or so fast, when he first came to Wisconsin. Afisherman's life had toughened him immeasurably. Once more he sloweddown and looked around to see if Pieter and Hans were in sight. Theywere not. He walked until he was rested, then trotted into Three Points.
As though there was something in the village that drove it back, themist had not invaded there. It was on all sides so thick that the lakecould not be seen and the trees were ghost shapes, half-concealed andhalf-disclosed. Most of Three Points was at work, but the few passers-byon the street glanced curiously at Ramsay as he swung past them. He sawthe little black horse, tied to a hitching post in front of the generalstore.
He bounded up the wooden steps, pushed the door open and entered. Marta,the lower part of her left leg encased in a clean white bandage, wassitting on a chair. She turned astonished eyes on him. "Ramsay!"
"Are you all right?" he gasped.
"Why ... Of course, I'm all right!"
"You're not hurt?"
"A scratch!" She sniffed disdainfully. "Just a scratch! I stumbled whenI stepped out of the cart. Ach! Such a clumsy one I was!"
The storekeeper's wife, obviously the one who had bandaged Marta's leg,smiled her reassurance. "It is not bad," she said.
"Oh!" Ramsay felt a moment's clumsiness because he could think ofnothing to say, and again he exclaimed, "Oh!"
Panting hard, deep concern written on their faces, Hans and Pieter cameinto the store. Marta's surprised eyes opened still wider. "I thoughtyou boys were fishing!"
"We--we had to come in for some more twine," Ramsay said somewhatlamely.
"Three of you?"
"Yaah," Hans, never slow to understand, smiled with affected laziness."You know us men, Marta. There wouldn't one of us stay there and workwhile another was loafing in Three Points."
"That's right." Slow Pieter finally understood that there was more herethan met the eye. "How'd you hurt yourself, Marta?"
The wondering gaze of the storekeeper and his wife were upon them now.Still puzzled, Marta glanced covertly at the three men. Ramsay looked atthe storekeeper's wife.
"You should have sent somebody to tell us she was hurt."
"But," the storekeeper's wife was completely bewildered, "she is nothurt."
"What's the matter?" Marta seemed worried now.
"Nothing," Hans answered blandly. "Nothing at all. We just decided tohave a holiday in Three Points."
"Go long!" Marta scoffed. "Men! They're bigger babies than babies are!"
"Be sure to bring us some twine," Hans said.
"Oh, sure. That I will do."
"Good."
All three men were smiling easily. But as soon as they left the storeand were out of Marta's sight, the smiles faded and their faces becamegrim and intent.
"Who was the man who told us she was hurt?" Ramsay asked.
Pieter shook his head, and Hans said, "I never saw him before and Idon't expect to see him again. Probably he was riding into Milwaukeeanyway, and somebody gave him a dollar to report an accident."
Ramsay nodded. Hans, as usual, was logical and there could be only oneanswer. Somebody was indeed out to capture the fishing on Lake Michigan.They had started by destroying Baptiste's nets and now they were movingagainst Ramsay and his friends. But they knew well the prowess of thethree and had no wish to strike while they were present. Marta'sreported accident had been only a ruse to draw them away.
Ramsay started toward the sand beach, but Hans laid a restraining handon his shoulder. "Wait!"
"We'd better get back and look to our nets."
"There is time, and we'd better not go blindly."
"What are we going to do?"
Hans said grimly, "Find the constable and ask him to accompany us. Then,if there is trouble, and I expect it, we will have the law with usrather than against us."
"Suppose the constable doesn't care to come along?"
"He'll come," Hans promised.
They strolled down the street, stopping in various places, until theyfound Jake Hillis, the constable Devil Chad had put in office, in theLake House. The woman who had given Ramsay the steak and then made himwash dishes to pay for it, looked up and smiled. "Hello."
"Hi!" Ramsay grinned.
"You didn't run, after all."
"Nope. I didn't."
The constable, standing at the bar, turned around to face the three. Hehooked both thumbs in his belt, letting his fingers dangle. His righthand, Ramsay could not help seeing, was not too far from the pistol thatswung from his belt. There was no readable expression on his face, butthe woman, who knew him well, went hastily into another room.
Flanked by Ramsay and Pieter, Hans walked directly up to the constable.
"We have something," he said softly, "that demands your attention."
"What is it?"
"It has to do with nets and a raid upon them."
"I got no authority over what happens on Lake Michigan."
"Nevertheless, we need a good, honest man of the law with us. And wewill pay you well enough."
Jake Hillis shook his head. "I can't go off on any wild goose chases. Myduty is to protect this town."
Hans' voice softened even more. "I am asking you again to come with us."
The constable's right thumb slipped from his belt and his hand droppedto the butt of the revolver. His fingers curled around it. As though byaccident, Pieter stumbled forward. Strong enough to stop a bull in itstracks, Pieter wrapped his own steel fingers around the constable'sright wrist, and when they disengaged the pistol was in Pieter's hand.
"Excuse me!" he said contritely. "I am so clumsy!"
"Well?" Hans inquired.
Jake Hillis looked from one to the other. He was like a drum whichalmost always must sound the cadence someone else beats. Strength wasthe only force he recognized, and now he saw himself surrounded bystrong, determined men. For a moment he struggled with himself. Then"I'll go," he said.
Hans responded graciously, "Thank you. We knew that you would come assoon as you understood the reason in it."
"Here's your pistol." Pieter extended the weapon.
"I got to warn you," the constable pronounced, "that I am going to holdyou responsible for anything that happens here while I am away. And Ibetter tell you that I won't put up with any law-breaking."
"Good!" Hans said. "You are a conscientious man!"
The mist dipped and twisted about them as they started down the sandbeach toward Pieter's farm. Ramsay tried to find answers to the manyquestions in his mind. Certainly somebody had lured them away from theirfishing gear. Who had done so? Was Devil Chad involved? If so, why didJake Hillis accompany them at all? Certainly the servant would notwillingly provoke a fight with the master. If Devil Chad was the leaderof the pirates, did he trust his minion so l
ittle that he had told himnothing?
Ramsay shrugged: they would have to wait and find out.
Reaching the farm, Pieter entered the house to get the shotgun and apair of exquisitely carved pistols which Ramsay had never seen before.Dueling pistols, they looked like, and Ramsay glanced curiously atPieter. The man was anything except stolid, yet he never spoke of hispast and of what had really brought him across the Atlantic Ocean tothis wild inland sea. Ramsay dismissed the thought. In this country itwas often just as well to forget a man's past or that he had ever had apast.
Jake Hillis looked narrowly as Pieter handed Hans a pistol, kept one forhimself and gave the shotgun to Ramsay. "I don't hold with shootingscrapes!" he said. "And I don't want any part of 'em!"
"There'll be none," Hans assured him, "unless we are shot at first."
They launched a pound boat, and Hans took the rower's seat. Jake Hillissat beside Pieter and Ramsay crouched to one side. A shiver ran throughhim. The mist seemed to be settling in even more thickly; they hadscarcely left the shore when they were unable to see it. From the top ofthe house, the bedraggled Captain Klaus squawked his protest at suchweather.
Hans rowed swiftly but there was no trace of hesitation in his manner,and Ramsay marveled. The mist was heavy enough to cut visibility toalmost nothing, but Hans steered as certainly as he would have on thesunniest of days. He seemed to know the lake so intimately that, nomatter what happened, he could still find his way. They reached thefirst pound net, rowed around it. Ramsay sighed with relief.
If pirates had come to raid, they had not yet touched this net. Ramsayshifted his position, and Jake Hillis stirred uneasily. Then, almostbeside the boat, the water rippled and the White Sturgeon surfaced fora moment. Nearly the color of the mist, he lay quietly on top of thewater, then dived.
Hans' low laughter rippled. "We have a friend!" he said.
They were near the second pound net now, and Ramsay gripped his shotgunfiercely. He could see nothing, but something seemed to be present. Itwas a half-sensed threat, like an unseen tiger crouching in the darknessbeside a campfire. They saw the spiles of the second pound net risinglike a ghost's fingers. Slowly Hans started rowing around it.
Then Ramsay glanced behind him and snapped the shotgun to his shoulder.From shorewards another mist-wreathed craft appeared. It was a Mackinawboat, like the _Spray_, and the men on her were only half seen in theheavy overcast. Ramsay breathed a warning, "Watch it!"
Hans let the boat drift and took the pistol in his hand. Almostcarelessly, as though there was no hurry about anything at all, Pieterdid likewise. Jake Hillis drew his breath sharply. The two boats camecloser together, and Ramsay recognized Joe Mannis. There were also threenondescript loafers of the riff-raff type who are always found on anyfrontier and who will do anything for money. But Ramsay centered hisgaze on the fifth man in the Mackinaw boat.
There could be no mistaking him, even in the mist. It was Devil Chad.
The other boat came nearer and was much easier to see. Ramsay felt acold chill seize him. All the men in the boat were armed with shotguns,and they could sweep the pound boat from one end to the other if therewas to be a fight. Ramsay glanced at Jake Hillis. The constable wassitting quietly, tense and strained, but he did not seem to be afraid.
Devil Chad's bellow blasted, "What are you doin' here?"
Ramsay heard Hans' low laugh and his quiet, "The man is most uncivil."
"Don't get smart with me!" Devil Chad threatened. "You come to rob ournet, didn't you?"
Hans, surprised, made a momentary slip. "Your net?"
"Yes, our net! You come to rob it like you robbed all the rest!" Chad'sexpressionless eyes pierced Jake Hillis like daggers. "What are youdoin' here?"
Hans answered calmly. "He is here as our guest, and at our invitation.Now let us hear some more about 'your' net."
"You know what I mean! Touch it an' we start shootin'!"
"But we haven't touched anything," Hans said smilingly. He turned toJake Hillis. "Have we?"
Jake Hillis, too dull-witted for quick evasion, said, "No, you haven't."
Cold rage mounted within Ramsay. He swung his shotgun so that the muzzlecentered squarely on Devil Chad. If it came to a gun battle, he decidedgrimly, his arch-enemy would at least be shot at.
Hans, unruffled, took command. "Where is your net? Show us."
"Right here."
Ramsay heard the mockery in Hans' voice. "And I suppose that it is agill net?"
"How'd you know that?" Devil Chad challenged.
"I gazed into my crystal ball," Hans said smoothly, "and I discoveredthat, when one fisherman wishes to eliminate a competitor, he canalways stretch a gill net across the tunnel of a pound net. There iscertain to be a battle, and whoever survives controls the fishing."
Ramsay began to understand. Fishing on Lake Michigan was governed by noenforceable law but only by the ethics of the fishermen themselves. Mostof them were ethical; when one found a good fishing ground, othersusually respected his rights. But there was no law that said they had torespect them. Should one fisherman care to trespass on the rights ofanother, he could always find some way to provoke a quarrel. Then,regardless of anything else that happened, he could say that he was onlytrying to protect his property or claim in some other way that his was ajust quarrel. Few people would be able to prove to the contrary.
Then a blue-and-white buoy, a marker used on a gill net, floated intosight. Hans saw it, too, and again his voice was mocking. "Is that thenet you mean?"
There were subdued voices on the Mackinaw boat. Joe Mannis put hisshotgun down and stepped to the bow of the boat with a gaff hook in hishand. He lay prone, stabbed with the gaff, and hooked the buoy. Foot byfoot he reeled in thirty yards of tattered gill net. Hans' scornfullaughter rolled like a barrel through the mist and bounded back inechoes. Ramsay, highly amused, echoed Hans.
"Find your other buoy!" Hans called. "Pull it in, take it home, andrepair your gill net! But do not again set it on our fishing grounds!"
The Mackinaw boat floated into the mist. Ramsay saw the baffled rage onDevil Chad's face. But mostly he was aware of the contempt of Hans forDevil Chad.
"Here!" Hans called. "You're missing a man!" He turned to Jake Hillis.The constable glowered back, like a stupid horse.
"Want to swim over and join your little friends?" Hans invited.
"No."
"Well, we brought you out from the sand. We'll take you back to thesand."
Hans' shoulders were shaking with silent mirth as he bent his back tothe pound boat's oars. He steered in to the pier they had built, andexpertly nosed the boat in to its landing. A mist-draped wraith, Marta,awaited them. "What happened?" she queried anxiously.
"Nothing," Pieter assured her.
"A great deal," Hans corrected. "They caught the White Sturgeon, for noother fish in the lake could have wrecked a net so completely. I toldyou we have a friend."
He took a pouch from his pocket, counted five silver dollars from it,and dropped them into Jake Hillis' hand. Captain Klaus flew down fromthe house top to alight on Hans' shoulder. "_Quark!_" he squawked.
As though he understood perfectly, Hans said, "That is right, my littleone." And to Jake Hillis he said, "If you see them, tell them not tocome again."
Deliberately turning his back on the constable, Hans stared out over thelake. Then Jake Hillis was gone, and somehow it was as though he hadnever even been with them. Ramsay waited expectantly. Hans turned awayfrom his intent study of the lake, and he was frowning as though therewas some complicated problem which he must solve. Yet when he spoke, hisvoice betrayed nothing abnormal and there was no sign that he might havebeen under the least strain. "Perhaps it would be well not to fish againtoday. That is a shame, for the season draws to a close and we cannotfish much longer, anyway. Still, we have done all that it is necessaryto do, and next year we will be well-situated. We will have gear andtackle. I go to work on the boat."
Ramsay asked, "Do you think they will come ag
ain?"
Hans answered deliberately, "I do not think so, but no man may say forcertain. They are not without determined and intelligent leadership. Ifhe does come again, he will come hard and directly at us. He will notbother with the nets. There is no need to keep a patrol on the laketonight."
Without another word Hans turned on his heel and strode off to where the_Spray II_ was supported on its blocks. Ramsay went into the barn,shouldered a hundred-pound sack of cornmeal, and carried it to the pondin which he had imprisoned almost countless sturgeon. With both hands hecast the ground corn into the pool, and returned for another sack, andanother. Then he stood with the last empty sack limp in his hands, idlywatching the pond.
It had been an exciting summer, the most adventurous and most satisfyinghe could remember, but it must soon end.
Already there was a hint of frost in the air, and frost meant that thewhitefish would soon spawn. Nothing could persuade Hans to fish in thespawning season, when every fish caught meant the loss of perhaps tenthat might be. Even if Hans would have fished, autumn meant storms whennone but a fool would venture onto the lake in a small boat.
Ramsay turned slowly away from the pond. He wandered over to where Hanswas working on the _Spray II_. It was to be a Mackinaw boat, somewhatlike a canoe, and it was to be used for setting gill nets. These, Ramsayunderstood, could be set almost as soon as the ice went out.
Handy with almost any sort of tool, Hans himself had fashioned a woodvise that turned on a wooden gear. He had a section of cedar stumpclamped in the vise, and with a rasp and a fine-toothed saw he waspainstakingly fashioning a rib for the _Spray II_. Unhurried, a trueartist, he shaped one side of the rib to the other. When he hadfinished, it was a perfect thing, so evenly balanced that a feather'sweight on either side might have unbalanced it. Ramsay wandered away,satisfied. The _Spray II_ was to be no ordinary vessel. There would notbe another Mackinaw boat on Lake Michigan to match it.
Restlessly Ramsay worked on the seine until Marta called them. He ate,went to bed, and dropped into his usual instant deep slumber.
At first he was vaguely irritated because noises in the night disturbedhim. Then he identified those sounds as the crying of an alarmed seagull. Captain Klaus, on top of the roof, was vehemently protestingsomething. Ramsay became aware of a strange, unreal sunrise reflectingthrough his bedroom window.
Fully awake, he rushed to the window, and saw that, down on the beach,all their boats were burning fiercely.
CHAPTER TWELVE
_THE POND_
Captain Klaus made a swooping flight that carried him out toward theburning boats. Frightened by a puff of smoke, he flew back to the top ofthe house and continued to call querulously.
For a moment Ramsay stood still, petrified by the spectacle. Then hisshout alarmed the house. "Hans! Pieter!"
By the light that flickered through his window he sprang for hisclothing and hastily pulled his trousers on. Letting the tails and fronthang out, he donned his shirt and put shoes on his bare feet. He wasaware of muffled cries echoing from the rest of the house, and a lightedcandle flared in the hall.
He rushed out to meet Hans coming from his bedroom, and a second laterPieter's door flew open. Only half-awake and less than half-dressed, thelatter blinked like a sleepy dog in the candle's little light.
Marta peered uneasily over his shoulder. "What is it?"
"The boats are burning!" Ramsay gasped.
With a mighty, outraged lion's roar, Pieter came fully awake and sprangtoward the stairs. For one brief second Ramsay was aware of Marta'sface, dead-white, then he leaped to follow Pieter. Holding the candlealoft, Hans followed. Again the Dutch fisherman seemed to take completecommand of the situation. There was anger in his voice but no trace ofpanic when he warned the other two, "Slowly! Go slowly!"
His hand on the kitchen door, Pieter halted. Ramsay paused uncertainlybehind him, and Hans blew the candle out. The Dutch fisherman hadweathered so many savage storms that he seemed to know exactly what todo, no matter what the crisis. Ramsay watched and approved. He mustlearn to be more like Hans and to rule the emergencies that arose ratherthan let them rule him.
Hans spoke again, "Let us not go like sheep to the slaughter. If theycame again, they are probably armed and they may shoot. Pieter, get theguns."
Pieter shuffled off to the dark kitchen and came back. Ramsay felt thefamiliar shotgun being pressed into his hands, and he knew that Hans andPieter each had a pistol. Because that seemed the thing to do, Ramsaywaited until Hans acted. The Dutch fisherman spoke again, and his voiceremained unruffled. "We cannot tell who or what is out there. Until wediscover exactly, keep out of the light cast by the burning boats. Donot use your guns unless they shoot first. Then shoot to kill. Come on."
Silent as a shadow, Hans slipped into the blackness that reigned at theback of the house. Pieter followed, while Ramsay brought up the rear. Heshivered, but only part of his chill was caused by the cold night. Thisafternoon on the pound boat he had felt only tense excitement. But thenHans and Pieter had backed him and their presence had been a very realthing. Now, in the night, he was almost completely unaware of them. Itwas as though he stood completely alone.
Ramsay felt his way along the rear wall of the house to the corner, andthere the darkness was broken by the glare from the burning boats.Ramsay crept up beside Hans and peered around the corner.
The mist was gone, and a sharp breeze had sprung up in its wake. Everynight, when the fishing was done, or any time at all when they weren'tbeing used, the pound boats were pulled far up on the shore. Casting acircle of light over the water, the burning boats illuminated the risingwaves whose whitecaps broke and fell. A fierce storm was in the making.
Ramsay's fear gave way to terrible anger. The wind from the lake wouldhave fanned the flames anyway, but obviously, before they had been seton fire, the two pound boats had been coated with tar, pitch, orsomething else that would burn hard and assure their completedestruction. They were already charred beyond the faintest hope ofsalvation. Ramsay gritted his teeth.
Hans left the house and swung back, away from the lake, on a course thatwould keep him in the shadows. Ramsay followed, and he was aware ofPieter following him. There was not the least sign of the raiders or ofthe boat they might have come in. Ramsay hesitated. Perhaps they haddone their work and fled, or perhaps they were lurking in ambush nearthe burning boats. Five shotguns could be ready to cut down whoevercame.
Then Ramsay set all his doubts at rest. He knew what he must do.
There could no longer be any question but that this was Devil Chad'swork. He controlled everything around Three Points that made any money.He was out to gain control of the fishing, too, and he was not a man whowould leave any job half-done. Failing to provoke a fight because theWhite Sturgeon had ruined his gill net, he had taken the directapproach. Beyond any doubt he would be able to produce any number ofwitnesses who would swear that Hans, Ramsay and Pieter were theaggressors. Ramsay knew what he was going to do about this.
"Take the shotgun," he whispered, and pressed the weapon upon Pieter.
"But ..."
"Take it," Ramsay repeated.
Leaving the shotgun with the bewildered Pieter, he dropped to the groundand wormed farther away from the circle of light. Into the shadows hewent, then on toward the lake. Now he did not know where Hans and Pieterwere or what they were doing, but he was positive that they would takeany action necessary when the time came. He no longer felt alone.
This was a thing that could never be settled with guns but must beslugged out toe to toe and man to man. The fishing was worthwhile, andany man who would get and keep anything worthwhile had to be ready tofight for it. If Devil Chad had already fled, tomorrow they must go intoThree Points and seek him out.
Ramsay halted, peering around. He could see nothing clearly. The flameshad died down and there was only dimness, filled with varying shadowsthat were most difficult to identify. But what was that down at the edgeof the lake?
It s
eemed to rise and fall with the rising and falling waves. Most ofthe shadows were there one second and flitted away the next, but thisdid not flit away, and after another thirty seconds Ramsay was fairlysure that it was a Mackinaw boat, anchored out in the lake. Its crew hadwaded ashore from it and, when and if they ran, they would wade back toit.
Ramsay began a slow, steady crawl toward the anchored craft. The burningpound boats flared brightly, seeming to ring him with a halo of light.He shrank back, certain he could be seen, then as the glare subsided,crawled forward again. If he could see no one in the darkness, neithercould anyone see him.
He was within thirty yards of the lake now, and he no longer gave athought to Hans and Pieter. He was sure only that they would be presentwhen they were needed and that his way was the right one. There could beno compromise with destruction and no lingering aftermath of thisoutrage. Whatever was to be settled had to be settled completely, andtonight.
Ramsay was certain now that the thing he saw was an anchored Mackinawboat. It remained in the same place, rising and falling with the waves,and no nebulous shadow did that. Intent on the boat, he was not aware ofthe man until he heard his voice, "Gus, you fool! I said be quiet!"
Ramsay held very still, and a rising exultation flooded him. He hadheard that voice before, and there was only one just like it. He hadheard it first when he stood on the _Holter_--that seemed years ago. Heknew that he lay within feet of Devil Chad, who was indeed waiting inambush with his men.
The angry voice repeated, "Be quiet! They'll come!"
Ramsay rose and rushed forward, flinging himself into this combat withall the fierce joy of a newly awakened warrior. He had given a fullsummer, an important part of his life, to building up a career which hegreatly loved. Now he stood ready to defend it with his muscles, hisheart and, if need be, his life.
He saw Devil Chad rise uncertainly to meet him, not knowing whether hewas friend or foe. He aimed a mighty kick at the shotgun in the other'shands, and he knew that he had knocked it completely out of his enemy'sgrasp. He felt a fresh burst of wind on his cheek and, strangely, knewall about the storm that was brewing on the great lake. He closed withhis enemy.
Devil Chad and his men had come to destroy and, if necessary, to kill.But they had counted on Ramsay, Pieter and Hans, charging angrily up thesand beach. Outlined against the burning boats, they would be at atremendous disadvantage. A hail of lead from five shotguns could cutthem down in almost no time. They had their choice between surrenderingor dying for what they believed in.
It had never occurred to Devil Chad or his men that an enemy would darecrawl into their very midst. The darkness that had befriended them nowbecame their enemy. Nobody dared shoot because nobody could possibly becertain whether he were shooting at friend or foe. Ramsay edged up toDevil Chad and swung a tremendous upper-cut to the other's jaw.
He missed, felt his knuckles graze his enemy's cheek, and stepped backfor a new try. Only vaguely was he aware of muffled exclamations thatbecame shouts and then grunts. He knew that Pieter and Hans had closedin. Then it was as though he and Devil Chad were alone.
This was something that had to be. The seed that made the task necessaryhad been planted long ago, on the _Holter_. It had taken deep rootduring the fight in the tannery. Since that time Ramsay had met everychallenge the lake had flung at him. Now he would have to prove himselfcapable of meeting the challenges men flung at him. Then, and only then,could he survive.
Ramsay's lips framed a grin. He had taken the risk, and he had won. Forone brief second somebody might have shot him down, then the opportunitywas forever gone. Now nobody dared shoot. He found a firm footing on thelake sand.
Ramsay dodged a terrific blow that would have knocked him flat had itconnected, and went back in with his arms swinging. He sunk a left and aright to his adversary's midriff and heard Devil Chad's breath whistleout of his clenched lips. He drew back to strike again.
Like the bull he was, Devil Chad charged recklessly. He took Ramsay'sstinging blows without flinching, and the boy had to give ground. But itwas not lost ground, and for one brief, glorious second Ramsay stood andtraded blows. His head rocked, but he took what the other had to offerand returned it in full measure. Then he learned his mistake.
A pair of gigantic arms were flung about his middle. They tightened likea vise, bending him backward and seeming to compress him into a spacenot half-big enough. His spine was ready to crack, and lights danced inhis head. He gasped for air.
The many lessons he had been taught by Hans Van Doorst came to hisrescue. Four months ago, and perhaps even one month ago, the fight wouldhave been ended by that terrific bear hug. But now Ramsay remembered intime that he was not fighting a man alone but a man who was part beast.And it was never wise to lose one's head. A man must always adapthimself and fight like a beast if he fought with one.
Summoning all his remaining strength, Ramsay drew back his right footand sent his heavy shoe smashing into Devil Chad's shin. The fellowrelaxed his hold and staggered back into the darkness.
Ramsay stumbled away from him. Devil Chad was a bull, he remembered, andhe did not know about matadors. The next time he rushed, the boy steppedaside and let his opponent's momentum carry him past. Ramsay's strengthand breath came back.
He became cool, able to reason coolly. Devil Chad outweighed him byfifty pounds, so he must not close again. If he did not, and there wereno accidents, he, Ramsay, would win this fight. For the first time inhis life Devil Chad was fighting his equal.
Ramsay felt strength swell within him. It was the strength of the lake,and it had flowed into his body through the numberless sturgeon he hadcarried to the pond and from the many times he had helped bring in theseine and from the many fish he had scooped from the raised pound nets.He was no longer a boy but a man.
The burning pound boats were falling into embers now, and as the lightthey cast receded the blackness of the night became more intense. Windkeened in from the lake, and the waves assaulting the sand beach madethemselves heard.
Ramsay waded in, his fists flying. In the darkness he was aware of DevilChad coming to meet him, but his deception of his opponent was complete.From the first, he had had no intention of meeting him squarely.
He stepped aside, lashing out with both fists as he did so, and feltboth of them collide soddenly with Devil Chad's chin. The latterbellowed, swung his head and hooked viciously. But he hooked falsely,for Ramsay was not there. His lithe body, dodging and twisting, now hereand now there, became like the cape that lures the bull to its doom.Devil Chad swung and kicked, and often he struck his target. But he didnot strike hard enough to bring Ramsay down, and he could not again geta grip with his giant arms, although he tried desperately.
Roaring wildly, he charged. But it was a blind, mad attack, directedalmost completely by rage and desperation.
Ramsay licked his upper lip, vaguely aware of the fact that he wastasting his own blood but not caring. He felt no pain, and it was oddlyas though he sat on some high pinnacle from which he could watch himselfand direct himself. Both his fists lashed squarely into Devil Chad'sface, driven by all the strength in his hard, young body.
Devil Chad paused, as though bewildered, and Ramsay knew that he wasstunned. Not stopping, throwing some of his caution to the wind, hefollowed up his advantage. His fists worked like cracking whips as hestruck again and again. Devil Chad spun around, took two halting steps,and sank to one knee.
He remained there like some carved statue, and again Ramsay licked awaythe blood that flowed down his face. Now, if he did the correct thing,he would go in and end it with kicking feet. He would beat Devil Chad asmercilessly as he had been beaten. But he did not.
He waited, cool and poised, while the other bowed before him. Only whenDevil Chad lurched to his feet and struck out drunkenly did Ramsay go inagain, and he went in with his fists. He beat a continuous, almostunopposed tatto on his enemy's chin. The second time Devil Chadcollapsed he measured his full length on the sand, and he did not movea
gain.
Ramsay stood watching intently for several moments. He wanted to makecertain that he had met his enemy fairly and defeated him fairly. Howlong he had been fighting he did not know. It seemed like a few seconds,but it must have been much longer. He only knew that he had come out ofthe battle stronger than he was when he went into it. He called, "Hans?"
"Here," the Dutch fisherman answered.
His voice was strained, but even now there was nothing of desperation init. Rather, it was a joyous voice. Ramsay turned toward it and sawscuffling men. He approached them and reached out with groping handsuntil he touched another man. It was neither Hans nor Pieter, and assoon as he was sure of that he swung.
He felt a strong disappointment, for the heat of battle flared strongwithin him and, instead of fighting back, the man merely collapsed onthe sand. Obviously he had already been manhandled by Hans and hadlittle strength left. Ramsay looked strangely at him, as though therewas something that should not be. Then he became aware of the fact thatdawn had come and he could see. He turned to help Hans or Pieter,whichever needed it the most, and he turned just in time to see Hans hitJoe Mannis so hard that the body-watcher flew into the air, described alittle backward whirl, and fell on the sand.
Hans stood, shaggy and huge, breathing hard, but unbeaten andunbeatable. Moving over beside him, Ramsay felt that at last he wasworthy to stand there. Both watched while Pieter teased the singleremaining man, one of the hired ruffians who had helped set the gillnet, then slapped him resoundingly on both cheeks. As though he wereunworthy of further notice, Pieter whirled on his heel and left his foe.The man went weaving up the beach into the lightening morning.
Hans grinned wryly at Ramsay. "Your face, it looks like a horse steppedon it."
"You've got a couple of mosquito bites yourself."
"Yaah." Hans grinned again.
Ramsay said, "They got our boats."
Hans said, "They got our nets, too. Joe Mannis, he told me that when wefought. They would get us, he said."
"They didn't."
"No, they didn't."
They turned at a sudden wooden scraping out on the lake, and saw theMackinaw boat under way. Beaten and bruised, Devil Chad crouched at theoars. Hurriedly he sent the boat farther out, toward the open lake. Theywatched as though this were some foreign sight of no interest whatever.
Hans walked over to prod Joe Mannis with the toe of his shoe. "Get up,"he said.
Joe Mannis stirred and groaned. He opened his eyes, blinked stupidly andraised himself on one hand. There was a deceptive gentleness in Hans'words and tone, but Joe Mannis was not deceived. He knew that Hans meantit when he said, "Come down the beach once more after this storm. Youwill find something to interest only you. Then never let me see youagain. If I do, I will drown you in the lake."
Hans looked out on the lake, into the gathering storm and at thereceding Mackinaw boat. High waves were already clawing at it, and DevilChad was not yet out of the bay. Hans said, "He is not a fisherman. Heis not even a sailor. I myself would think twice about taking the_Spray_ out now."
Near the boat something white, something not born of the rollingwhitecaps, appeared for a second and disappeared. Ramsay smiled softly.He knew that he had again seen the White Sturgeon. He also knew what JoeMannis would find in the morning. Devil Chad.
The three partners walked back down the sand to the embers of the poundboats. They stood near them, warming themselves in the last of thefire. Ramsay prodded the sand with his toe.
They were right back where they had started. A whole summer's hard workhad gone to satisfy the greed and lust of one man. What they had leftwas the seine, the row boat, the forming skeleton of the _Spray II_ andthe pier. Ramsay set his jaw. They could do it again. They had done itonce.
He looked toward the Mackinaw boat, and discovered that it had gone outof the bay into the open lake. But his eyes were attracted by somethingelse on the horizon.
A moment later he identified it as a plume of smoke. Five minutesafterward, storm-lashed but defiant, the _Jackson_ nosed out of the lakeinto the sheltered bay. Manned by able seamen, sure of herself, the_Jackson_ came up to her accustomed place at the pier. Ramsay, Hans andPieter caught her mooring ropes.
Resplendent in his uniform, little Captain Williamson came down his ropeladder and strutted on the pier. "A blow," he said, as though a storm onLake Michigan meant nothing to him. "We'll tie up here until it's over,then go back to Chicago. Have you got any fish?"
"Some," Ramsay admitted.
He thought of the ten barrels of whitefish that were ready for shipment,and he watched Captain Williamson's face fall. The little captainemitted a long sigh. "Some, eh? I was hoping for better news. Chicago'sgrowing like a weed in the sun, and it's hungry. Most of the fishermenmade their last shipments ten days ago. The markets are almost empty,and even sturgeon's bringing five cents a pound."
For one brief second the storm clouds parted and the sun shone through.Then the sky was again overcast and the storm leaped furiously. Ramsayturned his shining face toward Hans and Pieter. The tons of sturgeon inthe pond ... At five cents a pound there would be more than enoughmoney to replace everything and to buy the finest planking for the_Spray II_.
Ramsay said, "Save plenty of room on the _Jackson_. We'll need it."
On top of the ridge-pole, Captain Klaus fluttered his long wings andcurved his sinuous neck. As though he approved thoroughly he called,"_Quark!_"
* * * * *
_Books by Jim Kjelgaard_
BIG RED
REBEL SIEGE
FOREST PATROL
BUCKSKIN BRIGADE
CHIP, THE DAM BUILDER
FIRE HUNTER
IRISH RED
KALAK OF THE ICE
A NOSE FOR TROUBLE
SNOW DOG
TRAILING TROUBLE
WILD TREK
THE SPELL OF THE WHITE STURGEON
THE EXPLORATIONS OF PERE MARQUETTE
The Spell of the White Sturgeon Page 11
