A few mornings after the first call of the _Calista_ Budge and Percy
were out pulling traps. Percy had told Jim plainly that he did not care
to do any more trawling. Jim had smiled and made no reply; but after
that either Throppy or Budge went out with him after hake. What the
others said in private about Percy he neither knew nor cared.
On this particular forenoon the lobster-catchers had half circled the
island. As they nosed along the northern shore Percy spied some
strange-looking floats ahead.
"There's a red buoy!" he exclaimed. "Somebody else must be fishing
here!"
Incredulously Budge glanced forward. What he saw left him sober.
"You're right! This'll be unpleasant news for Jim."
They ran up to the strange float. It was a battered wedge, painted a
faded brick color. Percy gaffed it aboard.
"What's the brand?" queried Budge.
"Hasn't any."
Lane examined it and found that Percy was correct. The wood bore no
marks to reveal its owner.
"Better haul the trap?" asked Percy.
He began heaving in on the warp.
"Stop that!" ordered Budge, sharply. "Throw it over. We don't want to
get into any scrape. We'll have to put it up to Jim this noon. He'll
know what to do."
They counted nine more of the red buoys before they reached the
northeast point of the island.
"Look there!"
Percy pointed toward the landlocked Sly Hole. A thin column of blue
smoke was rising above it, as if from the stovepipe of an anchored boat.
Budge debated for a moment, then turned the bow of the pea-pod toward
the narrow entrance.
"We'll go in and see who's there."
A dozen quick strokes sent the boat through the winding channel into the
little harbor. Budge rested on his oars and they looked eagerly about.
In the center of the haven lay anchored a rusty black sloop about forty
feet long, a dory swinging at her stern. From her cabin drifted the
sound and smell of frying fish, mingled with men's voices.
"Might as well take the bull by the horns," said Budge.
He rowed directly up to the sloop. The sounds on board evidently drowned
the dipping of his oars, for it was not until the stem of the pea-pod
struck the rusty side that the voices stopped and two startled brown
faces popped up out of the companionway. Both men had sharp black eyes,
and black shocks of hair badly in need of the barber. One was slightly
gray, and a prickly stubble of unshaven beard covered his chin. The
younger man had a jet-black mustache with long, drooping ends. Both wore
red shirts, open at the neck, with sleeves rolled above the elbows. The
younger held a half-smoked cigar, while his companion grasped a large
fork, which he evidently had been using on the fish. For a few seconds
the two couples regarded each other in silence.
[Illustration]
Then the man with the black mustache smiled ingratiatingly.
"H'lo, boys!" he invited. "Won't you come 'board?"
"No, thank you," declined Budge. "When did you get here?"
"We come last night, from ... there," with a vague gesture toward the
west. "We fish, we lobster. You live on dis island ... yes? We stay
here, too. We be good friend. Wait!"
Diving below, he brought up a long-necked black bottle.
"You have drink?"
"No!" refused Budge, decidedly.
The man looked disappointed. He muttered a few words to his companion.
The latter scowled. Then they drank from the bottle and replaced it
below. The younger man began talking again.
"Disa good harbor! We build camp there."
He gestured toward the beach.
"We plenty lath on board. We make one ... two hundred trap. We stop all
summer. Good friend, eh?"
"I guess so," returned Budge.
The program announced had taken him somewhat aback. He hardly knew what
to reply. Pushing the pea-pod off, he turned her toward the channel.
"You livea 'cross dis island ... yes?" shouted the man after him. "We
come see you to-night!"
Budge made no response to this advance. Steady, rapid pulling soon
brought the boys again into open water.
"Well, what do you think now?" asked Percy.
"Wait till we hear what Jim says," was Lane's reply.
The remaining traps were hauled in double-quick time and they made a
bee-line for Sprowl's Cove. Spurling and Throppy came in at noon on the
_Barracouta_. Jim's brows knitted when he heard of their new neighbors.
"What should you say they were?" he inquired.
"Don't know," answered Lane. "Only I'm sure they're not Yankees."
"And they had no brand on their buoys?"
"Not a letter!"
"That's against the law. Suspicious, too. So they intend to build a camp
here and spend the summer?"
"That's what they said."
The anxious furrows in Jim's forehead deepened. He brought his fist down
hard on the _Barracouta's_ cabin.
"Boys," he said, firmly, "they can't stop here. There aren't lobsters
enough on these ledges for them and for us. What they get we won't.
They've got to pull up those traps and get out just as quick as we can
make 'em."
The others exchanged looks of surprise. Though they knew Jim's absolute
fairness and sense of right, they could not help feeling that his
decision was a harsh one. Jim read their faces.
"I know what you're thinking, boys. It seems as if I had no right to
drive 'em off. But suppose any one of you owned a piece of woods on the
mainland, and a stranger should come and begin to chop the trees down
without your permission. How long would you stand it? The same principle
holds good here, even if it is twenty-five miles offshore. This is my
uncle Tom's island. He's been paying taxes on it for years. His living
comes from it and the waters round it. He's leased it to us on shares,
and we've got to look out for his interest as well as our own.
"But how can you stop them from setting traps?" queried Lane. "I thought
the sea beyond low-water mark was public property."
"It is. They can set as many traps as they can bring on their sloop, and
I never could trouble 'em so long as they lived aboard. If they fished
with only the few they've got now I'd never say a word. But when they
talk of building a camp ashore, and going into the business wholesale
with one or two hundred pots, we must draw the line, and draw it sharp.
They can't use any of the shore legally without my permission, and that
they'll never get; and if they try to use it illegally they'll find
themselves in hot water mighty quick.
"Another thing," he continued, "they're strangers to us, and drinking
men. They might pull our traps or accuse us of pulling theirs. There's a
chance for all sorts of mix-ups. No, they've got to go, and the sooner
the better."
"They're coming across to call to-night," said Lane.
"Not if we can get over there first. We'll go round in the sloop as soon
as these hake are dressed and salted."
At four o'clock the last fish was slapped down on the rounded-up tub.
"Now we'll go," announced Jim. "Come on, everybody! You, too, Filippo!
Might as well show up our full force. It may help stave off trouble."
"Aren't you going to take the gun?" Percy inquired.
"Gun? No! What'd we want of that? We don't intend to shoot anybody."
Twenty minutes after the _Barracouta_ left Sprowl's Cove she was
thudding into the Sly Hole. The sloop still lay at anchor in its center,
but the dory was grounded on the beach. From the woods above, ax-strokes
echoed faintly.
"Either cutting firewood or beginning on that camp," said Jim.
Presently the chopping ceased. Before long the two men appeared on the
top of the bank, dragging a spruce trunk about twenty feet long. On
seeing the _Barracouta_ they halted in surprise, then dropped the tree
and hurried down to their dory.
"Seem to be afraid we've been mousing round aboard their boat," muttered
Spurling.
Without responding to his hail the two strangers rowed hastily to their
sloop and went below. A minute or two of investigation evidently
satisfied them that nothing had been disturbed. As they came up again
Jim ran the _Barracouta_ alongside.
"Where you from?" he asked.
The younger man again acted as spokesman:
"Way off ... there!"
As when Budge had questioned him, he gestured vaguely toward the west.
Then he launched into a repetition of what he had said that forenoon.
"We stay on dis island all summer. Make trap. Build camp. Catch plenty
fish, plenty lobster. All friend, eh?"
He laid his left hand on his heart, and with his right made a sweeping
gesture that included the whole group.
"You wait!"
Dropping suddenly out of sight, he reappeared with equal quickness,
brandishing the black bottle.
"We drink ... all together, eh?"
Jim brushed his proffer aside.
"I've hired this island. You'll have to pay me rent if you stop here."
A shadow of wrath swept over the dark face. Instantly it was gone, and a
smile replaced it.
"Rent!" he protested. "No, no! Friend no pay! We sing, we smoke, we
drink, we playa cards. All good friend together. No pay money!"
The last very decided. The older man nodded vigorously in confirmation,
and for the first time broke silence.
"No pay money!" he repeated. "All friend!"
The two laid their hands on their hearts and stood smiling and bowing.
For a moment Jim was nonplussed. He backed the _Barracouta_ out of
earshot.
"Well, what d'you think of the outlook?" asked Lane.
"Don't like it, and I don't like them. Too much palaver! I've got 'em
sized up. They're regular salt-water gipsies; I've heard of 'em before.
They drift round from one place to another, fish a little, lobster a
little, smoke a good deal, and drink more. They'd be worse than a
pestilence on this island. Yes, sir! They've got to go! They know just
as well as I do that they've no right to stop here; but they're going to
bluff it through. They'll try to stave me off by pretending not to
understand what I mean, but you noticed they were bright enough when
money was mentioned."
"What are you going to do about it?"
"Tell 'em they've got to go!"
"And if they won't?"
"Send for the sheriff!"
While the boys had been holding their council of war the two men had
disappeared into their cabin, where they held an angry, but
unintelligible, discussion. As Jim brought the _Barracouta_ once more
alongside their heads quickly appeared. They were scowling blackly.
"Will you pay rent?" demanded Jim.
"No pay rent," came the defiant reply from both together.
"Pull up your traps, then, and go!"
"No go!" exclaimed the younger. "You go! We stay!"
"That settles it," said Jim. "I'll send for the sheriff to-night, and
have him here in the morning."
He leaned over to start his engine. At his first movement the two
dropped out of sight, but before he could rock the wheel they were up
again, each holding a shot-gun. They leveled these weapons at the
_Barracouta_.
"No send for sheriff! No start engine!"
Jim straightened up and the startled boys glanced at one another. The
demonstration of hostility had come like a bolt from a clear sky. Things
looked ugly. Again the younger man spoke.
"S'pose you go for sheriff. We stay! Cut buoy! Sink boat! Burn cabin!
Then go before you get back! How you like that, eh?"
For once Jim was at a loss. What answer could be made to such an
argument? The other noted his hesitation, and smiled triumphantly.
"You let us alone, we let you alone! You trouble us, we trouble you. Now
you go!"
It was half a permission, half a command, backed by the leveled guns.
Jim was on the point of starting the engine when Filippo interrupted
him.
"Misser Jim, let me talk to 'em," he begged in a low tone.
Spurling glanced at him in surprise.
"What for, Filippo? Are they countrymen of yours?"
"Don't know! I see!"
"Go ahead, then! It can't do any hurt."
"Hi!" called out Filippo. "Listen! _Ascoltatemi!_"
The two men started as if they had been shot; they fixed their gaze on
Filippo. He began talking rapidly to them in Italian, gesturing freely.
They replied in the same language. For fully ten minutes the heated
dialogue continued. Jim and his mates listened in silence, now and then
catching a word they had learned from Filippo, but not comprehending the
drift of the debate.
At last it was clear that some conclusion had been reached. Shaking
their heads in disgust, the two sullenly restored their guns to the
cabin. Filippo turned to Jim.
"All right! They go to-night, after they pull traps. Now we start--right
away!"
Jim looked at the Italian in amazement; but he started the engine and
the sloop forged out of the cove. Once in the passage, he broke silence.
"How did you ever manage it, Filippo?"
"I tell them your uncle own island; you hire it of him for summer. You
lots of friends. If they no go, you send for sheriff right away. We too
many for them. Guard cabin with gun till you get back. Sheriff come in
night, while they sleep. Take them, take boat, take trap. Put them in
jail. They break rock, work on road rest of summer. They not like that.
They go!"
"Good enough, Filippo! Guess you didn't strain the truth much. You
certainly have got us out of an unpleasant hole. I'm free to say I was
at my wits' end. Good thing for us we ran across you on the wharf at
Stonington!"
"Better thing for me!" answered Filippo.
That evening after supper the boys stole silently through the woods to
the northeastern end of the island. The Sly Hole was empty! The sloop
had gone!
Stepping out of the evergreens, Jim looked westward along the shore.
"There they are!"
The dory towing astern was piled high with traps.
"Shouldn't wonder if they had some of ours among 'em!" exclaimed Jim.
"No matter! We're getting rid of 'em cheap, if they scoop a dozen! But
look at that! They've got all they want, and now they're cutting away
our buoys! Here's where I call a halt!"
He sprang out upon the bank in plain sight.
"Hi, there! Stop that!"
One of the men had just gaffed a buoy. At Jim's hail he glanced up and
waved his hand nonchalantly. Then he deliberately cut the warp. The
other man dropped into the cabin and reappeared with the two guns. Jim
threw himself flat on his face.
"Down, boys!" he cried.
A hail of birdshot peppered the bluff and the woods behind it as both
the double-barrels roared out in unison. One leaden pellet drew blood
from the back of Jim's hand, while Throppy, a little slow in dropping to
cover, was stung on the cheek. The others were untouched. Percy shook
with fright and excitement. Lane was boiling with anger.
"Let's take the _Barracouta_ and follow 'em!" he proposed.
"Cool off, Budge!" laughed Jim. "That's just a parting salute. Besides,
they've got two guns to our one. Let 'em go! And good riddance to bad
rubbish! See! They're on their way now!"
The sloop's head swung to the north and she filled away.
"They've done what damage they've dared and they're gone for good.
They'll be up at Isle au Haut to-night, either in Head Harbor or
Kimball's Island Thoroughfare. Forget 'em!"
"Lucky my temper isn't hitched up with your strength," said Lane.