The round ball of the sun was hanging low above the purple line of
Garden Island in the west, and the breeze was down until there was
hardly a ripple on the water. From cover of bushes along the point,
Hardrock and Fulsom watched that green fishboat, a red stripe
running broadly around her, spin past the point and round it, and
head for the floating paddle that marked the whisky-cache.
“She’s fast,” said the Sheriff appraisingly. “Built for the work.
She came up from the south, all right, followed the channel through
past Gray’s Reef as though going to the straits, then cut straight
west and headed here. She wasn’t taking any chances by coming up
past Beaver.”
“What’s your program?” demanded Hardrock.
“Get out in that launch, and get quick. You got your shotgun, I’ve
got my pistol. She’ll let us come alongside, and we’ll grab her,
that’s all. No time to waste. You’re my deputy--swear!”
“I swear,” said Hardrock, and laughed. “Making a prisoner into a
deputy--”
“Oh hell, shove along! We got to move fast. I aim to catch her with
the goods.”
They hurried back along the shore and ran out the open launch.
Fulsom gave his automatic pistol to Hardrock, took the shotgun, and
scrambled into the bow.
“You ’tend the engine. We’ll get ’em back here and put ’em through
the third degree separate. Don’t say a word about the murder. Leave
me to handle it.”
“With pleasure.”
* * * * *
The engine spat and coughed and puffed, and presently they were
slipping out past the long point. The green fishboat had halted at
the fish-trap. She was a boat of fair size, housed over except for
foredeck, after-deck, and a narrow strip along the sides. The after
end of this house was wide open. Forward on each side were wide
openings where the lifter brought in nets and fish.
Just now, however, two men were at work forward in the bow, hauling
in better prey than fish. Several cases were piled up, and they were
getting another case aboard. A third man appeared in the stern,
stared at the launch, and called to his companions. All three
turned, watching her.
Hardrock headed as though to bear up past them for Beaver Island and
waved his hand, to which they made no response. The man from aft had
ducked out of sight, reappearing on the foredeck with the others. As
Fulsom was apparently at work on something and not interested, the
whisky-runners evinced no alarm. Then, when he was opposite their
boat and a hundred feet distant, Hardrock shoved the tiller hard
down and swung in toward her.
One of the three waved his arm and shouted:
“Git away! Sheer off! We don’t want no visitors.”
Sheriff Fulsom straightened up, pointed down, and shouted something
indistinguishable. Hardrock held on his course. Again the leader of
the three waved them off, this time with added oaths. Fulsom
grinned.
“Got something to show ye! Look here--look at this!”
The Sheriff leaned forward as though to drag something up to sight,
then came up with the shotgun leveled. The other boat was now not
thirty feet distant.
“Stand quiet and put your hands up! You’re under arrest. Hands up,
durn ye!”
The whisky-runners were caught entirely unawares. This boat,
obviously an island boat, with only two men in her, had been
unsuspected; while to lake-farers any talk of arrest among the
Beavers was in itself ludicrous. There was nothing ludicrous about
Fulsom or the way he handled his shotgun, however, and after one
surprised oath the astonished and dismayed trio put up their hands.
“Run her alongside,” said the Sheriff to Hardrock. “Then go aboard
and disarm ’em. Go through her for guns. You three gents roost high
and quiet, or I’ll blow daylight into ye.”
“What’s this for, anyhow?” demanded the leader. He was a big,
lantern-jawed fellow marked with a scar across his cheek. His two
comrades were swarthy men, whom Hardrock took to be Greeks or
kindred foreigners. Who are you, holdin’ us up this way?”
“Sheriff,” and Fulsom put up one hand to display his star. “All
right, Hardrock.”
As the two craft came into each other, Hardrock jumped aboard the
larger boat and made fast a line. The sight of the officer’s badge
had disconcerted the trio, and they offered only sullen curses as he
swiftly went through them. From two of them he removed heavy
automatics, which he tossed into his own craft. The third man was
unarmed.
Crawling through the forward opening of the deck-house, Hardrock
paused in surprise. There was no lifter in sight, no nets were
aboard, nor fish. Under him was a pile of a dozen whisky-cases, the
white wood all brown and soggy with water, which had evidently been
picked up at some other point in the course of the afternoon. A
quick search sufficed to show that no rifles or other weapons were
in evidence, and he returned to the foredeck.
“Nothing aboard but whisky, Sheriff, and plenty of that,” he called.
“They loaded another cache aboard before coming here.”
“Right thoughtful of ’em,” said Fulsom grimly, and moved back into
the stern, after tossing the captured weapons ahead of him. “You
three birds hop down into the bow, here. Come along, now, and no
talk.”
“Can’t we fix this up, Sheriff?” demanded the leader. “We got some
money--”
“Now I’ll soak you for attempted bribery,” snapped Fulsom. “Git
down!”
* * * * *
Cursing anew, the scar-faced leader got into the bow of the open
launch, and his two comrades followed him. Fulsom looked up at
Hardrock.
“Cast off that anchor in her bows and make sure the line’s fast.
Give her the len’th. Good holdin’ ground here, and she’ll drift in
toward the shore and set pretty. No wind comin’ up tonight, anyhow.
I got two pair o’ handcuffs at camp, and when we get these birds
fixed up and have supper, we can figger what to do next.”
The three “birds” looked decidedly unhappy. The two Greeks began to
talk in their own language, until the Sheriff peremptorily shut them
up. Hardrock, meantime, dumped the big anchor over the bows of the
green fishboat, watched the line run out until it drew taut, and
then climbed back into his own borrowed craft. The sun was just
sinking from sight.
“Back to camp?” he asked, and Fulsom nodded assent.
The engine started up, and the boat circled out for the point, the
Sheriff standing amidships with his shotgun ready. The three
prisoners, crowded on the bow thwart, showed no symptoms of putting
up any fight, however.
“Simplest thing on earth,” said Fulsom calmly, “is to handcuff a
gent with his arms around a sapling. We’ll do that with two of these
birds, and interview the third--give ’em turn and turn about at it.
And we’ll keep ’em at far separated trees. And no supper. Make ’em
talk better, hungry.”
As they were perhaps meant to do, these words reached and stung the
trio. After a rapid-fire exchange of Greek, the leader turned
around.
“This aint legal!” he exclaimed savagely. “You aint got no warrant--”
“I got a shotgun,” said the Sheriff, a cold glint in his eyes, “and
you’ll taste it if you get gay. So turn around there and set easy.
We aint ready for you to talk yet awhile.”
The boat was around the point and heading in for the shore.
Hardrock, one hand on the tiller, swept her directly in toward the
clearing, threw out the clutch, and after a moment threw it into
reverse. With hardly a jar, the prow of the boat came into the
ground a couple of feet from shore, weighted down as it was by the
three prisoners.
“Now, then,” ordered Fulsom, “you birds hop out and draw her up.
Don’t any of you make a break, or I’ll pepper your hides!”
* * * * *
The big leader, with a growled oath, obeyed the order. There was no
sand at the water’s edge, the beach being composed of small stones,
which farther back ran into sand. The two Greeks likewise got out.
The leader took the prow, each of the Greeks seized the gunnel, and
they drew up the launch until the bow was on the shingle.
“Now you, Hardrock,” commanded the Sheriff. “Never mind the
guns--I’ll ’tend to ’em. Run over to my pile of stuff and fetch the
handcuffs, will you?”
“Sure.”
Hardrock stepped past the Sheriff and jumped ashore.
At the same instant, the big leader stooped; and the two Greeks
shoved outward on the boat with all their power. Fulsom, caught
unawares by the tremendous lurch of the boat, lost his balance,
dropped the shotgun, and reeled for an instant. The leader hurled a
chunk of rock that struck the staggering man squarely in the side of
the head and sent him down like a shot.
The whole thing passed off swiftly, neatly, with increditable
precision and accuracy. Even as Hardrock whirled about from his
spring, Fulsom was down and the launch was darting out twenty feet
from shore.
Then he found all three men on top of him. One of the Greeks came
first, and went sprawling in the water as Hardrock’s fist met his
face. The second Greek lunged in from one side, a knife in his hand,
and took a kick under the chin that laid him senseless, but the
leader was hurling himself forward and Hardrock could not evade.
Caught in a burly grip, arms locked, both men went down, thrashing.
Even then, had matters been equal, Hardrock would have won out, for
with a twist he came up on top and rammed a fist into the scarred
face--but just then the first Greek swung a stone that laid the man
from Arizona prostrate. Dazed and almost senseless from the blow,
Hardrock keeled over, and before he could recover he was pinned down
under both opponents.
“Tie him up!” growled the leader, and two minutes later Hardrock was
bound hand and foot, while the Greek stooped over his unconscious
comrade and the burly leader stood laughing and panting. He grinned
down at Hardrock.
“So that’s what we think of you and your blasted Sheriff!” he
declared. “We’ll let him float to Mackinac, if he aint dead. By the
time he gits back here, we’ll sure be on our way. Got a good camp
here, aint you? Guess we’ll git us a bite to eat ’fore we bring up
our boat and beat it.”
For a little, however, the man had his hands full. The groaning
Greek, revived by his compatriot, retrieved his knife and flung
himself on the bound captive; the leader interfered, and the trees
resounded to bellowed oaths and orders and imprecations. Hardrock,
helpless to move, watched and listened grimly. At length the
arguments of the leader took effect.
“And ye don’t want to be the same damned fools ye were before, do
ye?” concluded the wrathful leader. “We don’t want to be trailed for
murder! Leave him be. We’ll fix him so’s he can’t hurt us none--and
we wont murder him neither. Ye may think ye can pull a stunt like
that more’n once, and get away with it; but ye can’t. How d’ye know
that there Sheriff didn’t want ye for the other shootin’, hey?”
The sullen Greek acquiesced, put away his knife, and all three men
stamped away up to the camp. Darkness was gathering upon the waters,
but Hardrock no longer stared after the rapidly vanishing boat that
was drifted off along the shore and toward the open lake. Those
words of the leader were dinning in his brain. He knew now who had
shot down those two boys from St. James.