"Ah, yes!" Hans said gleefully. "But the fishing, it is a business! It
is the only business for a man!"
Ramsay pondered thoughtfully. Devil Chad, who lately had seemed remote,
was now near and his presence could be felt. Probably, to anyone who
knew Devil Chad, it would be impossible to go into Three Points without
sensing his nearness. If Devil Chad had set out to control everything,
then why hadn't he made an attempt to control fishing? Certainly it was
profitable. Ramsay dismissed the thought. Maybe Devil Chad had his hands
full and lacked the time to intrude on the fisheries. It still seemed
strange that he would lack time to intrude on anything that offered an
honest, or even a dishonest, dollar.
Captain Klaus came winging back to the cart and perched on the
Dutchman's shoulder. Hans turned the little horse down a dim road, one
Ramsay had not yet noticed, on the edge of Three Points, and they came
out on the borders of a river that emptied into the lake.
There was a large shed with a chimney that leaned at a crazy angle and
belched a thin trickle of smoke. Hans halted the little horse, who
immediately lowered his head to nibble at one of the few patches of
green grass growing on this sand beach. Ramsay turned his head to look
at the place.
Lumber of various sizes and cuts was stacked all about it, and there was
a pile of uncut logs left to season. Ramsay saw the gleam of a saw and
caught the scent of a wood-fired boiler. Now the saw's shrill roar was
stilled and the boiler's fires were banked. Ramsay looked at the dozen
boats that were drawn up on the river bank. They were sturdy, fourteen
to sixteen feet long, and propelled wholly by oars. At the back of each
was sort of a small winch. There were broad seats and long oars. Ramsay
turned to face the man who emerged from the shed.
He was tall, blond and so big that he was almost fat. But his quick eyes
were not those of a dull-witted fat man, and his big hands tapered into
slim, expressive, artist's fingers. A ready smile seemed engraved on his
thick lips, and his blue eyes lighted readily. "Hans!" he exclaimed.
"Hello, Tom," Hans said.
"What the dickens! I thought you'd gone off some place!"
Hans laughed. "Not me! I wish you to meet one of my new partners, Ramsay
Cartou. Ramsay, Tom Nedley. He is an artist with the wood and could make
fine violins, but he prefers to pass his time on this river bank, making
pound boats for indigent fishermen."
"Glad to know you." Tom wrung Ramsay's hand. "What are you up to?"
"We have come," Hans announced, "to get a pound boat."
"Sure. Take your pick."
"We," Hans said grandly, "have the money to pay for it."
"Gosh! I heard you lost the _Spray_?"
"That we did," Hans conceded, "and three good men with it. But we shall
build another boat as good. Can you, by the way, supply me with a good
oaken keel and cedar planking?"
"Sure. I'll even show you where there's some big cedar stumps that'll do
for the ribbing."
"I already know," Hans said. "What we wish to have you do now is deliver
a good pound boat to Pieter Van Hooven's place. Two hundred dollars?"
"Yup. But if you haven't the money ..."
"We have it," Hans assured him. He counted out some money and pressed it
into Tom Nedley's hands. The big boatmaker looked both embarrassed and
pleased. "Gosh! Thanks! Got your spiles driven?"
"Nope."
"For that you need two boats."
"Of that I am aware. But we do not have money to buy two."
"I'll get my brother, my cousin and their sons," Tom Nedley offered. "Be
down in the mornin'."
"For that we will pay you."
"Aw, Hans ..."
"Take it." Hans grinned. "We are certain to get rich fishing but, if we
don't, you will have something."
"Aw shucks ..."
"Take it!"
"We'll be there."
"Thanks," Hans said.
Mounting the cart, he turned the horse around and at a smart trot drove
up into the village. Ramsay sat proudly erect, feeling strength like
that of a young bull arise within him. This was the village from which
he had been driven in disgrace by Devil Chad, but it was a village he
dared return to. Any time he felt like it he would return to Three
Points, and let Devil Chad meet him if he dared. Hans stopped the horse
in front of a cottage which might have been an exact duplicate of the
one occupied by Pierre and Madame LeDou.
Letting the horse stand, Hans leaped from the cart and faced Ramsay.
"This," he announced loudly, "is the home of Frog-Mouth Fontan, whose
good wife is about to sell us a pound net. Frog-Mouth, by the way, is
one of Devil Chad's closest friends."
As though summoned by the voice, one of the very few tall Frenchmen
Ramsay had ever seen appeared at the door. His mouth, the boy noticed,
was oddly like that of a frog. As soon as he recognized his visitor, he
emitted an enraged bellow and charged.
Hans grinned, stepped aside, and swung. But Frog-Mouth Fontan was an
expert fighter, too. He dodged, pivoted and dealt two swift blows that
set Hans' head to rocking. Then the Dutchman found the range, and sent
his pile-driver fist into Frog-Mouth's jaw. He hit again, and a third
time. Frog-Mouth Fontan staggered, weaved backwards, and with a silly
grin on his face sat down against the cabin. He continued to grin
foolishly, staring into the bright sun. A small, dark woman without any
teeth appeared at the door. She looked at her husband, then spat at him.
"_Cochon!_" she said. "Pig!" She looked at Ramsay and Hans. "What do you
want?"
"One of your excellent pound nets, Madame Fontan," Hans murmured
politely.
"Do you have the money to pay for it?"
"We have it."
"Load the net."
Ramsay helped Hans lift the folded net, four pieces of
three-and-a-quarter-inch webbing, two pieces of six-and-a-quarter-inch,
and seven pieces of eight-and-a-half-inch, onto the cart. The latter
sagged beneath almost seven hundred pounds of net, and the little horse
looked questioningly around. But he stepped out obediently when Hans
slapped the reins over his back, and Captain Klaus squawked over them as
they returned to Pieter's farm.
* * * * *
The next morning Ramsay stared in astonishment at a unique craft coming
down the lake. Five men, one of whom was Tom Nedley, manned the
outlandish rigging, and it was propelled by two sets of oars. Ramsay
strolled down to meet it, and noticed some spiles--poles--about
thirty-five feet long, that were piled on the beach. Evidently Hans had
cut them, or had them brought down, after he and Ramsay returned home.
The craft, and as it drew near, Ramsay saw that it was two sixteen-foot
pound boats, bound together by stout planks front and rear, nosed into
the pier. The crew disembarked, and Tom Nedley introduced Ramsay to his
brother, his cousin and their two strapping sons. Ramsay turned a
curious gaze on the boats.
They were lashed solidly together by planks that kept them about fifteen
feet apart. On top of the planks was raised a sort of scaffolding,
connected by a heavy beam whose nether surface was about twenty feet
from the water. Suspended from the beam was a four-pulley block with a
rope through each pulley, and the ropes supported an iron drop hammer.
There was another pulley whose use Ramsay could not even guess.
Shouting and scrambling as though this were some sort of picnic
especially arranged just for them, Tom Nedley's boisterous crew threw
the spiles in the water and floated them out to the boats. They tied
them to the stern, then set up a concerted shouting. "Hans! Hey, Hans!
Pieter!"
Grinning, Hans and Pieter, who had lingered over their breakfast after
Ramsay was finished, appeared from the house. Tom Nedley's brother said
plaintively, "Twenty minutes of six! Half the day gone already! Don't
you fellows ever do anything except sleep?"
"Yaah!" Hans scoffed. "Who is so filled with ambition?" He looked at the
oarsman who had spoken and leaped lightly into the boat. "Now we will
see who is the best man."
Ramsay jumped on board just in time to keep from being left behind, and
Hans bent his mighty back to the oars. In the second boat the other
oarsman tried to match Hans' pace, and the unwieldy craft spurted away
like a frightened deer. Trailing behind, the spiles left a path of
bubbly ripples.
Out of the bay they went and into the open lake. Then they turned south,
obviously Hans had some destination in mind. At any rate, he seemed to
know exactly where he was going. They stopped rowing on a reef about a
mile from shore, and one of the men retrieved a spile.