"What must we do?"
"Watch ourselves," Hans declared. "Hereafter we must leave the nets
unguarded and the lake without our own patrol, only when we are sure it
is safe. If someone has come to take from us our right to fish, we must
be our own protection. At the same time we must not act blindly. The
lake is big enough for all. If one has come who would take everything
for himself, we fight."
"You know it's Devil Chad."
"I know no such thing."
"Do you suspect him?"
"Yes," Hans answered frankly.
"Then why not take action?"
"Look, boy," and Ramsay writhed because never before had Hans addressed
him in such a fashion, "lives are now at stake. Let us be sure before we
lose ours or take someone else's!"
"You are right," Pieter approved. "Yes, you are right."
Puzzled, Ramsay looked at his two partners. It was absurd to suppose
that either was afraid; they had proven their courage too many times.
Yet, though both thought Devil Chad the raider, both refused to move
against him until they had proof of his piracies. Ramsay thought of
something he had read, 'A man is innocent until proven guilty.' Maybe
Hans and Pieter believed that sincerely, while the hot-headed Baptiste
was ready to strike at anything at all.
Ramsay felt a rising admiration for his partners. "What must we do?" he
asked.
"I doubt if they'll strike by day," Hans said. "If they come, it will be
in the night. We'll make three watches, and alternate on them. That way
they cannot surprise us."
"Suppose they come?"
Hans shrugged eloquently. "Then we will fight and fight hard, for it is
certain that no one else will do our fighting for us. Do either of you
have a choice as to watches?"
Nobody had a choice. Hans broke three straws of different lengths,
concealed them in the palm of his hand, and held them out. They drew,
and compared straws. Pieter had the shortest, the first watch, Ramsay
the second and Hans the third. Hans looked thoughtfully at the
twilight-softened lake. "Pieter, do you want to go out at seven and
stay until eleven?"
"Yaah."
"Good. Ramsay, stay out until about two and awaken me."
"All right."
Ramsay ate the excellent supper Marta had prepared, listened idly to the
chatter of Tradin' Jack, who knew what had happened and was nervous
because of it, and went upstairs to bed. In spite of his inner tension
and his excitement, his head had scarcely touched the pillow when he
dozed off. A moment later, or so it seemed, Pieter was touching his
shoulder.
"It's time."
"I ... Huh? Oh, yes."
Ramsay came fully awake, and Pieter lighted the candle in his room. Its
beams sparkled brightly on the shining barrel of the muzzle-loading
fowling-piece Pieter carried. Of a huge bore, the gun was charged with
black powder and loaded with lead slugs. Ramsay shuddered as he accepted
it. Such a gun would be sure to work great havoc among anything it was
shot at, but its recoil alone would probably set a mule back on its
haunches.
"Anything happen?" Ramsay whispered.
"Nothing," Pieter said. "Nobody came. The lake is calm and the boat
awaits you on the beach."
"I'll see you in the morning."
"Good luck."
His shoes in one hand and the shotgun in the other, Ramsay stole quietly
down the stairs and out the back door. He stopped to put his shoes on,
and looked around him.
A pale moon shone through disheveled clouds that gave the sky the
appearance of a man sadly in need of a hair-cut, and the faintest
suspicion of a breeze kicked up small wavelets. Asleep on the ridge
pole, Captain Klaus was a dull, shapeless blob in the night sky. Ramsay
cradled the shotgun in his right elbow and walked down to the beach.
The pound boat had wedged itself lightly against the sand. Ramsay put
the anchor back in, carefully laid the shotgun on the rower's seat, and
stood in the stern until he had tilted the craft from its mooring.
Sitting down, with a vigorous stroke of the oars he sent the boat
farther into the lake.
In the bay a fish jumped out of water, and the sound of its falling back
made a tinkling splash. Ramsay, dipping his oars quietly, steered toward
the first pound net they had set. At intervals he halted to rest on the
oars. There were no sounds save those that should have been present.
Except for him and the pound boat, the lake seemed deserted. Lingering
in the shadows, Ramsay circled the net and saw nothing. He started
toward another of their pound nets.
They had kept the seine busy, taken good catches from their pound nets,
and turned most of their money back into additional equipment. They were
getting ahead and setting themselves up in the fishing business. By next
year they should have everything they needed. They would not have to buy
any nets, or boats, and could begin to enjoy the profits they were
earning.
Ramsay found himself thinking of Devil Chad. Fishing was very hard work,
and expensive, but whoever did it well could hope for a fine future.
Lake Michigan was a vast reservoir of riches, and they were to be used.
There was room for all, but so was there room in Three Points. Devil
Chad wanted that for himself. Who but Devil Chad could now be plotting
to seize the Lake Michigan fisheries?
Ramsay shrugged such thoughts away. Out here on the lake he seemed able
to think with great clarity, and he knew that Hans and Pieter were
right. They must not lash out in thoughtless anger and hit at Devil Chad
because he was the logical one to raid their nets. They must have proof,
and strike as hard as possible when they struck.
Ramsay visited all three pound nets, and rowed back to the first one.
The lake remained calm and unruffled. When he thought it was two
o'clock--the night was divided into one watch of four hours and two of
three each--he went in to rouse Hans. At half-past five, when they ate
breakfast, Hans had nothing to report. If pirates were out to get all
nets, certainly they had not bothered theirs.
Late that afternoon, when the fishing was done and Ramsay, much to the
amusement of Hans and Pieter, had carried six more big sturgeon to the
pond, Hans hitched the black horse and invited Ramsay to go with him to
Three Points. Captain Klaus, as usual, flew to the back of the cart and
perched where he could caress Hans with his bill. Hans turned the little
horse down the road leading to Tom Nedley's. Ramsay stirred with
interest.
Big Tom Nedley came out of his shed, greeted them, and looked doubtfully
at the little cart. He glanced from it to a long oaken beam that was
supported on wooden horses. When he looked again at Hans, his voice and
manner were almost accusing. "You aim to drag that piece of oak?"
"You think I'm a fool?" Hans challenged.
"Didn't think you'd drag it." Tom Nedley seemed relieved. "There ain't
another piece of oak like that one in Wisconsin. How do you aim to get
it home?"
"You have an extra pair of wheels and an axle?"
"Sure, but ..."
"Ha! Bring me a wrench!"
The wrench in his hands, Hans set to work unbolting the clamps that held
the body on Pieter's two-wheeled cart. He lifted the body and seat off,
leaving the horse hitched only to the wheels and the axle that joined
them.
Hans looked triumphantly at Tom Nedley, and the boatbuilder scratched
his head. "You needn't think you're so smart. I'd of thought of that
myself afore I let you drag that timber."
"Why didn't you?"
While Tom brought another pair of wheels, Ramsay looked at the solid
chunk of oak. About twenty-six feet long, it was very fine-grained and
it hadn't a crack or flaw throughout its length--fully seasoned, so that
not a drop of sap remained in it. Even Ramsay, whose knowledge of wood
was limited, could tell that this was an exceptionally fine chunk of
oak. Hans and Tom Nedley seemed to look upon it as they would have
looked upon some valuable jewel. Hans patted it affectionately.
"Stronger than steel!" he said fondly. "Can you not imagine what a boat
the _Spray II_ will be?"