The constable's right thumb slipped from his belt and his hand dropped
to the butt of the revolver. His fingers curled around it. As though by
accident, Pieter stumbled forward. Strong enough to stop a bull in its
tracks, Pieter wrapped his own steel fingers around the constable's
right 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 which
almost always must sound the cadence someone else beats. Strength was
the only force he recognized, and now he saw himself surrounded by
strong, 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 as
soon 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 hold
you responsible for anything that happens here while I am away. And I
better 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 sand
beach toward Pieter's farm. Ramsay tried to find answers to the many
questions in his mind. Certainly somebody had lured them away from their
fishing gear. Who had done so? Was Devil Chad involved? If so, why did
Jake Hillis accompany them at all? Certainly the servant would not
willingly provoke a fight with the master. If Devil Chad was the leader
of the pirates, did he trust his minion so little that he had told him
nothing?
Ramsay shrugged: they would have to wait and find out.
Reaching the farm, Pieter entered the house to get the shotgun and a
pair of exquisitely carved pistols which Ramsay had never seen before.
Dueling pistols, they looked like, and Ramsay glanced curiously at
Pieter. The man was anything except stolid, yet he never spoke of his
past and of what had really brought him across the Atlantic Ocean to
this wild inland sea. Ramsay dismissed the thought. In this country it
was often just as well to forget a man's past or that he had ever had a
past.
Jake Hillis looked narrowly as Pieter handed Hans a pistol, kept one for
himself and gave the shotgun to Ramsay. "I don't hold with shooting
scrapes!" 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 Hillis
sat beside Pieter and Ramsay crouched to one side. A shiver ran through
him. The mist seemed to be settling in even more thickly; they had
scarcely left the shore when they were unable to see it. From the top of
the house, the bedraggled Captain Klaus squawked his protest at such
weather.
Hans rowed swiftly but there was no trace of hesitation in his manner,
and Ramsay marveled. The mist was heavy enough to cut visibility to
almost nothing, but Hans steered as certainly as he would have on the
sunniest of days. He seemed to know the lake so intimately that, no
matter what happened, he could still find his way. They reached the
first pound net, rowed around it. Ramsay sighed with relief.
If pirates had come to raid, they had not yet touched this net. Ramsay
shifted his position, and Jake Hillis stirred uneasily. Then, almost
beside the boat, the water rippled and the White Sturgeon surfaced for
a moment. Nearly the color of the mist, he lay quietly on top of the
water, then dived.
Hans' low laughter rippled. "We have a friend!" he said.
They were near the second pound net now, and Ramsay gripped his shotgun
fiercely. He could see nothing, but something seemed to be present. It
was a half-sensed threat, like an unseen tiger crouching in the darkness
beside a campfire. They saw the spiles of the second pound net rising
like 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 Mackinaw
boat, like the _Spray_, and the men on her were only half seen in the
heavy overcast. Ramsay breathed a warning, "Watch it!"
Hans let the boat drift and took the pistol in his hand. Almost
carelessly, as though there was no hurry about anything at all, Pieter
did likewise. Jake Hillis drew his breath sharply. The two boats came
closer together, and Ramsay recognized Joe Mannis. There were also three
nondescript loafers of the riff-raff type who are always found on any
frontier and who will do anything for money. But Ramsay centered his
gaze 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 a
cold 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 there
was to be a fight. Ramsay glanced at Jake Hillis. The constable was
sitting quietly, tense and strained, but he did not seem to be afraid.