"We'd better get back and look to our nets."

"There is time, and we'd better not go blindly."

"What are we going to do?"

Hans said grimly, "Find the constable and ask him to accompany us. Then, if there is trouble, and I expect it, we will have the law with us rather than against us."

"Suppose the constable doesn't care to come along?"

"He'll come," Hans promised.

They strolled down the street, stopping in various places, until they found Jake Hillis, the constable Devil Chad had put in office, in the Lake House. The woman who had given Ramsay the steak and then made him wash dishes to pay for it, looked up and smiled. "Hello."

"Hi!" Ramsay grinned.

"You didn't run, after all."

"Nope. I didn't."

The constable, standing at the bar, turned around to face the three. He hooked both thumbs in his belt, letting his fingers dangle. His right hand, Ramsay could not help seeing, was not too far from the pistol that swung from his belt. There was no readable expression on his face, but the woman, who knew him well, went hastily into another room.

Flanked by Ramsay and Pieter, Hans walked directly up to the constable.

"We have something," he said softly, "that demands your attention."

"What is it?"

"It has to do with nets and a raid upon them."

"I got no authority over what happens on Lake Michigan."

"Nevertheless, we need a good, honest man of the law with us. And we will pay you well enough."

Jake Hillis shook his head. "I can't go off on any wild goose chases. My duty is to protect this town."

Hans' voice softened even more. "I am asking you again to come with us."

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.

Devil Chad's bellow blasted, "What are you doin' here?"

Ramsay heard Hans' low laugh and his quiet, "The man is most uncivil."

"Don't get smart with me!" Devil Chad threatened. "You come to rob our net, didn't you?"

Hans, surprised, made a momentary slip. "Your net?"

"Yes, our net! You come to rob it like you robbed all the rest!" Chad's expressionless eyes pierced Jake Hillis like daggers. "What are you doin' here?"

Hans answered calmly. "He is here as our guest, and at our invitation.

Now let us hear some more about 'your' net."

"You know what I mean! Touch it an' we start shootin'!"